#i feel like i have a better feeling of these characters now

[y3sterdaysproblem]

How does toxic!fwb Chris react if you bleed through your pants, and you didn’t know?

you and chris had been out all day despite your request to stay in bed and rot while you bled what felt like your heart out, lower back aching and tension headache persisting despite medication.

chris had tried to insist that some fresh air would make you feel better, and in the beginning it did, but now, nearly six hours into being out, you were ready to be home.

“one more store, i want to buy a new hat,” chris tells you as you walk through the mall, his hands resting in the pockets of his grey hoodie he always wore, seemingly in a great mood for once in his life.

“chris,” you groan, throwing your head back for a moment as you complained before picking it back up to glare at him. “my cramps are coming back, my head hurts and i’m tired. can you just order a hat online?”

he looks over at you and sighs, seeing how exhausted you looked. but you guys were passing the store on the way out, so in his mind, it would be a total waste not to go. “i’ll be fast, i know what i want,” he tells you, slinging an arm around your shoulder and placing an out of character kiss to your temple as he turned your bodies and rounded you into the store.

you followed, seemingly having no choice, but you parted from him to look at some of the hats on the other side of the store to distract yourself, wondering how hard it would be to convince him to buy you one. you’re about to ask him when you feel his presence behind you, hands gently wrapping around your waist.

you open your mouth to speak, thinking he’s just going to hug you from behind, but when you look down you realize he’s tying the sleeves of his hoodie at your stomach, his lips next to your ear.

“you bled through your shorts,” he says in a quiet whisper so nobody else hears, pulling away as you spin around with a horrified gasp, hand coming up to cover your mouth. “no,” you mumble against your palm in disbelief. this hasn’t happened in years.

you look down at your light wash, denim shorts, wondering to yourself why on earth you didn’t think to wear something darker on your heaviest day. “come on, i’ll get the hat another day. let’s get you to the bathroom.” chris grabs your hand from your mouth and guides you out of the store and to a family stall, opening the door for you. “wait here and i’ll go find you something, okay?”

you walk into the family bathroom and nod, still in disbelief that you’d actually bled through your fucking pants. it’s one thing to leak a little in your underwear, but this was rare.

after shutting and locking the door, you pulled the hoodie off from around your waist and hung it up, turning around in the mirror and looking over your shoulder. a shocked gasp leaves your lips when you realize how bad it actually is and it’s hard to fight off the tears that sting in your eyes. there’s no way chris was the only one that saw this.

it’s only about five minutes later when you hear a knock on the door and you rush to open it, pulling chris in who now holds a bag in his hand. he shuts the door behind him and pulls out a new pair of underwear and some black sweatpants, setting them on the counter. “here, change and put your old clothes in this bag,” he tells you, turning his attention onto you when you don’t answer.

“what’s wrong?” he asks when he sees your eyes brimming with tears, taking a tentative step closer to you. “it’s so bad,” you choke out, voice thick with emotion. god, you hated how easy it was for something to set you off like this during your period. “i’m so embarrassed.”

chris’s expression softens at your clear discomfort, hands reaching out for the button on your shorts. “it’s fine,” he says, his flat tone hiding any real displays of comfort. “nobody saw. i only noticed because i was staring at your ass.”

his words make you feel slightly better but not much, only enough to make you stop complaining and instead let out pathetic sniffles as he unzips your shorts. “c’mon, let’s get you changed so you can get in bed.”

you let him peel the denim off you but stop him when he reaches for your panties, hand grabbing his wrist gently. “i don’t want you to see it,” you tell him, looking down at where his fingers paused at the waistband.

chris sighs, tucking his fingertips in the tops of the seamless panties but not pushing them down. “i’ve eaten you out on your period before, i can handle it,” he tells you like it’s obvious. you cringe at the memory, still holding his wrist. “this is different, it’s.. it’s gross.”

he moves one of his hands up to your chin and tilts it upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. “it’s fine. i’m a grown man, i can handle it.” you grumble in response and let go of his wrist, letting him slide your panties down your legs, instantly regretting it when you saw how much blood was actually in them. “oh my god, never mind, ew,” chris fake gags, leaning over so he can pull them off of your ankles.

“chris!” you whine in embarrassment, slapping his shoulder as he stood up straight again, not finding any amusement in the way he met your eyes again with a smirk playing on his lips. “i’m kidding,” he grins, throwing your underwear and shorts onto the counter by the sink.

you huff and head to the toilet to at least try and wipe up some of the mess, grumbling to yourself about how annoying chris was. he interrupts you by reaching out, his fingers holding something. you look up and see he’s holding a tampon, something you had forgotten to grab when you left your place. “where’d you get this?” you ask him, taking it from his hand.

“asked like four girls on the way back to the bathroom until someone had one,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal, like the thoughtful action doesn’t make your heart soar despite how miserable you are.

“thanks,” you say plainly, forcing down a disgustingly cheesy grin. he just hums in response and pulls out his phone to give you some privacy. once you flush and stand up, he hands you the brand new clothes he bought and puts your dirty ones in the now empty bag, holding onto it for you.

“ready?” he asks when you’re dressed and your hands are washed, putting his grey hoodie back on and zipping it up. you nod and walk towards the door. he lets you out and guides you through the mall with a gentle hand on your back and you can’t ignore the way his thumb rubbing over the exposed skin makes your stomach flutter.

[lastflunky]

It felt like a lot of people really wanted SU to be a show full of constant cool fights and then killing the final bad guy with a big laser beam.

While Akira Toriyama was cited as an influence in the shows design. In terms of story, SU has more in common with Magical Girl shows.

This is why we get a lot of Beach City episodes (which aren't a waste of time). Within Magical Girl genres conventions, you get slice of life antics as well as magical hijinks. It tends to be 50/50. The normalcy is a key part of the genre. Cardcaptor Sakura is like that. E.G. Let's go to the library so Sakura can finish her summer break homework. Oh no! The book she needs to do a book report on is possessed by a Clow Card!

These shows tend to be about friendship and the connections we make with people. How a kid learns to deal with new responsibilities and will make mistakes along the way. Cat fingers is about Steven trying to learn shape-shifting with disastrous results.

Villains in Magical Girl shows are sometimes redeemed like the various Sailor Moon villains or the aliens from Tokyo Mew Mew. Even if the bad guys die, there's a bit of sympathy for them. Of course 100% evil villains exist but it's clear SU is playing with that grey area. Characters like Usagi want to give people a second chance. There are villains that change their minds and want to be better.

Also Revolutionary Girl Utena is full of really flawed teenagers who do awful things but are also sympathetic. If people can't handle SU, I think RGU would make their heads explode. We know that SU was influenced by RGU. Sugar has stated this.

It felt like a deliberate choice in Steven Universe Future when Steven asks Jasper to train him. We get a training montage and a DBZ-like fight. Steven powers up (becomes perfect Steven, if you will) and shatters Jasper. This is a breaking point for Steven and starts the end of Future. Congrats to the people who wanted Steven to go super saiyen and kill someone. Steven regretted it instantly, revived them and is now having a mental breakdown.

I'm not criticising Shoeun anime but the kind of people who only care about flashy fights and power levels. I feel like in addition to people obsessed with shows/characters being their vision of perfection or believe in the idea that might makes right. They wanted Steven Universe to be a different type of show entirely. Dragon Ball is an influence on SU for sure (Vegeta is one of the most famous redeemed villains after all) but it was inspired by a lot of different shows as well (Future boy Conan, Dr. Slump and I think the Simpsons?).

sometimes i worry that *i'm* wrong and SU is bad/rushed/blah blah. then i remember whites fragile need to be perfect and ego defense of thinking she's fixing things. i remember how its perfectly mirrored by stevens need to fix others. how its both beautifully symbolic in CYM an made more explicit and heart-rending in future.

yeah that shit rules. white being reformed is great. its the ultimate rebuttal to the ideology that only good/useful/perfect people deserve to live- which is exactly the standard white held herself and everyone else to. it mirrors stevens arc of selfless heroism. it mirrors the toxic, insecure selflessness thats plagued everyone from pearl to jasper to rose about what it means to "deserve" to live it ties into "love like you" of how learning self-love is intertwined with loving others. it ties into how steven can't let go of his hero role until he's confronted by *literally* having his own mind in white's body, hating the idea of being like her yet ironically reacting exactly how she would - "this is someone bad for society, they should be shattered, this is what's best for everyone." trying to hurt her only hurting him. trying to help her helping all of gemkind - from the corrupted gems to dismantling a system that was held up by those exact ideals.

yeah no SU is fantastic. i'm so sad that its reputation is "oh well it wasn't that good, but it had some lgbt+ rep :)" which is just about the most condescending crap ever. i would gladly flip it. i think most cartoons that have come after SU haven't been that interesting, they've just been mostly generic stories with some lgbt+ rep.

[yojeongin]

this night has opened my eyes | j.jh

→sister’s fiancé!jaehyun x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, close proximity attraction, forbidden affairs, 80s au, and familial relationships study

synopsis: grief hits everyone differently, especially when so close to a major "once in a lifetime" event. you try to not judge everyone's character but how can you not when emotions are conflicting and it doesn't help that your sister's fiancé is the only one helping you cope.

warning(s): ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! generational trauma, mentions of child emotional neglect, grief, cheating, smoking, alcohol consumption, emotional repression (minor memory loss), some fingering, semi-handjob, unprotected and rough sex, creampie, jaehyun a lil ooc, somewhat one-sided, lack of chemistry (their lonelyness tries to say otherwise), this one is for the eldest daughters with mommy issues

wc: 21.1k+ || anthology masterlist || soundtrack || ao3

© 2025 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: well I lied about posting last week. I'm fond of lying and worst scenario did happen and I'm posting in may. anyways, tried hard to make them lack chemistry so you guys tell me how that turned out.

This is your punishment. It must be. Why is it that when you’re finally at ease with life, something has to ruin your stable comfort? You swore you wouldn't come back to this town unless a major celebration or an emergency would occur. Unfortunately, it so happens that both had transpired at the same time. In the worst way possible.

A year and a half ago your sister had met someone. It only took nine months of being together for them to get engaged and your entire family knew besides you. Chances are you would have remained in the dark even after the event if the pyramid schemer of your cousin hadn't called you about the possibility of lending her money to pay for the items she was supposed to sell. 

Merciless enough and with no regard for your sister, she spilled it all to you along with ridicule laced in each word. Reveling and laughing at the theory of your sister possibly being pregnant. Interlaced jealousy for obtaining a “great catch”.

You don't entertain it, humming with faux excitement despite dreading the fact that you're now expected to send a letter to your sister letting her know how happy you are for her. Whether you truly were or didn't care, did not matter. You expected nothing out of it, nothing was supposed to happen after all, per usual. It was all courtesy. 

Silence from your sister was always a better reward than having her talk your ear off about anything she was fairly interested in. The matter becomes worse knowing she dreaded talking to you overall, therefore it was a waste of time for you both.

Unfortunately, days later you received a phone call where she, in fact, talked your ear off about the guy she was engaged to and what she had in mind for her celebration. It’s not like she was having fun telling you about it, she didn’t plan for you to find out to begin with. But again, it was all courtesy. Hoping that this would make you feel included enough to send her a gift without invitation.

The call extended for longer despite the long periods of silence on both ends. She had waited and waited, with no signs of you asking what she wanted, leading her to hang up feigning a dinner with her fiance. Truth is she scoffed rolling her eyes and petulantly stomping around knowing she would have to invite you now if she wanted a gift.

Two months later a wedding invitation was sent to your apartment. Reading over the script typeface with all of its coiled swashes, embossed flowers, and the underlying inked words that scream at you to not go, to not entertain this and just send the damn gift. Courtesy, it's all about courtesy.

You didn’t hear from any of your family members again after receiving that piece of cardstock. Not until a week before the wedding day. Merciless Friday. By Friday, life has killed you.

You had planned on leaving a day before the date. You were in no rush to visit anyone in that town nor did you plan to stay long after the ceremony. Like a business trip, that’s what you were treating it as.

Simply, your plan was to get a round trip ticket. The departing flight back home after the ceremony, possibly at the middle of it, or worst case scenario: the following morning. All to avoid being berated by your mother or aunts; with no plan to overstay your visit.

That was the plan, yet again the universe was so humorous that when you picked up the phone to hear your father talk to you casually with long gaps in between his words, you knew something was awfully wrong. He didn’t specify the reason for his call nor did he give you much information about how his fig tree wasn’t looking too good and most likely would not make it for fig season. 

It was quick and brief, that should have been telling. Your mother would have called you selfish for not noticing the small things but those words were customary for her so you didn’t take them to heart. You haven’t in years, you would like to think. 

Now you look at those same trees, nodding to yourself about how correct he was. Branches too frail and crackly, snapping with a swipe of a finger. They used to be so strong, even in these winter temperatures with biting and prickling coldness. The one your mother often caused within you and now it’s odd knowing that’s what she must have felt last night. 

It’s strange to come back and notice the state of the weather. A town usually disgustingly humid, scaldingly hot, and sunny was now replicating your current city. Gloomy and rainy, the humidity never leaves but the disgust clings to the feeling in your chest as cousins, uncles, and aunts rush out of your childhood home with box sets of silverware, easy and light furniture, and china that had not been locked away. 

A cheery smile on their faces, patting you as a welcome while stuffing their rickety cars with your parents’ belongings. You don’t question it, you always expected this from them. The best you can do now, is close the door in their faces when the youngest of your cousins walks out with your father’s broken Atari in his grimy hands.

So young and already so rotten.

It’s not the fact that they are taking the things, it’s more so that none of them bothered to let you know your mother had died Friday morning or looked to be mourning. Or how she had been battling a nasty infection due to the thorns in her rose bushes. How rapidly the fungus had consumed her cells.

The house is eerie and cold; silence was never this stiff. Biting and dull, but never static. The large portraits of your mother scattered around the walls feeling more patronizing than ever before. You can already imagine what she must be thinking about you all the way from purgatory. “Typical, you could not even bother to show before my last breaths.” A scoff, turning up her nose with a shake of her head to avoid looking at you. 

Disgust, disgust, disgust.

It doesn’t take long to find your father in their shared bedroom. Sitting idly on the edge of the bed looking out the window. A usual position, now enveloped with grief and despair. Not his ordinary nonchalance and comfort. He was a shell of a man from when you last saw him. Then again, that was two years ago for their silver anniversary where your mother scolded you for not helping or for not doing things the way she wanted them.

You remember clearly ending that night in the train station with your suitcase. Your father dropping you off while affirming that they loved you despite all your mother had spewed the entire visit. You both smiled fondly before hugging and patting each other’s cheeks. He knew you well enough to leave before your train arrived, giving you a breather and letting out all your grievances, leaving them here and not taking them back home. 

“Hey…” Your meek voice causes his hand to twitch, not turning to look at you. “How are you holding up?” You question, hand sliding down his shoulder to rub comfortingly. You feel his chest rumble, your fingers thrumming against his wool sweater. “I told you the fig tree was not going to hold on until spring.” He answers slowly, eyeing how the branches snapped with the breeze.

“You did.”

Silence befalls, it’s uncomfortable yet comfortable. The contradiction makes it far more confusing on your end. You’re not too sure how he feels. Perhaps you should say something, something stupid or mundane but something. These days you're far more unaware of what to do or think. 

“Hey, dad?” “Hey, dad!”

There’s a clear difference in the way those words are uttered. In the way the voices sound and how they roll off each other’s tongues but ultimately both of you turn towards the door, seeing your sister stand with a cheery smile – a tad duller when her eyes fall on you. The most she gives you besides a hum, unphased by your presence. 

“The morgue is on the line.” She utters, chin turning to point towards the phone on your mother’s nightstand. Your father makes no effort to answer, leaving it to both of you to decide. Ultimately, you reach for the device, the cold plastic uncomfortable against your ear. 

“Hello?” “With the family of Mrs. Y/l/n?” “Yes…”

Taken aback by your lack of warmth, the mortuary technician hums, “We wanted to inform you that we got results back from the police station and after the autopsy, Mrs. Y/l/n is ready to be transferred to the services you’ve chosen. Since she is an identified body, we can only keep her for a week at best. She does have to be transferred for burial or a different mortuary by the time frame.” 

Confused, you turn to your father. His lack of response makes you turn to your sister who looks at you like you’re crazy for whatever you haven’t told them. “What?— I thought you guys handled funeral services as well?” You answer, clutching the hard plastic in your hand.

“Unfortunately, no. Not yet at least, but there are multiple funeral homes around the area that you can contact and we can transfer the body to them for the burial or their own morgue. It just has to be before the week ends. Fortunately, it’s a busy season– Unfortunately, I mean! Sorry… We will need the space.” Catching his mistake he laughs nervously, pulling the last remaining hair strand on his balding head.

“Give me a second.” You grumble, your mother’s lipstick still plastered against the bottom half of the phone. “Have you looked into funeral home services?” You whisper, looking at your standing sister who shakes her head vigorously. There’s no way your father had the will to do so and you don’t ask him but the gnawing feeling of the lack of organization is eating at you already.

With a sigh you pick up the phone from your lap, taking your time to answer. “We don’t yet have a plan… Is there no way we can get more time?” You almost beg, was it not for his disinterested whiny voice while twirling the spiral cord around his finger. “Yeah, no… That’s quite unfortunate, yeah.” He hums, patronizing. It irritates you beyond belief. To the point where you hang up before even giving him a definitive answer.

“A week! That’s all we get to find any funeral services or she’ll get tossed out like a butchery carcass!” You’re not sure if you’re more irritated from the call, your sister’s nonchalance, or the fact that you care more than you allowed yourself on the flight back.

"A week?!" Your sister screeches, "My wedding is a week! We can't possibly do that!" Her hands come to her head, distress covering her face like a wedding being pushed back would be the bigger tragedy out of this. Your slow turn of head and slotting eyes don't phase her but your words do irk her.

"Mom just died and you're more worried about a wedding?...”

 "It's not that! It's just that— the wedding is already planned. Mom's funeral isn't, we don't have anything to look for and especially in this short amount of time." She covers up, nodding like it was the best excuse she has ever come with. Was it not for your father's voice catching both of your attention and his slow monotone tone, you would have finally slapped the sense into her that you should've done years ago if allowed.

"Your mother began saving up for this, months ago. I don't think it's much but we will find out when her lawyer arrives tomorrow to read her will." He pauses, "We will make do." He concludes with a nod to himself.

It's not enough for you. That goes to say there's virtually nothing when funerals cost an arm and a leg. You don't even know how much her payment plan was so what gave you the reassurance that you could do anything with that. No, you had to think for the three of you. Like — fucking — usual.

"Aren't you paying for the wedding too?" You turn to him. He nods, "We will make do."

No. No, it's not that simple.

"Your wedding is in a week, there's no reason for you to spend anymore. How about we cut that off already and you can help with the funeral preparations." You speak sternly to your sister. That desperation and anger lacing every single one of your words.

"What?! No, you can't just cut me off! I still have to pay the catering and flower vendors. That doesn't go into action until Tuesday." It's crazy to see how maniac she became in an instant. Her hair disheveled the further her fingers threaded through it. "You can't have me present my guests beautiful decor just to serve their food on paper plates, can you? That's tacky!" She groans, petulantly turning to your father for back up.

"We will make do."

Are you satisfied? No, but you're exhausted and quite honestly jet lagged. This has been enough interacting with your sister and your father's enabling that you decide to throw the towel and shake your head.

"Fine. But you'll have to help me with the funeral services and finding an adequate funeral home."

She's pushed her luck already, and she knows it. "Fine."

It should have been an obvious sign that normal days were left behind when you arrived. What used to be quaint mornings in this town were now loud and obnoxious. Things were different in a sense that you had not expected. The blaring of a nightstand alarm transformed into an irritating screech of the fire alarm calling your name over and over to turn it off. Bike bells from the paperboy calling for the daily paper were now incessant honks tattle-telling on the neighborhood boys that kicked balls at whatever car was left outside the garage.

Whether your body wanted it or not, you pushed off the mattress that was once your safe haven. Now it was hard as rock and the cause of your aching muscles that wept with every step down the stairs. Your mother’s penetrative glare through all those portraits adding onto your pain. 

Upon hearing your steps, your father turns with a blank look on his face but an apology in his eyes. You let out a sigh and a reassuring smile on your lips, turning off the stove and moving the pan away. “I burnt the eggs.” He utters monotonously, each word spoken with every step you take towards the fire alarm. “A coward egg. Preferring to burn than to be eaten. It’s okay, the next one will be brave.” You think you can see a smile on his face although blocked by the fabric of your pajamas and sprawled hair. 

“Those damn kids, running around the street when cars are leaving for church.” Your sister had interrupted any sense of tranquility (if any) with complaints. Her eyebrows furrowed and a frown on her face that becomes teasing when she sees you on a chair, mangling the fire alarm. 

It’s mocking you think, the way she looks at you. “What did you do? You’ve only been here for a few hours.” And your glare gives her the response she was looking for. Receiving you with a teasing scoff, almost turned into a giggle while she swivels towards your dad, kissing his cheek good morning. 

“Geez, relax. I was just kidding.” She huffs, “Look who woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Usually comments as such warranted extensive berating from her and  your mother. Your aunts if they were visiting but now it’s just you two and your dad. Your catatonic dad that can only give her the same blank look and words he’s given you: “I burnt the eggs.”

She kisses his head, smiles reassuringly, reaching for the pan to toss out the now cold eggs. “It’s okay, I’ll make you some.” It’s similar enough, you’re sisters after all. 

You manage to silence the fire alarm, bringing tranquility for a second before three rhythmic knocks are heard at the front door. Your sister and you share a glance, questioning with an indication for you to open the door. It’s something menial that you won’t fight her over, rather you just do it to let the starch pressed suit wearing lawyer inside the house. 

He’s roughly a head taller than you, lankier and awkward but in a way that makes him seem snooty. He gives you a glance and a muted greeting smile. He attempts to share some pleasantries but you don’t let him, leading him to the living room where the other two had gathered already. Eggs and stove long forgotten. 

“Good morning,” he utters, “Only you three will join us?” He asks, fingers threading through the cuff links of his suit. They’re rusted, staining his dress shirt with every move. He knows it and hates that others do too but he can’t be bothered to change them. Rather they’re his only ones. 

“Yes, morning.” You answer with a nod, sitting besides him. “Right.” He mutters, clearing his throat, fumbling to open his briefcase. “I’ve brought copies for you all and given the quantity, I consider it best we get straight to it, yes?” The lawyer — who you later learned his name was Mr. Chop, called pork chop by your sister whenever he said something she didn’t like — handed you each a thin packet. Swivel designs on each corner, customary of your mother who most likely brought in her own paper for him to print on whenever the time came. She probably did not expect it to be this early. 

Your father makes no effort to touch it, your sister only flips through it, but you focus on every word and the tone everything is dictated in. Mr. Chop reads in a lousy voice that he’s forced to sound vigorous but his constant voice cracks give out his experience. Not that much.

“For my dear husband,” He fixes the stiff paper under his fingers. “You will find yourself flooded by life insurances all to your name. Enjoy them while you remain, it is your call what you do when you think your time will come.” Mr. Chop clears his throat, turning to you before continuing. “As long as you’re wise if you dare leave anything to Y/n…” 

Typical. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating.

“To my youngest daughter, you’ve always loved the eccentricity of your mother and grandmother. For that, I leave you our jewelry. I know you will do the right thing when it comes to these and you will take good care as I have all these years.” 

You could swear your mother’s doting voice projected through his weak mouth. Sweet when looking at your sister but patronizing and mocking when he turned to you. Just the way the old hag intended. 

Take that back, pinch yourself under the thigh for thinking of your mother as an old hag. No matter how much she’s impacted you, remorse and guilt will always flood you when it comes to her. 

Fuck. 

“Lastly, Y/n. Consider yourself lucky for this letter and your grandmother’s cookbook. Lord knows you could benefit from it. I will not offer you more for you know what you’ve done and you shall live with that your entire life.” 

The paper doesn’t feel heavy under your fingertips. It’s light, translucent, and from the sunlight peeking through the sliding doors leading to the backyard, you can see she did not write much. 

“What about the funeral plan she began? How much is there?” 

Mr. Chop knows there’s urgency in your voice. Desperation and frustration etching themselves across your face while he takes his time to flip through some papers he had not yet taken out. “Yes… it seems your mother did not begin this plan until three months ago that leaves with only—“ he hums, holding his tongue to not sigh and give more pity remarks than he’s already given. “$169 to be exact, not discounting taxes depending on the company. Some funeral plans tend to take out taxes when the money is put to use.” He drops his professional act momentarily to look at you. 

“These insurances… they can cover it, surely. Yes?” It’s the first time your father spoke since the lawyer arrived. Grievance written all over his face, in the way his eyebrows knit like a begging hungry child. His fingers twitch, itching to look for answers in the packet but hold back. As if touching the decorative paper ought to burn his fingers.

Mr. Chop hums for an exaggerated amount, head tilting to ultimately click his tongue. His pen hits his forehead, leaving a tiny blob of ink that you fixate on. “Well, yes… the thing is that insurances take a month to three after the claim. Unfortunately — for some reason — February is high in mortality and it’s going to take longer than that to hear back from the insurance companies.” 

It’s a dead end. A dead end and it seems only your father and you feel the weight of your mother’s body crushing the both. It’s typically you whose hands were freezing cold but now they’re warm against your father’s. Taking them in a tight and reassuring grip, forcing belief into both. He glances at you, apologies flooding his eyes and threatening to escape his lips. Those that you shut with a smile and another squeeze.

“We will make do.” And now you’re fully convinced that he’s smiling. Believing you with no proof or witness, just the fatherly love and remnants of hope he has. He squeezes your hands in return, a sign of compliance.

Mr. Chop doesn’t extend his invite. As soon as it’s settled he makes his exit, leaving the three of you to wonder what should be done. Your father reverted to small talk, managing to nod at some questions and stare blankly at others. That left you and your sister to make calls to funeral homes all day. Alternating between landlines while one of you wrote, analyzed, and organized the price points and deals. All flukes and robberies. 

To say frustration wasn’t getting the best of you was an understatement. How is it that death is perceived as an eternal slumber where you feel no more, yet it leaves those behind you in perpetual suffering. 

Your father won’t explain what he feels but everyone can read it in the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. You’re not too sure how you feel besides uncertainty that makes you scribble harshly against the notepad. Eraser shavings get between the lead and paper, forcing large gaps between words. It bothers you enough to rewrite the words just for another piece to be erased. A cycle that you know you should end but the bubbling ache in your chest makes you continue your angry scribbles until you touch the fresh page underneath.

Faith lets it survive for longer. Intervening through an ecstatic screech that leaves your sister. It gives you hope, seeing her stomp around in a happy dance. Telephone cord wrapping around her body the way her fiance will do in a few days to come. She’s so happy. Your mother is dead, your father is bordering on joining her and your sister is happy. 

“Found a funeral service?” Your voice breaks her out of it. Her wide smile, not flattering as she turns to look at you with faux confusion. That stupid midline diastema was growing but it made her look far more charming than before. Her giggle doesn’t help and for a second you think she’s that same little girl that would pity you when mother scolded for her wrong doings before she joined in on the mockery. 

“What? No!” She unravels the cord, some of it stuck against the buttons of her overalls. “The caterer called back and said they could work with the budget you're forcing me into! I can make this wedding work, Y/n!” If she was to ever touch you it would leave a reminder of her disdain and faux affection. This one, she’s genuinely happy and with no intention to mock you but even when she doesn’t want to, she manages to plague you with that poison your mother created and taught her to inject into you. 

She jumps around, holding your hands with no intention to seize her excited giggles. How can someone be so happy in times like these? Is this what being full of love creates?

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” The words leave your mouth in waves. Lips quiver with every letter and your hold on her hands turn crushing. Her eyebrows furrow, pulling away like a child that’s been zapped with prank gum. She scowls at the ruined moment, “Have you seriously been working on your wedding all this time?!” 

“No…” A scolded child answers, tucking her hands in the denim pockets. “I was making calls too, I just… took a break to answer the caterer.” she murmurs, swinging her body the way she does when consequences attempt to reach her.

“A break… We can’t take fucking breaks, sissy! We have to find a funeral home now or else who knows where mom will end up!” You don’t try to sound so angry or sad. The whine and fire in your voice will betray you the way it always does. “We can’t afford them if you're too fucking worried about your stupid wedding!” 

“Stupid?! Mom was looking forward to it! You would know if you checked in often and didn’t think you’re too good for us! Doesn't your job pay you well? You could possibly pay for this by yourself and leave dad alone.” A leach and a burden is what they’ll always see you as. It’s obvious through the gaps of invisible words she doesn’t spew. 

Despite the scratch created over your soul, you’ve only ever known to cover it with electric tape. It’s sticky and temporary, leaves a disgusting residue if you ever try to remove it but that doesn’t come until you’re ready to fix it. Which you won't, you never do. You never will.

“I am going to pay for it at this rate because you are more worried about a wedding with a guy you met not even a year ago and God trust no one believes it will last.” Condescension and it’s not yet Wednesday. It’s spilled in the same tone she utilizes with you, the difference is she’s never been strong enough to reap what she sews.

There’s fire in her eyes. The same fire she looked at your mother the few times she was reprimanded. The kind that tells you she loathes you with her entire soul and wants nothing but the worst for you. It translates perfectly through her words, ones that make you forget she’s the town sweetheart. 

“You know what your problem is, Y/n? That I’ve always been able to find someone and you haven’t. You’re lonely. A lonely, bitter spinstress. Bitter overall and that’s how you’ll end if you keep acting like this. Mom was right about you. She always has been.” She gives you no time to rebuttal with your own venom. Taking her belongings and slamming the kitchen door behind her while the words ‘naive’ and ‘dumb-fuck’ flood your brain knowing they’re far less offensive than bitter and lonely.

Without trying to dwell, you exit the kitchen as well. Rolling your eyes with a huff as the scene replays. Your mother is gone, there’s no reason for you to hold your tongue, doing that for years has stunted your ability to defend yourself. Your little sister will always have the upper hand the longer you keep your mother’s image etched inside your brain. 

She has no power over you. Not anymore. Free yourself. Try…

You can’t, you probably won’t. Because behind your disappointed father that sits on the steps of the stairs, your mother’s portrait bores holes into you. Engraving every word your sister spat out with far more volition.

Monday: Humiliation

Maybe you were brash with your outburst yesterday. Perhaps you could have handled the discontent better but the longer the argument plays in your head the more and more you think there’s no way you’re going to apologize to your sister for that. Not even when said argument led to you making your way to the first funeral home by foot because she refused to pick up the phone. 

You couldn’t ask your father to drive you there nor were you going to ask anyone else in your family. Those leeches had only made an effort to contact you to ask for more things they could take and when turned down they’d drop their sugar bowls and act as sour as you remember them. It’s laughable. How high and mighty they act but turn into grimy beggars attempting to slither their way into the home for more and more things to steal.

It’s happened a handful of times since your arrival. All ending with you slamming the door in their faces and them calling you the same names your mother used to. Disguising their visit as a form to check on your father without waiting for him to come down the stairs before acting like debt collectors. By now he knows not to come down, he’s always left panting and huffing on the last step when they leave. 

There’s been a few times they’ve been able to fool you. Their appreciation for taking over the funeral plans soothing your soul and causing you to release a content sigh, all to come crumbling when they mention how this was a nice gift for your sister. 

“So kind of you to take this off your sister’s hands. She’s already stressed enough with the wedding, you’re truly an angel, Y/n.” It’s so cut throat, fictitious, and treated like a burden. Each word pierces your jugular and is brought down to your chest, carving a cross over your skin. “God bless you.” The concluding words to whatever game they want to play at. 

“God bless you.”

A laugh leaves your mouth, covering it with your gloved hand as your head shakes. Oh, Y/n… What can you expect from your family? All so selfish and conceited. Spoiled and rotten. Rotten to the core.

The headphones on the Walkman threaten you to stop moving so much, inching closer to snapping off your head and leave you with the sound of cars driving past. Some, confused on why you would walk in this weather and lack of sidewalks. There’s no time to explain that your sister and family are petty. Enough to not take care of your father while you’re gone and the only person you trust to look after him is the neighbor, Mrs. Mimi and her dog Rek. At least with them you know your father’s belongings won’t be gone within minutes. 

Usually you’re not against walking to places. It’s the only thing you can do back in the city where everything is within walking distance and at least the view is pretty. As pretty as skyscrapers and tourists are but it’s better than cracked pavement, rickety old homes with old men sitting on the porch nearly naked despite the freezing temperatures, and roadkill almost every day. Anyhow, you hate to admit that you’d rather see this than the horrendous interior design of this first funeral home.

You can blame the lighting and the textures of every surface. Despite this, nothing justifies how horrendous acid yellow carpeting and neon purple wood paneling look together. Obnoxious in the way that forces your brain to transmit the message of hurling your guts out and nothing would show on the carpet. Perhaps it’s happened before according to the stench — discarding the cadavers below ground.

“Shit show.” You huff under your breath, taking out a notepad from your purse. 

“What was that?” It comes out friendly, playful despite the chill it forces all over your body. Swiveling on your heel to turn to two men emerging from the backroom. They smile acknowledging your presence but don’t press the matter. “Sorry, how may I help you?” The shorter one smiles. It’s scarily similar to Pee-wee Herman’s, far more disturbing. You chalk it up to his growing bald spot, making him look like an aging uncle despite most likely being around your age.

“Hello…” Nervously, your hand waves. “I’m Y/n, I called yesterday about funeral plans.” His ankles click with each other, knees straightening up as his face lights up comically. As if a light bulb actually lit before his eyes. “Right! Ms. Y/l/n, I was just showing Mr. Jung what the plan consists of. Would you want to see it too or do I leave you two to discuss it?” His ominous and strained smile returns, blinking too fast for his own liking and it makes him look frightening but perhaps that uneasiness is what keeps the place in business. 

He doesn’t seem to catch onto your confusion on why you’d talk with the taller stranger beside him. In comparison to the funeral director, the other man is relaxed. His hands remain inside his wool coat, dark as his hair that makes his skin seem brighter. He was a little too pale for this area, even in the winter the sun shines bright. 

You’re within seconds of concluding that he’s an attendant until he speaks up, hands coming out of the coat pockets. “Mr. Holmes, would you mind giving Ms. Y/l/n and I, a minute alone to discuss?” And that only manages to furrow your eyebrows further to the point your eyes may be bulging out. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions. Your mother made sure to take full advantage of that.

The funeral director isn’t told twice. Leaving a packet with the stranger that thanks him before releasing a heavy sigh and rocking in his heels as his eyes mimic yours. He shakes his head, making an odd expression with his mouth that tells you something you know already.

“Shit show.”

And it bothers you how easy it was for him to knock down your defensiveness to snicker along with him. 

When both seem to calm down, he clears his throat, extending his hand for you to shake. Skeptically you take it, never removing your gloves and clutching the pen in your other hand. “Y/n…” He smiles fondly, his other hand coming to clutch yours as well. It feels odd and it confuses you, enough to bubble up an upset.

“Y/n Y/l/n, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” An airy chuckle of finality escapes him, his head dips as he smiles widely like you’ve known each other for ages while the only thing that crosses your mind is: “Who the fuck is this guy?” It’s obvious in the way you’re giving him that same reserved look from seconds ago. One he chalks up to the distance and he shakes his head to relax.

“From your AP world history and APUSH classes… Remember me?” His voice lilts, eyebrow twitching as he recalls. You truly don’t know what he’s talking about and while his expressions are soft, yours are in perpetual incertitude. “Well, we went to the same middle and high school but- I don’t know, I thought high school would be easier for you to recall. You remember me, right?” 

His tone doesn’t falter, he’s still as joyous as you’ve first heard him. He’s trying his darn best but if you’re being honest to yourself, you have no idea who this man is. Your body betrays you though, faux laugh escaping your lips as you nod. “Yeah! Yeah… AP Biology, right?” Your eyebrows don’t unknit and there is when he begins to question himself. He hums but shakes his head despite his smile slowly falling. 

“No, no… We only had the same AP humanities classes.” “Ah… Yeah, APUSH.”

It’s difficult to understand how easily discomfort settles.

“Victor Asuel, right?” While you smile, he replicates it uncomfortably. “The one that got a perm and had to go bald when it burnt the scalp, yeah?” Jaehyun joins you in an uneasy laugh, shaking his head to awkwardly correct you. “No, Jaehyun. Jung. I sat next to you in world history and well… APUSH.” He chuckles uncomfortably, his hands finally leaving yours to shove them in his coat pockets. Hurt, you’re aware of that.

“Sorry…” It’s a dead end you don’t think you’re able to get out of. Charismatic as he is, he smiles shaking his head. “Forget about it, it’s fine. It’s been a while, yeah.” He nods, looking at your face to memorize all expressions. “It’s been over ten years anyways.” 

Jaehyun sucks in his teeth, sighing afterwards. “I’m also your sister's fiance if that helps.” It’s muted and less exciting than the original topic. It doesn’t help, you had no care of who she was marrying if you’re being sincere but at least you know there’s another reason for him to talk to you. 

“Oh. Okay.” 

“Thoughts on the plan?” This time you try to break the silence. “Shit show.” He repeats, shaking his head with that same nice smile of his. He’s comfortable and that’s good enough for you. “On three we run out?” You suggest and that smile widens showing his pearly whites. The likes, emphasizing the lines around his nose, the type that tells you he’s smiling genuinely hard. 

“Now!” His hand takes a hold of your arm pulling you out of the funeral home while the entrance bell blares for the funeral director that you’re running out without sealing the deal. Mr. Holmes must have smelt the rejection from down the mortuary that he runs upstairs with a bloodied apron still on, stumbling on the disgusting carpet that stains his polished shoes. 

He yells something that sounds like begging whines, intermixed with growls. All fading when he covers his mouth with his fist, the other clutching his disgusting apron. Jaehyun had learned that this funeral home was the most successful one. Not a single decline for the past two years – of course all due to their pushiness. This will be the first time. You make sure to annotate that on the pocket notebook you’ve been clutching since entering.

That initiated your journey of looking through funeral homes with him. Jaehyun wasn’t quiet, he liked to talk a lot. If the dog was pissing on the side of the road he’d laugh then become concerned for its safety but wouldn’t stop the car to help it onto the sidewalk. 

He talked about how horrible the paneling in the second funeral home was. How the humidity had sunk in and now the walls were swollen. He talked about the light fixtures in the second funeral home. The light bulbs were foggy and therefore made the place look disgusting. It reminded you eerily of your mother. Word for word and it made you resent him without trying. Jaehyun talked a lot about everything but mostly about a past that you don’t recall.

“Do you remember Dorcas Reus.” He animatedly questions. “No.” You respond, scowling at how the whipped cream on his milkshake clung to his cheek. “No, I don’t either.” He nods to himself without looking at you. This time he hesitates, lips twisting to the side as he contemplates his next words.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Y/n.” There it is. Took him long enough considering the nature of your time together this day. You reassure him with a smile, nodding while the words slowly process in your brain and your mouth agrees to let them out. It doesn’t want to but your tongue force them out. “Thank you.” He shares a quizzical look, one that tells you that maybe your answer is too cold and simple for people’s liking but it’s the best you can do.

If he had anything to say about it, he ignores it. “Truly, she was like a second mom to me.” There’s sincerity in each word that curdles the milk in your own milkshake, etching a scowl in your face as you push the glass away. 

It’s rich, coming from a stranger. 

It’s rich, of course anything associated with your sister will receive your mother’s love more than you’ve ever felt. 

It’s rich.

“Right.” 

He purses his lips, halting whatever words he had said afterwards from hearing you interject. He breathes through his nose, back firm against the cold backrest of the diner’s booth. It’s easy to sense what he feels, at least in that subject you can relate to him.

“Why isn’t my sister here by the way?”

“Right!” It’s more joyous coming from his mouth. Dwindling when the nature of reality comes back to him and it presents itself as a deep blush across his face and scorching warmth at the back of his neck. He rubs at it to cool it down but your steady gaze makes it unbearable. “You see, we had dinner with some others in your family.” Almost everyone. “And they’re all busy with the wedding, she’s busy with the wedding… I offered, it’s the least I can do for your mom.” 

Words are heavy in his mouth, thumping against the vinyl tabletop and bouncing your way. You know he’s sincere and that makes you hate him a bit more. He has more love for your mother than you and that bothers you. Because while you’re doing it out of self prescribed guilt and obligation he’s doing it because he actually likes her. 

Tuesday: Suffocation 

Jaehyun was much quieter the following day. That’s not to say he didn’t squabble at any given chance. Who knew he was highly passionate about tap shoes. All stemming from you giggling at how ugly some tap shoes in a garbage bin were. He scolded you like you’ve known each other for years. That may be true in his reality but in yours, you have no idea who this man is. 

He fears you’ve suffered from memory loss. Recalling almost every single event that you two went through in your early academic years but when you hum with a nod and he can tell you’re lying about remembering he sighs and nods, giving you a name of a classmate that he hasn’t talked to in years but recalls for some odd reason.

He was highly passionate about paneling as well. Yesterday, that was an important factor that made him discard all the other funeral homes. Today it was the flooring and after touring two other ones that expected you to give them your first born, here he was conversing with the funeral home director the same age as your father about how horrible things have become since Reagan entered. In the short span you’ve been with him, you’ve learned that he’s comfortable and decided. 

Mr. Nix was no better than Jaehyun, jumping from interest to interest like the fleas on the stray cat. He feeds it tuna and deli meats, the only things he will eat, Mr. Nix claims, emerging from the backroom with a packet and a bag of cookies in his other hand. Jaehyun chuckles along with him and you’re thankful that he’s here for the poor old man would be nothing but uncomfortable if it was just you.

He truly has a beautiful funeral home. The walls resemble your grandmother’s. Pristine white but clean with rinceau scrolls wrapping around the bottom and top of each wall. There’s no carpet, thankfully. Beautiful mosaic flooring with spring colors replacing it and form an image of an angel in the center where the body will be seen. It’s too expensive from sight alone and you fear what it will come to but this is for your mother. Even in death you try to please her.

“I’ve circled the pain points and the discounts amounted. We can handle a payment plan. I don’t usually do that but I can trust you folks.” He completes his chuckle, placing the packet on the marble counter. He turns somber, looking at the cookies as if they contain his soul. “Here,” he addresses you after all this time with a smile. “I’m sorry for your loss, dear. Lavender lemon cookies, they were your mom’s favorite… Your dad’s too.” 

The sincerity in his expression makes your chest ache. He knows your parents, he knows what your mother likes and what your father does too. He knows them and is making an effort to acknowledge your dad… unlike the rest of the world. It’s uncharacteristic of you but you sigh with a wide smile, taking the older man into an embrace. 

It takes him by surprise, though, he’s the wiser to know this is a confused little girl that needs some comfort. He pats your head — throwing a look at Jaehyun, one which means more to the younger than intended — while wrapping his own arms around you before you ease out of it within seconds. Embarrassed by yet another public humiliation ritual of your own. 

“Thank you, Mr. Nix… we’ll see you soon.” 

He nods, perplexed by your response. A sheer layer of horror from what Jaehyun’s eyes tell him and for a second he could be confused with clairvoyant if he was to speak his mind. 

Too much affection in one gaze. Too much affection for too little time.

You attempt to flip through the package in the car while he drives to the flower shop you were meant to meet your sister. Albeit, the weight of the cookies in your palm is uncomfortable. The clear bag prickles your skin, unbearable like the touch of microfiber cloth with the exception in which you feel this ten times worse. They smell divinely, you’ll give them that but your mind gnaws with memories you’ve pushed away with this confection in particular. 

Jaehyun is considerate enough to not question it. While he loves to talk, he knows you don’t. The most he utters is: “We’re here.” while he parks the car, a pathetic side smile attempting to comfort you. You thank him regardless, he’s been good enough to sweet talk the directors while you examine what the plans included. 

He’s been company. Good enough company.

There’s only three times you’ve been inside of the flower shop. Once to buy your mother a bouquet for mother’s day that she hated with her entire soul. Second, for your parent’s fifteenth anniversary. And most recently for your mother’s funeral preparations. It’s comforting how nothing has changed besides seasonal flowers and plants.

Your sister doesn’t hesitate to greet him with a kiss when the threshold is crossed. Pushing you aside like any obstacle in her way. Lord only knows your state of mind for this act was comforting and familiar enough that you smile to yourself, something Jaehyun doesn’t miss.

They converse for the time being, you don’t waste time on flipping through the mangled pieces of funeral arrangement catalogs and looking around to find flowers. Some look too old and battered for the price and others are simply to ugly for an arrangement. Well… maybe your mom does deserve those.

You’re not too sure when Jaehyun had joined your side. You only recall your eyebrows knitting when he pointed at something in your pocket notebook. “You misspelled that.” He utters playfully and it bothers you beyond belief that you ripped off the page and begin from the top again while listing all the flowers you thought were good. He responds with nods and hums, similar to the ones you give your sister when she shows you flowers instead of her soon to be husband.

She doesn’t trust him. She doesn’t trust her soon to be husband.

The grating voice in the back of your head keeps gnawing at your brain, reaching your eye sockets and forcing your eyelids to bunch up together the louder your sister laughs with the clerk and Jaehyun’s voice rumbles against your ear drums. Incessant and miserable, yet, not comparable to the twinging screech of the credit card imprinter laughing at you for another failed attempt at maintaining the peace. 

Eyes wide open, your body abrasively turns to your sister and the clerk. Reaching them with three long strides while your eyes bore holes into the imprinter that’s full to the max with your father’s credit card. “What the hell?” It’s raw and vulnerable and so pathetic that you want to rip your hair out when all she musters is a pitiful mocking-faux-confused grin. 

“Why did you ask to meet here if you’re not even helping in finding flower arrangements for mom’s funeral?” Good, less whiny but still pathetic in everyone’s eyes. “Jaehyun is here for that.” She shrugs nonchalantly all the while she signs the receipt the clerk hands her. 

“What’s that for?” Jaehyun interjects in the conversation. His lips are puckered in a way you’ve never seen and his features are sharper than you’d ever imagine they could become. She dismisses him too. With a scoff this time to express her discontent and it makes you question many menial things that shouldn’t matter in this second. “Last minute additions, don’t worry.”

Jaehyun felt far more bothered than you’d think he’d be. Frustration carves itself on his face and for a second you believe the words spewing from his mouth would tattoo themselves onto his face. “We came to a deal that you’d stop spending on the wedding. It’s too near for you to spend willy-nilly when you should worry about your mother!” He does not intend to bawl, obvious by the red that tinges his ears. 

You don’t fall too behind, taking advantage of Jaehyun’s generosity knowing he’d back you up if things worsen. “We had a deal too. You can’t just spend dad’s money on things you don’t need anymore. The caterer was enough, Jesus Christ!” Her name teeters near the precipice of your tongue but that would humanize her too much. 

Bewilderment becomes her new acquaintance. Visibly upset at the turn of events that hold her words off in the back of her throat with a net of saliva too thick to swallow. Airy protests, the best she can utter before her body has mercy on her and she screeches, offendedly at the gang up she’s never experienced before. Only witnessed through your disadvantage.

“Well fucking sue me!” Her arms flail animatedly, harsh when they grace against both your arms ‘accidentally’. Her mouth is still puckered in offended disbelief showing more than her teeth— those gums she’s not fond of. “Fucking sue me for wanting a pretty wedding as a way to cope over mom being fucking dead!” And so bratty. “Cancel it! Cancel the transaction and take the stupid card if I’m such a burden to you two!”

How familiar, how comforting. It brings a smile to your face and your eyes close for a second. She truly is your mother’s daughter. Even in the way she runs out of the flower shop, crocodile tears staining her tulle scarf. 

Her theatrics force your head to shake with an eye roll as you sign the canceling transaction forms. The clerk is upset at the loss but very much entertained with Jaehyun’s dilemma. The man standing in the middle of the store with hands on his hips looking at the crystal door and seeing your sister hop inside the car. 

You don’t hear any crying, that’s something she still needs to learn to do. Cry loud enough to be heard from miles away to get her tantrum through. That’s what mom would do. 

“Lilies or peonies?” You ask the clerk, a contemplative look on her face. She thinks both are horrid but will offer you both to make up for the loss you caused. “Lavender,” Jaehyun answers for her. It shocks you that he’s still in here and not with your sister. No, it upsets you that he’s still here. With you and not her. 

“She hated lavender.” You deny confidently, that is the one thing you’re sure about your mother. He’s kind and gentle, at least his smile is when he attempts to correct you. “She always bought lavender stocks. Said they were the most delicious thing she’s ever known to exist.” It’s a fond memory of his. “Mr. Nix is right. She loved lavender lemon cookies.” 

His stupid chuckle was the lowest blow, not even the way his eyes narrowed pissed you off more than his stupid affectionate tone. And if he had doubts that you were your mothers daughter and his fiancee's sister, he’d be reassured you are with the way you shut the dingy catalogs and shove your pocket notebook into your purse. Brashly walking out of that overbearing floral shop. 

Jaehyun is sweet. He’s kind and patient. He’s understanding, putting his incessant vice of speaking behind to let you think in peace. His glances don’t go unnoticed by you and you don’t know how to take it. His presence annoys you but it’s also very comforting that you don’t know how you’d handle these preparations without his support. It’s a game of push and pull where you’re the only one playing at his expense and he’s still there. Stuck with nostalgia over things you don’t recall.

“Do you remember Karla Morris?” “That’s not a real person.” “I know.” Jaehyun turns to you at a stop light, laughing at your attempt to emulate him. You smile at him flatly which is good enough for him to know you’re feeling better. 

“I want to eat dinner with my dad tonight.” Jaehyun nods, taking a right. “I do too. We’ll pick something up on the way.” He quickly adds before you push him away. So little time and he knows your habits already. Allowing the word ‘alone’ to die in the cavity of your mouth and expel through a sigh that draws you towards the lavender lemon cookies on your lap. Your fingers shiver with a need to crush each one inside the bag.

“She hated lavender lemon cookies. She made it a mission to remind me every day after she spat out the ones I made for her.” A frown tugs at your lips, received with neutral understanding. “Said it tasted like stale soap.” Your chuckle must’ve been so bitter that his hand lands on yours, letting one of the cookies crack underneath the weight.

“How long ago was that?” “I was twelve.” “How old are you now?”

Like clockwork, your neck cranes slowly. Eyes narrowed in a mix of disdain and playfulness. “I know what you’re doing.” You crack a smile, annoyed but amused. Irritated but surprisingly endeared. He laughs louder than before, his smile as big as when you first met him. 

“Minds change, people change, taste buds too… maybe consider it.” It’s so easy for him to say that it reminds you why his presence irritates you so much. He’s sweet, kind, and patient. Then he speaks and it’s a giveaway that he doesn’t understand. Not the way you want him to. 

Your mother never changes. She was adamant in drilling that through everyone's head. Boasting and celebrating when she had heard a song the previous year that resonated with her about nothing being able to change her.

“Who cares what I do and say. I’m this way and I’ll never change.”

Your mother is two sides of the same coin that you and Jaehyun share with the exception that you’ll always be on the losing end when it comes to flipping it. Jaehyun understands when to step down but he doesn’t understand what it is to be your mother’s child. Let alone her oldest daughter.

Wednesday: Condescension

“Hey! Settle in, dad is watching TV. I’ll be in the kitchen with Mrs. Mimi for a bit.” 

The house is livelier than Jaehyun recalls. His last visit was the day your mother was taken away and the color had been drained from every wall in this vicinity. Now it’s warm and homey again like Christmas Eve. You as well, he blindly believes. Your inviting smile lures him into a reality where nothing life altering has happened. A smile he remembers vividly on a thirteen year old Y/n, as foreign it is to you now.

He knows this house like the back of his hand and when he reaches your father there’s a serenity to his face that calms Jaehyun further. Your mother’s portraits are soft again and there’s noise in the house. So much noise that makes Jaehyun want to sigh in relief. Things are normal again! Please be normal again…

Rek is next to your dad’s recliner chair, grumbling when he smells Jaehyun. He wasn’t familiar with Mrs. Mimi nor her dog but he often left treats for it outside the front door per request from your dad. Your mother hated it and through the pet, Jaehyun could taste the demise you’ve known for longer. One crack on the wall doesn’t always bring it down.

Catalogs are scattered across the rug, TV’s reflection on the worn out glossy covers. Neither speak for what feels like an eternity after greetings, entertained with their own fixations. Your father mimicked the dog’s complaints with everything wrong from last year's F1 championship results. He hated every single driver and team but his hate watch was more entertaining.

“Y/n, your boyfriend is on screen.” He calls over when the rerun for the Portugal Grand Prix began. “Y/n likes Nigel Mansell.” Your father clears it with Jaehyun as if it was meant to bother the younger. Jaehyun smiles cluelessly, “He’s not very good.” Your dad whispers, you still hear him. “He lost the championship by two points, don’t be like that.” You defend in a whine and Jaehyun understands now why your father would try to clear things up with him.

“He’s too old for you.” “He’s only five years older.” “Well he looks too old.”

Your dad’s quibble is comedic and protective; Jaehyun scowls, confused on how this man was anywhere near both your ages when he looked to be nearing your father’s age. Happy on the podium with his trophy and champagne on hand looking in his 40s, only thirty-three.

It’s all forgotten when you lie besides him on the floor, flipping through worn out catalog pages and jotting down notes. It’s a different notebook now. This one is in brown leather and binder rings in the middle. Loose pages of paper, cards, and receipts in every pocket. Occasionally you’ll make a wrong move that makes many of those scrap pages slip out. From that he’s seen a few words that he doesn’t think he’s meant to see. It’s the most he’s received to be filled in on your life. 

Now he knows you like a daily Dunkin’. You frequent the movie theater six times a week (one singular ticket with a large drink), spend too much at Tower Records, and hate going to the mall but love to watch people. "Pathetic, solitary, weird, but real.” as it read from the back of a dirty Pretzel Peddler receipt.

You don’t ask him for input on the flower arrangements. Both of you working in silence with a few glances from your dad here and there. Jaehyun himself flips through catalogs, reading everything you jot down without finding your notes useful. 

While prices and deals claim your focus, Jaehyun’s is taken by the symbolism of even the smallest flower he can find. You’ve chosen pre-made arrangements and wreaths, all white and boring. His lips twist in a disappointed scowl that lets it pass while he circles the things he likes. 

He doesn’t stop your robotics until you pull out the order form. Sliding closer to you with urgency, gripping your hand to not continue. “Those are nice, yeah. But… here,” he points at the first flowers he marked. “Your mom got a kick out of pulling little pranks. Laughing when the kids that set off car alarms were zapped every time they attempted to ding-dong-ditch. Geraniums, for happiness, joy.” 

There, that fondness is again. The one that laughs at you for not knowing small things. Reinforced when your dad lets out a sly chuckle himself, shaking his head at a memory you’re fabricating in your head. 

“I think if we add purple Morning Glories for happiness, blue Day lilies that have represented mothers since the Tang Dynasty and white Lilies and Roses like you originally planned then we’d have good arrangements with a message.” 

Jaehyun is ecstatic, the twinkle in his eyes tell you he means no malice but the seed that your mother planted whispers in your ear that he’s doing it for the same reasons little kids that like to gloat speak about their vacation trips and birthday presents.

Words tussle among themselves in your mouth, fighting to see in which tone they will leave and whether they’ll be harsh or not. Shaky as they come, rattling every tooth in your mouth, “Too colorful, no? She hated blue.” So matter-of-factly that makes Jaehyun smile politely knowing he’s going to correct you.

“She loved blue. Wore it daily after that blue dress you had for our silver anniversary.” Your dad kindly recalls the memory. 

The same blue dress she called you a doxy for. 

Jaehyun’s twinkle dies when he turns to you. He can’t see your eyes but feels the heat from your body radiate. “Okay, write them down.” You push the form and pen his way, taking the unopened catalogs. “And add Petunias in there.” He doesn’t question the finality, not the significance. It’s the least he can do.

Mrs. Mimi calls for everyone, dinner was ready despite it being four in the afternoon. Your father is the most eager, cackling like he hasn’t since the doomed day. It’s nice enough to kill it with your questions. 

“Dad? Did mom really like lavender?” Sheepish and childlike, memories that are not strong enough to dwindle the ache in his chest. He turns to you, forcing a smile with his nod. “Yes… everyone that wanted her knew lavenders were her favorites. They’d give these huge bouquets that would make her sneeze. I always gave her the smallest ones, she said it was the perfect amount every time.” He laughs, ignoring your stare to let the fond memories flow. “She would make lavender lemon cookies with them. Your grandma, though, hated them. Spat them out every time there was any and called them soap.” He shakes his head frantically, more so to avoid the guilt from your glazing eyes.

Forsaken with the clicking of keys when your sister opens the front door. 

Dinner goes as expected, silent besides the blaring voice of your sister talking about her wedding. Mrs. Mimi is the only one to ask questions and Jaehyun gives polite smiles and nods to your sister for reassurance. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about but this makes her happy.

Your dad on the other hand had reverted to the state you saw him when you first arrived. Eating slowly while you flip through JCPenny catalogs for the outfit your mother was to choose. Everything is horrendous and overpriced, choosing whatever looks the most appropriate. 

“That’s hideous, Y/n. Don’t do that.” Your sister cuts off her wedding talk, projecting a disgusted face at the white dress you had circled. You had drowned out her voice for the past hour that it startled you to be acknowledged. The deer-in-headlights look like you gave her only forcing a scoff to leave. Snatching the catalog from your hands and sliding it her way. 

Disgusted, she’s not shy about it with every flip of the page. Sly comments here and there while Jaehyun whispers that it’s unnecessary. “No, mom would rather die again than be seen wearing these.” She pettishly wails, the same offended look from yesterday. When Jaehyun turns quiet and your dad stops eating, she halts her own actions knowing it may have been tone deaf.

“Silly sis…” She giggles. “I’m just saying that if you had stayed you’d know she wasn’t a fan of simple but not quite flashy.” No matter how sugar sweet her voice is, the patronizing doesn’t quaver. She gives you the smile she uses to calm down Jaehyun with no effect at all on you. 

“Fine, you choose that and let me choose the jewelry from her box before you keep them, yeah?” You try to reason, sighing exhaustively with your fingers raking through your tousled hair. And if the clothes were bad, the mention of jewelry was far worse. 

“What?! No! No, no.” She laughs off her feelings, nervous with the confused looks that even Mrs. Mimi is giving her now. It’s awkward and tense but she can’t believe this is being said to her. “No, I just think it’s dangerous. It’s going to be an open casket service and with how the family has been acting…” Her head bobbles with the insinuation. She’s right but you also know her and you know she’s full of shit. “I think it’s best that she doesn’t take anything. Free of worry for everyone and she can rest without having to think of grave thieves as well.” 

You’d think she made a great point with the self reassured nod she gives, looking at her fiance to make sure he’s following her drift but turns to your father angrily when Jaehyun glares at her. Something she hasn’t seen since you arrived. Your dad on the other hand avoids her gaze the way he avoided yours.

He’s always been cowardly.

“You won’t even let her take her daily wear? Not her ring and earrings, at least?” The disbelief in your voice irks her, annoyed that your voice sounds as patronizing as hers when addressing you. You’ve overstayed your time and if it wasn’t for the funeral planning she would’ve kicked you out like your mother times past. No, she simply sighs, and shakes her head with a faux pensive look on her face.

“I want to wear them for my wedding—” “You have two large jewelry boxes for that.” “Something borrowed… something old, something new, something blue. The daily fits all the marks.”

No she wasn’t going to give her jewelry to be buried six feet underground. Who is she to let good jewelry corrode for no one to see?

Your mother’s favorite daughter.

“If you see fit…” Your father answers before you can, eyes glued to the dog that silently wails in pain for reasons unknown to you all. “Dad… she loved those earrings.” You try to reason, begging in silence for him to look at you. To look at you when you’re speaking, for fucks sake!

He’s not strong enough for that. He’s never been strong for anything related to your mother. Mustering only the art of shaking his hand to settle things down. “It would be lovely to see either of you wear them… It so happens your mother wants her to have them. They are hers now to decide their faith.” The heaviness of his voice is heartbreaking and it turns your mind to sludge. The toxic kind that evaporates and poisons the entire universe if it’s let out. Like fungal spores.

“Even dad knows best.” Your sister throws the rock that decidedly let out that venom and for their own good you shake your own thoughts away, fingernails clinging to the cushion as you push your chair away. Your father’s disappointment on your sister matters no more, he still made his choice to enable her choices. He’s a coward as much as Jaehyun that only offers apologetic looks.

“Yes… Excuse me then, I’ll go make some calls.” You utter with your father’s monotonous voice. He winces hearing the similarities and the sound of your steps. A coward. He knows he’s a coward but will do nothing about it. He’s lived too long this way.

You don’t know how long time passes, all you know is your nose won’t stop being stuffy and your eyes are trying to force out tears that won’t come. Making you feel like the worst daughter to ever exist. 

It’s useless to try to cry, groaning out of frustration and taking the pack of cigarettes you bought a few days ago when you felt the same way. Making your way out your room to chip a piece of paint from your mother’s hallway portraits on the way downstairs towards the backyard. 

A fluorescent blue that was always calming as a child illuminates the pool. Moonlight makes it more soothing and it reminds you of the times you spent your summers as toddlers swimming with your sister and father at night because that’s the only times you'd see him in those days. 

The days when your sister inherently loved you. 

The memory fades away with the smoke you exhale, trying to cling with no avail after the sigh that follows right after.

“Mind if I have one?” Jaehyun’s soothingly grating voice cranes your neck. The sound of the sliding doors keeps you grounded. Tossing the box his way to catch, with a box of matches. He manages to catch the larger box while the matches recoil in his grasp, jumping into the pool. 

A bummer, you really liked the iconography in the back.

“Sorry…” He sighs, scolded with the look you give him when you stand up from your crouching position. Connecting your lit cigarette with his. The proximity to his face lets you see the small details you hadn’t noticed this entire time. His eyes are darker than you remember. They’re nice, they’re warm. You like them…

Jaehyun had been inhaling deeply during the transaction, heavily letting it out in the form of smoke when he thanked you. A good distance between you both that transcends into a comfortable silence; cigarettes racing among each other to see which one burns the fastest. 

Ironically, his does, leaving him with nothing else to concentrate on besides what he has been thinking about telling you all afternoon. He licks his lower lip, looking between you, the conch shell ashtray that looks too familiar, the pool, and you again. His eyes tracing over that pattern to put off the remaining bud. 

“I’ll talk to her. About the jewelry. Don’t worry.” He nods like he’s doing you a favor. The last bit of cigarette burning away with the stare you give him. Exuding energy that makes your cigarette burn faster and force the smoke to frantically leave. 

“Can we not?” Irritated was the tone of your voice that made him wince and cower away. “I’m sorry.” He offers and he truly is but the awkwardness eats him away. He’s like a child trying to bond with their cool older neighbor that pays them no mind and finds them annoying.

“Everyone just seems to know her more than I do, it’s pathetic.” You derail, it’s whiny and peevish like your sister’s tone. “Does it fully bother you?” He questions, weighing the similarities. “It does for now but I think once I go back, I won’t care again.” Your lips purse, humming contemplatively. He mimics yours expressions and sounds, nodding as a difference. “Count your days then.”

Not much has made you laugh but this does, showing him a smile he hasn’t seen in days. “It sounds like a threat.” You joke, he follows with a chuckle and a grin, “It is. But a threat to not think too much about it.” 

He knows how to kill the mood.

“It’s my mom’s funeral, how can I not?” You’re irked. He knows he’s irked you once again and he yearns to know when he should stop. It’s overbearing and tiring for him to keep fucking up but he doesn’t know when to stop talking. 

“I didn't mean it like that, I’m sorry… That was too aloof on my part, I'm sorry.” He begs, eyebrows knitted looking at you. His eyes are still dark but hurt unlike earlier.

“I don't know how to take it either, Jaehyun.” You grumble, standing up from your spot, putting the cigarette bud off on the delicate shell that cracks with the heat. The silence surrounding both isn’t comfortable like it was only a few minutes ago. It’s tense and intoxicating, filling his lungs with tar making them heavy and he knows he can’t stay here for longer.

“Her wedding outfit. What she was going to wear for our wedding. You should choose that.” It sounds strange, ‘our wedding’ like he’s talking about his and your wedding not his and your sister’s wedding. You go stiff at the thought, it’s too intimate and immoral. It’s you now that needs to get out of there before you let the repression do or say anything stupid. 

Your hands tingle when they clasp onto the sliding door handle, his gaze on your turned back holding you in place. You’re sure neither of you know what either want but whatever you’re feeling shouldn’t be there. A goodnight is polite, better than bye yet neither wants to leave your cold lips aching for warmth. No, rather you slide the door open leaving him behind.

Between your own, your mother’s ghost’s, and your father’s judgment the heaviness persists the longer the older man looks at you without speaking. He’s looking at you. He’s finally looking at you directly in the eyes with a distraught disappointment as if he knows what you’re thinking. There he knew you’re also your father’s daughter. Cowering away from anything remotely complicated. The words evident in the harsh smoke of your father’s own cigar when walking past him.

Thursday: Pathetic

Jaehyun hadn’t mentioned anything from the previous night when he came around to pick you up. Your father hadn’t either, not like he would anyways. Mrs. Mimi had let Jaehyun in, forcing him to eat breakfast with the rest of you while Rek growled at him anytime he got near you to speak. The dog truly was not fond of him for whatever reason which wounded Jaehyun and confused you. Your father didn’t voice it but thought the dog was too perspective for either of you. The boundary that separates it all.

But Rek wasn’t here with you two at the funeral home, listening to the radio that gets drawn out by Mr. Nix and Jaehyun as they speak about the weather while you flip through the order forms to make sure everything is correct. 

You nitpick at everything. From Jaehyun’s horrible chicken scratch handwriting to the awkward paint chips on the decor. Similar enough and in places that resemble the ones you’ve made on your mother’s portraits around the house these past days.

“Lavender and Lilies… that’s lovely… your mother would’ve loved it.” Mr. Nix’s soothing voice attracts your attention, craning your neck to see him reading the order form still in your hands. 

He smiles widely, laughing quietly until it turns into a sob upon sensing your eyes on him. It’s startling, feeling like a bubble for only you two being created. Jaehyun was no longer anywhere in sight and the doorbells by the backdoor kept ringing melodiously. You’ve never been great in these situations. 

Comfort was only granted by coworkers after you got scolded for a mistake, none very genuine. Or by strangers who wanted the feel of one night with you. Mr. Nix wants nothing of that sort from you, you’re not even sure if he wants comfort with the way his smile tries to not seize. 

“I loved your mother, you know. She was my first love and I want to think I was hers too.” He sniffles, a handkerchief in his hand that you never saw him take out. “Of course she would say your father was but she had been choosing between the two before going steady with either.” He nods as if it was common sense. You knew your mother loved your father but she could have loved him as much as you with the way she took her hatred out on him when you weren’t around.

“Your grandmother never liked me. Not sure why but she just didn't.” He shrugs, lips pursed in surrender. “Your mother would say it was because I made her happy and it’s something your grandmother didn't like. I could see that.”

Oh.

The apple was rotten right to the core from all those that came before. 

“I don’t know when it happened but suddenly the next thing I knew about your mother was that she was getting married to your father. That sent me into a spiral and when I returned from my breakdown trip, you were already here.” Melancholy floods those poor foggy eyes, cataracts forming from pain. He looks at you for longer than you’d like, sensing his desire to know what floods your mind but you’re as hard to read as your mother was, eliciting a chuckle. 

“I gave her one last call to ask how labor had been, to make sure she was fine and when you cried, we both said our goodbyes. We knew that was it. Y/n, that’s the name we’d give a girl if we ever had one.” 

There’s no more wonder why Jaehyun and Mr. Nix get along so well, both are horrendous at keeping to themselves and both know how to irk your nerves beyond belief. 

Maybe this is why your mother chose your mousy father rather than this chatterbox.

Regret floods Mr. Nix at your perpetual silence and where he hadn’t been able to tell what you were feeling earlier, he could feel your frustrated disgust concentrated in the blank look. It’s warm, piercing, and as painful as the ones your mother would give him. 

You’re just like her.

Mr. Nix sighs, gaze dropping with a final sigh, “Congratulations on your wedding, dear. Jaehyun cares for you deeply. Trust me…” It dawns upon you that Mr. Nix thought you’re the one marrying Jaehyun. It brings that similar pit in your stomach from last night. 

‘Our wedding.’

Yours and Jaehyun’s. Not your sisters and Jaehyun’s.

Every bone in your body attempts to not combust into powder. Neurons arguing among themselves on how to respond or if to ignore him. He’s added damage to your perception of your mother, you’re not too sure he’s deserving of any more socially appropriate politeness.

The backdoor bells ring, blaring content for what is being brewed in this room. It’s uncomfortable, disgustingly sticky tension the while you look at Mr. Nix and he looks back at you with confusion and somewhat freight. Eerie how similar you resemble your mother. 

“Ready to go? Apparently your sister wants me to pick up the veil.” Jaehyun sighs looking at his pager, the TV guide in his hand crumpled with burnt edges. He had been clenching to it as he smoked one of your cigarettes.

“Yes,” You tear your gaze from the older of the three, he releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. Glad this easy solution rids him of the painstaking sharp stab in his chest. “Mr. Nix wanted to congratulate us.” You add, turning back to him.

“On?” Jaehyun quizzically questions, “Your wedding, consider all of this my wedding gift for you both and… for your mother.” Mr. Nix turns back to you, a polite apologetic smile for what he has dumped. 

Neither you or Jaehyun correct him, the latter thanking him with a hug while you wait by the door for him. He doesn’t speak to you the entirety of the car ride to the bridal shop. Perhaps he’s angry you didn’t correct Mr. Nix but neither did he so it’s much his fault as it is yours. Or perhaps he’s grown tired of your hot and cold behavior with the slightest inconvenience. 

Regardless, it’s not for him to care how you react nor do you care.

“Why didn’t you correct him?” He sighs, looking forward. He has that same sunken look he had given your sister last night. You don’t think it’s comparable. In no form is your sister priving your mother of the luxury she grew to know to you not correcting your mother’s old flame about who Jaehyun was to marry. If it mattered that much to him, then he shouldn’t have enabled the old man with a cheery smile and a hug. 

You still can’t fathom that he thought you and Jaehyun were the ones getting married. Are you not obvious with how little comfort you find in Jaehyun? Is it not obvious that you can barely stand him? Or is your solitude too grand that people find it a breath of fresh air that someone like Jaehyun floods your vicinity with his polite affection and caring nagging? As if he’s doing you a favor.

Pathetic is what you are seen as in everyone’s eyes. Even Jaehyun's, it seems.

“I’m not the one getting married. You are.”

Friday: Has killed you

It’s filthy, disgusting, and shameful. The wake, everything is beautifully decorated, making you forget it's a funeral, save for the countless pictures of your mother and weeping crowd. You're not sure they're sincere but it makes your father feel calm seeing the masses of people approach the casket. "She's loved." He fondly claims, a sadden smile plastered on his face.

You don't have the heart nor will to remind him that they're all here for appearances and in hopes of taking more things once home. Maybe that's the pessimist in you who cannot fathom your mother being genuinely adored. The words affection and mother are foreign to each other in your mind.

Besides your aunts, sister — surprising despite her indifference this entire week—, and Mr. Nix, you don't hear much wailing. Your father is holding his breath to not shatter in front of all these people.

Chatter from one end to the other, mostly prayer. A part of you feels envious of their ability to let everything out. Why is it that you have to suffer with the weight of your unexplored emotions? Leaving you to dry heave or tear at your hair when nothing expels. Why is it so easy for everyone else to let things go?

Jaehyun's persistent staring doesn't make it any easier. He's made it a mission to fly around you like a hungry vulture waiting for its prey to finally give out and then consume.

Surely, he's not. He's making sure you're doing fine, keeping an eye on you but Lord, do you fucking loathe it. You don't understand it, would be a better descriptor, but it irritates you that he cares so much that you can't fathom any other emotion but dislike.

Perhaps what makes it worse is that your sister is there by his side, every second. You reckon you could handle it if it was just him. After all, this isn't the first time he's kept a watchful eye on you. He's done it the entire week, it just feels too real today out of all days.

Everything is felt too deeply. Today.

Tomorrow is your sister's wedding. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Tomorrow is meant to be happy and full of love. But today has killed you. Today has killed any positive perception of those around. It has killed your sensibility and everything is nothing but a shit show. A shit show like Jaehyun described when reconnecting.

Fuck, even that bothers you.

He talks and talks and talks about something that happened before college that you have no prior memory of. The people he mentions, the events, the laughter, the year. You don't remember anything prior to getting a bachelors, how is it that this stranger that is marrying your sister knows more about your life than you do?

How does he know more about your mother than you?

"Y/n!"

Embarrassing. Zoning out in your mother's funeral service.

Mrs. Mimi, the much perceptive, gives you a pitiful smile, hand to your shoulder to hand you a warm Dixie cup. Your head's attempt to shake is futile, the muscles of your neck refuse to move. 

"You look tired,"

"More like sickly." Your sister interrupts. Jaehyun looks down at her with furrowed eyebrows to scold. "Drink it, ‘should give you some energy." Mrs. Mimi pushes the cup further into your hand. It's warm and comforting in a sense you haven't experienced.

Despite the bitter taste of ginger and apples in the tea, you drink it. It brings no energy boost, rather it makes you more sleepy but she had all the intention to make you feel better and that keeps you up for longer.

A mother. At least that is what you think a mother should do and Mrs. Mimi was a wonderful mother. Even to those she did not birth.

"Do you remember Jo Josephine?" Jaehyun utters, leaning into you. You hadn't realized when he had sat beside you or when you had been ushered onto a chair.

"No." "No? Really?"

The surprise in his tone doesn't go overlooked. He tends to hum when you respond as such but not this time.

"She was your friend. Always wore a huge gardener hat and gloves with bee print." He chuckles, a surprised chuckle. "Yeah?" You hum, dazed. Well maybe the tea was effective in relaxing your senses. "No, I don't remember any of my friends. It's been too long since I saw any of them." You shrug, the nonchalance in your tone worrying Jaehyun.

Per usual, Jaehyun goes on a tangent about something you don't recall. You've learned to drown his voice out. Muffled in the sea of weeps, his laughter the only outlier that doesn't last long. Another voice joins him but you're too busy with the liquid in your cup to care for what they ought to say.

There's some liquid in the cup. Enough to submerge the small cubes of ginger and apples but cold against your tongue. You swivel around the cup, making it colder. For a part of you longs to be in their place than here. Swimming in a pool of cold water with no preoccupation of the outside world. Being inanimate sounds desirable.

"Y/n!"

It's that same incessant call from earlier. This time you're able to pin it to your sister that looks at you far more annoyed. She grumbles under her breath about something you don't care to hear as Mr. Nix gives you that same pitiful smile Mrs. Mimi had given you. It'd be ironic if he was to give you some tea as well.

"Carriage and burial space is ready to transfer your mother's body." He meekly comments, he's as stuffy as your sister had been. Mustering a nod, you stand up from your spot, not noticing Jaehyun's help when standing up. His hand feels warm against the small of your back.

A huge part of you wants to blame your disconnect with whatever Mrs. Mimi had given you. One second you were standing up at the funeral home giving Jaehyun a long look that for once made your sister quizzical and upset while his hand remained on you and the next you're watching how roses are being tossed over your mother’s casket as Jaehyun ushers you into Mrs. Mimi's car.

The priest's prayer had been the only thing you remember vividly. Reciting every word in hushed murmurs — drowned by the cackling and chattering in the other rooms of the house — while serving coffee into Dixie cups. Mrs. Mimi often tries to take the tray away from your hands and Rek to absorb all of your attention. Both fail miserably.

Jaehyun hadn't stopped looking your way. He tries what Mrs. Mimi and her dog do but he's received harshly. Rather, you send him to make sure no one tries to take anything else or go upstairs to bother your exhausted father, hidden away in his bedroom. The masses of people downstairs and their brewing questions had kept him awake all night.

Your sister? Doing what your mother would have done. Entertain and please the guests. She's your mother's favorite for a reason.

By 20:00 when your mother had passed, she led the novena prayer. The only moment of silence and unity you felt among your extended family and for a second you believed there could be some good in these people.

Of course by 21:03 when prayer was done and they reverted to their constant chatter about stories of old regarding your mother, that serenity left your body once more.

It's outstanding how these memories sound so loving and nurturing. Something you can't recall from your mother. They laugh and cackle about her scoldings. How she'd yell at them for running inside the house, wet from the pool. But it was you that had to clean the entire house right after. It was you that had to make sure there was no chlorine smell left behind.

Your cousins laugh about the time they had attempted to smash your face on your 8th birthday cake but she had told them to not be rude. She had done it. She had smashed your face on that cake and it was difficult to rid away the smell of artificial strawberries from your nose after the jam had gone too far up. The cake was destroyed and they had all gotten upset at you. You never had a party after that. It's been twenty years.

Or the story your aunt is on and on about now. She had gotten so upset at your mother for not letting her borrow grandma's gold bangles for clubbing that she bent them without anyone knowing. Your mom had blamed you for it a week later after making you get them for her in hopes to wear them for a PTA meeting. Your sister's pet at the time had gotten in your way and to avoid stepping on it, you fell. She chalked it up to that and left you to do chores for your aunt an entire week.

There's no way your sensibility can return when all these funny and fond memories of your mother came at your expense and none of them care. None of them will ever care.

You can't take it anymore, rushing upstairs into your room to hide away. You can't say you feel saddened. You do feel a raging heat in your chest that attempts for you to bring your fists hard at your thighs to release it.

The intruder in your room doesn't let that happen. It surprises and annoys you at the same time seeing them there. On your bed with hands on their head while weeping harder than the wailing in public earlier today.

"I'm sorry, my room was locked." Your sister sniffles, slowly turning to look at you. There's a horrific sincerity in her voice that you're not used to. A frame rests on her lap, jittering with her legs.

Your silence draws her attention, handing you the frame while tears flood her waterline. It's a picture of your mother with the both of you. Quite honestly, you don't remember this. It's surprising to see your mother this affectionate with you. Arms encircling your waist and kissing your face.

"Grandma's funeral trip. We went to the lake on the way home, remember?" She questions, blowing her nose. You shake your head, standing straight. You hadn't attempted to take the frame from her hand. You're sure it would leave a branding on your palm, there's no way this is real.

The look in her eye is similar to the one Jaehyun gives you when you don't remember what he's talking about. Although, his is more comprehensive and patient.

"You don't remember this at all?" She asks, taken aback. You want to lie and say you do but knowing who she's marrying, she will just ask follow up questions too. "No." She scoffs in disbelief, swallows it before blinking rapidly. Patient, that's new.

"Mom was ecstatic that week. Rejoicing that the witch was dead and no one would torment her anymore. She treated you better than me for an entire month. Do you not remember that?" She prods, placing the frame on your bed.

You shake your head, she can only laugh. "What has she done to you…" She sighs to herself. She had heard in college about trauma causing memory loss but she had never guessed your mother had been that harsh for you to repress everything. Maybe she just hadn't seen her worse but you can't tell her either. You don't remember, after all.

"Would you be a stand-in for her tomorrow?" She questions meekly. You want to say no, to tell her you would rather miss the wedding at this point but she gives you no chance. "Please?" Her voice wavers, lips quiver. Here come the waterworks.

"I don't know about you, Y/n. But I miss mom so dearly and not having her on the day she was looking forward to is—" She sobs, covering her mouth with the frame, lips falling over your mother.

"Why not ask one of our aunts?" Your voice is hoarse. She shakes her head, pursed lips in disgust. "I'm not letting those hags get their hands on mom's jewelry. You heard them, yeah? Worms for brains all of them." She scoffs before releasing a forlorn sigh.

"Dad doesn't want to look at you because you look so much like mom today." She confesses. It would explain why he's avoided you. "You're even wearing the dress she wore for grandma's funeral." She tries to laugh yet it comes out as a shaky sob. 

"Mrs. Mimi left it out for me…" You defend, she shrugs. "I told her to." She shrugs again like it was the most sane thing to do. You're not sure how to take this. On one hand it seems like psychological warfare on your father — cruel on her part even if she doesn't see it — and on the other, it's the closest you'll be to your mother.

"You look so much like her. More than I do… It would bring peace to me if you were her stand in." She breathes deeply and exhales heavily. She's trying to seem relaxed before breaking into yet another sob. The one that makes her entire body shake and fall onto your bed, clutching onto the frame that's now against her chest.

"I didn't want her to take her daily stack so you could wear it… Not because I'm that much of a heartless bitch, Y/n. I loved mom." She cries some more. 

It’s rich, considering she said she wanted to wear it for her wedding. Whether you believe either version or not, doesn’t matter. Not when she hugs you in hopes it digs your heels deeper. It's stale and awkward but she revels in it, hiding in the crook of your neck as she cries harder.

"You smell like mom too." She wants to confess, but she knows it would drive you away. She'll take what she can get before you leave them all once again.

"Will you?" She voices, pulling away. "I don't w— don’t know." You don't want to. She knows it. 

"Why are you like this?" The question everyone has meant to ask. "Like?" Your indifferent confusion bothers her further.

"You're like a doll that gains consciousness for a certain amount of time and then you're… a doll again. Quiet, clueless, awkward. No offense, sissy. It's just… not what I remember you as at all." There's a sigh stuck in her chest, it clamps around her lungs but it refuses to leave. There's a sincere worry in her voice that makes your own set beliefs waver but you won't break that wall just yet.

You shrug. Slow and unsure of what to say. "It worries Jaehyun more than it should." The bite in her words will go ignored, you're having a relatively nice talk with her to let any animosity return.

"You don't remember him at all." Your head shakes as confirmation. "You don't even remember the projects you did with him." You shake your head again and it makes her want to hit it for the memories to return.

"I pray you learn to trust, have faith in both of us." She hugs you again. It's warm but empty. Mayhaps it's just you, unused to the affection and love of a sibling. Of a family member and if she meant trust in Jaehyun too, then you'll give it a chance for the warm feeling brewing in your heart.

"I'll do it… I'll be mom's stand-in." You relent. She smiles and cheers like there isn't a post burial get together downstairs. Like your mother isn't gone but everyone copes differently. You cope by not being able to cry and allowing everyone to walk all over you. 

On the way downstairs she rambles about what you can wear and the jewelry she had chosen. Nothing seems ideal nor your taste. It sounds redundant and weird in a sense that she's making you be so much like your mother.

Although, that's the whole point. Having your mother be at her wedding one way or another, no matter that your identity is being wiped. Like it would have been if your cousin hadn't opened her mouth about the wedding. You later found your mother had gotten that stinking infection from picking flowers with her. It's bizarre how a domino effect works.

It all muddles with the laughter of the guests, “Well to my sister! And to her lovely daughter, for juggling the stress of a wedding and grief to organize a beautiful burial for her mother.” The crowd turns to your sister as if they knew where she was immediately. Despite the streaks and puffiness she still looks ethereal and content with the recognition.

Right. Foolish of you to trust too easily.

She thanks them, hands to her heart and ignoring the side eye you give her. A look that begs her to correct them because truly she did jackshit for this funeral. This was so in character for her and you still fell. She'll cry and throw a tantrum until she gets what she wants while pretending like she did nothing for it.

She's your mother's daughter.

Unsure of when but the slight grin on your face unsettles her and it worsens when Jaehyun calls for the floor. He smiles and giggles, he's already so loved by the family.

"Thank you uncle, Carlo. Thank you as well my love for the suggestions but I do want to thank Y/n most of all for every single detail she gave into organizing this funeral." My love… so cold and unloving. It soothes you.

"For her delicacy in detail, to the meaning of the flowers, all the way down to her last outfit. Mrs. Y/l/n was a woman with a strong attitude who never took anything that did not cater to her. Therefore, knowing her, I'm sure she would love how today and the entire week was held in her honor. She would be proud."

Jaehyun's voice is so reassuring that it bothers you how much he believes it. It bothers you that everyone seems so surprised and taken aback. It bothers you that your sister seems slightly upset and weary. It bothers you that he thinks he did you a favor.

Yet it soothes you once more and your grin does not go overlooked. You're being recognized.

Guests leave shortly after. Jaehyun had made sure to kill their mood with mentions of you and for once you're openly thankful for his help despite knowing all he mentioned was thanks to him.

Mrs. Mimi and you had stayed to clean the house while your father had fallen asleep hours ago. Your sister made sure to give him his medication before she left. Despite the severity of this day's events, she was still going to celebrate her bachelorette party. Something some of your cousins and her friends threw on her behalf to rid of the sadness experienced. Of course, you don't receive an invitation.

It was just Mrs. Mimi, your father, you, and Jaehyun.

Jaehyun?

"You don't have a bachelor party or something?" You don't intend for it to come out irritated but Rek's wheezing seals the blow. "Ouch." Jaehyun laughs, attempting to pet the dog that growls at him to stay away. He frowns, furrowing his eyebrows before huffing.

"I'd rather make sure you— you're all doing good." Mrs. Mimi halts her scrubbing, sighing to herself before returning to the final dishes. "We're fine." You answer, aiding the older woman.

"Why aren't you with your sister? I thought you had left with them." "Wasn't invited."

Jaehyun stops drying the dishes you rinse, slowly turning to look at you. Musing similarly to when your sister refused to bury your mother in her daily wear jewelry.

"Mrs. Mimi, we got it from here. You should rest for tomorrow." Jaehyun diverts, upset settled in his voice despite his sweetness. The older of the three chuckles, shaking her head, handing the soap lathered cup to you. It's crowded near the sink and fairly humid but none of you would rather be anywhere else.

"Baby, I wasn't invited." It's infinitely hilarious to her. The angered looks and disgust in your faces. She's amused while Jaehyun tries to process it. "What? I asked her and she said she made sure to drop off your invite." He huffs and scoffs like a steam whistle from disbelief.

"You'll be my plus one, in that case!" It's so childlike that it makes Mrs. Mimi continue her laughter, scrubbing the last remaining plates. She shakes her head, wiping her hands on the tea towel. "No, don't worry. This week made me reflect and I'm going to visit my mother…" She sighs, nodding to herself before looking at you both.

Jaehyun wants to say something but he is not one to get between someone and their family so he relents as you do. "Sleep well then." He pouts, hugging her goodbye. She thanks him, patting his cheek to then hug you as well. It lingers and it's comforting to the point that you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach.

Her gaze travels between you and Jaehyun and you both know there are words lingering in mind that she dares not utter. Ultimately she sighs, nodding again before patting both your cheeks, struggling to get Rek out of the house due to his resistance.

Dogs are perspective and they can smell the dangers of the world miles away. He knows nothing good will brew tonight. He knew nothing good would come from you returning. Yet he still loves you more than anyone besides Mrs. Mimi. Just like your father.

Mrs. Mimi leaves with a whaling Rek trailing behind her. His cries are cautionary and she knows it. Uttering silent: "There's so much one can do, Rek." here and there. There's so many things amiss but like usual, you'll ignore anything perturbing you.

It's awkward for the remainder of the clean up. Jaehyun and you share some words but not full sentences. His glances are lesser than earlier but you can still feel them on you when he's not besides you. They're far more penetrating than your mothers and when midnight rolls around and you're both done, the only way to thank him is with a cold glass of wine on your mother's white rug.

You stumble taking a seat before him. Resting against the feet of the couch allows your muscles to relax and scream at you for all the tension you ignored this past week. It's painful to move and your lower back aches as it did when Jaehyun touched it earlier.

"Mom never allowed me to be here in fear of dirtying this rug." You smile fondly, you remember that much. "Now you're drinking red wine on it." He humors you, "Now I'm drinking red wine on it." You repeat, clinking your glasses so hard some wine does splatter onto your hands and the rug.

A rush of freight floods you but remembering where your mother was makes you relax, sharing a silent laugh with Jaehyun who's body shakes along yours with every sip. This is the most you've given him and he won't take it for granted.

"Why do you love my mom so much, Jaehyun?" You ask, the moonlight coming through the sliding doors. That beautiful blue reflecting off the pool into the living room, making you forget that the rug is not blue but white.

He swivels his glass much like you had in the morning. "I told you she's like a second mother to me. She was very nurturing and inviting when we first started dating. Always made me feel like I belonged and it reminded me of my mom." He smiles fondly, "My mom lives too far and I'm not even sure if she'll be here for the wedding." He laughs, "I hope she’s not..."

Huh?...

"Why are you even getting married on Valentine's Day anyway? Isn't it corny?" You attempt to steer the conversation astray. If you think too much about your mother and his words, you may turn into her and wreak havoc on Jaehyun. He doesn't deserve it despite your (un)justly targeted rage.

"It's my birthday." He smiles fondly, his lips stained red. "We met on Valentine's Day." He laughs quietly; his neck must ache from resting against the coffee table. You yourself don't find any humor in the statement. "I guess it was meant for you and her to get married." A horrible despondency in your voice that you regret.

"I meant you and I, Y/n."

You look up at him, confused and somewhat appalled. How corny.

"You don't have to tell me you don't remember, I get it now." He laughs, "Year seven, had just moved here and we had that awful arts class. The one with the loony teacher that spoke about health while smoking cigarettes behind the gym."

You laugh, yet you don't remember.

"Our task was to make Valentine's Day cards for our desk mates. I told you it was my birthday too and you wrote: ‘Happy lover boy day. Love was meant to be in your life.’" There's a certain fondness in his voice that makes you believe it. The detail to his description sounds cliche, something you most definitely had in mind back then.

"Now I illustrate greeting cards for a living." Your laughter fuels Jaehyun's sooner than you thought, his body was next to yours now. His neck resting on the cushion of the couch. "I know. Your dad has a great collection of them. I do too..." Truly, Jaehyun confuses you. You won't dwell on that now, it's not worth it.

Whether it's only a second or an hour, neither of you tear each other's gaze away. His eyes intent on your own, examining every speck of color and the way your pupils dilate, as his do.

"Why don't you remember anything I tell you about?" He questions sincerely, no judgment in comparison to your sister. You shrug, "I don't know. I… don't remember anything from then or you." Jaehyun doesn't respond, staring at you for an answer he won't get. "And you? What do you remember of me?" 

He hesitates, sighing deeply. "You used to be much more jolly than you are now."

That is not what you expected.

"Why do you dislike your mom, Y/n?" He gets comfortable beside you. His glass knocking against your empty one. You can smell the sweet tones of wine in his breath, signaling how uncomfortably close he is.

"I… I don't know…" It's meek and raw, the child in you coming out. "I don't know why she hated me." His expression doesn't change, only do his fingers come to comb away your hair.

"Ever since I can remember she cared more for others and my sister than me. She treated my cousins like hers but me like a beggar." Your grip on the glass tightens, knocking it against Jaehyun's this time.

"One mistake and I was yelled at or she'd ignore me for weeks on end. Then I left for college when she didn't want me to and it became worse… The last time I saw her was for her and dad's anniversary two years ago and she—" The words get stuck in your throat, as if you're to cry.

"She woke me up in the middle of the night, on grandma's birthday — she had been dead for years now — to tell me she hated me… Never knew why… But, yesterday Mr. Nix confessed him and mom dated. That grandma hated him for making mom happy and it clicked. I guess, it's hereditary to hate your first born daughter… Grandma always complained about mom while doting on me."

Your brain attempts to piece it all together but your heart doesn't want to. While you've scratched the surface you don't want to delve into the implication of what it means for your future (if any) or what it means for that inner child of yours.

You just don't want to think anymore.

'Please… Please, Jaehyun, help me not think anymore.'

"You reckon?" He questions, pinky caressing your knuckles. "When I proposed to your sister, she approached me right after. She looked at me, hugged me, and looked at me again with that sunken look she has when she thinks too deep. "Are you sure?" She asked seriously, almost confused. I told her I was, that I loved her with my entire heart and she laughed, shaking her head. She said she was a nice girl but hollow at heart."

Odiously, you know what she meant. "I reaffirmed I loved her, I did… We were looking at family pictures and she kept looking over yours. She said you hated her so much that you left, it was admirable in her eyes." He sighs, more of his fingers on your skin and like a fool you let him.

"She knew you’d always be there but not your sister. You give all to one and they become hollow, shallow, and entitled. You don't give anything to the other and they'll always be there... yearning. They don't expect anything but would love something.”

"That sounds horrible." "It is." "And unfortunately she always knew what I wanted." "I fear so."

You relent, looking directly at him again. "I don't hate her. I just… dislike my mother." The confession is not shocking, it's a given known fact but it's relieving to speak out loud.

"And… I fear she saw through me all those months ago. I was not sure nor in love with your sister."

His confession is shocking. Not because you don't believe him but it was far too late for this statement. "It's fucked, I know. But after this week, I can't marry into this family."

It's too late. It's too late.

"They've indoctrinated you by now." Is the best you can muster. It's not any better than the mantra in your brain.

"The countless meals without you and your father. The conversations: soulless and mean spirited, shallow, egotistical… Everyone’s worry over the wedding rather than their grief – if any. How many people I stopped from trying to pick the locks today... Y/n, only you and your dad are worth it.” He breaths out, an ache in his voice that feels familiar. As if he had been picking at your brain to consume it himself but it's only intoxicating him.

He's so close, far more close than earlier and the wine is stronger. A part of you wants to be sane and stop this madness. Righteous in the sense to not make matters worse but his mewls when you pull at his hair to get him off drive you closer. "Don't do this to me…" You plead with no real intent or sorrow.

“Maybe you were right about the universe being cruel because it was you I was meant to see first. It was you and your mom knew all along.” He whines against your lips, tongue wetting his but you can taste the sweetness of him and that wine. That damn wine.

Your fingers clasp around his hair harder, eliciting more of those pretty sounds he makes and it takes everything in your power to not cry from how beautiful he sounds and looks. Red and needy all for you. "It was you. It has always been you." He confesses, bringing his lips against yours and it's not your will nor your bodies to push him off. Reciprocating that indulgence you've been craving.

His mouth is fairly warm, sweet and dangerous as the wine. The kiss is anything but clean. Mostly tongue and some teeth.

The semi-full glasses of wine are long forgotten, staining the rug as proof of your immorality. Jaehyun doesn't seem to remember them, you on the other hand, don't care. It's not like your mother can scold you anymore.

His hands feel significantly scalding under your dress, rugged fingers working at the clasps to remove it like a robe. Nothing is soft or tender, it's all rushed and hungry. Animalistic almost, save for the soft touches he gives you when a sliver of skin reaches him.

"You're no better than them." You kiss him, his hands on your hips, dragging you onto his lap. He's painfully hard that any move of yours makes him writhe, sinking his teeth onto your lower lip. It's fine, you deserve it and you like it. You'll take what he gives…

Jaehyun nods, tongue seeking yours. He seems to savor the sweet fruity notes of the wine as well. "I know." He hums against your lips, "I'm not denying that." A moan leaves his mouth, swallowed by you. Your hands working on his belt.

"What will you do tomorrow? What will you do standing before God and Christ, promising eternal love and faithfulness? Does that not mean anything to you? Won't shame burn your feet and eat your soul away as you walk though that arch?"

It's rhetorical, he still answers. "It won't." He kisses your jaw. "It will." Tongue laps at your neck where your sister — his fiancee — had cried earlier. "I haven't decided if I want faith to run my future." The indifference in his voice makes you laugh, one that is drowned when he nips at your skin.

Jaehyun isn't particularly soft, his hands knead at your skin and grasp harshly when on your ass. The fabric that made the dress is long tossed to the side and his shirt had been off for seconds now. Ripped from the neck, the restriction bothering him.

It's not a struggle for him to remove your bra, tossing that to the pile of clothes as well. It's his mouth that shows you he can be delicate if he wants to. The way in which his lips wrap around your swollen tit feel like healing pads. Tongue softly lapping at the aching nipples.

You can hear and feel his soft moans around each, rotating after nearly a minute of attention. His tongue is what you love most at the moment. So velvety, warm, and moist. Plush and gentle with every lick to soothe the ache his teeth cause when he wants to be funny and nip at them.

"Don't be a dick." You scold, pulling at his hair like that doesn't turn him on furthermore. He laughs against your chest, the rumble felt so deep against your sternum. "Sorry," He pouts like nothing before kissing a path up your neck to feel your lips against his again.

He wants to speak with no avail, rather you swallow any breath he takes in an attempt to utter a word. Ravishing his lips to distract him from how near you are to taking him out of his trousers. That is until he takes your hands into his, intertwining your fingers with his and leaning further into you. Hard on pressing against the thin cotton of your panties.

"You're being a tease." You joke, mimicking the pout he gave you earlier. He grins, apologizing insincerely once again while pressing into you. The harsh fabric of his trousers was stimulating.

He attempts to reward you by massaging circles on your clit over the cotton of your panties but you swat his hand away, taking his face into your hands for another hungry kiss. He stifles his chuckle, letting you explore his mouth with your tongue. As a reward, he connects his with yours, allowing both muscles to enjoy the ecstasy.

Your hips take his distraction as an opportunity to swivel against him. Eliciting those pretty sounds you love to consume and forcing you to go faster, a wet spot already seeping into any remaining fabric. Jaehyun doesn't take lightly to this, pushing your panties away to let his fingers roam. It's stimulating and overly enjoyable.

How easy the digits slip in, stretching you deliciously to then piston at a set speed that has you hunching over, begging to feel his mouth on yours again. Jaehyun enjoys it, a cheeky grin on his face when your eyes meet his and as a reward, he buries his fingers deeper, curling and thrusting fast enough to make you wail from pleasure you haven't allowed yourself in god knows how long.

It's irritating to be the only one like this. Triumphantly, you finally manage to sneak him out of his trousers, the fabric had been so restraining that he lets out a guttural moan when freed. Throwing his head back onto the couch and wincing with every squeeze and jerk of your soft hand on his sensitive cock.

It's your turn to taunt him. Sneering and laughing quietly when he writhes and cries about how good your hand feels, how he'd love to feel your mouth over it or have you impaled on him. Jaehyun is far weaker than he lets out – nothing new to you.

Was it not for your own desperation and need for release, you'd elongate the sadism. Let him cry for longer about how your hand is not enough despite the pool of pre-come already soiling your hand and his cock.

There's no need for lube, not when his fingers slip out of you and the sea of fluids stain his trousers before pushing them fully off. His pre-come doesn't fall short of a stimulant, so much for such a simple tact. There's nothing grand about this transaction but your bodies know what they want and each other has been written in the stars.

"I don't have a condom…" He pants, a faux attempt at letting morality stop you both. "I'm clean. Abstaining, actually…" You confess, it had not been long since you last had gone to the gyno anyway. Jaehyun's fingers are soft against your lips, his chest slowing down as he hears the meekness in your voice.

"We never have sex without protection and… the last time was months ago." The vulnerability in his voice makes you trust him. Nodding as a response before kissing him again, guiding him for penetration.

He toys with you for seconds, letting his tip graze your folds and slap your clit playfully. Reveling in the hisses you let out. He's so greedy to the point that this isn't enough.

Sheathing himself within you to acquire the pleasure he desires most. It had been so long since you felt this way. The feeling of fullness and completeness. Jaehyun does not fall short with the whines, rather he buries them in your hair, shaking underneath you.

"You feel so good…" He mentions, leaving open mouth kisses along your shoulder while attempting to thrust. His hands reach behind you for stability while you shift in his lap to get comfortable. When he finds a pace you both can work with, Jaehyun throws a thin piece of fabric over you both.

It dawns upon you much later when the tulle feels stuffy and the lacing scratchy that it's your sister's veil. You know it should bother you more, that you should question why it's still here and not with her when the wedding is tomorrow but you don't find it in yourself to care. Not when he's looking at you with an adoration you've never seen and a smile aimed at you and only you.

"You look beautiful." He whispers against your lips, tongue prodding to enter your mouth in one of many kisses he gives you. It's enough to evacuate your head of all these nuisances, focusing on the feel of his cock fucking into you at a steady pace, hips gyrating to allow stimulation to your clit from his pelvic bone.

Whether it's the lack of experience, allowing your body to feel the delicacy of immorality, or he's simply that good, the words cascade from your lips like a mantra. "I'm so close… Fuck, so very closer." You whine against his lips, eyes screwing shut like you're about to cry while holding onto his own shoulders for support.

He smiles, easily wiped away when your hips pick up the pace. Moving up and down his shaft, gyrating as well to follow his lead. From feeling delicious, now he feels like he could come if you did this once more. "I need to feel you coming around me… Y/n, do that for me, please." Jaehyun curses incoherently, his hands holding onto your waist, kneading at the skin but his hands can't stay steady. Rummaging upwards to take your tits into them.

They're softer than earlier. Rubbing circular motions and squeezing when they feel too hot under his touch. Scalding. Thankfully his hips don't fall short in pace. It quickens, his thighs harden under you and it feels like he could give out any second. The sounds he makes surely say so.

"I can feel you ready to explode, Jaehyun." You taunt, seeking his lips and pulling away when he wants to give what you've asked for. His whines turn petulant by the third time. Hand coming off your tit to take a hold of your neck and pulling you in for a kiss. The warmth is gone and your nipple perks from the cold and his determination.

"Let me explode… please…" Jaehyun wanted to be more straightforward yet it came out like begging. It's not like you mind, not when you feel yourself three thrusts away from finishing. He drags it on when you don't give him what you want. Thrusting slowly upwards to bury himself completely and pull away to leave the gaping to turn cold before he's back to bottoming out.

He swats your hand away when he feels your nimble fingers attempt to rub at your clit, hissing disapprovingly. "Is my cock not enough?" He scolds, frowning when you shake your head, teasing. His thrusts turn harsher by then, forcing you to throw your head back in pleasure.

"You're too easy to tease." You jest, taking his hands to perch upon your breasts again. "Don't be mean." He winces, bucking upwards at a faster pace. His tongue not missing a single crevice of your neck before nipping the skin. His own form of protest to your mocking.

You giggle at his words, pressing to get his lips near yours. "Make me come, then. Finish me off for good…" Hushedly and deeper, looking directly into his eyes while processing the words. Jaehyun looks at you with every thrust. They're harder by the point you're done speaking and his eyes never peel from yours.

This is far more intimate than any of you had expected or wanted. The feeling of his cock fitting snugly within you is felt ten times more and the friction feels like your nerves are going to burst if he keeps going.

It causes your legs to spasm, arms flailing and weak around him. Every sense overstimulated when you feel him at the hilt, pressing harshly one thrust at a time.

"Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun…"

You cry out, pleasure flooding your entire body that it manifests itself into tears. Louder and harder when you feel him release his warm fluid within your walls. It's a scorching feeling, deliciously overstimulated. Your body is weak and frail against his own, every neuron tingling that it stresses and overwhelms you beyond belief.

But you're crying. You're crying and crying, finally after a week of not being able to let it all out. It's a relief and you can fully understand why your sister is less sad about the reality of your lives.

"Y/n… Y/n! Y/n, are you alright?"

The sincere worry in Jaehyun's voice does not fall short to make you weep even more. You muster a nod, holding his face in your hands while pushing off your sister's veil. It's soiled in sweat, tears, and the smell of sex but it doesn't matter to you right now.

"Are you alright?" He asks again, this time peppering kisses all over your face, holding your body against his for comfort. It's sticky and messy, the sweat reminding you that no matter it being winter, humidity and physical activities don't mix well.

And while your crying doesn't seize, you nod, kissing him instead. "Happy lover boy day. Love was meant to be in your life." You mutter against his lips, your salty tears present with every kiss. Jaehyun sighs, rubbing soothingly against your exposed back before holding you flush against him.

"Than—" and before he can thank you, those same portraits you've been chipping paint from remind you of where you are and who the house belongs to.

It's a horrible crash, the form in which your mother's largest portrait slides down the stairs. Banging against the banisters and breaking the frame into pieces. Wood chips ripping the canvas into large chunks. The last tumble allows it to sway mere feet away from you, glaring for the disgrace you've just committed.

Against your parents, against this sacred home, against the sanctity of a veil, and against your sister. Even in death, your mother's watchful eyes will remain to belittle and judge you.

"Thank you." Jaehyun finishes off, turning your gaze to him and taking your lips into a thankful kiss. Your mother won’t continue to haunt you.

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[kazusys]

౨ৎ i can be a better boyfriend than him.

after being stood up again, you call upon your best friend to come pick you up. / fluff / no cw / other: college/modern au (❕) a/n: little appetizer before i work on something big… for @aritsukemo. this isn’t your whole gift/request btw! thanks for being the sweetest! :D

characters included: scaramouche

wc: ~1.1k words

it’s so cold.

the rain is really coming down now, but you still can’t bring yourself to make an effort to cover yourself up. the wet feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin makes you feel as if you’re stuck, turned to stone and permanently inert.

you wondered if your boyfriend, who had stood you up, was worried. worried that you were caught in this weather, worried about you, because even though this is the fifth time he’s done this, maybe he just… forgot. again. because he’s busy. because of his late parties. because he’s out with others, forgetting his loyalties and embracing a stranger more than he’d ever with you.

and to think you dressed yourself up this much, this long— only for the loser you did it for to not even show.

your eyes were so blurred and unfocused that it was hard to process the two feet in front of you and the ceased piercing drops of rain against you.

“you really are stupid.”

the voice makes you tilt your head up. you force words out of your dry mouth. “…you came.”

“of course i did. what else would i have done?” scaramouche scoffs. he then gives a long sigh. “…i told you so. i told you that he was bad news.”

you want to hit him for saying something so obvious and obnoxious now of all times, even if it was true, but instead you nod as he comes closer, draping his coat around you. it was warm and cozy, making you put your arms through the sleeves with a little bit of his help.

you also didn’t respond in any way because of the soft way he spoke those words. an underlying worry and care coated his sentences, a voice you seldom heard him use with others.

he offers a hand to you. taking it, you let him carefully guide you up. then, hand in hand, you walk together to his car.

his grip on yours is firm, but not suffocating; paired with how close you two are under the umbrella, you silently hope that you’re not the only one who’s a bit happy with how things are heading.

“scara?” you wince at the way your voice croaks.

he hums as a response.

“…thank you.”

you see a small smile forming on his face as he nods in acknowledgment.

you slightly roll your eyes. “stop being nonchalant and just say ‘you’re welcome.’”

you feel him peer at you. “you’re welcome. happy?”

having reached the vehicle, scaramouche opens the passenger door for you.

you go to step in before hesitating. “won’t i ruin your sea—”

“no,” he cuts in, “just sit.”

although you feel a twinge of guilt at sitting and dampening the seat, you can’t deny how comfortable it is compared to the bench you were sitting on earlier.

you watch scaramouche enter the car, his form having not escaped the total onslaught of the downpour, although there’s much less on him than you. but there’s enough for you to notice, with how his hair and clothes stick and the way he looks with droplets running down his body.

he near slams the door. you can tell from that that he’s annoyed.

you turn to watch raindrops race down the window as he turns on some music to fill the silence. he keeps it at low volume though, so you take the opportunity to talk.

“i’m sorry. i should’ve believed you sooner when you said that… he was a piece of scum. if i had followed what you said… maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

“not your fault,” he shrugs. “not your fault he’s blind to what’s in front of him. ignorant people like him are hard to change.”

you nod along to what he’s saying as he runs his fingers through his hair.

you’ve always known scaramouche, one of your closest friends, to be attractive. maybe too attractive for his own good. combined with his intelligence and athleticism, it’s a recipe for a big ego.

he’s self aware. but underneath all his bites, you dug out a heart that cares, sympathizes, and (although you don’t realize it yet) beats hard for you.

as the night sinks in, you feel your own emotions surfacing, a soft, soft feeling resting on your own heart.

“your ex was the worst. the most insufferable, pathetic human of his kind.” you heard scaramouche murmur. “don’t believe that any of this is your fault.”

“i know. thank you, again.”

”it’s no problem.” looking outside, you see that you’re already in the parking lot of your apartment building. “come on, i’ll walk you.”

the rain stopped somewhere along the ride, so the earthy scent always following overtook the air as you followed in tow.

it was peacefully quiet going up to your apartment door. although you had lots on your mind, you decided against sharing.

having been elsewhere in your focus, you bumped into scaramouche when he came to a stop.

“sorry,” you muttered, taking out your keycard. “i…”

you pause, trying to articulate something.

“…oh, here. i almost forgot.” you start to take off the jacket he gave you, only to be stopped by his hands on your shoulders, keeping it in place.

“keep it. since it seems as if you don’t possess any jackets of your own given that you were out dressed…” he eyes you subtlety, “…inadequately. check the weather next time, moron. or do you need me to teach you how to use your own phone?”

“i did check the weather for your information, but…” you trail off.

you don’t see it, but his eyes soften as he takes you into his arms, hugging you so nicely that you feel like crying right there. you resist the urge and instead hug him back, the warmth of his body cradling you.

“…stop lowering your standards for dregs like him. you obviously deserve better, so quit thinking as if you don’t.”

your eyes widen at the next sentence he utters under his breath.

“i could be a better boyfriend than him.”

and he leaves your arms, stepping back.

you’re left dumbfounded. it’s as if the world became clearer, more sharpened. you yell at yourself to find your footing.

you tackle him in a hug and less-than-perfect kiss. but in that moment echoed all the hidden feelings you could never express through words to live up to its sentiment.

he cards through your hair as his other hand finds itself at the small of your back, holding you close as the years of pining came to a close.

and as you part, you find yourself wishing you had had scaramouche as your lover much sooner.

©️kazusys — 24/12/24; do not plagiarize/steal, repost, translate, and/or claim any of my works as your own.

[bumblepony]

So this is my two cents on the scene with Joel after he finds Cat and Ellie in her room, and what he says to her.

So, first, some context. As someone who grew up in the 80s and 90s and who is now raising a child who is both Queer and Non-bionary in the 2010s and 2020s, these are two very different times. My eldest would be stunned at what Joel said because, to them, queerness, at least where we live, is everywhere, and mostly it is accepted (though lately that has started to change, but I digress).

To Joel Miller, a man who was born in the 60's and raised in Austin, Texas, and the world stopped moving forward in 2003, his reaction is completely natural. Especially if you look at what is going on around them in the moment and what has happened before this moment.

First, Joel has only ever seen Ellie as 100% straight; he just had a conversation with her a year earlier about how he thinks she likes Jesse. Then he comes home to his 17-year-old daughter making out with a 19-year-old girl, while smoking pot and having just gotten a tattoo. He does not see her as acting in her right mind, which is proven when he says that they will discuss this later when she is herself again.

He looks at her in this moment, and he sees her acting out of character, and it would make complete sense that he should think she's experimenting. Do his words hurt? Of course. Are they the right thing for him to have said? No. But do they make sense for a man in his late 50s born in the 60s and locked in the early 2000s to say? Yeah.

Joel was overwhelmed, mad, and confused, and he lashed out and responded poorly because he is a human being and a flawed individual, as we know he is. Joel has never been this perfect bastion of virtue; that's part of the reason we love him, because he makes mistakes. With this one, we even see him do better, with Seth, and then on the porch, so it's not like he didn't learn.

Now this is just my two cents, but overall, of all the things we could be upset about with this season and even this episode, I think this moment and this action are not really one of them.

I recommend watching this episode more than once and all the way through. Don't base your opinion on just this scene and what other people are saying; watch the whole thing. I can say for myself that the first time I watched it, I was so amped up and excited about these moments that I have been waiting to see since 2020, that I was also annoyed and angry about his words. But going back and watching it again after I had taken the whole episode in and calmed down helped me understand Joel better in that moment.

So that's my advice: watch it again and form your opinion from the whole episode, not just a snippet of what people share on social media. Even if your opinion is different from mine, I feel it's important to take it all in.

Thank you all for indulging my need to speak.

[edensrose]

Hey can I have a comfort request I just got in car wreck I am fine and the other person is fine our cars are not fine but I am like still freaking out and crying (ruined my cute make up too) and yeah I just kind of need my comfort character right now

𐔌 𖹭 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐﹕𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ˖ ࣪✧

ᡴꪫ. fluff & taking care of you 𖹭 gn reader ˖ ࣪ꮽ˳

˖ ࣪ 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. ۫ ۶ৎ I'm so sorry to hear that. I really hope you feel better but I'm glad everything is okay. I saw your ask after clarifying for satoru so I cooked up some quick comforting hcs

˖ ࣪✧ satoru who . would drop everything the second he hears you crying over the phone. mission in kyoto? he's wrapping it up in three minutes. halfway through a lesson? he's asking nanami to do him a solid.

˖ ࣪✧ satoru who . hurts so much to see you cry, especially because he sees it on such a deeper level with his six eyes. from your streams of tears to your shaky breaths and clenching heart. it nurses gloss to his own eyes too.

˖ ࣪✧ satoru who . becomes more of a listener than a talker when you need to vent and doesn't say a single thing while you ramble heatedly. he only holds your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles.

˖ ࣪✧ satoru who . refuses to let you go even long after your tears have stopped. his go-to method is him laid out on the sofa or bed with your head cradled on his chest. one hand stroking on the small of your back and the other on your head.

˖ ࣪✧ satoru who . makes little swirls of blue in his palm to distract you when you've had a bad day. sort of like a lullaby to help you drift off.

˖ ࣪✧ satoru who . satoru who . . . sends ijichi to your doorstep with your favourite take-out, a bouquet and a box of snacks. all in two arms. the poor guy looked as though he'd drop everything with one wrong breath, but he's still relaying the sweetest message ever from your boyfriend.

˖ ࣪✧ satoru who . satoru who . . . hates coming home to you fast asleep. not because he wants you to wait up for him, but because he can imagine you being all lonely trying to fall asleep. he makes sure to slip in behind and hook his arms around you tight. his face buried deep into your shoulder.

˖ ࣪✧ satoru who . always finds some way to make you laugh after you've been upset. he's appropriate with it and waits it out. but he's quick to lighten the mood, even if it means him being the butt of the joke.

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° it was like slow motion

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — go listen to the moment i knew by taylor swift right now

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — sae x fem! reader, all characters 18+, made sae friends with most characters, mention of smoking (once), bad bf! sae, it's readers birthday, reader having no "real" friends, sae forgets readers birthday AND party, angst

♡ synopsis — you looked beautiful for someone who was abandoned on their birthday by the one person you wanted there. and you weren't sure if you could take any more.

── .✦ what do you do when the one who means the most to you is the one who didn't show?

You were never someone who asked for much.

Especially not from him.

You knew who Sae Itoshi was when you fell in love with him. 

You understood what came with dating someone whose eyes were always trained forward—on the goal, on the next game, on some impossible version of greatness only he could see.

But still, you thought you’d earned today.

Just today.

Not even all of it. Just the evening. 

Just one promise he made this morning, murmured through sleepy lips while tugging his sweatshirt on, half-focused and half-yours.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You believed him.

You always do.

The party starts at 7:00.

By 7:40, most of the people are here.

Except him.

The apartment fills with a kind of hum—music, laughter, clinking glasses—and none of it sounds like yours. 

You weave through bodies carrying trays of food and half-wilted party favors, your smile fixed and tight like a ribbon pulled too hard.

You barely hear the “Happy Birthday!”s anymore. They don’t mean much when they come from strangers—strangers who know you only as Sae’s girlfriend. 

They come because he invited them weeks ago, told them “she’s planning something chill, just show up.”

And they did.

And he didn’t.

By 8:00, you’ve checked your phone seven times.

No messages. No missed calls. No “I’m on my way.” Not even a “Sorry, I’ll be late.”

The screen dies in your hand, finally surrendering to all the anxious flicks of your thumb. You put it face-down on the kitchen counter and open a bottle of wine you were saving.

It’s a celebration, right?

It’s supposed to be.

You keep yourself busy—refilling snack bowls, cleaning up spills before they stain the rug, making small talk about games you only half-understand. 

Your dress is starting to choke you, the shoes pinching by now, but you keep moving.

If you sit down, you’ll think. 

If you think, you’ll feel. 

And if you feel…

No. Not yet.

The cake stays on the dining table.

Untouched. Intact. Like you.

Three candles, one for each year you’ve spent together. 

You thought it’d be poetic. Sweet. Maybe even romantic. 

You imagined him lighting them with that quiet smirk of his, teasing you for getting sentimental. 

You imagined him singing—badly, off-key—while holding your hand under the table.

Instead, Otoya lights a joint in your bathroom, and Karasu sings something loud and off-beat from the hallway while someone throws popcorn at him.

Your birthday is a blur of people trying their best. And none of them are him.

You laugh at jokes that don’t land. You accept hugs that feel like bandages. You nod along to stories that aren’t about you.

And still, every time someone walks in late, your heart leaps.

Maybe this time.

But the door never opens for him.

At 9:23, Rin appears beside you.

You didn’t expect him to come. He’s not the social type. But he hovers near you now, quiet and heavy like an unspoken truth.

“You okay?” he asks eventually.

You nod. It’s a lie, but it’s an easy one.

Rin doesn’t press. Just looks at the cake and then back at you.

“You want to light them now? People are waiting.”

You shake your head. “He’s not here yet.”

Rin’s eyes linger on you for a moment. You can tell he wants to say something. 

Maybe He’s not coming. 

Maybe You deserve better. 

But he doesn’t. He just steps back and lets the silence do the talking.

You wish someone would say it out loud. Just rip the bandage off.

He’s not coming.

He forgot.

He chose something else over you.

Again.

At 10:08, the party dies naturally.

Karasu helps gather the trash. 

Otoya kisses your cheek and says you still look hot for someone abandoned on her birthday. 

You laugh. It sounds hollow, but it passes for humor.

Someone tells you to save them a slice of cake. You nod, though you know you won’t. 

You can’t imagine cutting it without Sae here.

And when the last person leaves, when the apartment door finally clicks shut behind them—

You are alone.

Utterly, achingly alone.

The cake is still there. The candles, still unlit.

Your dress crumples as you sit down on the couch, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to hold something in—tears, hope, the sharp sting of understanding.

This was the one thing you asked for.

The one day.

I wouldn’t miss it for the world

You lean your head back and stare at the ceiling.

Maybe the world called louder.

At 11:43, the door opens.

You don’t look up. Not right away. You know that sound too well.

The key in the lock. The soft scrape of shoes on the mat. The sigh.

You turn your head slowly.

There he is.

Sae, in his training jacket, hair damp from a shower, duffel bag slung over his shoulder like this is any other day. Like he’s just coming back from work. Like this is normal.

His eyes sweep the room—over the mess, the balloons, the faint outline of people who were once here but are gone now.

His gaze stops on you.

Then the cake.

And you can see it. 

The moment he realizes. 

The way his shoulders fall slightly, the regret that flickers too late.

“I tried to make it,” he says.

You don’t move.

“I got held up—”

“Don’t,” you say, voice quiet, steady. “Please don’t.”

He stops mid-sentence. You can hear him swallow it down.

You stand up, slowly, the hem of your dress brushing your ankles as you do.

“I told everyone you were probably just stuck in traffic. That you’d be here. That you’d walk in at the last second like in the movies.”

You laugh under your breath, and it sounds more like a sob.

“I kept looking at the door like an idiot.”

Sae says nothing.

You look at him now—really look at him—and all you can see is a promise broken so gently it almost doesn’t leave a scar. But it does.

It will.

“I didn’t need a grand gesture,” you whisper. “I didn’t need flowers or surprises. I just… needed you to show up.”

And he didn’t.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

You can’t keep loving someone who keeps making you feel like this. 

Like your needs are unreasonable. 

Like your expectations are weight. 

Like your love is something optional.

You don’t cry.

Because this is the moment.

The exact moment you knew:

You’ll always be the one waiting.

And he’ll always be the one chasing something else.

The silence stretches, thick with all the things you wish he’d say but know he won’t.

Sae steps further into the room, slowly, like he knows he doesn’t belong here anymore. 

His gaze flickers again to the cake—still untouched, still waiting—and he opens his mouth.

“Traffic—”

Your eyes close.

“Training ran late—”

A breath escapes you, heavy and trembling.

“Coach just—”

“Sae.”

Your voice stops him like a wall.

You lift your head and meet his eyes, mascara slightly smudged beneath your lashes, your gaze glassy, distant, and unbearably tired.

“I just want the truth.”

For a moment, he looks at you like he wants to give it.

And then, quietly—so softly you almost miss it—he says:

“...I forgot.”

And your world splits open.

You don’t flinch, don’t scream. 

There’s no dramatic breakdown. Just the softest, stillest silence—so loud it rings in your ears. 

Because you knew, didn’t you? 

Somewhere deep down, buried beneath all your hopeful excuses and quiet reassurances.

You knew.

But hearing it—hearing him say it, standing in the wreckage of your birthday, the only day you asked for—

It guts you.

Like a knife twisted slowly.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he breathes out, reaching toward you like that means something now.

You shake your head.

“No,” you whisper. “It’s fine, just… just—”

Your voice catches, and you swallow it down.

You look at him then, really look.

For a split second, it’s like the years rewind. 

Like you see the boy who used to text you after every game, who kissed your forehead before long flights, who held your pinky like it was sacred.

Apologetic.

Meaning it.

In love with you too.

But it’s not enough.

Not anymore.

You step back.

“I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

He stares at you, eyes wide. “What—?”

“And in the morning…” Your voice cracks, a choked whisper. “I’m leaving.”

Something in him breaks. 

You see it. You feel it. 

He moves forward again, reaching like he could hold you here with his hands alone.

“No. Please, I—”

“I can’t…” you say, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. “I can’t keep waiting for you, Sae. I won’t.”

It’s not just about tonight.

It’s about every time he made you feel like you were asking for too much when all you wanted was him.

You step past him, slow and quiet, and disappear down the hall, leaving him in the soft wreckage of what could’ve been.

He stays in the kitchen for a long time, unmoving, staring at the cake with three unlit candles.

Outside, the city keeps moving.

Inside, all that’s left is a silence that tastes like regret.

airy write sae a happy fic for once challenge GO!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyoo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

TORN - Chapter 4

Synopsis: One night, that’s all it took for Josh and India to fall for each other. One night was all it took for her life to turn upside down. She thought she had found the one. Then he had told her the truth… he had someone waiting for him… someone whom he had betrayed to be with India.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Warnings: Manipulation..

Talisua Fatu could never be disappointed in her four children. Whatever paths they chose, they succeeded and made a name for themselves. None ever found trouble with the law—they were upstanding citizens, reflecting the values she instilled in them. So no, she could never be disappointed in her children. 

But in this moment, she didn’t know how to feel as she looked at her second eldest. 

“You’re marrying Janae?” She asked, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. 

Across the room from her, Josh nodded, his eyes cast downward, focused on the marble countertop. “Yes,” he replied, and Talisua inhaled a sharp breath. 

Why? She wanted to ask. Why would you want to do that?! She wanted to yell at him, demand to know what spell Janae had cast over him.

But instead, she said nothing. She just stared, her jaw tight, her mind reeling.

Josh shifted under her silence. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t,” Talisua said. Don’t get her wrong, she loved her grandchild Micah. She would never wish any harm or pain to him, but Janae? Talisua never trusted her, not since the first time Josh brought her home. 

“How does she feel about Egypt?” 

Josh inhaled a sharp breath, his shoulders tightening. He couldn’t bring himself to look up. 

“She don’t…” He started, his voice wavering. “She don’t really want Egypt around.” 

Talisua’s heart clenched. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but her voice remained calm. “Come again?”

“Not unless I have full custody.”

Talisua blinked slowly, her heart heavy as the words settled over her like fog.

“Full custody,” she repeated, her tone measured but laced with disbelief. “And you think that’s right?”

Josh flinched, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. The guilt in them was unmistakable.

“I ain’t say it was right,” he murmured. “I just… I don’t know what else to do, Ma’. If I don’t, Janae’s gone. She said she’s taking Micah and leaving.”

“And what, you’re just going to let her use your child like a pawn?” Her voice trembled now, not from anger but heartache. “Micah is your son, Josh. He’s not leverage. And Egypt? She’s a baby. An innocent baby who already lost her father for months. Now you’re going to take her from the only person who's never left her side?” Talisua stepped around the island and gently touched his arm. “I raised you better than this.”

He swallowed hard, the sting of her words cutting deeper than any lecture.

“I know,” he whispered.

“Then act like it,” she said, placing a hand under his chin and lifting his head to meet her eyes. “Trying to do right by Janae doesn’t mean you have to do wrong by Egypt, or her mother.”  

“She wants me to choose Ma,”  Josh said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She told me it’s either her and Micah or Egypt. That’s the deal.”

Talisua’s eyes searched her son’s face, looking past the guilt to the fear beneath it. “That’s not a deal, Joshua. That’s a demand. And love don’t come with ultimatums.”

“I can’t live without my son.” 

“So what happens when Egypt grows up and asks why her father never fought for her?” Talisua asked softly, but the question hit like a blow.

Josh flinched, his body going rigid as he stared at his mother. “Don’t do that, Ma’. I think about it every day.”

“Then think harder,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Because this ain’t about Janae. It’s about your children. All of them. Micah, Egypt, Jeremi. They’re watching, Josh. And one day they’ll understand every decision you made.” Talisua sighed. “You’re not a bad man, Josh. But you’re about to make a bad decision. And I won’t stand by and watch you sacrifice one child for another.”

“So what do I do?” 

Talisua’s heart softened as she heard the pain in her son’s voice. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of the world pressing down on him. She’d raised him to be strong, to think before he acted, but in this moment, it seemed like the choices before him were too much to bear.

“Go see Egypt,” she said quietly. “You’ve spent so much time trying to fix things with Janae, trying to make her happy, that I think you’ve forgotten about the little girl who needs her father just as much. Maybe more.”

After his talk with his mother, Josh raced back home with one thing in mind. He had to be a better father to Egypt. It wasn’t fair that Micah and Jeremi got him at full capacity while Egypt had been sidelined, only getting the pieces of him that were left. She deserved more than that. 

He parked his car and stormed into the house, breezing past Janae, who immediately stood from her seat on the couch and followed up the steps to their bedroom. She watched as he grabbed his duffle bag out of their closet and started to pack. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, her voice laced with irritation.

Josh didn’t even look up as he rifled through his drawers, tossing clothes into the bag with swift, sharp movements. He wasn’t in the mood for this. He wasn’t in the mood for anything.

“I’m going to see Egypt,” he said flatly, his voice tight with resolve.

Janae scoffed and walked over, blocking him from entering the bathroom to grab his toiletries. 

“Nae, move.” Josh sighed. 

Janae stood her ground, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You think you can just drop everything and go see her? What about us, Josh? What about Micah?” 

Josh felt his patience thinning. “What’s the issue? I’m tryna be a good fuckin’ dad and you tryna make it seem like I’m abandoning you and Micah!” 

Janae’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, not backing down. “You didn’t give a damn about being a dad when Egypt was born. Don’t act like this is some noble, selfless move now.” Her voice was cold, biting.

“I’m not gonna ask again, move.” 

She stared at him for a long second, the weight of his words hanging in the air like thunder before a storm. Then, slowly, she stepped aside, but not without one last barb.

“You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”

Josh grabbed his bag and brushed past her, his voice low but firm. “No. I made that mistake already. This is me fixing it.”

Janae narrowed her eyes as she watched him pack the rest of his overnight bag. He said nothing else as he brushed past her and out of their room. She heard him walk into Micah’s room. She waiting until he came back out to start her mess again. 

“So that’s it?” she asked, voice low, laced with disbelief. “You kiss your son goodnight and just walk out like everything's okay?”

“Everything is okay.” He stressed. “You making me going to see Egypt a bigger deal than what it is.” 

Janae folded her arms, leaning against the hallway wall as Josh closed Micah’s bedroom door gently behind him.

“Everything is not okay,” she shot back, her voice sharper now. “You running back to that girl and her baby like you some kind of savior.”

Josh turned slowly to face her, his jaw tight. “That girl is Egypt’s mother. And that baby?” He pointed toward the floor as if Egypt’s presence could fill the space between them. “That baby is my daughter. Just like Micah is my son.”

“Oh, now she’s your daughter?” Janae scoffed, eyes flaring. “Where was all that energy when she was born?”

Josh scoffed. “I’ll see you Sunday,” he muttered and walked past her. 

Janae’s voice dropped, low and sharp. “And if you don’t?” 

Josh stopped walking and turned back around to face. “Why you making this such a big fuckin’ deal? You wanted me to get India to sign the papers right? How imma do that without going there?” 

Janes scoffed. “You think i’m stupid, nigga? I know why you’re really going to Dallas.” 

Josh looked at her like she had just grown three head. “Yeah… to see my daughter.” 

Janae gave a short, humorless laugh. “Nah. You going to see her. Don’t play me, Josh.”

“She’s Egypt’s mother. What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

Janae stepped forward, eyes hard now, but her voice stayed steady. “You think I don’t see it? The way you talk about her. The way your whole mood shifts when her name comes up. You didn’t move like this for no damn one-night stand.”

Josh’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He knew India wasn’t just a one-night stand. He didn’t want her to be a one-night stand. 

“I could deal with a mistake,” she continued, arms folded. “What I can’t deal with is you pretending like she don’t still got a piece of you.” 

“Janae… i’m going to Dallas to see my child. That’t it nothing more.” 

Janae said nothing. She just watched him. Watched as he gripped the strap to his duffle bag. He cleared his throat. “I’ll see y’all on Sunday.” He hesitated before turning his back to her and walking down the steps and out of the house. 

Janae stood at the top of the stairs, her arms folded tightly across her chest as she listened to the sound of the door slamming behind him. Her stomach twisted with something cold and unfamiliar, a mix of anger, betrayal, and fear.

She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

She knew what she needed to do next. She needed to get India out of their lives.

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. Now that graduation is over, hopefully I can start writing more! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and shit.. things are about to get messy 😬

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[mysarcasticgreencrayon]

And I do love the movies. I'm so grateful to have them because they brought Tolkein and his wondrous world to life. I wasn't a big reader when the movies came out. I slogged through RotK and, well, I hated it. But I loved the movies. As adaptations I think they're some of the best there is. I grew up with the Bakshi movies and let's just say... I do not like them. At all. Watching them feels like someone is taking their fingernails across the chalkboard that is my mind. So these Jackson movies were my entrance into a world I absolutely adore. I'm older now; I'm a voracious reader who can better appreciate these books despite their wordiness. Faramir is my favorite literary character of all time. Éowyn was so amazing to me, a teen going through depression, that she came out of it and survived. Their romance has always been ideal to me and probably why I have unrealistic expectations for my own love life. So, yes, I love these movies but I'm also SUPER sad that they did what they did to Faramir's character, Éowyn's feelings for Aragorn, the "heroification" of Aragorn at the expense of other characters, and that they filmed more endings for Faramir/Éowyn and Legolas and Gimli that we didn't get to see. I watch the extended editions of the movies almost 99% of the time over the theatrical editions and it makes my experience even better. I hoard every minute of Faramir and Éowyn in RotK EE like gems and gold and keep them close to my heart.

But I've been watching these movies for 20+ years and will continue to do so!! The last paragraph @sindar-princeling wrote is something I completely agree with; I come back to these movies constantly because I enjoy them so much. They're top tier to me in so many ways. But I don't mind being critical of changes made and listening as others analyze and synthesize their thoughts about how those changes were not the best for certain characters. It's okay to think critically about things. And I think critically about the books too. Yeah, I read and watch things just for the pure enjoyment and happiness it brings and sometimes I consume those same materials more critically.

TL;DR I will always love the movies because they're pretty great and so many parts of the book were brought to life greatly but I'll still be sad my favorite characters got the short end of the stick and character assassination happened but the parts of the movies that had them will always be some.of my favorite and I will always watch the movies l/read the books for both fun and critical thinking

the LOTR movies are an absolute phenomenon to me in a sense that you would think if there's one thing that can absolutely kill an adaptation it's inaccurate/lacking characterisation, right? and somehow, with the lotr movies, the answer is, "wrong".

I don't know if this next paragraph is just my experience, but I've seen lots of people hate the characterisation of several character in the movies (gimli, legolas, faramir, merry, and more), and yet the movies are still, broadly speaking, really appreciated in the fandom, even by those same people who have their problems with the characterisation (me included)

LOTR movies did such a good job in so many aspects - the costumes, the sets, the props, the location designs, the little touches that add heart and soul to the movies, the scenes that do SO MUCH justice to their book counterparts, the music, the acting - that it managed to outweigh flaws in something as fundamental as characterisation by a TON and they're still loved two decades later. it's really amazing to me

[akutsuir]

Where the silence screams ⸝⸝

(Love and deepspace)

⟡ some angst with the lads boys cause i am so fucking tired of these history when they doing their shit and reader just forgive them so quickly without make them beg for forgiveness >⩊<

⟡ Characters: Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, Caleb

⟡ Synopsis: You try to help them after a tough time, and they end up throwing everything at you, so you give them the punishment of silence in return :)

English is not my native language, please forgive any mistakes

Xavier

The sound of the door unlocking was quiet — barely audible — but you recognized it instantly.

Xavier.

He always moved like he was trying not to disturb the world, even when the chaos clung to him like a second skin.

You were on his couch, just as you promised. You’d wait for him to return from the mission. In the soft hush of the night, the only sounds were the hum of overhead lights and the steady patter of rain against the windows. But when he walked in… something was off.

His steps were stiff. Shoulders tense. He didn’t speak. No “I’m back.” No “I missed you.”

You stood up slowly, cautious.

“Hey… how was the mission?”

He unbuttoned his uniform with more force than necessary and walked right past you. A low, almost inaudible grunt slipped from him.

“Such a pain. As usual.”

You swallowed the unease. He was exhausted — maybe not physically, but emotionally. You could see it. You knew how to read him better than anyone.

“I made you something to eat… and I organized your mission logs. They were all out of order, and—”

“I didn’t ask you to touch my files.”

His voice was sharp — not loud, but cutting.

You blinked, surprised. He rarely raised his voice. And rarer still… did he ever speak to you like that.

“I was just trying to help,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Help?” He let out a heavy sigh. “Sometimes you overwhelm me. Always trying to fix things. Like I’m fragile. I don’t need that right now. I just… want some silence.”

It hit like a cold slap. A final period on a sentence you didn’t write.

You stood there for a moment, stunned. Watching him. The weight in his shoulders, the frustration in his face, the storm he carried inside. You knew this wasn’t about you — not really. But that didn’t make the words hurt any less.

“I see.” Your voice was even, frost-coated. “Silence is what you want?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe already regretting it — but it was too late.

You picked up your things. No fight. No drama. You just walked to the door, opened it, and said over your shoulder:

“Then enjoy it.”

And you left.

»

Two hours later, Xavier was standing on the balcony of his apartment, arms leaning against the railing, eyes fixed on your window below.

Dark.

No lights. No noise.

The regret settled in like gravity. The anger had vanished the moment the door clicked shut behind you. All that remained now was the silence he thought he wanted.

But the apartment was cold. Empty. The food you’d left untouched. The mission data perfectly sorted — something he never could’ve done on his own. You always helped. Always.

And he’d driven away the one person who still anchored him to something real.

He moved.

Barefoot, he took the stairs down, tripping over his own feet, and knocked on your door. Once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing.

“[Name]… please.”

His voice was quiet. Frayed.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was tired. Frustrated. Not at you.”

Silence.

He pressed his forehead to your door, fists clenched by his sides.

“You give me peace… even when everything inside me screams. And I threw that away. I know I deserve your silence right now. But if you’re still listening…”

A pause.

“I’m not good with words. Or feelings. But you’re the only person I want to share the chaos with. And if you let me, I swear… I’ll try to be better.”

He swallowed hard, leaning closer to the door.

“I’ll take it all back if I could. Every word. I’d rewind time just to hold you a second longer before I ruined it.”

His voice cracked:

“Do you remember the first time I told you you made me feel calm? You laughed. You didn’t believe me. But it was true. You silence the noise. And now I’m the one who broke that quiet.”

He hesitated, breath hitching.

“I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll stay right here. I’ll earn your voice back, even if all I get tonight is your silence.”

A whisper, almost broken:

“Please don’t unlove me yet…”

Still nothing.

But he stayed there, waiting.

Even if it took all night, sitting in the cold hallway between your two apartments, Xavier would wait for your light to return.

Rafayel

The sun filtered through the windows of the studio, warm and golden — but inside, the air felt heavy. Thick. Almost unbreathable.

Unfinished canvases leaned against the walls, staring back at him like ghosts. Rafayel sat motionless in front of a blank one, eyes bloodshot, hands twitching. He hadn’t slept properly in days. Maybe weeks.

You were there, sitting on the old armchair across the room, watching him silently. Careful not to interrupt, not to push too hard. But you couldn’t keep holding your breath forever.

You finally stood up and walked toward him, voice soft.

“Rafayel… maybe take a break? Just five minutes. Some tea—clear your head a little.”

He let out a dry, hollow laugh without turning to look at you.

“Tea isn’t going to finish these damn paintings,” he muttered. “Tea won’t save me from the disaster this exhibition is turning into.”

You took a breath, trying to stay calm.

“I’m not saying to give up. I’m saying you can’t keep breaking yourself like this—”

“I don’t need you to play therapist,” he snapped, finally facing you. His tone was sharper than his usual detached calm. “I don’t need you hovering over me, treating me like I’m fragile. You don’t get it.”

That stung. But you still held your ground.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Then stop.” His voice dropped lower, colder. “If you really want to help, be quiet. Or better yet… just go. Go live your perfect little life and leave me to finish what’s left of mine.”

You stared at him in stunned silence. The words weren’t shouted, but they landed like a slap. He knew it too — you saw it in the flicker of regret that crossed his face right after.

But he didn’t apologize. He just turned back to the canvas, like he hadn’t just burned the room down.

You stood there a moment longer, then calmly picked up your bag.

“Fine,” you said, voice steady. “Have it your way.”

You left without slamming the door. Without yelling.

No drama.

Just silence.

And that silence said everything.

»

The moment you were gone, the studio changed.

It wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was hollow. Echoing.

Rafayel told himself you’d come back. Maybe in an hour. Maybe by nightfall. He waited. He painted — or tried to. But the canvas stayed blank. Like him.

You didn’t call. You didn’t answer his messages. You didn’t listen to the audio he sent at 2:17 AM:

“I said the wrong things. I know that. I pushed you away. I was scared and cornered and angry, and I aimed it at you. You didn’t deserve it. Please… please talk to me. Don’t leave me alone in this, cutie.”

At 2:43 AM, another voice message came through:

“I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face the moment you walked out. I didn’t mean it, any of it. I just— I need you. Please, I’m sorry.”

At 3:12 AM, he typed, deleted, retyped, and finally sent:

“Come home. I’ll do anything. I’ll fix it. I swear.”

By 4:06 AM, his voice cracked in another audio:

“Do you hate me now? Is that it? I hate me too. I’d rather you scream at me, throw something, anything, just… don’t stay quiet. Don’t disappear like this.”

Still, your silence stayed.

It was the only thing louder than his guilt.

»

That night, he finally painted again. Not for the exhibition. Not for critics. Just because he needed to breathe.

He painted you.

Standing in front of a half-open door, light flooding in from behind you, your face turned away.

Unreachable.

Gone.

In the corner of the canvas, he scrawled the title in a fit of pain and honesty:

“Forgive me…”

Sylus

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, sealing away the noise from the base. You approach with a clean cloth and a small box of medicine, careful not to disturb him more than necessary.

He’s on the couch, head down, silver hair falling over his eyes. He doesn’t move. But you can feel the tension in the air like a live wire.

“I brought something to help…” you say gently.

Sylus lets out a dry laugh, still not looking at you.

“Of course you did. Like always.” He waves a hand with a lazy flick. “Because clearly, you know exactly what someone like me needs, right?”

You swallow hard. His words aren’t sharp — not outright — but the coldness cuts deeper than a blade.

“I just thought… maybe you could use a break. With me.” You kneel beside the couch, opening the box.

He finally looks at you — and his gaze is like shattered glass.

“A break? With everything I’m dealing with?” He laughs again, bitter. “Cute. You think this all goes away with a damp cloth and emotional proximity?”

You pause.

“I’m not trying to fix anything. Just… be here. Help, a little.”

He leans forward, takes the cloth from your hand — a gesture that looks soft, but feels forced.

“And I’m telling you I didn’t ask for it. You’re here because you want to feel useful, not because I need you. Let’s not pretend otherwise, yeah?”

His words sink deeper than they should — not loud, not cruel, but laced with just enough contempt to make your chest tighten.

You freeze in place, absorbing the words you just heard. And then, you stand up and slowly step away.

“Alright.”

You reply, coldly. No hurt, no anger. Heading toward the door.

“Good night, Sylus.”

No door slammed. No looking back.

And then you’re gone.

»

He hasn’t moved since you left. Silence isn’t rare in this place — but tonight, it sinks in deep. Suffocating. He tells himself it’s fine. That you’ll come back. That this was necessary. But there’s no message. No knock. Not even a sarcastic “still alive?”

Just emptiness.

That itch under his skin starts small.

Then turns into irritation.

Then worse: uncertainty.

He stares at the wall for what feels like hours. The hum of the base fades into nothing — all that’s left is the weight of your absence pressing on his chest like a steel plate.

His fingers twitch.

Eventually, he grabs his phone from the table with a sharp motion, as if it somehow offended him just by existing.

The screen lights up. No new messages.

He scoffs quietly, jaw tightening.

He opens your chat. His thumb hovers over the keyboard. Closes the app. Opens it again. Types. Deletes. Types again.

This is stupid.

He exhales through his nose. And finally starts to type.

[Message — 2:21 AM]

“How long is this little tantrum supposed to last?”

[Message — 2:44 AM]

“If you’re gonna keep playing the silent game, at least let me know you’re breathing.”

[Message — 3:12 AM]

“…Fine. Ignore me. You’re good at that.”

[Message — 3:38 AM]

“I didn’t mean it. Alright? That crap I said earlier. You know I didn’t mean it.”

[Message — 3:54 AM]

“You can be mad. Just… don’t disappear like that.”

[Message — 4:00 AM]

“Please.”

[Message — 4:07 AM]

“I’m sorry.”

He stares at the screen for a long time after that last message.

No reply. No read receipt. Nothing.

The silence isn’t just quiet anymore, it’s loud. Echoing. Gnawing at the corners of his mind.

And for once, there’s no battle, no mission, no distraction strong enough to pull him out of it. Just the memory of your eyes right before you walked out.

Not angry.

Not hurt.

Just… done.

He replays every word he said. How cold he sounded. How easy it was to push you away when all you did was care.

And now?

Now the silence is a mirror.

And he hates what he sees in it.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Sylus isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to fix what he broke.

Or if you’ll even let him try.

Zayne

The house was quiet when he arrived, his shoulders stiff, the lab coat still loosely folded under his arm. Zayne dropped his keys on the table with a short sigh, not even glancing at you.

You approached cautiously, your voice gentle:

“Zayne… you look exhausted. Do you want me to run you a hot bath? Or—”

“I’m fine.” He replied curtly, his eyes fixed on nothing.

You hesitated but moved a little closer.

“Love, you don’t have to carry everything alone. Let me take care of you, just a little?”

That’s when he finally turned, but his gaze was sharp and cutting.

“I don’t need you hovering over me.” His words came out harsh. “It’s already hard enough without someone trying to ‘help’ when all I want is silence.”

You froze. Your eyes burned, but you said nothing. You just nodded silently, turned around, and left the room.

He heard the bedroom door close softly.

And the silence he asked for fell like a sentence.

»

Minutes turned into hours. He finished a cold shower. Tried to work. Tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. But the house was too quiet. No message from you. No light touch calling him.

Zayne stepped slowly to the bedroom door, hesitating before entering. You were lying on your side, your eyes closed, your body tense as if trying to hide from the world.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, guilt squeezing his chest.

“Hey…” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was… just too stressed. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Silence.

He took a step closer to the bed, but you didn’t move.

“Please, you don’t even have to look at me, just… don’t stay like this… please.” His fingers reached for yours but stopped in midair, afraid to touch.

Another heavy silence.

Zayne took a deep breath, looking away for a moment, trying to control the storm inside him.

“I know you don’t want to see me right now, and I understand that. I just… want you to know I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.” His voice was firmer now, full of sincerity and pain. “I regret it.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, still, feeling the emptiness of your absence.

After a few minutes, he stood up slowly, casting one last glance your way before leaving the room.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.” He whispered, closing the door gently.

In the quiet place, he was left alone with his guilt and the desperate wish to fix what he broke — even if, for now, all he could do was wait patiently.

Caleb

The soft lights of the fleet’s central control room did little to hide the tension weighing down Caleb’s shoulders. He stood silently in front of a glowing holographic screen, eyes scanning battle data and encrypted communications without blinking.

You stepped inside the room quietly, and the sound of the door sliding shut was the only thing that made him glance in your direction.

“You should be resting,” he said, voice low, attempting a gentle smile. “It’s late.”

“I know… but so should you.” You walked closer, concern etched across your features. “I can see it in your face, Caleb. You’re not okay.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly fighting against the part of himself that wanted to stay vulnerable.

“I’m handling it, pipsqueak.” he muttered, softer than usual. “Everything’s under control. I just need more time.”

You stopped next to him, trying to meet his eyes. “Then let me help. I can look at the data with you, help process the mission details or the crew assessments. Anything to take some of the weight off.”

He didn’t respond right away. The silence grew heavier between you.

“I’m not a burden, Caleb,” you continued, more firmly now. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone. The Fleet is important, but I’m here too. And I see you tearing yourself apart.”

That was when something in him cracked.

“Enough.” he snapped, the edge in his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He turned toward you fully now, expression cold and tired. “This isn’t about you. Don’t get involved in Fleet affairs. I don’t need you meddling and making things harder than they already are.”

You took a step back, stunned. But he didn’t stop there.

“You don’t get it. This isn’t some childish puzzle you can fix just because you’re worried. You’re not part of this. You’re just… in the way right now.”

The air was sharp with silence.

Your throat tightened, but you said nothing. Not a word.

Just a quiet nod — not of agreement, but acknowledgment — and then you turned around and walked out, leaving him alone in the cold blue light of the command room.

You returned to his home, the same one you’d been staying at since you arrived in Skyhaven. You entered without turning on the lights, moving through the familiar rooms with heavy steps.

Instead of the shared bedroom, you went to the guest room. The one farthest down the hall. You didn’t bother changing or turning on the lights. You lay down on the bed, back facing the door, and let silence wrap around you.

Then, finally, you closed your eyes and felt the sting of unshed tears begin to burn.

»

Caleb arrived home two hours later. The door shut behind him with a faint hiss, but the silence that followed was suffocating.

“Pipsqueak?” he called gently.

Nothing.

He checked the main bedroom. Untouched. Made. Empty.

A tight, hollow ache formed in his chest. He moved quickly down the hall to the guest room. The door was shut.

He knocked softly. “Can I come in?”

No reply.

He pushed the door open slowly. The room was dark, and you lay still on the bed, turned away. Awake. Breathing. Quiet.

He lingered in the doorway, unsure, then took a hesitant step inside.

“I was out of line,” he began, voice rough. “I know you were just trying to help. I saw that in your eyes, and I still… I still lashed out at you.”

You didn’t move. Not a word. Not a breath out of place.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness right now,” he added, approaching the bed slowly. “I just… please, don’t shut me out. Be angry. Yell at me. Just… don’t go quiet on me.”

No reaction.

And that silence — that unbearable, absolute silence — shattered what little was left of his control.

“I brought you here because I needed you, pipsqueak,” he whispered, kneeling down beside the bed. “Because you’re the only thing that keeps me grounded. I can face any enemy, command any fleet… but this? This silence? It’s killing me.”

He rested his head against the mattress edge, his hands clasped together as if praying for a second chance. Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

You stayed still.

Eventually, he let out a slow, broken breath.

“I’ll give you space,” he said quietly, barely audible. “Even if you never forgive me, I’ll keep trying to be someone who deserves you.”

He stood up slowly, like someone carrying far more weight than just guilt. Before leaving, he paused, looking at you one last time. Still, you didn’t turn. Didn’t speak.

He left the door slightly ajar — a small, fragile gesture of hope.

And then he walked away.

The house fell silent again.

But now, it was a silence thick with everything he should have said sooner — and everything he feared might already be too late to fix.

··························· ➜

[readerihardlyknowher]

hello!! I was wondering if you could do a spencer agnew x reader fic (fem!reader if that’s okay) where spencer and reader are coworkers at Smosh. Both are cast and have never really gotten along the best but one day things kinda click for them in a video during a shoot (kinda acquaintance to friends to lovers). During this shoot and once the video airs, other Smosh workers and even fans start to notice the change, like how they always want to be touching or near each other in some way in other videos or even when not filming. It’s just that neither of them realize then the smosh peps try to start and force them into spaces and situations together to hopefully get them to realize their feelings and admit them. Thanks! And hopefully this made sense lol

Okay, so this was originally going to just be a oneshot, but I've been working on it since last week and it's not even close to being done yet, so I'm releasing it in parts.

A Loving Feeling | Pt. 1

Spencer Agnew x Reader Warnings: None WC: 2,195 Pt.1

It wasn’t that Spencer was bad per say, nor was it that you were particularly stuck up, but rather, you both just hadn’t interacted all that much. It made no sense as to why, really. You knew everyone else loved him, even the more bubbly ones like you, but you just never sat down and chatted with him. Frankly, it had gotten a little annoying how often people brought him up in conversation. Whenever you talked about a videogame you liked, Shayne would bring up how Spencer had already done a playthrough last year. If you brought up a show you were watching, Angela would mention how Spencer tried getting her to watch it. It was kind of pissing you off, and you didn’t really know the guy. It’s not like you watched many Smosh videos anyways, but you especially didn’t watch the videos with him. If you started to like him just from his on-screen persona, then that wouldn’t feel right at all. And if you hated him for his on-screen persona, that also wouldn’t feel fair. 

Which is why you were a little nervous to see that you both were supposed to be on camera together as two sisters in a Spud Hut video. You figured that it shouldn’t be too difficult, it’s just a few minutes on camera and a few minutes talking it out beforehand. It’s mostly improv, but you still wanted to get some things straight, like names.

When you walk up to the man (who is currently dressed as a middle-aged woman) you had yet to have spoken to, you suck in a breath, mentally preparing yourself for him to roll his eyes and walk away from you. You don’t even know why you think this, because he’s never been rude or standoffish to you in the past, but since you two had never really spoken anything’s on the table.

“Okay, so I don’t know about you, but I think my character’s screaming ‘Carrie’,” you begin, because nothing better than just jumping in without saying anything like “Hey! Nice to finally talk to you! Sorry we haven’t talked in the whole ass year that I’ve been here!” But to your surprise, he looks down at your outfit with a nonchalant glance and nods.

“You’re absolutely right, that’s a Carrie for sure.” The smile on his face felt like ice cold water in the heat. You felt relieved, safer, that there didn’t need to be anything to worry about. “For alliteration purposes I’ll be Mary.”

You smile back at him, still a little nervous, but now mostly alright. You don’t know how it’ll be improvising with him, you don’t know if you have a similar sense of humor, you don’t know anything about this man you’ve worked in the same building as for the past year except you apparently have the similar interests.

It’s time to get on set, and you both wait until you’re given the go ahead to enter the kitchen where you’re filming. When you’re finally told to head on, you feel Spencer’s arm lock with yours as he walks merrily into the room, where Chanse, Angela, and Damien are standing. You remind yourself to get in character as you walk up to “order.”

“Well I’ll be, this place is… unique, Mary,” you begin, giving your character a southern accent. Spencer glances over at you with a nod. When he speaks, his voice sounds hilariously high-pitched.

“I do agree, Carrie. I don’t know what on earth anyone sees in a place like this.”

At this, Chanse steps forward, introducing himself in character.

“Hi, my name is Jerry Spruce, I’m the owner of the Spud Hut. Our special today is the Oyster Spud,” he says, painfully in-character. You internally cringe at the concept of an “oyster spud” but you nod and put on an impressed face.

“An Oyster Spud? That sounds very well refined, doesn’t it, sister?”

“Very much so, sister. I do say, I heard there was the famed fettuccine alfredo spud here?” Spencer asks, which gets a nod from Chanse.

“Yes, our fettuccino alfredi spud is world renowned. I can get both of those ready for you now.”

You look over at Spencer, feeling less and less awkward by the minute. He turns back to you and catches you staring, so you speak to cover it up.

“Sister, I’m disappointed. You know, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,” you say, mimicking an older, judgy aunt as best you can. Spencer’s face breaks out in a small smile as he tries not to break.

“Sister, I know you are not talking to me about what to eat. I’ve seen the things you put in your mouth and it’s filthy,” he ends with a snap, acting all sassy. You mirror him, yet this whole time you still keep your arms locked.

“I can’t believe you’d call your husband filthy then, Mary,” you finish with another snap, which makes him gasp and clutch the pearls around his neck with his white-gloved hand.

“Well, I’ll tell you Carrie, that the reason your husband left you is because I showed him how much better he could have had it with me.”

By this point, Chanse has now brought over the potatoes, but you two are both so into the fake argument that you take the potatoes from his hands and begin to walk out.

“I am telling mother all the cruel and sinful things you’ve been doing, Mary,” you say, not taking your eyes from Spencer’s. He huffs out a laugh and turns up his nose.

“Have fun talking to a grave then, Carrie.” And with that, you are off the set. Still though, you have to be silent for an extra minute while the crew makes sure you’re not needed again before taking off the costumes. So for that time, you both just look at each other and try not to laugh. Once you’re both given the green light to take off your mics and undress, you let out a snicker and unloop your arm from his. For the first time since walking into the kitchen, you both aren’t pinned to each other’s side. As you undo your mic, you speak.

“God, that was really fun,” you say to no one in particular, looking down partly to see what you’re doing, but mostly to avoid eye contact with him.

“Yeah, it’s no wonder Shayne and Amanda keep saying we should be in videos together. We nailed that shit,” he says, now undoing his own mic. Your snaps up to look up at him at this. You didn’t know he was also getting those same words as you were.

“Yeah, we definitely did.” There’s a pause for a moment before you let out a nervous sigh before looking up at him. “Hey, I feel bad that we’ve never really talked before. I don’t even know why I never just came up to you to break the ice, but I guess at some point I just thought it was too late and so it’d be awkward and all, so I–”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I get it, I meant to introduce myself when you joined, but then I didn’t,” Spencer says, before finally looking up at you and extending his hand to you. “Let me start over. Hey, I’m Spencer, director of games. It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, a little shocked by his actions, before meeting his hand in a handshake.

“Nice to meet you too. I hear we have a lot in common,” you say, a small smile on your face. He chuckles in response, shaking his head before looking you back in the eye.

“So have I. My break’s in a couple minutes. How ‘bout we go grab lunch and talk about it?” Spencer asks. Once more, you’re surprised. Upon first glance at the man, you’d never guess he’s the type of person to be so bold and nice. You just thought he was an introverted shy guy, which you guess he can be at times, but right now he’s asking to hang out to get to know each other more. The thought of finally mending the gap you had unknowingly placed between the two of you makes you smile.

“Sure, that’d be awesome. Let me go get out of this old woman apparel.”

“Aw man, I thought it suited you pretty well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you been on TikTok lately?” Courtney’s voice draws your eyes from your computer. Confused, you shake you head.

“No… why?” You ask, thoroughly suspicious of the mischievous grin on her face. You watch as she pulls out her phone, tapping and scrolling for a couple seconds before shoving it into your face. As you adjust to the closeness, you watch as someone clipped a part of the recent Spud Hut video you were on, specifically the parts with you and Spencer. You don’t see why she was so insistent that you saw the video until you notice someone found you two in the background, still in costume and arms still locked, laughing and looking each other in the eye. Your face twists in confusion, since clearly that must have been a mishap with the camera angles to accidentally keep you two in, just barely in the corner. Glancing down at the caption, your eyes widen.

Literally the cutest non-canon couple at Smosh. There’s a reason they haven’t appeared in videos together up until now 🧐

Your heart practically stops at the sight of those words. You don’t know why, you’ve been shipped with other people in the cast before, but this just felt weird. Maybe it’s because you two had been getting closer and closer in the weeks since filming. You have gone to his apartment a couple of times, mostly to play videogames and hang out with his cats, but there had never been any tension with him. You’ve just become good buddies, which is why this feeling of nervousness and blush makes you confused.

“What? Why would people think that’s anything? It’s clearly just us talking. These fans are crazy,” you say, a little too frenzied to set things straight, which Courtney clearly notices.

“Interesting. Anyways, so how have you two been getting along lately? I’ve seen the both of you chatting it up after shoots, ready to say I was right?” They tease, leaning forward and confronting you on your stubbornness. 

“Yeah… fine, you were right. He’s actually… he’s actually really cool,” you admit, somewhat grumbling to avoid the embarrassment you know is coming.

“You guys talking about me?” You hear an all too familiar voice ask from behind you. Just as you turn your head to see him, you feel two pairs of hands resting against the back of your seat.

“Actually, we were,” Courtney says, making your cheeks feel even warmer. “But anyways you guys. In one month. My birthday party. You both better come.”

Your smile widens at that, always excited to hang out with your friends outside of work. 

“Yeah, of course. Where will it be at?” You ask, still feeling Spencer’s hands lingering behind you.

“Just our place, it’s nothing too crazy. Just gonna have some drinks and play some games and stuff. So be there or be square!” They say jokingly before walking off, leaving just you and Spencer. You look up, seeing his face from upside down when he looks down at you with a smile.

“Will you need a ride, my lady?” He asks, his voice teasing, but gentle. He normally doesn’t drink much at these events anyways, while you normally get a little tipsy. Not good for driving. You smile back at him.

“Indeed I will, my lord,” you respond, making him smile even wider before letting go of the back of your seat. This grants you the opportunity to turn around to see him as he backs off some more. “Alright, it’s time for me to head back to games. See ya.”

You reply back before watching him turn around and head back the way he came. For a moment, you can’t seem to take your eyes off him, just watching as he walks, before shaking your head and returning to your work on your computer.

You think back to the TikTok Court showed you, how suddenly your fans have turned to shipping you and Spencer. Shaking your head of the thought, you remember how you need to get Courney a gift, so you pull out your phone to text your new friend.

To: Spencer From: You Wanna go to the mall or something later to get Court gifts?

You barely have time to set your phone down before you get a response that makes your smile widen.

To: You From: Spencer Sounds cool. I’ll drive you after work?

You shoot off an affirmative text, ignoring how much happier you feel having received such a quick response. Yet again, you have to shake the thought of him off your head, bringing yourself back to reality as your computer screen waits for your return.

[cintasvel]

i've been thinking about the last shot of andor a lot and there's been a lot of debate about how it was handled, particularly within the constraints of bix and her role this season. regardless of personal opinion, gilroy has said the shot was supposed to be hopeful and i get it. you fight today for the children of tomorrow so they can live peacefully. i think, regardless of how i feel about bix's story as a whole, i can get behind that. as cliche as it may be.

what i can't really get behind is star war's commitment to signifying hope for its characters in the most heteronormative way imaginable. each and every single time. it is so incredibly boring and it's been done so many times. let's not insult one another by pretending star wars doesn't have mothers in it and that motherhood doesn't get addressed often. padme is a mother. mon is a mother. maarva is a mother. leia is a mother. hera is a mother. there are a lot of mothers in star wars. motherhood and its connection in signifying hope runs deep within star wars.

what makes it particularly awful this time around is there are actual, canonical, queer characters in andor and, as expected, they do not get even a minuscule amount of hope in comparison to the heterosexual characters around them. cinta's arc happens entirely off screen before she's killed off in the most insulting way you can imagine and vel is relegated to being a megaphone around yavin to encourage cassian and bix into their roles. that's not to say i don't love faye marsay and what she did with her limited screentime. she really fucking sold that vel's lost her will to live for anything but the rebellion. but if we're making an anti-fascist show, you can't just ignore how you handle your queer and poc characters. you just can't.

my point is, the traditional family has always been the pinnacle of hope for star wars. and it's fine. but it completely ignores that for many people -- queer or otherwise -- the traditional family isn't that. vel's entire character screams that isn't that for her by her two most important connections being cinta, her girlfriend and mon, her cousin. the finale does try and balance this with vel reaching out to kleya and her being a constant source of connection and family with mon. but let's be honest with one another, it doesn't hit as hard as it could have if cinta and vel had been alive and together. or, if we really needed to kill them both ('everyone dies in this show' comments truly have aged like milk lmao) if they had sacrificed themselves fighting for that tomorrow. not because romance is inherently 'more important' than platonic relationships, but because cinta is a HUGE part of vel's character and vice versa for vel. you truly cannot have one without the other because andor never tried to write either of them otherwise. vel gets away with a little more because she's mon mothma's cousin and her beef with kleya and luthen helps bring tension and resolve to that. but cinta? outside of her threadbare backstory, vel is all she has (which is tragic by itself).

i've gone off topic a little, but my point is, vel's ending in andor shows her as a rebel commander willing to fight for what she truly believes in. outside of the title, this is not a huge jump from the vel of s1 (arc-wise, personality and character is a whole other story). the major difference is that vel no longer has the hope of fighting for a better life with cinta like she had in s1. instead she is the sole queer person in the cast (i'm sorry kleya fans, i love our girl but headcanons do not count here) and has to live with this utterly senseless tragedy until she's dead. now, i love doomed yuri (and for the billionth time, i am not asking for velcinta to be treated with kids gloves) and i'm well aware cassian/bix also gets this ending, but the difference between how vel and cinta are treated and portrayed compared to their heterosexual counterparts is so staggeringly different. like, you need to be willingly obtuse not to see how.

as a white lady, i'm not going to too deeply into how misogyny and racism plays a key part here -- someone far more clever than i no doubt will -- but if you think cinta's arc was well-respected in compared to the white women of andor (her background literally parallels kleya's, but guess who gets that examined. not cinta!) then i just really don't know what to say to convince you otherwise. it's not even about her being a minor character (kleya was too in s1). it's about how qwoc are only used as tools to further their white counterparts because their stories aren't worth examining by themselves. as much as i tell myself i'd kill for a cinta novel/comic, i know it's not going to happen because that would require cinta to be considered worthy of exploring. and i don't know if lucasfilm publishing will ever think that. maybe i'm wrong! i'd like to be proven wrong!

and so, vel's arc (or lack of it) and the mishandling of cinta is ultimately, why that last shot just didn't land for me. even as i understand why it was there and what it signifies and can even get behind it... i just don't think hope = the children of tomorrow hits for me as much as it used to, even though it's still incredibly relevant.

this was a lot of rambling. maybe it doesn't make sense or maybe i'm entirely wrong. but i think yeah. it's an okay shot. it's probably not what i'd end my anti-fascist show on though when you've not taken the time to examine (or care) why queer characters are only allowed to be miserable. it's 2025, man.

[angelltheninth]

I saw you reblog nightcrawler and I got into searching for nightcrawler fics which lead to reading x men smut in general…..

Please indulge me 😭 My request is how the x men eat the 🐱 with Nightcrawler, Cyclops, Wolverine, Magneto, Gambit, Deadpool (I feel Deadpool is x Men adjacent lol)

Deadpool is definitely X-Man adjacent. Will include him for sure.

Pairing: Logan "Wolverine" Howlett, Scott "Cyclops" Summers, Remy "Gambit" LeBeau, Kurt "Nightcrawler" Wagner, Wade "Deadpool" Wilson, Erik "Magneto" Lehnsherr x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, face riding, tonguefucking, cunnilingus, overstimulation, being pinned down, clit stimulation, squirting, morning sex

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Took a little break from Tumblr to focus on my D&D stuff, but I'm back now.

Laps at your pussy like a man dying of thirst, There's no real techinque that he has, he wants all of you, any and every way he can get it, as much as he can get. His tough, strong hands dig into your hips, the veins bulging as he holds you down and makes you shake under his grip. Due to his superhuman stamina he backs off when your pussy and clit get too sensitive but still delivers an occasional teasing lick while you're resting.

He spends a long amount of time kissing his way down your body before he gets to where you want him to be. Never wants to get right to the main event, even if you've had a long time apart. Always has his eyes closed but you can tell when he's enjoying himself by how hard he closes his eyes and the tiny sparks of red that get a glimpse of. Gets a little pussydrunk if you don't push him away on time, even if his jaw hurts he'll keep going.

Wakes you up fully by eating you out, it's become something of a morning ritual for when you really don't want to get out of bed in the morning. This can go both ways if you want to suck him off in the morning and help him with his morning wood. He knows how to cook breakfast pretty well but honestly you're his favorite thing to eat in the morning. Especially when you come all over mouth from how much he tonguefucked you.

Eats you out while he's on his knees like you're the one who should be worshiped and prayed to. Judging by the way he kisses and licks your pussy, his forked tongue flicking and lapping at your sensitive clit he might as well think you're holy. He certainly does get you to call out to God a lot. Because he can't help it he jerks himself off with his tail, he should have better control, instead he gave into lust. and he will gladly do it again.

Talks dirty the whole time while he's eating you out, there's nothing that will get him to shut up. Each and every jolt of your hips serves as a compliment to him. He doesn't hold you down while eating you out, you can buck your hips freely, riding his face as fast and hard as you want. Don't worry if you clamp your thighs around his head, you can't kill him and if you did he would be glad to die and wake up with his face against your cunt.

Pulls you on top of him and pushes his tongue as deep into your pussy as it can go. He chuckles when you hiss in pleasure when his lips bump against your clit, you want his attention there but he is the one in control here. If you try to wrestle control from him he will push you on your back, your legs now over his shoulders and his face buried in your sopping pussy. Give him any more attitude and he will bring out the handcuffs.

[btskitten7]

Gentlemen's Club: Kim Seokjin

ꔫ ship: ot7 x dancer!reader

ꔫ au/genre: sex worker/private dancer au

ꔫ rating: M (this will explore darker themes please read at your own discretion. Take care of yourself.)

ꔫ wc: 2.1k

ꔫ chapter warnings: dark themes, drug mentions, obsessive nature, drunk assholes. Took a terrible job offer all because your parents couldn't pay up and now you are stuck there.

ꔫ Summary: You start off as a dancer/bartender until your bosses realize that you are the most popular woman there and bring in the most money. It's even better when you catch the eye of the 5 richest men in Korea. It's a hard job luckily for you, the men in your life wouldn't do a thing to hurt you. Even if they have dark secrets and simply use you as an escape.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛

                            "𝗖𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂..."

"𝗢𝗿 𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲."

"So you were able to make it? A little later than normal," You asked after pouring him a glass of his favorite wine. That's probably the one thing you loved about meeting with Seokjin. He always brought a new wine for you guys to try. 

And he always, ALWAYS brought his favorite wine. Which became your favorite too. 

ABREU MADRONA 1995

It's a very expensive wine and not many people can obtain it, even more can't even taste it. He got it for you as a gift just a few days ago. It was beyond anything you had ever tasted. 

The 1995 Abreu Madrona has a thick, juicy, black fruit character with a bouquet of blueberries, cassis, licorice, minerals, and smoky, toasty oak. It is also said to have sweet tannins and good acidity. It is delicious.  

Wine was your thing. If you could, you'd have a wine cellar to admire. You would love to discover the different tastes and stories behind each wine you'd collect. Taking all the knowledge, you would create a wine of your own to create a legacy. It would be a dream. You also loved a good glass of wine to ease your days away. Unfortunately, drinking is prohibited but if your lover for the night has wine, you may partake.

Luckily for you, Seokjin also loved wine and loved making you feel comfortable more than anything. 

Seokjin smiled tenderly and looked over at you. "I was able to get away for a bit. I just needed to come see you. It'd been a rough week and I have done nothing but work day in, day out. I don't care what we do, as long as I get to do it with you," He said. You smiled and sat on his lap. You grazed your hand across his chest, leaving sweet kisses against his neck. 

Soft groans left his lips as his hand grew tighter against your waist. You straddled him and placed your hands on his chest, giving him a small, soft, smile. "Is that right? I'm sorry it's been hard this week. I'm here to help. What can I do for you tonight?" You whispered in his ear as your hands gently removed his coat. Allowing you to do so, his eyes connected with yours. 

"I just want to feel your love tonight." He sighed looking at you with sad eyes. You smiled softly and kissed his lips gently. Your finger began to work on his buttons. His hand curved around your ass as his lips dances against yours. His hands traveled from the middle of your back to the apple of your ass. 

His touch was gentle. He was never harsh or rough. He knows everything that you go through here, so he likes to think that his visits are a breath of fresh air for you.

Seokjin lifted your robe over your ass and gripped it tightly, but never too tight. He slowly pulled the string from your robe, letting it fall open and revealing your breast to him. He moved his lips from yours to your neck. Moans fell from your lips as he kisses and sucked softly at your neck. 

His tongue dragged down softly from your neck to your breast, pulling your right nipple into his mouth and pulling your left between his fingers. "Mmm," you softly cried as he began to softly rotate your nipple into his hands, making it grow hard against his fingers. You ran your fingers through his hair as he lifted you and headed towards the bed that was sitting across the room. 

He laid you down gently, with his lips connected to yours, and he placed your hands above your head. Letting the intense make-out session grow hotter. 

As much as he would love to please you, take things slow, and just explore your world. He wanted to explore every, single, inch of you but he knew he couldn't. He knew that they werewatching, they're always watching. 

He removed your panties and slowly entered your heat. Drawing a soft gasp from your lips he didn't move any further. "Am I hurting you?" He asked sweetly between kisses. You held his hand and kissed his lips again. 

"No, you're fine baby." You said. He sighed against your lips and kissed you again. "I' don't want to hurt you-" you cut him off again with a kiss. "I know that. You're fine." You whispered. Knowing they can hear everything you talk about. 

Hoping he wasn't hurting you, he gently began to move his hips at a slow pace, letting his lengthy member fill you. His hand wrapped around your thigh as he wrapped your leg around his waist. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook and Jimin were standing their ground at your door, making small conversations between themselves. 

"Tell me, you've been here for quite some time." Jungkook started. Jimin lifted his head and looked over at him. "Maybe. Why?" Jungkook looked at Jimin. 

"You've been here the same amount of time, Princess has...right?" Jimin frowned. "Listen, kid, if you want to know something, just ask," Jimin said growing annoyed. Jungkook scoffed. "Who's the guy in there with Princess?" 

Jimin chuckled. 

"He's been coming here for how long now," Jimin started. "Honestly, I believe he's been coming for about 2 years now, but he just started with Princess only shy of a year. His name is Kim Seokjin. I don't know too much about him but I do know he's crazy rich." He finished. "Supposedly his parents run a very successful modeling agency here and in the States" 

Jungkook looked at him as he spoke and then at the door that held you and this Kim Seokjin person. He's only known you for a short amount of time, but he needs to know every person you come across.

No matter who they may be. 

"Is Y/n finished with her love?" The masked woman came by. Jimin grew silent and avoided the woman, which earned him a slap across his face. Jungkook tensed up, she didn't even give him time to answer.  "Why'd you do that?" flew out of Jungkook's mouth earning him a slap as well. Jungkook closed his eyes ready for the strike... but it never came. Opening his eyes he saw Jimin in front of him, taking his punishment. 

"Remember the rule, My Lady. He hadn't been on the floor for a year, you can't punish him. Only I can." Jimin spoke softly and respectfully. Jungkook was completely shocked. The Masked Woman smiled and rubbed Jimin's face which caused an uncomfortable wave of feelings to shoot through his body. "So you do know the rules. For a second there, I thought you forgot who you answered to." She smirked. 

"As I said. Is Y/n almost done with her love?" She asked again, this time Jimin answered immediately. "She should be finished in about 10 minutes." The woman smiled and nodded. She continued to rub the red mark against his face and pouted. "I'm sorry for hitting your face baby, you know I don't like being ignored." Jimin's eyes fell onto hers his once soft gaze became and hard, strong one, full of hatred and pain. 

The masked woman let out a moan as she saw his fixed gaze. "I love it when you look at me like that baby..." she smirked. Jungkook felt Jimin's uncomfortable state "What do you need Y/n for as to why you're asking about her?" Jungkook asked quietly. The woman looked past Jimin and smirked. 

"Because my partner would like a word with her. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about." She said licking her lips as she studied Jungkook's figure. "If that is all, I believe we have to Love to escort out," Jimin said stepping back in front of Jungkook. Drawing a smile from her lips she nodded and whispered to Jimin, "I'll see you later on tonight my love" she said walking and getting lost in the crowd of people. 

Jimin sighed and turned to Jungkook. "Are you okay?" He asked. Jungkook nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Are you okay? Why'd you have to see her later on tonight" Jimin chuckled and stood back next to Jungkook with his back and foot planted against the wall. 

"If you take anything from me...take this advice" he started. 

"𝗖𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂...𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀. 𝗔𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁, 𝗶𝘁'𝗹𝗹 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲" Jimin said with an annoyed smirk on his face. 

Jungkook frowned and looked ahead. "Matter of fact, why don't your curious ass tell our friend his hour is up and he must leave now" Jungkook nodded and knocked on the door startling you and Seokjin they completely emerged into each other. "Your time is up," Jungkook said swiftly. 

Seokjin sighed and looked over at you giving you a sad smile. "I'm not ready to go" he whispered against your lips. You smiled and gave him a sweet kiss. "I know but you didn't make an appointment this time. Pop-ups are only an hour" you whispered. He sighed kissing your lips again. "I just don't want to let you go. I just need another hour..." he sighed taking your hand and kissing it gently. "I just need a bit more time" you smiled softly. "Why don't you make an appointment before you leave? So next time, they can't stop us" you said sitting up. He nodded. "I'll do just that" 

After getting dressed and you placing your robe back on, you walked him to the door. He gave you another tight hug and one more kiss. Just to hold him over until the next night he could spend with you. Growing impatient, Jimin opened the door, "Hey man, I understand this is your way of having fun but my partner told you once already, times up, you need to leave now" he said slowly getting a bit more pissed off seeing how close you two were. You were going to protest until you saw the source of his irritability. "I'll see you soon okay? Take care of yourself." Seokjin said. "That's what we're here for," Jungkook said taking Seokjin out and to the office to schedule his next appointment. Jimin turned his back to you and continued to look out. 

Stepping through the door you looked from both sides before pulling Jimin in. 

"Are you okay? What happened?" You whispered touching his face. Jimin moved back a bit. He looked at you then looked at the the red light that was once off after Seokjin left. "It's on again?" You whispered. Jimin nodded briefly. "When you're done for the night, The man wants to have a few words with you and it's come to my knowledge that I won't be able to be at your service tonight," Jimin said with a straight face. You knew what that meant, that meant The Lady has been here and has already seen Jimin. "I'm sorry" you whispered. Jimin shrugged and smiled softly. "I'll see you in the morning Princess. Jungkook should be returning here shortly to wait with you" he said before heading back out the door.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After making his appointment, Seokjin headed to his car. While sitting there briefly, he reached into his pocket and placed on his ring. Shortly after he heard a chuckle followed by the figure sucking their teeth. He already knew who it was. 

"Now baby, I got you that really expensive ring, and you can't even wear it when you go out?" She teased as she climbed into the passenger side. He started the car and drove off. " You didn't get me anything. You used my money," he started "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be home?" She chuckled. 

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" He froze. She smiled "Exactly, we're both liars." 

"What do you want?" He asked. "What are you doing here?" She asked immediately. He sighed. "I was having drinks with some friends" She tapped her nail against her lip. "Is that so? You've been in that club for quite some time, you don't smell like alcohol nor did I see you walk out with anyone. Besides, if that is true, why travel so far away just for drinks with friends when we live in the heart of the city? Full of bars and attractions. I'm pretty sure you would have found some woman to please you." She said. 

Seokjin remained quiet. "Awww, what's the matter? You didn't think your wife would find you?" She whispered creasing his thigh. 

"Too bad, husband" 

[cloudcountry]

*shaking* Auburn! auburn we need some platonic BFF headcanons! Im craving! you can literally pick whoever you want or randomise it

SUMMARY: being best friends with tohma, luca, zenji, and lyca.

COMMENTS: i loved writing these because i have very very Large platonic feelings for these characters. like i love them so much theyre my everything.

TAGLIST: @as1iiiwhaa @astralsocfactory

Being Tohma’s best friend means being able to keep secrets. He won’t tell you everything he’s up to, but you will hear more than most, and you need to be able to keep that under wraps. Trust that everything he does is for your sake.

If you happen to have any medications that you need to take, he will set reminders in his phone to make sure he texts you about it. This will happen more and more depending on how forgetful you are.

Tohma is a very caring best friend, actually. I know most people see him as the type to do his own thing, but I don’t see him that way at all. You need space, he’s giving it. You want to talk, he’ll give you all of his attention.

Heaven forbid you’re in danger. He’ll jump to your defense faster than you can blink, uncaring if he gets hurt in the process or not. You can yell at him all you want, he’ll still do it again. You’re precious to him, and he needs to protect that.

Speaking of protectors, Luca is just like Tohma in that regard. He’s more likely to get lost in it though, stabbing the anomaly over and over and over until it’s a pile of bloody gore on the ground if it tries to hurt you.

If anything, he views himself as your older brother. It doesn’t matter if you’re older than him or not, you’re his sibling figure now, and he needs to protect you in the ways he wasn’t able to protect his brother.

Be prepared to be spoiled rotten despite your protests. It’s partly because he cares about you and partly because Luca just really doesn’t understand normal price ranges for gifts...you’re gonna have to take him to a convenience store or something.

He’s the type of friend to call you good morning and goodnight if you’re far apart from each other. Even better if the two of you can do group calls with Kaito, since he and Luca are pretty much a package deal at this point...

Being Zenji’s best friend means sitting in with Haku when he films the music and stories Zenji creates. It means getting a front row seat to all of his absolute genius, and you’d better praise him just as much as he praises you!

It may be alarming for some of Hotarubi’s students to hear your voice and the rumored haunted biwa / doll just chilling on the docks. It’s alright though, you’d much rather have Zenji know that you’re unashamed of being around him than keep up your reputation with general students.

Be prepared to have songs composed about you and characters based on you. When you’re close to Zenji, he won’t hesitate to scold you if you’ve done something he thinks is bizarre (ahem ahem, like something Haku would do, for example) but he does adore you to bits and pieces, even the more scandalous parts!

Easily one of the best people to go to for love advice. He’ll never judge you for your taste in partners and will encourage you to confess to them as soon as possible!! He wants nothing more than to see you happy. <3

Being Lyca’s best friend means being on the same level as Subaru. I hope you’re ready to take on that responsibility—people will begin to avoid you because of your connection to him, and you need to be someone who is ready to defend him.

As you would expect, being so close to Lyca will get you closer to Subaru as well. He really appreciates everything you do in looking out for him, like during the mission Professor Moby sent them on when the staff cut his cheek...he heard all about the earful you gave them.

Honestly, Lyca won’t really understand why you get so emotional over him. He understands getting angry, but if you’re the type to cry when you’re pissed he’ll be confused. He’s doing his best, though—Lyca will hold you until you calm down. It works for him, so it must work for you, right?

While he eats, Lyca gets a little overzealous, so you’ll have to clean up his face more often than not! He doesn’t mind it so much after a while, and will eventually get to the point where he presents his face to you after he’s finished a meal. All you had to do was tell him that it’s not condescending, and that this is just how people care for each other.

[superstory62]

Right, sure, I see your perspective. From a broader point I think this story speaks to the sort of degradation of Doom as a character. Not in terms of quality, but in terms of his utilization.

I am more of a Fantastic Four and Spider-Man reader than Avengers or that greater Marvel Universe (of course I read it, but not as zealously). In FF, the point of Doom’s character is that he COULD do all these great things, but is ultimately always undermined and undone by his jealously and pettiness directed at Reed and the Fantastic Four.

This creates a clear dichotomy, right? Reed does not always have the exact resources (which, of course, varies from story to story and I do think Marvel should let Reed fix things like World Hunger and more), and ability to fix the world, but he has the drive and the will to do so. Doom is the opposite—Doom has these resources, he has the ability, he even has the desire. But he doesn’t—he just wants to beat Reed.

But, when you go against that, when they let Doom fix the world like this—it’s hard to really keep him villainous. But he is a villain, that is not really going to change. I think One World Under Doom should do a much better job of demonstrating either pitfalls of Doom’s rule, or how he is using it to harm others (like they tried to do with the vampires in one issue, of course a problem with that is it was a tie-in. Same with the nuking of Indiana).

I think if you dropped a blind Marvel reader into this story, you would think the Avengers and more are the villains. I don’t know if the tension is supposed to come from Doom being a villain prior, or if we really are supposed to understand that he is a hero now. But the Avengers aren’t fighting for right-wing ideas. They aren’t crying, “no, no, we NEED privatized education!!”, but they do not trust Doom. And, honestly, why would they? Doom has done things beyond evil—he has literally sent children to hell.

Another issue is that Marvel Comics as a whole do not really comment on the real world. We do not really know who the current president of the US is, though I am certain it isn’t Trump in that universe. There is a sort of underlying assumption, I feel, that the world of Marvel is a far better world than ours, because of the heroes. But that is conjecture. Point is, if we removed Doom’s rule in Marvel, I am unsure of what the world we’d be going back to would look like. It is some version of ours, yes, but it isn’t exactly ours. We don’t really know what it is.

I am sure that we will be getting some sort of twist to reveal Doom’s machinations (this is a rare 9 issue story, I believe). I do think Marvel needs to justify Doom’s need to be removed. But I don’t think than they are villainizing leftist policies, I think that the core contradiction at the heart of the story is that these policies are GOOD.

Which, I agree, these policies are very very good. But we don’t get to see their implementation very well (just a throwaway line or two), and we do not get to see the impacts of it. We just assume it’s good, as we believe it’s good. The story is not interested in discussing if these policies are good—they are, and the story knows that.

But, at the end of the day, taking over the world is still bad. It is still wrong to enforce your regime over others, even if this regime is doing good things. In the real world, there is no one person coming to save us, coming to fix everything for us. I am sure this story will comment on that, I am hoping that is what it discusses.

I understand and do see the ability for this comic to act as propaganda, but knowing Ryan North (who is not a USAmerican), and his works, I am sure there is more at play here. I am hopeful there is, and am waiting to see where this will go.

Ok so let me get this straight.

Marvel Comics had Doctor Doom take over the world and implement a series of popular, really effective leftist policies on a global scale.

Like everyone focuses on the US getting free healthcare how about all the african counties who just got "plows, dams, drills, fertilizer etc etc"?

As this happens we find out that Doom has also murdered every single high ranking Nazi in the world, and replaced one of them with a Doombot so he can use it to rehabilitate Hydra out of being Nazis and into building, like, fucking hospitals or something.

Ok you're following me till now right?

Why the fuck did Marvel Comics decide to have the BRIGHT IDEA of writing, in THIS ORDER:

A) Tony Stark crying histrionics over all these dead nazis and the sanctity of human life.

B) Tony Stark decide to tell the world Doom actually did the heinous crime of "killed red skull and all the other nazis while riding a T-Rex," knowing full well that's gona get all the not yet reformed Hydra soldiers currently engaged in BUILDING HOSPITALS IN MINORITY COMMUNITIES in a rage, cause an escalation in Hate Crimes.

C) Have any member of the broader public being glad Doom killed the fucking nazis be depicted as naive or misguided in some real "Copaganda show special episode about Luigi Mangione" way.

D) and After ALL OF THAT, and I wish I was joking, have Tony Stark start ARMING AND FUNDING literal NAZIS to act as Contras fighting against Doom's heinous policies of free healthcare, free education, and no genocide.

I repeat.

As of right now, in marvel comics, the designated villain of the current mega arc pushing for popular American and worldwide leftist policies fighting against a tech billionaire actively funding and arming literal fucking in universe NAZIS to dethrone him.

Next up they (EDIT: By they I mean Tony Stark and the other heroes) are literally about to team up with the Masters of Evil, among their Members being MODOK, which not many people may know was one of the people responsible for the recent Mutant Genocide.

This is either the most blatant and heinous piece of american propaganda known to man or one of the most unintentional critique of American Foreign Policy when any leftist takes power anywhere and threatens their bottom line.

Maybe both.

Anyway Tony Stark is working with Nazis so he can take away people healthcare now in the comics, right in the middle of this political environment, send post.