#prepare to be sick of me with these things

[lcvejjoong]

letters i didn’t send

pairing : boyfriend! seonghwa x fem! reader

synopsis : You discovered your boyfriend’s betrayal and your own terminal illness, but told no one. After your death, he finds the letters you left behind that shattered him with the tenderness he didn’t deserve.

genre : angst, drama, bittersweet romance

warnings : illness mentioned, strong angst

author’s note : make sure no one is looking and prepare your tissues 🤧

word count : 1.35k

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You never told him.

Not about the girl he was seeing behind your back.

Not about the way the sickness had already begun to spread through your body.

You had every reason to scream, to leave, to tell him the truth. But you didn’t. You stayed. You stayed because some part of you still loved him—because the memory of how he once looked at you was stronger than the hurt of knowing who he looked at now.

And the cancer… you couldn’t bear to see his face twist with pity. You didn’t want him to stay because he had to. You wanted him to stay because he still wanted you.

So you loved him in silence.

You smiled when you wanted to cry.

You held his hand while your own trembled.

You kissed him like you had forever, even when you knew you didn’t.

And when you couldn’t hold it all inside anymore.

You wrote.

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draft 1: may 7th, 2025

You don’t know I found out.

Not from me.

The moment I saw the message on your phone—her name, the words that weren’t meant for me—something inside me cracked.

It wasn’t sharp. Just quiet.

Heavy. Like the kind of silence that doesn’t leave.

You also don’t know about the scans.

The appointment. The way the doctor didn’t need to say much—just the look in her eyes was enough.

I remember nodding, asking calm questions, smiling tightly as I folded the paper with the diagnosis into my bag.

I haven’t unfolded it since.

Some days I don’t know what hurts more: the betrayal you think I didn’t see, or the weight of this thing growing inside me that I know I’ll never outrun.

But I couldn’t tell you. Not either truth.

I couldn’t ruin what little time we have left—these almost-moments, the way you still kiss my forehead in the morning, the way you rest your hand on my knee when we drive.

So I smile. I hold both secrets inside me, quietly. One in my heart. One in my blood.

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draft 2: may 15th, 2025

Ever since I found out, I watched you differently.

I memorize things now. The sound of your voice when you’re half-asleep. The way you laugh at things I don’t find funny anymore. The shape of your hand resting on the table, close but not quite touching mine.

You don’t know I’m dying. You don’t know I’m already halfway gone.

I spend mornings sitting in the shower, waiting for the nausea to pass. I hide the pill bottles in the back of the bathroom drawer. I cancel follow-ups. I push the pain aside long enough to sit beside you, nod along to your stories, kiss you goodnight.

And when you leave the room to answer her call—I pretend I don’t hear.

Maybe I’m selfish.

Maybe I just wanted to keep you a little longer, even if it wasn’t really me you were loving anymore.

But there’s a comfort in pretending. There's peace in the lie.

Because the truth would only make you leave.

And I want you here—just a little longer.

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draft 3: may 21th, 2025

I don’t have much time left.

But some nights, when it’s quiet and I can finally let myself feel, I curl up under the blanket and press my face to your pillow.

You’re asleep in the other room, pretending not to be drifting away from me.

And I’m pretending not to be fading too.

I see it in the mirror.

My skin paler, my collarbones sharper, my strength thinning like fog. But I still laugh with you. I still hold your hand.

I still wake up early to make coffee just the way you like it.

Even when you’re texting her from the bathroom.

I thought about telling you yesterday. I had the words in my throat, but your eyes looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to ruin that. I didn’t want the look on your face to change—to turn from love to fear, or worse, guilt.

So I swallow it again.

The words. The pain.

All of it.

I carried you and the cancer together like secrets I’m too tired to confess.

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draft 4: may 30th, 2025

Today I sat on the couch next to you while you scrolled through your phone, and I counted the seconds before you looked up at me.

You didn’t.

But I still smiled. I still told you I was okay.

I asked if you wanted dinner. I touched your arm gently, even though the weight of the day had settled into my bones and I could barely keep my hands from trembling.

I know I won’t get better. I’ve known that for a while now. And I’ve stopped hoping for more time. I just hope what time I do have doesn’t feel empty to you.

Even if you’re already giving pieces of your heart to someone else, I still want to be the one you come home to. I still want to be the silence you rest inside.

There are moments when I almost say it.

About the tumor. About the truth.

But then you kiss my cheek, like you used to, and I let the lie live a little longer.

Because even if I’m slipping away from you, I’d rather disappear gently.

Loved, even if imperfectly, than be watched like someone already gone.

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the final letter: june 3rd, 2025

My Seonghwa,

If you’re reading this, it means I’ve gone ahead.

Somewhere quieter. Somewhere softer.

I don’t want you to feel sorry. Not for the things you didn’t say. Not for the things I never told you.

Yes, there was someone else.

I knew. I saw. I felt it.

But I never wanted you to carry the weight of it. I didn’t want our final days to turn bitter.

I wanted to leave with you still smiling beside me, not shrinking away.

And yes, I was sick. For longer than you realised.

I knew what was coming. I knew my body was losing the fight before it even began.

But I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to stay for me, not for a diagnosis.

I chose to love you through all of it. Through the heartbreak, the silence, the pain. Through the cheating, through fear.

I chose to love you until my last quiet breath.

I hope when you think of me, you remember more than my leaving.

I hope you remember mornings when I kissed you like we had forever.

I hope you remember how fiercely, how fully, how silently I loved you.

Be good to yourself. Be kind to the next heart you hold.

And if you ever wonder whether I knew, or if I ever stopped loving you—the answer is simple.

Yes. I knew.

And no. I never stopped.

Not even in the afterlife.

Always yours,

Y/n

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Seonghwa didn’t make it past the second draft before he started crying.

Not the quiet kind. The kind that hits without warning—full-body, chest-caving sobs. He had to sit down. The papers were shaking in his hands.

Your handwriting blurred from tears.

You had known. About her. The lies.

The nights he left you alone and came back smelling like someone else. You knew.

And still—you stayed.

And then the letters told him why you’d been tired all the time. The doctor visits. The way your hands shook.

Cancer.

He pressed the page to his chest like it could bring you back. But it couldn’t.

He thought he had more time.

He thought you didn’t know.

He thought wrong.

And now the silence was unbearable.

You had died loving him—while he was breaking you. You never asked for an apology. You just wrote the letters. Left him with grace he didn’t deserve.

He’d never forgive himself.

For the other girl.

For the things he didn’t see.

For loving you too late.

And now he sat there, hands over his face, whispering one useless word through every breathless sob.

“I’m sorry.”

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© lcvejjoong, 2025

[writtenbyeli]

CHARLES LECLERC

tender loving care / june 23, 2025

main masterlist 🖇️ home

warnings: sickness, angst, vomiting, medicine

pairing: charles leclerc x wife!reader

nothing could’ve prepared you for the sickness that was to come from just one simple decision.

“yes, may i please have the salmon?” you smiled, gesturing towards the menu.

“mon cœur you know you don’t do well with seafood. no matter what, it upsets your stomach.” charles whispered lightly, not wanting to seem controlling in front of the waiter.

“i’ll be fine babe.” you whispered back, nodding at the waiter.

and now, roughly twelve hours later, it was 5am and it was not fine.

to start, the fish made your stomach hurt. just as charles said it would, just as it always did. but you were too persistent sometimes and it tended to backfire in your face.

it also happened to be undercooked. you’d think that since it was a beautiful, reservation only restaurant, that undercooked fish wouldn’t be a problem, but maybe you were naive for thinking that.

charles was asleep next to you as you tossed, trying to fall back asleep. charles had a meeting you were supposed to attend during lunch, so it was important for you to get as much sleep as possible.

your body ached, the violent pain from your stomach causing every muscle in your body to tense as the waves passed.

you slowly pushed yourself off the bed in an attempt to not wake charles.

you wanted to push through this by yourself, he had a lot on his plate too. you knew he cared, but the meeting was more important, and you had no intention of worrying him.

though you should’ve just accepted the help you knew he would provide because it was that same, overly independent attitude that got you in this position in the first place.

as you flicked the bathroom light on, you got a glimpse of just how rough you looked.

your skin was about three shades lighter, and you swayed with nausea.

swiftly grabbing some of your trusty medication from the cabinet, you heard shuffling back in the bedroom.

charles, of course he was waking up, he was the lightest sleeper known to man.

you shut the light off, hoping the dark would lull him back into slumber.

about a minute later, the rustling stopped. you peeked your head around the corner and saw him fully slumped against the pillow.

great, you’d have to suffer though this in the dark now.

you forced down the nausea medicine despite how badly you were shaking.

you lowered yourself to the ground in front of the toilet, propping your arms up on the sides to hold you. if you were going to be sick you just wanted it over with.

dry heave after dry heave, your body rattling from the force, the light quickly flickered on again.

what? oh— charles.

“mon ange what are you doing in the dark?” charles tiredly asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“i think i’m gonna be sick.” you croaked out, turning your face away from his gaze.

you felt a bit guilty for waking him up with all the noise, it was the last thing you wanted to do.

“why are you in the pitch black, why didn’t you wake me up?” he questioned, concern laced in his tone.

what stung the most is you could sense the hurt in his voice. his heart panged a little bit. why didn’t you wake him up? did you not trust him enough to see you like this?

“we have the meeting in less than 7 hours, i didn’t want to wake you up and have you be sleepy during work. it’s nothing personal baby, i wanted to be strong for you.” you explained, attempting to hold back the bile rising in your throat.

“oh, chérie. you are too independent sometimes. it doesn’t matter if i have a meeting in 5 minutes, never hesitate to come get me if something is wrong.”

“i’m sorry, i know you care. it’s not that, i thought i was doing the right thing.” you whispered, charles noticing the color now completely draining from your face.

“i know baby.” he smiled at you endearingly, quickly turning you back toward the toilet and pulling your hair out of your face.

your stomach practically emptied itself, your face resting on his shoulder once you were finished.

“i hate throwing up.” you sighed, nudging yourself closer into his grasp.

“i know you do, it’s okay.” he comforted, flushing the toilet quickly before lifting you up onto the seat.

“i’m gonna start a bath.” he whispered, grabbing various epsom salts from underneath the bathroom sink.

“i can do this myself honey.” you nodded towards the tub, just willing him to go back and get some rest.

“no baby, stop talking and let me help you.” he demanded, placing his hands on your shoulders. “i want to help you, i can’t go to sleep without knowing you’re okay.”

“mhm.” you finally gave in, the exhaustion creeping over you like a dark storm cloud.

charles filled the tub half way, helping you undress and step into the water.

he gently rubbed circles on your back as your body relaxed into the soothing comfort of the bath.

“next time, wake me up, i mean it.” he caressed your arm, carefully massaging your neck.

“i promise.”

@writtenbyeli 2025

written by eli <3

[equestria-cross-mod]

Very long vent/rant below the break (yes, another one). Also, go read Twin Runes, it's really good. Also also, bully me into reading the entire thing, because for some reason I can't seem to sit down and do that on my own.

And to clarify, this whole thing is directed at the anon who asked the question, not the person who answered the ask.

I was just scrolling through this blog since I enjoy the comic (though I really need to read the whole thing) and came across this post. If you know me, you know that I really don't like letting injustice stand without me saying or doing something, so here we go. Prepare for heavily restrained anger.

Akanemnon have stated that how people see them doesn't matter as much as how they make others feel. And they want them to feel positively. I can tell they're incredibly kind because of that.

I also empathize with them about this in particular, considering that, while I'm not popular, I do still struggle immensely with being social just in general. Especially publicly.

Now, here's the thing. I have a different approach to this sort of harassment they're experiencing here, which I've stated above. While I'm not as aware of the unspoken social rules that neurotypicals have, primarily because I'm autistic (among other things), some of the rules I do know are ones I don't agree with.

Now, to my point.

Anon? I didn't see the post being referenced here, but I don't think I need to. You're being ten times worse, anyhow. What you're doing is known as "guilt-tripping", and it's something I take huge issue with. You're also assuming the worst here, which tends to make you look like (excuse my language but I can't think of a better word) an asshole.

I know you'll never see this, and you know what? Fine. That's not why I'm writing this.

I'm writing this because I'm sick of people trying to make genuinely innocent people look bad. One mistake doesn't make you a bad person. Not even many. That probably just means you're stubborn or something, but not necessarily bad. Intentional and repetitive bad decisions make you a bad person.

That's what you're doing here, Anon. They made a mistake, and you decided to make them feel bad about it because you felt offended over something they said because they were stressed out.

If you were stressed out and said something dumb, I'll admit, I'd probably be a little offended too. That's not the problem. The fact that you acted on it in this way is the problem.

Everyone gets angry sometimes. Everyone can occasionally be unprofessional. But what you did was worse, because not only were you also unprofessional, but you did it intentionally. And that is unacceptable.

So many people on the internet just like you need to watch what you say, for various reasons, and to be considerate of other people. It doesn't matter if you can't be traced, those words still affect not only the people you direct them to, but also everyone else that sees them. I know that because I was affected.

And if people figured out it was you, which I don't think is entirely unheard of, they will treat you the same way. 95% guarantee.

Treat people how you want to be treated.

In this case, I'm trying to be as nice as my rage allows me to be while calling you out for being rude. As such, I also want people to tell me when I say something wrong or bad so I can correct myself, preferably in a manner that doesn't trigger bad memories to return to my mind and make me feel awful.

If your purpose was simply to ask for an apology, or to let them know that you were uncomfortable, then you need to learn to not insult them or make unreasonable assumptions in the process. You were lucky this time, but many people would've just ignored you. Telling you this from experience.

And if you do see this, just know that I do genuinely hope you learn how to address problems in your life better than this. Both minor and major. Despite how much I hate bad people (which I only think you're slightly bad since this is only one bad decision), I do want everyone to improve and become better people, no matter who they are. I often don't expect it though, considering... well, a lot of things. But I'm hoping this is a one-time thing for you.

Be better. Always strive to be better. Improve continuously, little by little. And if you don't know where or how to start or continue improving, ask someone you trust how you could do so.

Please add a trigger warning next time you threaten in your posts. I already feel you don't like neurodivergent individuals with the way you react to asks but that really unprofessional.

As a neurodivergent person myself, I apologize if that is how I came across. That was FAR from how I want to make anyone feel. Because it is simply not the case.

The threat was something I thought to be a throwaway line that I unfortunately did not think too deeply about in the moment of writing it. It was too far, and I recognize and do apologize for that. It came from a place of legit frustration as it feels like whatever I am trying to state is not paid attention to.

It is overwhelming, and I can not claim in any way that I am actually good at being a public person. I have stated before that having so many eyes on me is terrifying, as it causes me severe anxiety at times.

This position was handed to me by a weird twist of fate. And more often than not I question if I really even want it.

What I do want is to tell a story. One that gives people hope and makes them feel better. No matter who they are and what they might struggle with. I do want to be a good and supportive person. To ANYONE.

Again. I sincerely apologize for my harsh words. I do not wish to make anyone feel like I hate them or hold a grudge against them.

My frustrations got the better of me, and I should have acted accordingly.

[fawninthetrees]

Pearl

Chapter 1: Welcome to Wabang

Summary: You return to Wabang after eight years. The life you tried so hard to run from threatens to swallow you.

A/N: I’ve had it bad for this man since TGM. Marvel has reawakened my love for Lewis Pullman with a carnal passion that has resulted in this mess of a story. I wanna do nasty, freaky shit with this man, but alas. If it’s awful, don’t tell me, my ego is fragile and I will sob.

Also not proof read because lazy.

Warning: Death/mentions of death

Word count: 1,271?

Next chapter

Your return to Wabang should have been rejoiceful. You’d left at 18 for Tennessee, moving in with your aunt and uncle in persuit of Barrel Racing and Bronc Riding. Tennessee, which had much better prospects than shit middle-of-nowhere Wabang, Wyoming. You had left and never looked back.

Now at 26 you were white knuckling your way down the freeway, going as fast as you safely could. Occasionally, you glanced in your rear view mirror to check on the horse trailer attached to your pickup. You had an hour left till you reached Wabang. A total of 23 sleepless hours already completed.

The news of your mother’s death was a violent shock that had you dropping everything. You bid your aunt and uncle and the state of Tennessee goodbye.

Your mama had been fighting breast cancer for most of your life. But your parents declined to share how bad it had gotten. At first you were angry, angry that they had hidden her pain from you, hidden the seriousness of her sickness. You had grown so accustomed to illness that you didn’t realize her bad days were more frequent than the good ones. And the distance didn’t help.

Hour seven of the drive you realized she did it out of love. You loved Tennessee and you loved winning. Your mother knew if they told you the cancer spread, that it made it into her bones, you would immediately drop everything and come back home. And that was the last thing she wanted.

So now, in death, you did exactly that.

You drove accompanied by the hum of your engine and the clatter of the trailer. You hadn’t found it in yourself to cry yet. And the guilt of it was consuming you. Your mama, the one who gave you life, and you couldn’t shed a tear.

So you focused on what was to come. Your daddy needed you. With your mama gone, you knew he wouldn’t be able to run the shop alone. The only car repair and hardware store in all of Wabang. And it would ruin the town if it wasn’t operational while your father mourned. So, you made the selfless decision to return to the town you hated. You could be the state champion of Wyoming just as you were the one in Tennessee.

WELCOME TO WABANG was painted in white cursive on a gaudy sign as you entered the town limits. Your whole body inadvertently tightened, as if you were preparing for war.

When you pulled into the long driveway of your house, a sudden wave of emotion overcame you. For the first time in years, you’d be returning to the house you were raised in. Except now a pivotal part of it was missing.

Your father, having heard the gravel scatter at your approach, was waiting on the porch. He looked weary. Years older than he was. Grief did that, it aged you, turning you into a shell of yourself. He managed a soft smile at the sight of you.

You found it hard to breathe as you parked. You stiffly exited the truck, your body tight due to the lack of movement over the 24 hours of driving, the only times you stopped were to pee and refill the tank. Your father met you half way, his boots crunching with each step.

“Hi, bug.” he said. His voice was raw from crying.

“Hi daddy.” you gently greeted.

And then you saw his lips tremble and before you knew it, he pulled you in for a tight hug. The two of you stood there for a long while, only breaking apart when a loud whinny came from the trailer.

“Quiet Sinner,” you huffed.

“S’all right.” your dad said with a sniff. “I suspect he’s all pent up from the ride.” he pulled away. “let him out, he’ll find his way to the barn, gate’s open.”

You did as he suggested. Sinner proudly walked out, his large black frame towering above you. You took a step to the side and ushered him in the direction of the barn. He stood with you for a few moments, as if trying to offer you comfort. Then he took off into the field where a large red barn sat.

“Come on in bug,” you father threw open the backseat of your truck and yanked out your suitcases. “let’s get you settled.”

You stepped into the house half expecting your mother to come down the steps, to sweep you into a hug and spin you around.

But it never came. Instead, you were met with silence. A choking, painful silence.

Your father carried your luggage up the stairs and kicked open the door of your room. It was the same as you left it. Floral wallpaper, lace curtains, statues of horses both real and mythical lined your wall. Warm oak furniture, a queen size bed frame, nightstands on either side, a bookshelf filled with the books you read in high school, and a dresser with a matching cheval mirror in the corner. He sat your suitcases down and straightened with a huff.

“You didn’t bring much.” he observed.

“Left in a hurry.” you said. “Drew and Mae said they’d ship up whatever they couldn’t bring with them.”

Mae was your fathers sister, your Aunt.

“Did they say when they’d be in?”

“Tuesday,” it was Saturday. The funeral was the following Friday.

He nodded. “I’ll tidy the guest room then.” Then he cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll let you get settled then.” his hand slipped through your hair to rest in your neck, he pulled you close and kissed your forehead. “good to have you home bug. It’s been lonely without you.”

He left without another word, pulling the door shut as he went. You moved without thinking, falling into a methodical rythm as you unpacked. By the time you finished, the sun was setting and the tiredness finally weighed in your bones. You pushed yourself from the ground, you needed to feed Sinner before you made something for yourself and your father.

Just as your father predicted, Sinner found the barn. He settled into a pen you suspected your father prepared for you before you arrived. You began fixing his dinner. When you were done, you trudged back into the house.

It felt odd, using the kitchen without the usual hum of your mother. She always sang as she cooked, either a song stuck in her head or one she made up. You threw open the fridge and gathered what you could. Goulash, you decided.

You didn’t notice your father’s eyes on you as you moved. He sat in his recliner, an old black and white western playing on the tv next to him.

When you finished, you found yourself setting the table for three. Your heart sank when you realized.

“it’s ok bug,” your dad said, getting up and joining you. “your mama always did it when you were gone. Feels right to do it for her.”

You saved yourself from answering by turning around and shoveling food into bowls.

The two of you sat down and ate. The usual prayer your mother insisted upon reciting to the Lord was thrown to the wind. You pulled at the sweet rolls you found in the cabinet and dipped it into the goulash. Everything seemed to be in silence without your mother.

“I’ll need your help arranging some things for the funeral.” your dad said, his spoon scraping against the bowl.

“Ok,”

[scarapbook]

anchor to you | i. sae

romance. angst.

–cause when i'm with her, i am thinking of you.

;; hi peopleee, this is heavily inspired by the song "anchor tattoo" by chase atlantic. this is such an underrated song that deserves way more recognition. if you haven’t heard it yet, i highly recommend listening to it while or after reading!!<333

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you were never meant to be permanent.

you were a fleeting moment stretched across borrowed time. his calm before the chaos, the whisper between stadium roars. to love him was to hold a storm between your palms and pretend that you wouldn't get torn apart. and god, did you try.

he came to you in fragments. late night phone calls, half-finished goodbyes, fingertips brushing yours like a confession too fragile to speak aloud. and you, too foolish and full of hope, gathered those fragments like seashells on the shore, pretending they formed something whole.

loving him was like carving your name into wet concrete, hoping it would set, knowing that the rain was coming.

he never promised you forever.

but you gave him eternity anyway.

-

it started in tokyo, late summer.

you were assisting in a documentary project for blue lock, just a side thing while figuring out what to do after college. you weren't even supposed to be on set that day. but the main interviewer called in sick, and someone shoved a clipboard in your hand with a casual: “can you fill in?”

you met him under the fluorescent lights and the click of a recording mic.

he was the first athlete scheduled that day. a last minute change you hadn’t even prepared for. you fumbled through the intro, camera half-focused, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the name you already knew.

sae itoshi.

a name that carried weight. precision. distance.

“just a few questions.” you said, voice calm even though your fingers trembled.

you didn't expect him to look directly at you after you speak. didn't expect the silence to stretch, then soften.

“you're nervous,” he said.

you blinked. “is it that obvious?”

“not to them,” he nodded toward the crew behind the screen. “but i see it.”

“sorry. promise i won't ruin your brand.” you said nervously.

he looked at you–sharp eyes, unreadable face. “that's a shame,” he said. “i was hoping you’d try.”

your eyes flutter. “try what?”

“to ruin it.”

that was the first time you smiled at him.

he smiled then. barely. but it knocked the breath from your chest.

-

he started waiting around after shoots.

at first, it was simple “need help carrying that?” or “you forgot your water bottle.”

but one night, you were editing a video footage alone in the media room, headphones on, when a coffee cup was placed beside your hand.

you looked up. “is this a bribe?”

“for what?” he asked.

you raised a brow. “for being in the background of every frame i'm trying to cut.”

he shrugged, unbothered. “maybe i just wanted to see how long it’d take you to notice.”

you chuckled. “you’re not exactly forgettable, sae.”

he looked at you a little too long after that.

“neither are you.”

-

the days bled into nights.

coffee shared in silence. glances that lingered too long. conversations that meant everything and nothing at all.

he started texting you random thoughts. a snapshot of the ocean. a song lyric. once, a blurry picture of a stray cat curled on a bench with the caption: "it reminded me of you."

you laughed too hard at that.

there was that one evening, the first time he came over. it was raining, and he forgot his umbrella. you wrapped him in a towel, made him tea, and he spotted your record player.

“you listen to vinyl?”

“only the sad stuff,” you smiled.

“you’re weird.”

“thanks.”

and then—“play me something.”

you chose a soft ballad. he sat cross-legged on your floor, eyes closed, listening like the world had gone quiet.

that night, you showed him your anchor tattoo.

“it’s new,” you said. "got it after i hit a low point.”

“what does it mean to you?”

“that no matter where i go, who i become… i always come back to myself.”

he stared at it, fingers brushing your wrist.

“maybe i need one, too,” he whispered. “something to keep me from drifting.”

and then, one of your favorite memories: the beach trip.

it was unplanned. he called you at 3 a.m. “i can’t sleep. come with me.”

you drove to the coast, music blasting, both of you barefoot and laughing by sunrise.

you ran into the waves in a black hoodie, mascara smudged, hair a wild mess.

he watched you like you were art.

and later, when you both collapsed in the sand—he kissed you for the first time.

“you feel like home,” he said, forehead pressed against yours.

you didn’t reply. you just held his hand tighter.

-

things escalated the way storms do. slow rumblings, then lightning.

kisses shared after midnight, hands grasped between car seats, whispers that were too soft for the world to hear.

“i don’t do public.” he told you one night, his head resting against your collarbone.

you nodded, your fingers brushing through his hair. “i don’t need public.”

and that was true.

until it wasn't.

-

“you know you’re going to break my heart, right?” you said once, not accusing—just honest.

he turned his head toward you. “why do you think that?”

“because you’re always thinking about the next move. the next goal. and i'm just…” you hesitated. “here.”

he exhaled. “you're not just anything.”

“but i’m not enough to stay for.”

he didn’t respond. but the silence was answer enough.

-

it wasn’t one moment. it was a thousand little ones.

the texts that stopped coming. the way he started showing up later, leaving earlier. how his eyes stopped lighting up when they found yours in a crowd.

“you’re leaving again,” you said one night, arms crossed, voice barely above a whisper.

he didn’t lie. “yeah.”

“for how long?”

“i don’t know.”

you wanted to scream. instead, you said, “will you still think of me?”

his gaze flickered. “always.”

but the door still closed behind him.

and this time, he didn’t come back.

days turned to months. months turned to years.

three years.

three long years since he walked out and never returned.

you learned to live around the void he left. learned how to exist without checking your phone every hour. you learned how to laugh again, though it never quite reached your eyes.

-

you found out from a headline.

“SAE ITOSHI MARRIES LONGTIME GIRLFRIEND IN PRIVATE CEREMONY”

there was a photo attached–her white dress flowing like mist, his hand steady on her waist. he looked happy. or at least content.

you sat in the quiet of your apartment, phone slipping from your grasp.

there was no scream. no breakdown.

just silence.

because grief doesn't always come crashing. sometimes, it creeps in slowly. an ache behind the ribs, a weight on your tongue, a memory clawing at the back of your throat.

you closed your eyes, and all you could see was him.

all the versions of him that were only ever yours.

you traced your fingers over the tattoo on your wrist. it still looked the same.

but you didn't feel anchored anymore.

-

“i don’t do public.”

that’s what he told you the night you sat across from him in a quiet corner booth, your fingers idly tracing the condensation on your glass, trying to read his expression like scripture.

“you’re too good,” he murmured, eyes down. “they’ll tear you apart if they know.”

and back then, that reason was enough. you smiled, said you understood. you swallowed down the ache of loving someone in silence. no hand-holding on sidewalks, no shared photos. you were the secret no one was supposed to see.

but now?

now, it’s all over your feed.

sae itoshi. married. in a glass cathedral somewhere in europe, with white lilies and soft jazz and his name carved into gold. the press knew. the world knew. she knew.

his bride is beautiful—poised, elegant, the kind of woman who smiles like she knows the cameras are watching. you can’t even hate her.

but you hate the way he’s looking at her in the photo. not because it’s full of love—no, you know sae. he’s not a man who wears his heart on his sleeve.

it's the way he’s not hiding it.

the way she gets the version of him the world is allowed to love.

and you?

you were the blurry shadow in his timeline. the girl behind the door when his matches ended. the kiss he never posted. the "what if" that never got its turn in the light.

your phone trembles slightly in your hand. you reread the headline. you look at their matching rings.

and all you can think about is how he once said "i don’t do public."

turns out—he just didn’t do you.

-

months passed since the headline.

time moved strangely after that day. slow in some places, blinding in others. people kept living. the sun still rose. but you felt like a ghost inside your own body.

the pain didn't fade, not really. it simply changed shapes. it learned to disguise itself as indifference on some days and nostalgia on others.

you avoided soccer games on tv. avoided the perfume he once complimented. avoided the beach.

but sometimes, the wind still smelled like memory.

you found yourself writing again, but the words were never for anyone but him.

sometimes you'd whisper into the quiet, “do you ever think of me, sae?”

you imagined him answering–always imagined a yes.

because he had to remember. the vinyls. the cat on the beach. the sound of your laughter at sunrise.

the way your voice cracked when you told him to be safe.

you wore long sleeves now. not to hide the tattoo. but because it ached.

some memories hurt when touched too directly.

but still, in your dreams, he was always barefoot on that beach, sand between his fingers, eyes searching the shore for you.

and you? always running toward him.

even when you knew he wouldn't wait.

-

the things i buried

sae's

she sleeps beside me now. soft breath, warm skin, fingers curled near my chest. a picture of peace, of what love is supposed to look like.

she hums in her sleep sometimes, and i wonder if she dreams of me the way i dream of you. but no. her heart is whole. it beats steady. it’s not haunted by a name it can’t forget.

she is kind. gentle. everything i thought i needed. everything the world told me i should want.

and yet—every night, i dream of you.

every night, i reach for a ghost i never learned to let go of. your shadow presses into my spine. your laugh—faint, almost cruel in its distance—echoes between the spaces of my silence.

she asks if i’m happy. i smile. say yes. kiss her forehead like it means something.

but the truth?

i still carry your name in the spaces between my ribs. i still see your smile when the stadium lights flicker—brief, blinding, gone. i still remember the anchor tattoo on your wrist how it felt beneath my thumb, the way it pulsed when you were angry. i still catch vanilla on the wind and turn around expecting you.

my chest tightens. my fingers twitch. and every time, it isn’t you. it never is.

i still think of you—

because when i’m with her, i am thinking of you.

and maybe that’s the cruelest part of all. that you will always be the anchor i tried to cut loose, but never could.

because part of me wanted to drown with you.

end.

✦•······················•✦•·····················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

©: scarapbook

;; hii, it's my first time posting here and idfk how tumblr works so i really am sorry for the trashy dividers that i've used 😭🙏 i tried those gif dividers but the same gif just kept on disappearing (my patience runs out). anywaysss, you guys can find this on ao3 and wp as well!! thank you so much for reading💗

[jelloshifts]

new dr just dropped— prepare to be sick of me. I am giddy I am giggling, my whimsy has been reborn

I’m actually just bringing back my stranger things dr because I have a vision and I cannot be normal about anything

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

(Open Rp) Xiaolin Showdown in "Temptation of The Secret Fox Princess"

(warning it'll be contains the Nsfw, if your a minor..please don't reply,, viewer disgression is advised)

It was a Long time Ago at the Xiaolin temple, Master Fung introduce His Students (which is Raimundo, clay, omi, and Kimiko) to a new Student of the group and Her name is Saphira Lorraina Fox, She's Kimiko's best friend in secrets that they don't know of.. One day, Saphira had a crush on Raimundo for a week and began to fell for him. Every Morning she made presents for him as a sign of affection towards him but Little did they know that they've been watched by the most powerful enemy of all known as "chase young" The immortal warrior whom he uses the crows as a scout to spy on those Xiaolin monks until He set his sights on Saphira, He is More Interested with a mystery Kitsune Girl joining with them.. But day After day, Saphira Always Leaves Baskets of Gifts for Raimundo But Sadly He Believes it was Kimiko who brought gifts and all.. She felt hurt a bit, However things took a turn when they battled against Chase young. She Finally faced Chase young, When they began to Fight her eyes turns red like Hell fire Burning in Rage in her However, Chase young tells her that Raimundo Did not love her at all No matter How much She Pours her heart out on him, He'll never show his affection back.. In Rage, Saphira Change into a demon Fox and then Chase young change into a Dragon Form and fought but then She defeated him and She said coldly," I have a Benefit of the Doubt about my love for Rai.. But there's one thing that you don't know that I will never give up on him.. Never." She change back but then chase young asked her This.. "If he ever Loves you Saphira, why did he rejected you in the first place?" and then he said before she turn away and left, "One Day, You'll know the truth about him and then you'll realized what a Fool He is.".. Back in the temple, Chase young's words buzzing in her skulls and she thoughted "What if he's right about Raimundo? Does Rai ever loved me at all?, NO! I know he loves me.. it's just he doesn't show it.. Not yet.. I'll try harder but first.. I had to train harder as much as possible." Months passed as she Saw Diris the siren itself.. Saphira hates the Sirens as she made a low growling and knowing that Sirens are nothing but trouble and Stealing The kitsunes thunder, She remember that she use the silver army to wiped them out and Diris is the last of it.. After Diris got refroze, Saphira got stranded in waters.. She begged Rai to pull her up but he refuse and left her with his friends, Saphira began to swim back to land.. When she returns to the temple.. She got pretty irritated by Rai's abandonment But That night, Kimiko asked Rai why is he treated Saphira So Horribly and abandoned her when she needed him the most? But then His answer will make saphira realized that Chase young was right about it when Rai said to kimiko that he refer a "Beautiful and gorgeous" Women over some "Freak and a Man-Eating demon", His words made saphira's Heart be shattered as part of her thought that he didn't mean to say that but other thought that chase young was right about raimundo, After all every time she gives him gifts but she gets none in return which broke her heart so much but she still got the benefit of the doubt until One Fateful day when She and others confronted chase young but after defeated chase young and got the shen gong wu, She and rai got surrounded by the big cats ready to strike one them down until Rai Kicked saphira on the back of her legs and broke it.. Saphira fell onto the ground with a screams..and she turns and begged rai to help.. But, He made a sick Smirk and said," See Ya Freak!" When he left Saphira was devastated, her heart and her world was shattered into a million pieces, she saw the big cats getting closer as she close her eyes preparing for the worst Knowing that she'll die by the hands of chase young until he called off the big cats as they backed away from saphira, She open her eyes and confused to see what was happening as one of the big cats helped her up.. and She said, "I don't understand, why did you spare my life?" And then he answers……

[golden-loona]

the wrong guy. | one shot

summary: taehyung and y/n hatch a plan to kidnap their local rich guy.

pairing: oc x taehyung x jungkook

words: 13,072

warnings: fake gun, kidnapping, implied threats.

y/n and taehyung have had enough of being broke. like "prepared to commit crime or sell a kidney" broke.

they're absolutely sick of scraping by with ramen and cheap, watery coffees. even splitting the rent with their roommate hoseok doesn't change anything. so? they're making a plan. a shit one, but its a plan.

"okay so, notes" y/n begins, holding a notepad and a black ink pen. preparing to write whatever bullshit plan herself and taehyung were about to concoct.

"we need to find like a.. local rich dude, preferably not too hench," taehyung begins, y/n starts writing away but stops. "hench?"

"yeah like, buff? he could fight us off" taehyung says pointedly, y/n raises an eyebrow. "but its 2 versus 1?" she remarks. taehyung points to her and then himself. "girl.. look at us, you really think we could fight off against a hench guy?" taehyung makes a valid point, y/n nods in agreement and writes it down.

they bicker back and forth for a while, discussing local rich guys and attempt (keyword: attempt) to come up with a plan to kidnap said rich guy. "how much ransom are we asking?" taehyung asks with furrowed brows as his eyes go over the notes.

"what's his net worth?" y/n responds and taehyung nods, "good point, let me google."

a quick google search shows kim seokjin is very well off. taehyung and y/n could only dream of that in their bank accounts. would be a lot better than the 20,000 won they have between them. "he lives local doesn't he? we could try and follow his routine and it'll make things easier" taehyung suggests and y/n's eyes light up.

the following week is a busy mess. taehyung and y/n taking turns following the fuck out of kim seokjin. weirdos.

monday? y/n calls in sick to work and takes the bus to hanam. an area notoriously known for its high profile people. (the richies.) there she starts to follow seokjin on his route, going to a gym in the local estate. that motherfuck walks there too, is he that stupid? what an easy grab. with her notepad to hand, y/n takes notes like a she's nancy drew.

tuesday? it's taehyung's turn, he skips class to follow seokjin and his routine is.. pretty much the same. apart from a car ride he had to follow on a rented bike. his knees will never be the same. gym, coffee shop, the office for a meeting (maybe) and then back home. then a restaurant, then the gym again and then back home. easy. notes taken.

wednesday? the fucking same, what the fuck. y/n is slightly pissed, can't believe she missed work for this shit. same notes, same places. what a boring life.

thursday? taehyung's turn again. a busier day for kim seokjin, he attends a charity event (whoopee.) and taehyung is turned away from the red carpet by security. notes go down the drain.

friday? the same as tuesday, seokjin goes about his day and its just.. absolutely predictable. y/n is disappointed.

saturday comes and its an easy fucking job for y/n and taehyung.

"i think we take him when he's on his way home from the gym" y/n suggests, tapping her pen against the notepad. her head resting against her hand on the desk. "morning or night?" taehyung asks, y/n rolls her eyes. "taehyung we watch true crime documentaries all the time, you should know its easy to get them at night," y/n explains and taehyung nods in agreement.

"right, what are our disguises?" y/n groans at taehyung's words. "i didn't think about that." then the list begins. gloves. balaclavas. black clothing. rope, maybe? or are cable ties better? a burner phone for the ransom text. a getaway car, they could just borrow yoongi's maybe?

and just like that, the plan is set in motion.

take yoongi's car to the estate seokjin lives in. wait near the gym. wait for him to leave (he usually leaves around 11.30pm) skrrrt up next to him, open the car door and push his ass in. fuck, they need a weapon.

"we need something to threaten him with, i forgot about that" y/n says with a sigh of frustration, taehyung falls back onto y/n's bed with a groan. "i'm too coward to hold a knife with intent," taehyung admits. y/n nods her head in agreement. what follows is silence as the two both sit and just think, trying to come up with any ideas whatsoever.

"doesn't namjoon have that fake gun he used for the police outfit one halloween?" y/n asks after a couple of minutes. taehyung sits up suddenly, "oh my god you're a fucking genius!" he says with a grin. "call namjoon and ask if you can borrow the costume, make up some excuse" y/n says, throwing taehyung his phone, to which he unlocks immediately.

on monday evening taehyung walks into the house with namjoon's police officer costume, fake gun included, a wide victorious grin on his face.

on tuesday night, they put their plan into action. having given some bullshit excuse to yoongi, they borrow his car. clad in all black outfits, black gloves on their hands and balaclavas at the ready. they park up close to the gym in the estate that the one and only kim seokjin lives in. now? they wait.

the clock ticks and ticks, taehyung has his feet resting on the dashboard while he (miserably) fails to complete a sudoku in a newspaper.

y/n sips her iced coffee, eyes on the doors of the gym. the only lights on are those by the entrance, there's no view into the actual gym. which fucking sucks. y/n taps her fingers on the wheel with a sigh.

"3 here, wait.. no a 4" taehyung voices as he replaces the 3 with a 4 on the paper. y/n raises a brow and side eyes him before rolling her eyes. "can you focus?" she asks with a sharp exhale.

"its only 11, we got like 30 minutes" taehyung voices as he focuses on the sudoku, pen to paper scribbling out a wrong number.

with an annoyed grunt, y/n keeps her eyes on the gym entrance. occasionally sipping her coffee and looking around. it's pitch black outside, beside the street light and the bright fluorescent lights of the gym entrance. automatic double doors closed with the lack of presence. the minutes tick by, one by one. slow as fuck.

"stakeouts are boring, i don't know how the police do it" y/n complains with pursed lips, arms crossed against her ribs as she continues to watch the entrance like a hawk.

"yes! wait no," taehyung's win ends quickly as his eyes scan the sudoku, y/n rolls her eyes yet again. "let me see it," y/n attempts to grab the newspaper to take a look herself but taehyung snatches it back. "no! i worked hard on it" he argues, y/n kisses her teeth.

"clearly not well enough, let me see," she remarks, trying to grab at it again. a squabble ensues until a figure appears in the lights of the gym entrance.

"wait look! it's time," y/n says quickly, completely dropping the sudoku squabble and pulling a balaclava over her head. she hurriedly makes it comfortable on her face before starting the car. taehyung pulls his own balaclava over his head, grabbing the fake gun from the back seat.

"ready?" y/n asks, looking at him. taehyung swallows harshly and nods, y/n puts the car into gear and pushes it forward towards where a man has just left the gym. it's 11.30pm. definitely kim seokjin.

quickly pulling up beside the man, taehyung rushes out and points the fake gun at the figure. it happens quickly.

"put your hands up!" taehyung says loudly, pointing the gun at the figure. fuck, its dark. he can't even see properly through this mask. the man immediately puts his hand up in surrender, taehyung grabs the mans wrist and pulls him toward the car. the barrel of the (fake) gun pressed to the man's back.

"do as we say and we won't hurt you" taehyung attempts to say in a menacing voice, he opens the door for the backseat and pushes the man into the car before closing the door and getting into the passenger seat. y/n puts her foot on the gas and they speed off into the night with their local rich man in the backseat.

taehyung keeps his (fake) gun pointed at the man and the man is.. surprisingly quiet. shockingly not fighting them off or begging for his life. y/n drives out of the estate and toward their apartment. keeping her eye on seokjin in the backseat through the rearview mirror.

it's when the light hits his face that she does a double take. her jaw fucking drops.

"taehyung," y/n says flatly, jaw clenched. taehyung, still in character as john wick from wish, isn't listening. with a slap to the arm she repeats his name in a harsher tone, "taehyung"

"what?" he finally responds, "that's not seokjin!" y/n says alertedly, pulling her balaclava off her head and throwing it into taehyung's lap.

"seokjin? the business guy?" the man in the back says before snorting a laugh. taehyung quickly pulls up his balaclava, taking a look at the man in the backseat. he turns forward in his seat with his mouth agape. "oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" taehyung murmurs.

"what the fuck, taehyung?! you had ONE job" y/n argues, panic rushing through her body. she goes rigid because what the FUCK.

"i'm sorry! its dark and the mask was small," taehyung complains defensively, covering his face with his hands. "oh we're going to prison."

the man in the backseat throws his head back with a low chuckle, he enjoys the chaos happening in the front seat. honestly? his day got better rather than worse.

"sir, we are so, so, sorry" y/n immediately apologises, looking at him through the rearview mirror. "i've been kidnapped by worse people," his words make y/n and taehyung side eye each other.

"uh, cause that's not terrifying" taehyung mumbles, sinking a little in his seat. the man leans forward from the backseat, getting a little closer to them between them. y/n gulps quietly, keeping her eyes trained on the road ahead.

"now why don't you drop me off somewhere and we can forget all about this?" the man suggests, looking between them. he easily notices the way his kidnappers refuse to look at him, a smirk of amusement on his face.

"sure, wherever you wanna go" taehyung agrees immediately, y/n shakes her head in disagreement. "hell no, he could be a snitch" she argues, hands 10 to 2 on the wheel.

"wait, whats your job? are you rich?" taehyung asks, the man looks at him with a face of confusion and then the realisation hits. they were looking for a ransom.

he falls back into the backseat again, chuckling in absolute amusement. "seriously? you were trying to kidnap kim seokjin of all people for fucking ransom?" he remarks, y/n and taehyung stay silent. the man shakes his head and sighs, a smile on his face.

"you two are so stupid," he remarks, earning defensive noises from the front seats. "you don't even know us!" taehyung argues, waving around the fake gun. the man rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

"first of all, you kidnapped the wrong guy. second, you kidnapped me with a fake gun at that, i was not intimidated in the slightest, if i didn't want to be kidnapped i'd of put you on your ass," the man exclaims, easily taking the fake gun out of taehyung's hand. taehyung lips press in a pout.

"who are you anyway?" y/n asks with a offended tone, still driving aimlessly with no clue in her mind where to fucking go. "jeon jungkook," taehyung goes rigid hearing the name and sinks further in his seat.

"oh we're so dead," he whispers, "my family are going to report me missing," taehyung fake sniffles into his hands.

"don't panic, i'll make sure your families have bodies to bury, jungkook says with a smirk, taehyung looks at y/n and they collectively start yelling.

"this is all your fucking fault!-" "you suggested kidnapping a rich guy!" "-kidnapping the wrong fucking guy" "it was your idea!" "how can you not recognise kim fucking seokjin?!"

jungkook chuckles in the backseat, completely and utterly satisfied with the chaos he's caused his kidnappers. "i'm kidding! i'm kidding," he calls out, tapping the necks of the front seats.

y/n and taehyung go silent. "mostly."

y/n turns the car around, silently driving right back to where they had taken jungkook from. the air is thick with a heated tension. and not the sexy kind. the i'm-scared-for-my-life kind. after a few minutes of silence, taehyung switches the radio on, the melody of "bad day" by daniel powter coming through the speaker.

y/n looks at taehyung with slight disgust, "dude, really?" taehyung scoffs and turns the radio back off. "it's too silent," he complains like a child. "do you want music, jungkook?" taehyung turns slightly in his seat, y/n smacks his chest eliciting a loud "ow!" from taehyung.

"i would love some music," jungkook voices with a smirk, taehyung turns the radio back on with a grateful smile. the silence is way too sickening.

its a rough fucking 15 minutes driving back to that gym. jungkook has a sick smirk on his face in the backseat, taehyung is quietly singing along like nothing is fucking wrong. is y/n the only sane one in this car?

with a sigh of gratefulness that this is over, y/n pulls up outside the gym and puts the car in park. pressing the child lock button off, y/n turns in her seat to look at jungkook.

"i apologise again," y/n says with an apologetic, pleading glint in her eyes. jungkook snorts a laugh and opens the door to get out.

"i'll be in touch."

a/n: hehehe this was funny

masterlist

golden-loona 2025

[googieplague]

Obsessed with these weather freaks

[escyn]

Old Wounds Reopened[flood]: Kyoshi Warrior Sokka | Blue Spirit

Zukka Week Day 3 (id in alt)

+some close-ups bc I love them so

other things from ZW2024: Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

[senorpugbean]

Alice Detroit because rarely is fanart of her alone

I need to practice drawing her features, She shapeshifts every time I draw her 😭

[buttdumplin]

The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.

This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!

cw: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's word count: 2.1K

Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.

"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"

John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.

"Yours was good too, I trust?"

"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."

"I... will keep an eye out, dove."

"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."

He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.

Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.

"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"

"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.

"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."

"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.

"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"

Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."

John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.

"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.

They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.

"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."

~

Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.

You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.

"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."

You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.

"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."

"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.

"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.

You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.

"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"

Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.

"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."

Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"

"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.

His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.

"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.

You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"

A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.

"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."

"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"

Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."

And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.

~

Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.

You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."

There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.

"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."

He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.

By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.

"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"

He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"

"The boys?"

"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."

You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"

With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.

"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"

A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."

A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.

He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.

~

Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"

When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.

You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"

"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."

He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.

"Where did this come from?"

"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."

"Honey--"

"Please, just once."

"But I--"

"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."

"You don't--"

"I promise I'll be good for it."

Oh.

Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.

Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.

Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"

Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.

You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.

[hereformiwi]

WHAT REALLY CONFIRMS TEAM BYLER IN S5 FOR ME is that we consistently see Joyce and Will with Derek in the teaser… and who do we also see Derek with? Mike and Robin. They’re all going to be together with the kids oh my gosh this season is gonna be amazing i’m so excited for s5 i don’t think i can shut up abt it

[aadmelioraa]

i'm being extremely normal about this btw

[canecone]

Hello creatures of the night 😍😍 I have come back to fix the planetlord design

I need to stop pushing myself so far to the point the quality is the worst when I get long periods of inspiration 😔

[jonathanbyersphd]

And I love you, it's ruining my life I love you, it's ruining my life