#so it's hard not to compare them just a little bit....well...more my experience? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aventurinesweetheart · 2 months ago

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˗ˏˋ MESSY EATERS ´ˎ˗

characters: SUNDAY, Aventurine, jing yuan, CAELUS, STELLE (more in pt2??) genre: SMUUUTTTTTTTTTTT summary: r they a munch? come find out! warnings: afab reader (no prns used), mentions of squirting, spit!, oral (reader receiving!) (also aventurine in his part bc yall 69), overstimulation, light dacryphilia, praise, playful teasing, generally messy oral sex, mentions of hickies?, jing yuan puts his thumb in your ass while he eats it from the back, mentions of cum eating in caelus’, face sitting (stelle), idk proceed at your own risk this is one of my more tame works so 🤷 a/n: this was not originally going to be my comeback fic but i was hit with a bolt of inspiration comparable to lightning

SUNDAY

→ now. just. hear me the fuck out. sunday is THE munch. do not fuckin play w me rn. he LIVVEEESSSSS to eat pussy — he gets off on pleasing his partner (he’s a bit of a service switch, willing to take up any role to make you happy) and making you cum all over his face. he loves making a mess out of you—sweaty with cum soaked thighs.. mmh, he gets hard at the sight and ends up digging back in to your puffy cunt, tongue fucking you with no remorse and keeping your thighs spread apart with a surprising amount of strength

→ if you let him, he’ll stay between your thighs for hours, until he gets lockjaw, so for your sake and his, please remind him that you both need breaks so you don’t pass out.

→ always praising you too, talkin ab how youre so pretty and well behaved for him (as he will eat the brat right out of you), and how he just can’t get enough of you

→ “mmnhg, fuck, you taste so good, dove, i could eat you whole.” and he Does.

→ sucks on your clit and curls his fingers so good inside you until you eventually squirt n make such a mess on his face — something that initially shocks him, but he quickly grows obsessed by it and wants you to do it again, even if you protest that you can’t!

→ “did you just..?” he asks in awe and disbelief, looking up at you with big, gold eyes. he couldn’t quite believe what he’d gotten you to do—all from a little stimulation? (buddy, you’ve been eating them out for the last half hour, AT LEAST)

→ it’s safe to say he becomes obsessed with you making an absolute mess on his fuckin face, and encourages you to make one everytime !! for a former priest or sum, he sure is unholy in the bedroom in your humble opinion!

“aa–ah! sunday!” you wail as he scissors your drooling, overstimulated pussy. your cheeks were flushed and eyes full of tears as he ignores your cries in favor of lapping and sucking away at your throbbing clit.

he had made you cum thrice now, and he was well on his way to working you to your fourth orgasm. perhaps sunday was a bit of a sadomasochist, as he focuses on overstimulating you and ignoring his own achey cock, straining horribly against his slacks, sure to leave a wet stain against his boxers.

sunday can’t help but moan into your cunt when you tug at his hair, forcing him closer to your core despite your protests that you couldn’t handle anymore. so, you squeeze your thighs around his head and throw your head back, uttering a silent prayer to whatever god may have been listening for any kind of mercy from this overwhelming pleasure.

and, finally, just as you’re pushed over the edge for the nth time, you actually fucking squeal! when you feel teeth come into contact with the almost hypersensitive skin of your inner thigh—and sure enough, there was your silver-haired boyfriend nibbling on your skin as gently as he can, not wanting to overwhelm you, but still wanting to play with you a bit..!

Aventurine

→ okay so. he can suck dick AND eat some pussy. my Bisexual Versatile Switch Icon. while he’s a bit of a whore, that just simply means he has more experience to please you with <3

→ REEAALLLLYYYYYYY into spit (im projecting) and i mean spitting in your mouth, you spitting in his mouth, spitting on your face, etc. but, and i say this with a devious grin on my face, spitting directly onto your pretty pussy of course ! <3 and diving in immediately after!

→ do not let him eat you out anywhere but the bedroom, bc he will make such a fucking mess out of the sheets, the couch cushions, fucking. anything wherever you are.

→ big on sucking your clit raw while he scissors your cunt apart and curls his fingers ever so nicely inside you. he just likes the feeling of it twitching and pulsing in his mouth, but he’s not afraid to tongue fuck you either

→ LOVES when you sit on his face oh my god PLEASE sit on his face—and if you’re fat? please keep in mind he’s a gambler and does not gaf if he dies from suffocation, that is a risk he is more than willing to take! if the pussy kills him, he can die happy.

→ but. wait. oh my god. 69ing with him. he LOVVVEEESSSSSSSSSSS to 69 oh my GOD holy shit. The 69er. always prefers you to be on top so you can still sit on his face tho.

“mmh,” aventurine moans into your cunt from beneath you, the vibrations only serving to enhance your pleasure. as a chronic yapper, he wants to tell you how good you taste, how sweet you are, how he can’t get enough, but thankfully, for your sake, your pussy was smothering and silencing him. all you could hear was the moans and grunts he couldn’t seem to stop making — but to be fair, neither could you, as he rolls his hips up, stuffing his throbbing cock further down your throat. his hands grip your thighs tighter, and you think you may have bruises in the shapes of his fingertips later, but you don’t really mind.

“nngh,” you echo his moan, and you feel his dick twitch in your mouth, and you know he’s close. you two had been like this for about ten or so minutes now, and he’d already managed to make you cum once—you’re just honestly surprised he’s lasted this long (or maybe it’s because you had to pull off of him a handful of times to selfishly catch your breath while he ruthlessly ate you out, even as his jaw began to get sore, he really didn’t care).

hollowing your cheeks out, you bob your head lower down his shaft, as one hand blindly moves to fondle his heavy balls as you focus on both getting him to cum and also the feeling of cum about to squirt down your throat. humming around him to assist you in your work, aventurine doubles down in his efforts of eating you out once he realizes what you were doing.

lifting you off his face ever so slightly, he takes a deep breath before locking the fuck back in and pulling you back down against his soaked face. his tongue eagerly dives into your slick hole and a chill runs down your spine as goosebumps cover your skin, your hair standing on end.

the blonde can’t help but moan again as he tastes you for the nth time tonight, as he sticks his tongue out as far out as it’ll go and he licks your velvety inner walls, uncaring of the way his drool and your cum coat his lower face.

“hmngh,” he hums pleasantly, as if he were enjoying a meal (and believe me, he was), and he pulls his tongue out of you to lick a hot line from your puffy clit to your twitching hole, where he reinserts himself and you moan around his dick again. this time, when aventurine bucks his hips up, he finds himself cumming with a groan, having to pause in his endeavors due to how intense his orgasm was.

thankfully, you were prepared to swallow around him as he cums down your throat, and you can feel yourself right on the edge as well.

“a–aven—” you whine, trying to lift your hips up—something he does not allow. in fact, he pulls your pussy flush against his messy face and easily finishes you off, until you’re creaming on his tongue and a few tears roll down your cheeks from the stimulation.

jing yuan

→ yall alr fuckin KNOW mr general will eat the FUCK out of some pussy !!!! he will make you cream yourself 3 times over before he even gets the chance to get his pants off i’m ngl.

→ and he’s always. Always. !!! so smooth with his words, you don’t understand how !! it’s not fair, really, the way he coos at you with that stupid lazy grin on his face. goddamn him.. and speaking of that lazy grin…… the general always likes to take his time with you—like he has all the time in the world!! and to be fair, he kinda does.

→ “shh, just stay calm and i promise you’ll get what you need,” he’d tell you sweetly, just to tease you for another seven minutes!! and it wasn’t even mean teasing! he was just genuinely enjoying his time and stretching out the foreplay, which made you feel a leetol bit bad.. because you knew he just wanted to appreciate you, but.. not bad enough to sit still for him!

→ he loves to slowly pepper your body in kisses, trailing down lower and lower until he’s nestled between your thighs and his head is dangerously close to your cunt — begging him for a kiss, or anything to soothe the ache between your legs

→ you can’t even dream of being a brat w this man icl, he will eat you right back into place. he’s big, he’s beefy, and he can absolutely manhandle you into whatever position he wants—speaking of, he’s quite fond of bending you over onto your hands n knees and burying his face right into your pussy from possibly the Most embarrassing angle

→ you can feel his nose brushing up against your asshole while he goes to town on your other hole, and the whole ordeal has you feeling more than shy.. but it’s okay bc jing yuan can be rather gentle with you — although.. he absolutely does Not pass up the opportunity to stick his thick thumb into your tight asshole, spitting directly onto the clenched ring to act as a lubricant of some kind

it’s all you can do to whine as jing yuan slowly works his thumb into your ass as his swollen lips are pressed against your slick pussy, licking away at your drooly slit. he’d had you like this for about twenty minutes now, bent over on all fours as he lazily eats it from the back. he’d been relishing in your taste and pretty noises when suddenly he got got the bright idea to try and stick a finger into your neglected asshole.

he had spit on it beforehand, to try and lubricate it, so it wouldn’t sting as much, but the sensation only served to make you yelp and turn your head back around to look at him.

“j–jing yuan!” you cry out, gripping the sheets at the feeling. “wh–wha—?”

“shh, it’s okay,” he says calmly, trying to soothe your qualms. “do you trust me?” he asks, moving his head away from your cunt so he can look you in the eyes, pausing in all his actions. when you nod your head after a brief moment of hesitation, the general slowly resumes the easing of his thumb into your slightly more relaxed hole as he goes back to eating you out.

once his thumb is fully seated inside you, paired with him licking away at your drooly cunt, goosebumps cover your skin at the dual sensations, and you don’t know how to react, but your body sure does! your asshole clenches around his thick and calloused thumb while your cunt flutters around the tongue now inside it, and it’s less than a few seconds later that you’re squirting on his face with a loud cry of his name.

CAELUS

→ okay. just hear me out Again. i think, both trailblazers for this matter, but stelle will get her own part in a moment. caelus isn’t necessarily a slob..? or maybe he is i can’t particularly remember icl i’m running off less than 4? hours of sleep in the last 38hrs and four (pacific punch) monsters lol. but either way when it comes to getting to go down on you—he all but makes out with your cunt and takes his sweet, sweet time eating you out; alternating between sucking harshly on your throbbing clit to licking your gummy inner walls

→ he can 100% get off on your noises and from humping the mattress, the feeling of your thighs around his head and your hands in his thick hair… mmmh he’s big on sensations, feeling things, feeling you…. oh aeons he is pussy WHIPPED !!! if you don’t stop him, he WILL stay between your legs, happily slobbering on your pussy and sucking on your swollen clit until you physically cannot handle it anymore

→ literally will do so until he makes you squirt on his face or until you actually cannot orgasm anymore—when there’s tears streaming down your cheeks and you’re crying out his name, pulling at his hair and begging him to stop; he just can’t help himself!! how’s he meant to have any self control when you taste so fucking good? when your reactions get him so hard!! fuck’s sake!

→ nasty disgusting boy.. a little too into spit and slobber and other bodily fluids (real big on fucking you first, then going down on you and eating his cum straight from you fluttering hole…… how sick he is.. because he really does take delight in these. simply put. fuckin sick nasty acts!) he’s obsessed with your cunt and he loves even more the person attached to it — perhaps what he’s getting off on isn’t the act itself, but the fact that you were, in fact, enjoying yourself, or that he was the one making you feel like this

though somewhat quiet outside the bedroom, caelus certainly moans like a bitch as he rolls his hips into the mattress beneath him and your thighs clench around his head. currently, he was preoccupied with your—would it be fair to say drooling if he was the one physically unable to contain his own saliva? while he was the literally drooling one, your pussy was certainly soaked !! both with your own juices and a genuinely disgusting amount of his spit.

he had been busy eating you out for the better half of an hour now, after he had actually fucked you once. he kind of does reverse foreplay, really—and he’s always so gross about it that you can’t help but feel flustered about it everytime, even if you were just as into it as he was.

caelus loved to fuck you first, maybe after a little bit of fingering just to get you ready for him, and then take his sweet, sweet time going down on you, and eat his cum out of your used hole—filthy slurping style. the noises he makes are always so fucking nasty and loud that you can feel yourself blush as he shamelessly slurps away at your cunt.

“cae-lus!” you cry out his name, all but yanking at his grey locks. “pl–please— i can’t!” you try pleading with him, vision starting to grow fuzzy around the edges.

“just— just one more..?” he asks, glancing up at you from between your legs. he’s already creamed himself twice and his jaw was genuinely sore, but god fucking damn he just could never get enough of you!!!

unfortunately for you, this was his third time asking for just one more. and you didn’t know how much more you had left in you considering you were having dry orgasms at this point. it was bordering on painful, even with your hypersensitive clit in his hot mouth, there were just too many sensations going on and you were too overstimulated. you really hope he meant just one more this time…… (and thankfully, he did.)

STELLE

→ okay. now. these will be a little similar to caelus’ since they’re technically the same person, but i’ll try n add some variety

→ i think stelle is messier than caelus tbh and idek how thats possible bc he’s so…... 💀 but anyway. stelle is Sick Nasty™ and a slob and a lesbian ik i said sunday is The munch but i may have lied. that title actually belongs to stelle. because holy shit

→ if caelus is pussy whipped then she’s fucking ADDICTED. stelle will take literally Any Chance you give her to eat you out, and she won’t stop until she’s satisfied. so. make sure you have time, because she takes an upwards of 45 minutes to feast on you everytime without fail

→ though quiet by nature, stelle does get a little more vocal in the bedroom—not as loud as caelus, but enough to take notice of. especially when she was in her happy place!! (between your legs)

→ she is a stone top in search of a pillow princess what else can i say?

→ i really dont have much to say hc wise that i hadn’t alr mentioned in caelus’ so instead here’s a drabble of you sitting on her face

“st–stelle!” you gasp out, one hand gripping the headboard while the other covers your mouth in an attempt to contain your pathetic noises. you’d been sitting on her face for the past twenty minutes, and you’ve already came three times, about to be a fourth.

“mmngh,” she grunts from beneath you, grip on your thighs tightening. she couldn’t be bothered right now, not when she was busy enjoying her fucking meal!!

sucking on your clit, it doesn’t take long for the grey haired woman to force another orgasm out of you, something she’s quite pleased with. sure, her lower face was covered in your slick, but that wasn’t actually her problem—quite the opposite, really. it would become your problem whenever she decided she was done and that she wanted to make out with you so you could taste yourself in full.

“sens–sensitive!” you manage to squeak, head falling back as you openly pant, overstimulated from nothing but her mouth… just wait until she got the strap (8” btw)!

stelle hears what you say, and understands you’re trying to tell her to stop, but….. how was she meant to stop when you tasted this good? simple: she wouldn’t! because she hasn’t had her fill yet and she knows you have a few more left in you—she’s spent this long building up your tolerance and stamina, after all.

she doesn’t even bother to slow down while you cum, either! she just sucks away at your engorged clit while both her hands come up to grope your chest and play with your stiffened nipples. sucking on your tits was her second favorite thing to do to you, right behind eating you out, obviously.

her calloused fingers pinch and twist your nipples, making you moan softly as she presses her tongue flat against your cunt before inserting it into your slit, moaning into you at the taste. deciding she hadn’t had enough yet, she sets her mind on pushing you to a fifth, and maybe even sixth orgasm..! yes, that would be enough to satiate her for now.

she truly was addicted to you (it needs to be studied, actually..).

HSR m.list

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lexalith · 2 months ago

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HIDDEN pt.2 || Choi Seung-Hyun (T.O.P)

summary: this is part 2 of my original fic HIDDEN. you should read that one first or you’re gonna be very confused!

warnings/this story contains: female reader, age gap (reader is 24 now, seunghyun’s 37) unresolved tension, mutual pining and emotional damage, reader’s life being absolute trash (?), seunghyun and the reader being very anxious people. angst (jealousy, heartbreak, guilt, shame, regret, self loathing, not being able to let go but also not being able to stay. timing never being right and love not being enough like alwayssss, i’m sorry) personal growth, forgiveness, closure, and a tiny little bitty bit of fluff if you squint your eyes very, very hard (lmao).

a/n: i never planned on writing a part two, but here we are! thank you so much for the endless support and for looking forward to this <3 as always, english isn’t my first language! seunghyun’s texts are in blue, reader’s texts are in orange. reader’s dialogue is in bold.

songs: champagne coast — blood orange (yes, again, because this is their song. i’m making it canon) ll all i wanted — paramore || lovers — anna of the north || all too well (10 minute version) — taylor swift

it’s been nine months since the breakup, and your life couldn’t be more different than it was—if someone took a polaroid of you now and held it next to the girl who packed her bags for seoul with stars in her eyes, you’re not sure you’d even recognize her. you’re back in brownsville, no longer coordinating payload systems at starbase—because, well, turns out when your year-long secret relationship becomes very suddenly not so secret, someone decided having you around was more trouble than it was worth. after they cut you off—citing professionalism and image and propriety—you didn’t really have a plan.

you spent a month unemployed, half-heartedly scrolling through job listings you didn’t want while lying facedown on the couch, alternating between waves of quiet panic and nausea that came every time you accidentally thought about seunghyun for more than five seconds. it was still raw then—the kind of heartbreak that didn’t just ache but physically made you feel sick, like your body was rejecting the entire experience. everything reminded you of him, and you hated it—how you could go from brushing your teeth to fully sobbing in the span of a minute because some memory had snuck in through the cracks, as if your own mind was determined to torture you for ever letting someone get that close.

and eventually, when your savings account started looking like a damn joke, you took the first job you could find—bartending at a small spot downtown. it’s not what you studied for. it’s not even remotely what you imagined doing when you walked across that graduation stage in your too-tight heels and got your aerospace degree handed to you… but it’s steady. you’ve memorized the orders of the regulars, learned how to hold your tongue when men call you sweetheart like it’s your god-given name or snap their fingers and whistle like you’re a fucking dog, and you’ve gotten really good at pretending you’re okay—smiling through it. your shoes are always sticky by the end of the night, your clothes reek of grease and cheap vodka no matter how many times you wash them, and there’s a tiny scar on your wrist from a shattered pint glass that slipped mid-shift during a friday rush. but hey… at least the tips are decent.

you’ve also been… seeing someone. the guy your friends had been annoyingly pushing for months (back when you were still secretly dating seunghyun and pretending to consider it just to shut them up). he’s your age, works in construction and is very nice, which sounds like a shitty compliment, but it’s not. you’ve been seeing him for about two months now—hanging out and hooking up. you like him. really, you do… a little bit. but every now and then you catch yourself comparing the way he holds your face to the way someone else used to, and you have to blink it away before it sinks too deep. he doesn’t know about seunghyun, of course. not the real version of it, anyway. just that there was someone before, someone who hurt you. and you appreciate his patience—he gives you space when you need it and doesn’t ask too many questions. and, well, he eats your pussy good, so. there’s that too. sometimes that’s enough to shut your brain up for a bit, enough to make you forget the ache that still sits in your chest like a bruise that never really healed. even though you know it’s not fair. and you wonder, sometimes, if this guy’s waiting for you to fall in love with him and has no idea that you’re still scraping someone else’s fingerprints off your skin.

but the most significant thing—the one that still sits in your stomach like a rock you can’t digest—is that you found out. you finally know. it was her. your mother. you didn’t even get it from her directly. you found it by accident—buried in an old email. you weren’t snooping—just printing a return label for something, waiting for the slow-ass printer to wake up—when your eyes caught the subject line: re: media contact – confidential inquiry. and you clicked it. you scrolled through every line with a growing sense of horror. you confronted her that same night. you didn’t plan it, didn’t rehearse what you were going to say—you just walked into the kitchen, heart pounding, and said, “how long were you planning on hiding the fact that you’re the one who leaked it?” she didn’t even deny it. just looked at you, quiet for a second, then said, “i did what i had to do.” “you had to?!” your voice broke, equal parts disbelief and fury. “you had to sabotage my entire fucking relationship?!” “he was taking advantage of you,” she said flatly. “what the fuck? what the—what the fuck is wrong with you?! you had no right to interfere like that! none!” “you think i didn’t see what he was doing? he was grooming you—” “don’t you dare use that word,” you spat, stepping forward. “don’t you fucking dare put it like that just because you needed a reason to feel better about what you did! i was twenty-two, not sixteen!” “i don’t care! he’s thirteen years older than you, and you—” “he wasn’t using me! i knew what i was doing—” “no!” she pointed at you, jabbing the air, furious and breathless, “you were just following him around like some starstruck idiot, lying to me, running away from your job, from your family—” “oh my god, shut the fuck up!” you snapped, tears hot in your eyes. “shut the fuck up! i was in love! and you fucking ruined it!”

you don’t remember much after that—just fragments. you remember your mother shouting something about protection, about how she couldn’t stand by and watch you throw your future away over a man who was never going to give you anything real. you remember knocking over a stack of books, slamming a drawer so hard it bounced back open, dragging your suitcase out of the closet with shaking hands and yanking things off hangers without looking. she cried, kept repeating that she didn’t mean to hurt you, that she was scared, that she thought she was doing what was best. but you didn’t care. you were too angry and too fucking tired of being treated like you didn’t know your own mind. you haven’t spoken to her since. you don’t know if you ever will. because it turns out there’s heartbreak that comes from losing a lover, and then there’s heartbreak that comes from realizing the person who raised you is the reason you lost them. and now it’s too late to take any of it back.

you’ve been crashing with one of your friends for the past three weeks—sleeping on a futon that creaks every time you turn over and makes your back ache by morning. you didn’t really know where else to go. your job barely covers groceries—forget rent, forget deposits, forget the fantasy of having a space that’s actually yours. so now you’re here, trying not to be a burden, trying not to cry into your friend’s couch cushions at night because she’s doing you a favor, and you already feel like a walking pity case. sometimes you lie there and think about how you used to fall asleep in a king-sized bed with high thread count sheets and a man who kissed your shoulders before falling asleep with his hand in yours, and now you’re in someone else’s place, listening to the hum of a fridge that never stops running—feeling lonelier than you ever have in your entire life.

you thought life would’ve gotten better by now, but you spend the nights crying instead—staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. you cry because nothing feels right, because everything feels too hard, because you lost your job, your relationship, your home, your sense of direction—and even though you keep telling yourself you’re only twenty-four, that there’s time to figure it out, some nights it just feels like you’re stuck in and endless pain loop. no one warned you adulthood would feel like this.

you’re alone that night. your friend’s covering a night shift, the apartment is quiet, and your body feels like it’s made of wet tissue—fragile and bloated and cursed with every symptom imaginable, because the universe decided you needed your period on top of everything else. the cramps are brutal, your back hurts, your tits ache, and the fucking futon now has a suspicious little stain that you know you’ll have to scrub later. you’ve been crying (again!) and your throat is raw from it, your eyes puffy, your nose sore from wiping it too hard with paper towels. you feel pathetic. like genuinely, award-winning levels of pathetic. and maybe that’s what finally does it. you reach for your phone with hands that are slightly shaky, not because you’re nervous, but because you’re just so damn tired. of yourself, mostly. and maybe the universe too. your fingers open his old messages. you used to do this sometimes—type things you needed to get off your chest. but you never sent them because seeing your words in that annoying green bubble would be worse than anything else. it would remind you that yes, he blocked you. yes, he’s still gone. yes, this is over, and it’s been over. move the fuck on already, girl. so, following your little tradition, you type:

it was my fucking mom this whole time. she’s the one who leaked everything. i found out like three weeks ago, and i still haven’t processed it. i wish you knew. i wish i could make you know so you wouldn’t go on living your life thinking i betrayed you or whatever tf you decided to believe instead of trusting me. but anyway. talk about trust issues now, bc honestly, idk how i’m ever supposed to trust anyone again!🥰 love this for meeeee omg!😍😍 i shouldn’t have told her i was moving to seoul. i should’ve just disappeared from her fucking life and been happy with you and what we had. but no. because life can’t be that easy for me, right? no. life has to be a fucking bitch in every possible way. i’m so fucking tired.

your fingers hover over the delete button as you cry profusely after typing that paragraph—eyes blurry, throat tight, the screen glowing too bright in the dark room. and maybe it’s the hormones, or the sleep deprivation, but something inside you hits send. because why the fuck does it matter? he’s not gonna read it, he’s got you blocked. but the second you see the message go blue—you freeze. your stomach drops and you stare at your phone like it’s just slapped you across the face. he unblocked you. wait—what? since when? you shoot up like you’ve just been electrocuted, eyes wide as the full horror of what just happened sinks in. “what the fuck! what the fuck! shit, shit, shit—” you whisper to no one, pacing the tiny apartment. so much for crying in your period-stained pajamas—turns out all it takes to yank you out of a full-blown breakdown is the absolute fucking horror of realizing you just sent a long-ass vent session straight to the one person on this planet you were least fucking ready to talk to. congrats, girl! you keep outdoing yourself! “oh my—fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck! oh, god. oh my god,” you keep mumbling. when the fuck did he unblock you?! and why the hell didn’t you check?! your heart is in your throat, pulse hammering so fast it makes your vision blur for a second. you swipe back to the chat like maybe you hallucinated the whole thing. maybe the app glitched. but no. and before you can delete it, there it is—read. “huh?!” you stop in your tracks, frozen in the middle of the room. your mouth falls open. your lungs forget how to work. your entire body goes cold and then hot, and then cold again. “no. no no no no no no—fuck!”

you groan into your hands and sink down onto the futon. your palms are damp with sweat and your brain’s screaming. the message is sent. he’s seen it. and no matter how much you want to crawl inside your phone and delete it—there’s nothing left to do but sit in the aftermath. so you do. you sit, legs curled beneath you, staring at your phone screen. you check the time—3:41 a.m. in texas. in seoul, it’s late afternoon. you decide to leave your phone face up on the floor next to you and try to pretend you’re not watching it from the corner of your eye like it’s about to perform a fucking magic trick. every time it lights up, your heart jumps—once it’s duolingo, passive-aggressively reminding you for the hundredth time that you haven’t finished your korean lessons (well… thank you for the reminder, motherfucker!). and another time it’s your period tracker app asking if you’re feeling moody lately. no shit! you lurch forward every time, breath catching in your throat, only to get sucker-punched by disappointment again and again. and still, no reply. you try to sleep, not because you think it’ll work, but because it’s the only other option. but lying down just makes it worse—your thoughts are louder. you flip your pillow, then flip it again. the sheets are damp with sweat, your legs restless, your hands twitching toward your phone like it’s calling to you. you wait for hours… he never replies.

and by the time the sun comes up, you’ve barely slept at all. your eyes sting, your mouth is dry, and you’ve gone full zombie-mode by the time your shift rolls around. you survive your shift at the bar by sheer muscle memory, making drinks, taking orders and smiling through clenched teeth. and when it ends, your body aches like it’s been rolled through the pavement. you go home—your friend’s home—after midnight, feet aching, back sore, and stomach hollow from skipping dinner because the thought of eating made you feel sick. the place is dark when you walk in. she’s probably already asleep, and you tiptoe into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before collapsing on the futon. you check your phone—still nothing. and that’s it. that’s the end of the story. why would it end any other way? of course he’s not going to reply. you should’ve never sent that fucking text. you should’ve stuck to your sad little ritual of typing and deleting and pretending you had closure. because this? this is embarrassing.

you toss your phone onto the floor like maybe breaking it will break the shame too, and flop onto your side dramatically… and then it buzzes. you’ve never gotten up so fast—hands scrambling for the phone. you swipe, thumbs clumsy with nerves because holy shit, there’s a notification from him. but somehow you manage to open the message.

Can I call you?

you stare at the screen. your pulse is pounding loud in your ears, and for a second you’re genuinely not sure if you’re going to throw up or pass out. your entire body is shaking and your blood has drained out of your face. you can feel it. you’re cold and clammy all over, heart thudding like it’s trying to punch its way out of your chest. you try to breathe—in through your nose, out through your mouth—before typing:

yeah, okay

your phone starts ringing a second later—like he’d been waiting. and the sound of it, his name lighting up your screen again after all these months, knocks something loose in your chest. the apartment is quiet—just the creak of the floor beneath your feet as you cross over to the sliding door that leads to the balcony. you slide it open as quietly as you can, since you don’t want to wake your friend, and step outside. it’s darker than you expected, the only light coming from the streetlamps below and the faint orange glow of someone’s window across the way. the balcony chair creaks under your weight as you sink into it, the metal cold against your bare thighs. your breathing’s all uneven now—short little gasps like you just finished running, though you haven’t moved more than ten feet—and you can’t stop staring at the screen. you swipe to answer. for a few seconds, there’s nothing. only silence. then, finally, a voice. “hi.” you grip the phone tighter, trying to stop your hands from shaking. “hi,” you say back. and then silence again. you can’t tell if it’s awkward or loaded or both.

you shift in the chair, curling one leg up underneath you. “how are you?” he asks. oh lord. he was literally fucking you raw less than a year ago… and now he’s making small talk. stop this madness. “i—i’m good,” you say, lying through your teeth, obviously. you clear your throat. “you?” “fine,” he says after a beat, but he sounds anything but—tired, like something in his chest’s been weighing him down. and then another pause, before he finally says, “i read your message.” “yeah… i know. i mean—i saw.” you chew the inside of your cheek, fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve. “was it really her?” you nod before realizing he can’t see you. “yeah. it was.” he doesn’t say anything, so you keep going, just to fill the space. “i saw… an email she sent. and we—we fought. bad. i left the same day and i… i haven’t been back since.” “you—where are you staying?” he asks, and you hear something in his voice, concern. “friend’s house.” you try to make it sound casual. he goes quiet again, and for a second, all you can hear is the low static hum of the call. you bite your bottom lip before blurting, “i didn’t know you’d unblocked me.” “yeah. i did like a month ago, i think.” you hum. you want to ask why, but you don’t. because the call already feels like a glass balancing on the edge of a table, and you don’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. and besides, you know you wouldn’t get the answer you want. if he wanted to talk, he would’ve. if he missed you, if he regretted it, if any part of him wanted to reach out… he would’ve. and he didn’t. so you swallow that sharp little ache, ignore the part of you that still wants to believe in something softer, and you say, “i’m sorry for sending that, by the way. i was… i don’t know. not in a great headspace yesterday.” “don’t apologize,” he says. “i’m glad you told me.” “you deserved to know.” “mmh.” the silence stretches for another second before he says, “thank you.”

the quiet that follows is soft, almost gentle. for a second you think that’s it—you can almost feel one of you hovering over the red button, and you know you should probably let it happen, let it end on something simple and clean. but you don’t want to hang up yet. so, instead, you do what you always do when your nerves start to buzz—you talk. “i’ve typed stuff before. like—messages. to you.” oh my god… shut up! shut up! why the fuck are you saying this? you want to swallow the words back down immediately but nope—your mouth keeps going. “i never sent them but… i don’t know. i wasn’t even supposed to send you that one last night—i don’t know why i did.” you press a hand to your forehead, silently screaming. “anyway i—yeah. sorry. i should just… shut up.” there’s a pause on the other end, heavy enough to make your fingers twitch against your leg. you expect him to change the subject or maybe just hang up altogether, and for a second you even brace yourself for the sound of the line going dead. but then he says, “what kind of stuff?” you blink, eyes still fixed on the quiet street below, unsure you heard him right. “what?” “the messages,” he answers, and his voice is a little quieter now, like he’s not sure if he should be asking. “what were they about?” you’re caught so off guard that you let out this small, breathless laugh that doesn’t hold any humor at all. “seriously?” you ask, more to yourself than to him. you rub a hand over your face. “i don’t know, just… random things about my life. like my day, what i was doing… sometimes just things i wish i could say to you but knew i couldn’t. i don’t know.” you trail off, embarrassed, already regretting every word spilling out of your mouth. “you can tell me now,” he says. you blink, heart stumbling a little in your chest, because you don’t know what you were expecting him to say—but it definitely wasn’t that. your fingers tighten around the phone again. “you… want me to tell you?” “i do.” you hesitate. not because you don’t have things to say—god, you’ve got too many—but because you don’t know what version of your life he’s expecting. probably not the one you’re living. “i didn’t think you’d care,” you admit quietly. “i care—of course i care.” oh… you close your eyes, press your palm to your chest and you can feel how fast your heart is beating. you force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “i’m bartending now.” you immediately want to cringe, because wow, what an opener. “they fired me from starbase. so… yeah. but it’s okay, this job isn’t so bad… i mean—it’s not good either, but it pays.” he hums, a soft sound of acknowledgement, like he’s listening. “and, like i told you, i’m living with a friend. after—after everything that happened with my mom… i couldn’t stay. so, yeah.”

something about saying all of that out loud—narrating your life to someone who once knew it better than anyone else—makes your bottom lip tremble before you can stop it. this tiny traitorous movement that you feel more than see, like the last thread of control slipping quietly from your hands. you swallow hard. try to hold it together and sound normal. “but i’m, um… i’m looking for a place,” you add, voice higher now, too fast. “something small for myself.” you don’t mention that your bank account laughs at you every time you open the app, or that you fall asleep on a futon in the corner of your friend’s tiny apartment, feeling like a burden. you don’t say any of that, because it’s pathetic. but the tears come anyway, completely against your will. not just because of your mom or your job or your life crumbling in pieces so small you can’t even name them—but because you’re talking to him. and everything about this feels so impossibly far from what you used to be. the way you speak to each other now, like strangers, it’s breaking you open in places you didn’t know were still sore. you try to sniff it away, wipe your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, but it’s useless. “are you…” his voice cuts through the line. “are you crying?” “no.” you suck in a breath. “i mean—yes. yes, i am. it’s just—i don’t know.” the tears are falling faster now, and your throat is thick with everything you’ve been trying so hard not to feel for the last nine months. you sniff, drag the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your nose, and bite out, “why’d you even call me, seunghyun? seriously. what was the point?” “i wanted to apologize.” he pauses. “i—i’m sorry. i should’ve trusted you, i should’ve listened. i was just… angry. and scared.” you exhale through your nose, trying to steady the shaking in your chest. “it’s okay,” you say quietly, even though part of you wants to tell him it’s not.

he doesn’t reply right away, and for a second you think the call might be really ending this time—that this was all he needed to say, a final stitch to close the wound and move on. but then—“i missed your voice.” your breath catches, and you don’t know what to say to that. because it hurts. it hurts so fucking much to hear it. “you hurt me, seunghyun,” you whisper. “i know,” he says, voice breaking. “i know i did, baby—shit. sorry. fuck, i—i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to call you that.” you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your knuckles to your lips like it’ll stop the sting. “don’t. don’t do that.” “i didn’t mean to—” “no, you don’t get to do that,” you cut in, sharper this time, words tumbling out fast. “this isn’t fair,” you say, and now your voice really starts to shake. “you’re not—you’re not being fair, seunghyun.” “listen—“ “no, i don’t wanna fucking listen!” you raise your voice, frustration spilling out faster than you can rein it in. “sorry,” you say quietly. “sorry. i—i didn’t mean to speak to you like that.” “i know,” he whispers. “but i understand. i deserve it.” “no, you—i just… it’s a lot. and hearing your voice like this again—fuck, i don’t know.” he doesn’t say anything, and you’re not even sure if that’s a good or bad thing, so you keep going before you lose your nerve. “you shouldn’t have unblocked me. you should’ve just left it the way it was,” you continue, sobbing between words. “what—” “i was doing okay,” you lie, even though you both know you weren’t. “or at least, i was trying. and then you—you do this, and now i feel like—i feel like i’m right back where i started.” he’s silent again, and it drives you fucking insane—how he always does this, lets the silence do the work for him, like it’s your job to fill in the blanks. “you can’t just show up in my life when you feel like it. that’s not how this works. you don’t get to block me, forget about me, go on with your life, and then crawl back into mine just because you’re curious or lonely or whatever the fuck this is.” your breath is shallow now, chest rising and falling fast. “i can’t do this, seunghyun. i can’t—” you cry. “so do it again. block me. because if you don’t… i will.”

you wait a second—two, maybe three—before you hang up. you stare at the screen for a beat too long after the line goes dead, your own reflection faint in the glass. your limbs feel shaky as you drag yourself up from the chair with the kind of stiffness that makes you wonder if heartbreak settles in your bones like lead. the apartment is quiet when you slip back inside. you don’t even bother changing. and when you fall onto the futon, you collapse. your chest hurts, in the literal, physical way—like there’s something pressing down on it, making it harder to breathe with every passing second. you’re still crying, face crumpling into the crook of your elbow. and even though you try to keep it quiet because your friend is asleep in the next room, your body has other plans. the sobs come in waves, ugly and loud and gasping, and there’s no one to stop them, no one to shush you or hold you or say it’s going to be okay. you press your face into the pillow and scream once, like it might help get it out, but it doesn’t. you cry until you’re too tired to cry anymore, until your body feels wrung out and empty. until your eyelids are heavy, your head pounds and the ache in your chest starts to dull—because, yes, even pain has its limits. and when sleep finally takes you, it feels like relief.

you don’t even hear her come in. it takes a few tries before your friend gets through to you, nudging your foot, then your shoulder, then finally your name, said a little too loudly for how early it is. “hey! you’ve gotta get up. don’t you have work?” you jolt upright like you’re coming up for air, groggy and disoriented, face crusted with dried tears. you mutter something like “shit, what time is it?” before fumbling for your phone. and that’s when you see it. seunghyun texted you while you were asleep.

Hi. I just booked a flight to Texas.

I’ll be in Brownsville for a few days, and I really, really want to see you.

I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me.

But if you do, I’ll be here next Sunday at 4 P.M.

he had sent a location.

We have a lot to talk about.

I didn’t want our call to end like that.

You don’t have to reply, just know I’ll be there, waiting.

And if you don’t show up, that’s okay too.

I hope you have a good day. 🫰🏼

your first thought is no. not even a soft, hesitant kind of no—just a loud, stubborn one that echoes straight through your head. NO. you don’t want to see him. you don’t want to talk. you don’t want to sit across from him pretending like the last nine months haven’t been eating you alive. you lock your phone, toss it somewhere near the futon, and move through your morning like you’re not actively dissociating—getting dressed and slapping on mascara with a shaky hand. you go to work, surprisingly making it on time. and when your shift ends, you go home. you eat leftovers straight from the container, ignore the ache behind your eyes, and tell yourself you’ve made a decision. you’re not going. simple as that.

but as the days creep forward and that sunday inches closer, your initial no—the one that came so fast and full of conviction it practically shouted over your entire body—starts to feel less like a boundary and more like a bluff you’re trying to convince yourself to believe. you find yourself rereading his texts on the bus ride home, or glancing at the clock and thinking about time zones again, something you swore you’d broken the habit of months ago. it’s not that you want to see him (girl… you do, you aren’t fooling anyone) it’s just that you’re curious. and a little bit stupid, apparently. and then, like your brain didn’t already have enough to chew on, instagram decides to kick you while you’re down. you get the notification late at night: TOP 최승현🌙 posted for the first time in a while. you stare at the alert, blinking. no way. how fucking convenient. you open the app before you can stop yourself, and there it is—proof that he unblocked you on your private insta, because you’re staring right at his profile. oh my… you’re a slut in mourning. it’s a selfie. he’s staring straight at the camera, head tilted slightly to the side to flex that stupid jawline, jesus christ... he’s wearing a black hoodie—the same one you used to borrow when you were together. more specifically, the one you were wearing the first time you let him fuck you raw. is he doing it on purpose? is this his way of getting your attention? trying to say he misses you? that he’s thinking about you too? or maybe you’re just being delusional and he’s literally just wearing his fucking hoodie like any normal person would… not everything is about you. right? you zoom in without shame, you stare, you squint and you hate yourself a little. you flip your phone face down and mutter, “fuck off,” like that’s going to do anything—like you’re not already replaying every time you tugged his hair while he was between your thighs, fucking you with his fingers while his tongue circled your clit.

sunday. 3 p.m. comes and you’re still telling yourself no, still convincing yourself with weak half-arguments and imaginary moral high ground, still walking around the room like you’re above it, like you’ve evolved past the the version of yourself who would show up for him no matter what. you’re not going. you’ve already made that decision—made it days ago. in fact, you’ve been repeating it like a fucking mantra: i’m not going, i’m not going, i’m not going. it’s the one thing you’ve been stubbornly sure of. and yet, by 3:07, you’re in front the drawer your friend let you use. you’re not sure when you stood up or how you ended up yanking it open, but suddenly you’re staring at your clothes like any of them will know what the fuck you’re doing. and you tell yourself: what harm could there be in just… seeing? just showing up, looking hot, and reminding him what he lost? right? what could go wrong? you drag yourself into the shower, rinse off the sweat and anxiety, and talk yourself out of having a panic attack while shaving your legs. you towel off, throw on something decent and slap on a bit of makeup as you wonder why the fuck are you wasting your free day on this, when you could’ve been watching reruns of some trashy dating show or doom-scrolling in peace. and before you can rethink your decision again, you’re on the bus, heart pounding harder with every stop.

you show up an hour late—closer to five-thirty than four—but you don’t feel bad about it. if anything, it makes you feel a little less like you’re crawling back and a little more like you’re arriving on your own terms. the place he chose to meet you is a rooftop wine bar in downtown brownsville with thick wooden beams stretched overhead to break the light. string lights hang loosely between them and the tables are spaced out, some close to the railing with a quiet view of the city below. he’s already there, of course, seated near the far edge of the terrace, next to the railing, with a half-finished glass of wine in front of him. you spot him instantly. he’s in a long-sleeved maroon sweater, and you don’t know why the fuck he’s wearing sleeves in this heat. his trousers are loose and slouchy, and his boots—yes, boots, in thirty-degree texas weather—are polished to hell, the soles thick and clunky. his cap sits on the table beside his wineglass, and he’s wearing his glasses—the ones that make him look so gentle. you used to love it when he wore them around you. he doesn’t see you right away—he’s looking out over the terrace, lips pursed like he’s deep in thought—but your stomach still drops like it’s the first time all over again.

you take a slow breath, then start walking. the heels of your shoes click against the tile, and the closer you get, the more surreal it feels—seeing him again. and then he looks up. you don’t know what you expected, but the way his whole face shifts when his eyes land on you catches you off guard. his brows lift just a little, like he’s not sure he’s seeing you right, and then there’s this soft pull at the corners of his mouth, the kind of expression people only ever give to people they’ve missed. he moves quickly after that, chair scraping back as he stands up too fast, brushing his palms down the sides of his pants like he’s suddenly unsure of himself. your heart thuds a little too hard as you close the last few steps between you, nerves spiking even though there’s no reason to be this tense—you’ve seen him like this before, touched him, kissed him, loved him. but now it feels like starting from scratch. “hey,” you say first, because someone has to break the tension. your voice comes out quiet, breathier than you meant. he clears his throat, shifting his weight. “hi.”

he stands there, hovering beside the table, and for a second it’s like neither of you knows how to move—do you shake hands? do you hug? his gaze flickers down to your hands, like he’s expecting you to offer one to shake, and then back up to your face. it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do, and god, neither do you. a hug feels too intimate, but standing here in this weird, polite standoff feels worse. so you do it—you step forward, close the space, and wrap your arms around him quickly, not giving yourself enough time to regret it. he’s surprised, you can tell by the way his arms come around you just a second too late. you pull away before it can get weird, and he lets you, hands immediately dropping to his sides like he’s scared to overstep. you glance at the wine glass, then back at him. “sorry i’m late.” seunghyun shakes his head, quick. “no, it’s fine. i—” he exhales. “i didn’t think you were coming.” you nod, slow and awkward, arms crossed tight over your chest for a second before you remember how that looks and force yourself to let them fall to your sides. “yeah. me neither.” he huffs a tiny laugh, almost embarrassed, and gestures toward the seat across from his. “do you wanna sit?” you nod, murmuring a soft “yeah,” as you move toward the chair. you sit, legs crossed, back too straight, and he mirrors you, settling across from you. the table feels huge between you. ridiculous, really—after everything you’ve done together, everything you’ve been to each other, now you’re playing pretend like two people on a first date who forgot how to talk.

he reaches for his wine glass, turns it slowly between his fingers without drinking. “you look good,” he says, eventually. “i mean… really good.” you meet his eyes, and then, because you can’t help it, “so do you.” he smiles at that, soft, almost sheepish, and then glances down at the wine list sitting neatly on the table between you. “you want anything?” he asks, tapping the edge of the menu lightly. “they’ve got a good selection.” you shake your head, giving a small, polite smile. “just water’s fine.” “water, then,” he says, and signals to the server passing by to order you a glass. there’s a beat of silence after the server leaves, just the soft clink of his glass when he shifts it on the table. he doesn’t look at you—just studies the red swirl of wine for a second like it’s got the right words floating in it somewhere—then finally says, “i’m glad you came.” you nod once, unsure what to say to that, fingers twitching in your lap. “and… i’m sorry,” he adds quietly. “about the phone call. the way it ended… that wasn’t how i wanted it to go.” “i know.” “i didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he says. “or backed into a corner. i just—my head was a mess, and i handled it wrong. i’m sorry.” “it’s fine. thank you—thanks for the apology.” and you mean it. he leans back slightly in his chair, exhales through his nose. his fingers trace the rim of his wine glass like he’s trying to occupy them. “i didn’t know if you’d ever want to see me again. after everything.” “i didn’t know either. up until like… three o’clock.” his mouth twitches into something that’s almost a smile. “last-minute decision?” “very,” you say. “bad one, maybe. not sure yet.” “i get it. i wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t shown up.” “i almost didn’t,” you admit. “but then i thought—i don’t know. if i didn’t come, i’d just keep wondering what you wanted to say.” he nods, finally meeting your eyes again. “i wanted to say a lot of things.” “like what?” he hesitates, jaw tightening slightly, like the words are caught somewhere behind his teeth. he exhales, slow and heavy, and leans forward, forearms resting on the edge of the table. “i wanted to apologize,” he says. “for how things ended. for—for what i said. for not listening.” “seunghyun—” you start, but he shakes his head. “i didn’t believe you,” he goes on. “and i should have. i should’ve known better—i did know better. but it was easier to be angry than to be scared, and i was so, so fucking scared. scared of being exposed again, of people dragging my name through the mud all over, of losing everything i’d tried to build back up—” “i know. i know, hyun. i understand you. it’s… it’s okay.” it isn’t, though. “and instead of trusting you,” he says, like he didn’t hear you at all, “i panicked. i pushed you away. and i hate myself for it.” you shift in your seat, hands gripping the sides of the chair, aching with the weight of all the things you wish could make this easier. “hyun,” you murmur again, softer now, like saying his name might take the edge off his pain or yours. “you don’t have to—” “i do,” he says. “i haven’t stopped thinking about it… about how fast i let it all go. how fast i let you go. and the worst part is…” he stops, biting down on the inside of his cheek. “the worst part is that i made you think you didn’t matter to me. like it was easy for me to—to cut you off. and it wasn’t. it’s never been easy. it still fucking haunts me.” he pauses. “i just needed you to know that. i needed—i needed to say it to your face.” he exhales shakily, like just getting the words out took something out of him. his eyes stay fixed somewhere past your shoulder, like he’s afraid that meeting yours will make it harder. “and i missed you,” he says quietly. “fuck, i missed you so much.”

the words land somewhere low in your gut, like they’ve been thrown instead of spoken. and for a second, it stings in a sweet way, that traitorous part of your chest aching at the sound of his voice wrapped around something soft again, something that once made you feel safe. but the sweetness evaporates almost instantly, replaced by a sharp kind of heat under your skin, the kind that flares when something touches a bruise you thought had already faded. because you don’t get to miss someone and do nothing about it. not when you’re the one who made it clear, so fucking clear, that it was over. your jaw tightens. because no. no, he doesn’t get to say that. your eyes start to sting, the burn rising fast and sudden behind your lashes. and then, without warning, a single tear slips down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly with the back of your hand. “why didn’t you reach out, then?” he blinks, startled, like he hadn’t expected the question. you sniff once, wipe at your cheek again even though the tear’s already gone. “i waited, you know. for so fucking long. every day, i thought maybe today you’d say something.” you scoff. “but you didn’t. not a word—not until i told you the one thing that finally cleared me.” his lips part like he wants to speak, but you don’t let him. “and now you’re here,” you go on, voice shaking. “saying all the things i used to fantasize about hearing. and don’t get me wrong—it’s nice. it’s—it’s really fucking nice, i needed to hear it. but if i hadn’t sent that message, if i hadn’t broken down and hit send for once instead of just typing and deleting like i always did… would we even be here right now?” you’re not sure what answer you’re hoping for. but you needed to let him know how much it sucked to feel like the only one who kept looking back.

he exhales slowly, eyes falling from yours to the table, like he can’t bear the weight of them. because what you’re saying isn’t just true, but something he’s thought about too, something he’s afraid to admit out loud. “you’re right,” he says, voice low and tight. “you’re right. but i—i wanted to. so many times. but when i thought about saying something, i’d convince myself it would only make it worse. that you didn’t want to hear from me. that you were happier without me.” you stare at him. “you thought i was happy?” “i hoped. because the alternative fucking hurt.” “but you still let me think it was my fault,” you say, voice sharp with disbelief. “you let me sit in that, seunghyun. for months. do you even understand what that did to me?” he doesn’t speak right away—just drags a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to rub the shame off his face. “i know. i know i fucked up.” “you didn’t just fuck up,” you snap. “you abandoned me. you—you went on with your life while i… i lost everything. and all because you couldn’t bring yourself to believe me.” “i wanted to believe you,” he says, a little too desperate now. “i swear to god, i did.” “then why didn’t you?” he looks at you like that question physically hurts him. “you already know. i told you—i told you about han seohee. i’ve been betrayed before, and i just—it felt safer to assume the worst than risk getting hurt again.” “yeah?” you say, and your voice comes out rough, almost trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been trying to swallow. “well guess what, seunghyun—i wasn’t han fucking seohee. i wasn’t anyone but me. your… your girlfriend. and you didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. not even for a fucking second.” his jaw tenses, lips pressing into a thin line like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to speak. “i didn’t ask you to be perfect,” you continue, voice softer now. “i never did. all i wanted was for you to believe me—and you couldn’t do that.” he shakes his head, pained. “it wasn’t about you,” he mutters. “it was about me. my past. my shit. it twisted everything.” you shake your head, the frustration rising even though you don’t want it to. “yeah! and you let it win!” you lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly through your nose, trying to collect yourself.

this wasn’t what you intended when you showed up. you really don’t want to raise your voice at him—shit, you weren’t even supposed to get this upset. the last thing you want to do is hurt him. “i moved across the world for you, seunghyun,” you continue, calmer. “i put everything on the line. and the second things got hard, you chose to believe the version of me that fit your fears.” his face falls. “i know,” he whispers. “i know. i thought i was protecting myself—but i should’ve protected you too. i should’ve protected us. all i ever wanted was to keep this thing—what we had—safe.” he sighs. “i’m really, really sorry. for everything.” the interruption comes at just the right time—the server appears, setting down the glass of water with a soft clink. you thank him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and seunghyun gives a nod before the server leaves, the space around you settling into silence again.

you take a sip, the cold water almost jarring against the heat crawling up your throat. the moment stretches, and you know there’s more to say. the conversation isn’t finished—not even close—but your chest already feels too full. it’s too much all at once, and you feel the weight of it pressing down behind your eyes. so, you set the glass back down and glance up at him, forcing your voice to steady and offering the smallest smile you can manage. “i watched squid game,” you say. “you were amazing in it.” his face softens and he lets out a breathy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah?” you nod. “yeah. like… really good. i wanted to text you when it dropped but… you know.” yeah, he knows… he had you fucking blocked. seunghyun nods once. “i appreciate that,” he says, voice a little quieter now, like he’s not sure what to do with the softness in your tone. “wasn’t expecting it to do that well, to be honest.” you hum, tracing the rim of your glass with the pad of your finger. “well, people love a villain. especially when he’s funny… and hot.” that pulls a small, surprised laugh out of him, and his cheeks turn red. “well, thank you.” you smile, gaze softening. “i read the interview you made back in january too, by the way.” “oh. did you?” you nod. “yeah.” “you know, i kept wondering what you’d think if you read it. part of me hoped you wouldn’t. the other part hoped you would.” “i did. twice, actually.” you smile faintly. “once when it came out, and again when i was mad at you. to remind myself you were still in there somewhere.” that seems to knock the wind out of him a little. you continue, “i think… i didn’t expect you to be that honest.” “i wasn’t planning to do it, you know,” he says after a pause. “the interview. for years, i thought if i just stayed silent, eventually everyone would forget. but i didn’t forget. i couldn’t.” you study him. “it read like someone who’s been carrying a lot. for a long time.” and you know that better than anyone—because you were there, in the thick of it, helping him through his worst days. his mouth curves, but it isn’t a smile. “yeah.” you let the silence sit for a beat before speaking. “i thought… i thought it was brave. i actually—i felt proud,” you confess. and there it is. the thing you’ve been meaning to tell him ever since everything ended, but couldn’t bring yourself to say until now. “i’m proud of you, hyun.” he feels it—that familiar, overwhelming tightness in his throat. he swallows hard, eyes watering slightly. he nods once. then, he opens his mouth, tries to speak, to say thank you, but his lower lip trembles before the words can form… so he closes it again. and hopes the nod is enough.

his family never said that to him. at least not after his mistakes were exposed. so this—this thing you just gave him, so casually and so fucking sincerely—it hits like a punch to the ribs. and it comes from you. you, who he’d hurt more than anyone else. it comes from someone who knows. someone who was there when he was a shell of himself, someone who saw the worst parts of him and stayed, until he made it impossible for you to do so. his eyes hurt and his throat burns and there’s a tremble in his jaw he can’t quite stop, and still he says nothing, because there’s nothing that would be enough to meet the weight of what you just gave him. “that part you said about the group,” you murmur after a moment, voice a little hesitant now, “how seeing them felt like looking at a photo of a family you’d been separated from…” “that’s exactly what it feels like.” “i know,” you nod, gently. “i’m sure they miss you too. i don’t know if you’ve been in touch with them or—” “i haven’t.” he cuts in quickly, and there’s a finality to it. you don’t push, but you notice the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tenses. there’s even a bead of sweat slipping down the side of his face. “sorry. i didn’t mean to bring up something that—i mean, i wasn’t trying to pry. i just thought… maybe after everything, after all these months, it might’ve felt possible. or… i don’t know.” you trail off, suddenly unsure of what you’re even trying to say. maybe part of you just wanted to believe he wasn’t as alone as he used to be. he hums. then, after a moment: “you were the one thing that made that time bearable. everything else was a mess, but with you, it was—” he stops himself, mouth twitching, like the rest of the sentence is too fragile to say out loud. “you didn’t fix it. but you made it hurt less. and i’ve never—i’ve never thanked you for that.” “you didn’t need to. i knew you were thankful.” you pause. “and… i’m not saying the article fixed anything, but it made sense. why you pulled away. i get it more now.” “that doesn’t make it okay.” “no,” you agree, “it doesn’t. but it helps.”

after that, things start to loosen—the conversation shifts slowly, and the air between you starts to feel less dense, less charged with the tension that had been building since the moment you sat down. the heaviness doesn’t vanish, it’s still there but easier to ignore when you’re focused on something else, like the way seunghyun starts tapping his fingers against his glass, or how your knee keeps bouncing under the table because your body hasn’t quite figured out what to do with the weird, awkward comfort of being near him again. it’s not like either of you suddenly forget the months of silence, or the way things ended, or all the shit that never really got said… but eventually, the edge softens, and your mouths start moving for other reasons—comments that aren’t weighed down by anger or guilt, memories that aren’t necessarily painful, and a rhythm that, while still tentative, starts to resemble the way things used to be between you, back before everything got ruined. because at first, you’re both careful—testing the boundaries of what’s okay to say, what’s still too raw to touch—but as time passes and the conversation wanders into safer ground, you find yourself laughing. which then makes him start laughing too, and it feels bizarre and comforting all at once—like your body forgot how easy it used to be to laugh with him, how that sound had once been a constant part of your days. and when he leans back in his chair, a little more at ease, you realize it’s been a long time since you’ve seen seunghyun look like that. it’s still weird. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. it’s weird to be sitting across from him, in real life, hearing his voice without a screen in between, seeing the way he moves and talks and exists like a real fucking person again. there are still moments where it catches you off guard—how familiar this all is, and also how far away it feels from who you were the last time you looked at him like this.

and when he asks, “do you want to go for a walk? brownsville’s botanical garden isn’t far from here. and it’s still open for another hour and a half,” you don’t even pretend to think about it. you just nod, and the look on his face, that flicker of relief, tells you he didn’t expect a yes. his driver’s already waiting outside, like always, and neither of you says much on the way. the ride is short, ten minutes, maybe fifteen. you watch the town pass through the tinted window, and beside you, he’s silent, but not in the closed-off way he used to be when things were bad. it’s a softer kind of silence now, where he’s letting himself be here, in this moment, with you. the botanical garden is smaller than you remember, and it’s mostly empty by the time you get there. as you walk, side by side but not too close—under a pink sky that’s starting to fade into something darker—there’s still a nervous flutter in your stomach, still that ridiculous awareness of where his hand is, of how close it would be if you reached out, but you don’t. because you remember—you remember how fucking much it hurt to lose him, how badly it ended and how long you waited for an apology that never came, until today. and as you both slow near a bench surrounded by wildflowers and a few trees that creak lazily in the warm breeze, he gestures toward it with a quiet nod, and you both sink down into the wooden slats. there’s a few inches between you, enough space to feel the gap and remind you both that no matter how easy the conversation’s been, there’s still a line neither of you has crossed yet. for a moment, you both just sit there, watching the wind tug lazily at the branches, listening to the low hum of cicadas starting up somewhere in the distance. and then, very casually, he asks, “so… is there someone in your life these days?” god—he hates how obvious it probably sounded the second it left his mouth. he doesn’t look at you when he asks, just keeps his gaze forward, like he’s talking to the horizon instead of you, like the question is just curiosity and not the thing he’s been thinking about since the second he saw you again. you glance at him. “yeah,” you say softly, honest because there’s no point in pretending. “i’ve been seeing someone.” oh… it hits him harder than he wants it to. not because he thought you’d been waiting around for him. of course not. he knows better than that. knows he doesn’t have that right. but something about hearing it out loud, from your mouth, in that voice he used to fall asleep to—it makes his stomach twist. you can see it in the way his jaw tightens slightly, and in the way his hands suddenly find his lap, like his body doesn’t quite believe the version of calm he’s trying to sell.

a long silence settles in, and he tells himself not to ask the next question, the one that’s pushing at his throat, but it slips out anyway, “does he know you’re here?” you shake your head. “no.” he turns slightly toward you, brows pulling in just a little. “i never told him,” you add. “about us.” and that fucking stings. “i just said there was someone once. but not who. i wanted to respect your choice, you know… you didn’t want it out there, you wanted to keep it private. and i… i guess i got used to it, too. so… i kept that, even after it ended.” he swallows hard, but doesn’t speak. because what is there to say, really? he sits there, listening to your words settle into the space between you, feeling it again—the shame. seunghyun stares out into the garden with a tight jaw, wondering when exactly he stopped deserving that kind of grace from you—and why you’re still giving it anyway. he stays quiet longer than he should, but he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack under the weight of everything he isn’t saying. and maybe he should let it go—but he can’t. “is he good to you?” he asks. he hates how much he wants to know. hates how pathetic it makes him feel to sit here, asking about a man who has what he used to. what he walked away from. “yeah,” you reply, and your voice is careful. “he’s… he’s kind. he works in construction with his dad—they run their own small company, mostly residential stuff. but we don’t see each other a lot… he’s the kind of guy who’s in bed by ten and up by five, and my schedule’s kind of all over the place too, so… yeah. but it works. things with him are—they’re simple… easy.” you don’t mean it as an insult, but fuck, it lands like one. “that’s good,” he says, and the words feel like gravel in his mouth. he forces them out anyway, and forces himself to nod, like that makes it more believable. “you deserve that.”

seunghyun wonders if this guy knows how you like your coffee, if he knows how you get when you’re overwhelmed—how you play with the hem of your shirt, how your voice gets sharp when you’re scared and how underneath that, you’re just trying not to break into a million pieces. he wonders if this new guy has ever seen you cry, and if he did, whether he knew what the fuck to do with it. if he sat with you in it, or tried to fix it, or made it worse by telling you everything would be okay when he didn’t know shit about what was actually going on inside your head. he wonders if this guy knows how you ramble when you’re tired. if he’s heard the stories you only tell when you’ve had one glass of wine too many, the ones that make you laugh even as you wipe your eyes. if he knows the things you’re afraid of. he wonders if this guy’s ever traced the line of your spine with his fingers just to feel you shiver under him, if he knows how your breath catches before you ever make a sound, how your thighs tense when you’re trying not to beg. does he know how to touch you the way you like? and fuck—does he get to hear you like that? whispering his name, nails in his back, legs shaking, voice breaking around the kind of moan that used to make seunghyun lose his goddamn mind? and then, in the middle of all that wondering, he hates himself a little—for being so fucking jealous.

you must feel the shift in the air too, the way his silence has gone from thoughtful to tense, like he’s holding something back. so you add, “we’re not… dating.” his head turns a little at that, eyes flicking over to you for the first time in minutes. “no?” you shake your head. “i’m not ready for that. not again. it’s been—i’ve been figuring shit out. still am.” he nods slowly. you glance at him, like maybe you’re trying to gauge his reaction, but he gives you nothing. “what about you?” you ask after a moment. “you seeing anyone?” “no.” it comes out fast and flat, like the idea pisses him off. you wait, maybe expecting him to explain, but he doesn’t. so you press, “not even casually?” seunghyun lets out a short, humorless laugh. “what would be the point?” your brows pull together, but you don’t answer. “i’m not exactly great company,” he adds, almost bitter. “and i’m not trying to let anyone close just so they can realize it for themselves.” “you are great company, hyun. don’t say that.” he just scoffs under his breath and shifts on the bench like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. “yeah, well,” he mutters, “guess that’s not enough anymore.” you turn to look at him. “what?” “nothing.” “no—say it.” you’re watching him now, fully turned toward him, and he can feel it—the weight of your stare, the tension in your voice. he shakes his head. “you’re here, telling me you’ve got someone, and—i don’t know, it’s just… i don’t know.” “you asked, seunghyun.” “i know. i just—i wasn’t expecting that answer.” you blink at him. “so what? you ask me if i’m seeing someone, and now you’re pissed that i answered you honestly?” “i’m not pissed,” he lies, and you both know it. “don’t lie to me. i know you better than anyone—” “do you love him?” he asks, and the question comes out so suddenly, so bluntly, it knocks the air out of your lungs. “no,” you say, after a beat. “i don’t love him. if i did, i wouldn’t be here.” he nods, like that’s what he wanted to hear, but the tightness in his mouth doesn’t ease. “okay.” “what do you want me to say, seunghyun?” you ask, keeping your voice even, though it’s getting harder. “that i waited around? that i haven’t touched anyone since you left? is that what you were hoping for?” “i wasn’t hoping for anything,” he snaps. you raise an eyebrow. “sure.”

he exhales, a short, frustrated breath, and leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the dirt path between his shoes. because the truth is—he was hoping for that. he was hoping you’d tell him that, even after all this time, you were still a little bit his. and hearing otherwise—he doesn’t know what to do with that. doesn’t know how to sit across from you like it doesn’t matter when it feels like it’s fucking tearing him apart—sitting here, stewing in his own mess, wanting things he let go of, wishing you’d stayed stuck when all you ever did was survive the damage he left behind. every twisted part of him that wants you to be okay, also wants you to still need him. he’s so, so fucking selfish. and you’re right, of course. every word. his hands curl into fists. his vision blurs. he doesn’t mean to start crying, but it happens anyway. fuck. he takes his glasses off and drags a hand over his face, hoping you won’t say anything, hoping maybe you’ll look away long enough for him to get it under control. but he can’t. “i’m sorry,” he chokes out. “i’m sorry i’m acting like this. i just—i didn’t think it would feel like this. seeing you. i thought i could handle it, and i can’t.” his throat aches. he wipes at his face again, furious at himself for crying, for falling apart in front of you, for being nine months too late. “seunghyun—“

his name barely leaves your mouth before he’s crumbling again, shoulders shaking. you slide across the bench, closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around him, firmly. he tenses at first, like he doesn’t know what to do with the comfort, and then he just folds into you. his face buries into the crook of your neck, warm and damp with tears, breath shuddering against your skin, and your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head instinctively. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “fuck, i’m so sorry. i fucked everything up.” you close your eyes, heart aching with the weight of it. “i ruined it,” he says again, voice cracking. “i ruined us.” “it’s not your fault.” “it is.” “no—you were just scared. my mom’s the one who put us in this situation. and yeah, you hurt me but i—i forgive you, hyun. you’re forgiven, okay?” you hold him tighter, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder, breathing slow and steady because maybe if you stay calm, he’ll remember how to do the same. and for a while, he just cries. you haven’t seen him like this in a long time—haven’t seen him break this hard, this openly, not since the first time he told you he didn’t know how to live with himself. or the nights he’d curl into you, silent and shaking, too proud to sob until his body gave him no other choice.

when the worst of it passes—when the sobs begin to slow and his breathing evens out—he leans back and sniffles, avoiding your eyes as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black cloth—one of those soft ones he always carried for his glasses, or for sweat when he was anxious. he dabs at his face, wiping away the tears first, then pressing it against his temples and the back of his neck. he’s sweating like hell, his hair damp, the collar of his sweater sticking slightly to his skin. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, voice hoarse. “i’m a mess.” you reach for the cloth gently, fingers brushing his as you take it from him, and he doesn’t resist. “let me.” you wipe the tears from under his eyes first, careful and slow, then run the cloth lightly across his forehead, down to his cheeks, around the curve of his jaw. your other hand rests on his shoulder, grounding him. “you’re okay,” you murmur. “just breathe.” he nods, throat moving as he swallows hard. and then, after a long pause, with a voice that’s barely there he says, “i… i still love you.” you freeze, the cloth limp in your hand, your breath catching mid-air. did you hear that right? and then, quieter, he adds, “i don’t think i’ve ever loved someone as much.” yeah, you heard that right. your heart stumbles in your chest and you sit there, watching him. he won’t meet your eyes now, like saying it took the last of whatever strength he had left. his shoulders are hunched, jaw tight like he’s bracing for rejection even before it comes. he looks younger like this, and older too, worn down by months of pretending he was okay, of convincing himself he didn’t still ache for you every fucking day. and you love him. oh, you love this man so fucking much… you wish you didn’t sometimes, wish it didn’t still hurt. you place the cloth down carefully in your lap and reach out without thinking, your hand brushing the side of his face, fingers sliding into his hair like muscle memory. and he leans into it. you let your hand fall to his jaw, thumb gently swiping along the damp edge of it. “i love you too, hyun,” you say. “i never stopped.”

his shoulders shake, and you can tell he’s holding back again, trying not to fall apart a second time. you take his hand in yours. “you said… you said that you missed me. earlier. and the truth is… i missed you too,” you whisper, voice low and breaking now. “i missed everything—us. i tried to forget all of it and i couldn’t. i didn’t want to.” his fingers twitch under yours and he grips your hand tighter. you can feel how warm his skin is, how clammy his palm’s gone from the crying and the heat and all the fucking emotion, but you don’t let go. you just hold on, because this is the first time in months you’ve both said the truth out loud, and if it’s going to hurt, you’d rather it hurt with him right there beside you. his eyes are glassy, and you can tell he’s struggling to find the words. “i used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking you were still next to me,” he says. “and every single time it hit me that you weren’t, it felt—” he stops himself, rubbing a hand over his chest to stop it from aching. “i missed you so much it made me sick sometimes.” and you believe him. because you know that feeling. you remember what it felt like to lie awake with your back to the wall, trying to sleep in a bed that felt too big and too cold, your hand unconsciously reaching for a body that wasn’t there anymore. you remember the mornings you’d open your eyes and forget, just for a second, that he was gone—and how that second was always worse than the rest of the day combined. but sitting here now, his hand still trembling slightly in yours, all you can think is: we can’t go back. “i love you,” you say. “and i want to be with you, seunghyun. i want—hell, i’d spend the rest of my life with you.” your voice cracks on the last word, and your chest pulls tight as the tears finally spill over. “and i mean it. but… what would change?”

he’s silent. not because he doesn’t know what to say—but because he knows exactly what he’d like to say, and none of it would be true. “i can’t go back to hiding,” you continue before he can speak. “i can’t—i don’t want to be that girl again.” he closes his eyes for a second, then nods. “i know.” “but i also know…” you exhale, voice shaking, “i know that’s all you can offer me right now.” he shifts slightly, like he wants to argue. “that’s not—” “there’s no point in lying, seunghyun.” he runs a hand over his mouth, pained. “i could—maybe, in a few months, if things calm down—” “you and i both know that’s not how it works,” you say, cutting him off gently. “a few months won’t change the industry. or the people watching you. it won’t suddenly make us easy. and you know, seunghyun… you know a few months is unrealistic. and i don’t wanna—i don’t wanna wait in the shadows anymore. i won’t do it. i promised that to myself.” he sighs, long and defeated. “yeah. i know—i’m sorry. i just… i didn’t think i’d be getting this much attention again. after everything. the interviews, the show… it’s all been more than i expected. and it could get to you too, for the wrong reasons—” “i know,” you nod. “i know. and i get it, i really do. i’ve already deleted half my socials because of the harassment i got when it was just a rumor, and that wasn’t even real to them.” his face falls, shame coloring every line of it. “i’m sorry about that, too.” “yeah,” you murmur. “it’s fine. or—it’s not, but… it happened. those months were awful. but they’re behind me now.” he watches you for a long second, then says, “if we’d been closer in age, maybe it wouldn’t have been so complicated.” you smile, even though your lower lip is trembling slightly. “yeah. maybe it would’ve been easier.” the world outside won’t stop pressing in, and the timing keeps pulling you apart before you even get the chance to hold each other properly. “i hate this,” he whispers. “i hate that we finally said everything and it still isn’t enough.” “me too,” you say, sniffing. “but love isn’t the problem. it never was.” he nods slowly, and you know he’s holding back more tears.

you look at him—his swollen eyes, the slight tremble in his mouth that mirrors your own—and for a moment, you wish you could be selfish. you wish you could say fuck it, go back with him, crawl into the warmth of what could’ve been, and pretend that love alone is enough. but you can’t. “maybe you were right,” you say, trying to laugh through the tears, your voice catching halfway through. “maybe breaking up was the right thing to do. for both of us.” oh… the way his heart drops when he hears that—how much he wishes he could take those words back. how much he regrets ever saying them in the first place. how much he’s begged time, in every quiet moment since, to let him go back and rewrite your story. but it’s useless. it didn’t feel right then, and it sure as hell doesn’t now. you’re all he ever wanted. you’re all he wants. and deep down, he knows—you always will be. and it fucking kills him. it kills him to know that loving you isn’t the question—he does. with everything. the question is what to do with that love, now that it can’t go anywhere. because if you tried again… if you gave in to the ache and the want and the desperation—nothing would really change. you’d end up right back here. except next time, you’d be even more broken. “if i were braver,” he starts, “if i was different—” “don’t,” you cut in. “don’t do that. you don’t need to be a different person, hyun,” you say softly. “you just need a different life. and you don’t have that right now—and maybe you never will. but it’s okay.” “how can it be?” he says, and there’s a crack in his voice that makes your chest tighten. “how the fuck is it okay to want something this badly and still have to let it go?” you let out a shaky breath and look down at your lap. “we can’t change it. this. it’s… it’s not okay—fuck, i know it’s not. but it’s what we have.”

he goes quiet again, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand, tears still hanging in his lashes. you both sit in it. the sadness. the weight of every missed chance, every wrong timing, every choice that brought you to this bench. “if there’s another life,” you murmur, “maybe we find our way back to each other there.” he nods. “maybe,” he says, and you know he’s picturing it too. the could-have-beens. the should-haves. the soft life you never got to live. but not this one. he’s quiet for a while after that, like he’s still standing in that other life you just painted with your words—still walking through it in his mind, holding your hand in a version of the world where things were easier. and then his voice cuts through the silence, “but i don’t want to lose you in this life, either.” and before you can say anything, he adds, “do you think we could… i don’t know—be friends?” you turn to look at him, and he’s watching you carefully, not with expectation but with something closer to fear. he’s afraid you’ll say no, afraid you’ll cut the thread that still tethers you to him, even if it’s frayed and worn and barely holding. but you smile a little. it’s small and sad, but a smile after all. “yeah. i think we could.” he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “maybe not right now,” you add gently. “maybe we give it some time. let it stop hurting so much. but yeah… eventually, i’d like that.” he nods again, eyes flicking toward you like he’s trying to memorize your face in this exact light, with this exact expression—still full of love. “i just don’t want to lose you completely.” “you won’t,” you say. and it’s the one thing you can promise. “you’re too much a part of me now, hyun, you always will be. we’ll figure it out.”

the gravel crunches quietly under your shoes. the path back through the garden is dim now, the sun completely dipped behind the horizon, leaving the sky painted in that deep, rich blue, settling into dusk. every now and then, you glance at seunghyun in your periphery—his hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed, like he’s trying to hold on to every last moment of this without showing it. you walk without touching, without speaking, but everything between you is loud. and then, just before the path curves toward the iron gate that separates the quiet of this place from the rest of the world, you stop. “seunghyun,” you say, his name barely above a whisper. he turns to you slowly, like he already knows what’s coming, like he’s been waiting for it without letting himself hope. you reach up with both hands and cradle his face—thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones, your fingers slipping into the soft, familiar edges of his hair. his breath catches, his eyes flicker, and then they fall shut just as your mouth finds his. his hands are on you within seconds—your waist, your back, the side of your neck, fucking everywhere. he kisses you back hard, full of need and every word he didn’t know how to say earlier. you make a soft sound against his mouth, one he swallows greedily, pulling you closer, gripping the fabric at your back like he doesn’t trust the world not to rip you away. your fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to make him moan, and when he groans against your mouth, his tongue slips past your lips, deepening the kiss. he kisses you hungrily. because he knows this is the last moment he’ll get to remember what it feels like to be wanted by you. his hands slide up your sides, and then one of them cups your face, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. your heart stutters in your chest at how tender it is—how fucking unfair it is that someone can love you this gently and still not be yours. you kiss him deeper, your tongue meeting his, your mouth opening wider like maybe if you just give enough of yourself, it’ll keep him for a little longer. but eventually, it has to stop. your hands loosen in his hair, and his grip on you falters. you pull away first, even though it feels like tearing something out of your own chest. you’re both panting, and your lips are swollen. “sorry,” you whisper. “i just… i needed to do that one last time.” you close your eyes and let your hand rest over his chest, right where his heart is pounding beneath your palm—fast and uneven, like yours. “i needed it too,” he says quietly. you both feel it settle deep in your bones—that quiet, devastating truth: the kiss was goodbye. to everything you were and everything you’ll never be again.

by the time you make it back to your friend’s apartment, the sky has already folded into itself, navy and thick. you step inside, the house dim and quiet, the hallway lit only by the warm spill of light coming from the kitchen where your friend’s probably left a candle burning. you move through the space like you’re not really there. your shoes come off, your jacket lands somewhere near a chair you don’t look at, and you’re halfway down the hall toward the living room with that hollow, buzzing emptiness ringing in your ears—when your phone vibrates once. and you think, for a stupid second, that maybe it’s him. but no. instead, it’s your banking app, and there on your screen, as casual as if someone had just venmoed you for last week’s pizza, is a deposit—an absurd amount of money, like… frankly ridiculous amount—and next to it, the name. choi seunghyun. you stare at it for a second, not really processing it, your brain taking its sweet time catching up, and when it finally does, you quickly message him.

seunghyun

WHAT THE FUCK

what

why

wtf

what the actual fuck

You told me you were staying with your friend while looking for a place.

I thought it might help.

are you crazy?

wtf

this is insane, hyun

It’s nothing🙂

it’s NOT nothing wtf

you wired me enough to pay rent for a year

maybe more

no, no, definitely more

way more

what part of that feels normal to you

this is so much money, what were you thinking

I was thinking you deserved it.

i don’t need you to take care of me like that

i’m not your responsibility

You’re not.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you however I can.

it’s too much, hyun

So is everything I feel for you.

i don’t know if i can accept it

Please do.

Friends help each other, don’t they?

i’m being so frl rn old man

Me too, princess.

are u trying to make me cry?💔 be honest

We’ve cried enough today.

I want you to be happy, so please let me do this for you.

thank you seunhyun, really

Of course🫰🏼

i love you

I love you too.

Take care❤️

you too :)

you press the phone to your chest, close your eyes, and sigh. and maybe it’s dramatic to cry over a money transfer, but here you are. not because you need the money, but because you know, this is the only way he knows how to take care of you now—by giving you something tangible and useful in his absence. and that hurts.

it’s been two years since that last conversation with seunghyun—two whole years since that kiss in the garden, since the deposit, since his last message sat in your phone. life didn’t stop after him. it moved forward the way time always does—slow. and eventually, you did too. you moved out of your friend’s place not long after meeting seunghyun—gave yourself permission to look at listings just slightly outside your price range, to stop filtering by ‘cheapest first,’ to imagine something more. and when you found it—a corner apartment on the top floor of a building, all warm wood and tall windows and soft morning light—you said yes. it’s not huge, but it’s beautiful. clean lines, a little balcony that overlooks the street, a kitchen that makes you want to cook even when all you know how to make is pasta… it’s the first place you’ve ever lived that feels like it was meant for you. and yeah, sometimes you think about seunghyun—you think about how he gave this to you. but mostly, you think about how you made it into something your own.

you also dropped the guy you’d been seeing back then and focused on yourself. let yourself learn how to be alone. you got a new job too—something better, something steadier. it pays well, and you don’t come home every night feeling like you’ve been scraped raw, which is more than you used to ask for. things with your mom are better now, or at least better than they used to be. she calls every week, asks about work (because that’s her favorite topic), sometimes even about your mood, and it’s clear she’s trying. but the thing that still sticks in your throat, the thing you can’t seem to move past, is that she’s never actually said she was sorry. she speaks like it was a necessary evil, like leaking your relationship to the press was some calculated decision made for your protection, not a betrayal that burned through your entire life. and maybe if she showed even a flicker of regret—real regret—you’d be able to meet her halfway. but without that, there’s only so far you can go.

you’re not healed. but you’re okay. you wake up most mornings without feeling like you’re drowning, you go to work, make dinner, fold laundry while music plays in the background. you laugh with friends and sleep through the night more often than not. and your screen time is down 12% this week—so, progress. that has to count for something. but some nights, when it’s quiet in your apartment and the city hums softly outside your window, you think of seunghyun. you wonder where he is, if he’s okay, if he ever sees something and thinks of you. you wonder if he’s happy, if he’s sleeping well, if his hands still tremble when he’s anxious or if someone else has learned how to hold them steady. and sometimes, you stare at the ceiling too long, or catch yourself holding your breath when a memory slips through—and it still surprises you, how much he lives in the smallest, stupidest things. because no matter how much distance time gives you, there are people who never really leave. and seunghyun, no matter how far away he is now—he’s one of them.

so when his name lights up your phone one random thursday evening two years later—you almost fall off your bed.

Hi.

Sorry if this is weird.

I was looking through my gallery and I found this.

it’s a photo taken from above—his arm stretched out enough to fit both of you into the frame, the angle slightly off-center. you’re completely out, fast asleep on top of him, arms loosely wrapped around his waist like you were trying to merge with him in your sleep. your cheek is smushed against the ridiculous pajama top—the one he bought for himself first, then ordered a second one for you when he realized how cute you’d look matching. yes, the infamous pajama set that everyone and their mother saw after your mom leaked everything. his hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, but his face is soft—eyes shining even in the low light of the room, a sleepy grin on his face.

Turns out, the picture those fans took of us wasn’t the only one we had.

I hope life’s treating you nicely🫰🏼

and something about it—about him still having that photo, still thinking of you enough to send it—makes you smile. you write back faster than you thought you would.

omg seunhyun!!! hii!!

when did you take that photo? and why didn’t u tell me about it?😭

I took it when you came to Seoul for my birthday.

I forgot I took it.

You woke up right after hahah😴😄

it’s sooo sooo cute🥹

It is😊

How are you?

i’m good :)) but a bit tired because i’ve been helping my friend paint her house and it’s been a lot of work

my arms are so sore😭

what about you?

you doing okay?

Yes! I’m good.

I missed talking to you.

me too :)) and i’m glad to know you’re doing well!

I also wanted to know if you’d like to go for a coffee next week?

I wanted to fly to Texas to see you.

We could catch up.

If you want to, of course🙂

yesss ofc, i’d love to :)🩷

i’m really happy you reached out

been thinking about you a lot, honestly

You have?

more than i’d like to admit hahah

i was wondering how you were doing :)

I’ve thought about you too.

And I’m really looking forward to seeing you😊

me too🙂‍↕️

I’ll send you the details once everything’s booked, is that okay?

yeah, sure, that sounds perfect :)

See you soon🫰🏼

when the day finally comes, there’s a quiet nervousness in your chest—not the kind that makes your hands shake, but the kind that hums beneath your skin. you don’t know what to expect. it’s been two years. whole seasons, whole versions of yourself have passed since you last stood in front of him. you’ve changed. you’ve grown. but some things stay. he’s waiting outside the café when you arrive—hands in his coat pockets, hair a little longer. and the second your eyes meet, he smiles. and you smile back, like no time has passed at all. the conversation flows without effort. you don’t even notice your coffee going cold—you’re too busy talking and laughing like it hasn’t been two years. and you don’t try to stop the feeling that rushes in, that warm, aching knowing in your chest that says, yeah. it’s still him. even after everything. it’s still seunghyun. you don’t know what’s going to happen next, and for once, that doesn’t scare you. you just let the moment be what it is, suspended in something that feels a lot like peace. because maybe this is it. maybe you don’t need another life to find your way back to each other—you already do in this one.

i hope this lived up to your expectations for part 2 :) i genuinely did the best i could. i’ve spent so much time on this fic and gotten so attached to everything about it that it doesn’t even feel like something i made up anymore?? like someone out there is living through it and suffering bc of seunghyun fr… my brain fully believes it atp😭

thank you so much for all the support you’ve shown to this fic, and for all the kind messages i’ve been getting because of it—i seriously wasn’t expecting it at all 🥹💗

regular taglist: @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @infinetlyforgotten @bettelaboure @scream-queen-25 @flwerangii

hidden pt.2 taglist: @ulquiorraswife @rubyylovestoread @youlikeex @liv2cool

#choi seunghyun #t.o.p bigbang #seunghyun x reader #hidden #t.o.p fanfic #bigbang x reader #top bigbang #bigbang #big bang #top x reader #t.o.p x you #t.o.p x reader #t.o.p #squid game #part 2

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 months ago

Note

HEYY!! DIDN’T NOTICE THE ASK BUTTON UNTIL NOW! IM JUST WONDERING HOW YOUR DOING, AND HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAYYY (I apologize for not saying sooner, just found out how to like idk ask or something)

I SWEAR I DON’T MEAN TO SOUND PUSHY OR IF I ASK TOO MANY TIMES, PLEASE JUST SAY IF UTS ANNOYING, BUT DO YOU HAVE: “Jealous!Stanford Pines x Reader” ? CAUSE IDK IM JUST CURIOUS 😭💔

⋆౨ৎ˚ jealous!Ford x you hcs ˖ ࣪

ahhh, thank u so much sweetheart!! no it's not annoying at all, pls dont say that. and sure, here it is! honestly it was pretty helpful for me too because im writing a fic where Ford experiences jealousy. i think it also depends on what exactly he's jealous of (his own brother, random person, pet, etc) and your stage of the relationship

warning its a bit suggestive at the end

ꪆৎ Ford's jealous streak is most obvious when it comes to your mind, i think. like, if you’re showing too much interest in someone else’s ideas, books, or theories, he’ll be the first to drop some passive-aggressive comments

ꪆৎ you’re talking about some science or philosophy with someone, and Ford’s watching, feeling that tiny gnawing jealousy of someone challenging his brilliance. . . he won’t snap, but you'll catch him slipping in little comments, “well, actually, my research on this subject. . . ah, never mind. not worth mentioning to a layperson” ofc it's not directed at you! but to that idiot who dared to interest you

ꪆৎ later, though, after a long talk, he’ll pull you into his study and try to “explain” why only his thoughts matter <333 “you should know, sweetheart, i have 12 phds, allow me to explain you this properly.”

ꪆৎ “what? i’m not upset. i just think it’s interesting that you laughed at his joke when i’ve been trying to impress you with my brain for three years.”

ꪆৎ he starts touching you more too. hand on your knee during conversations. brushing your fingers when handing you smth. standing behind you, palm at the small of your back when you’re with others. and yet still, he doesn’t say a word because he doesn't wanna ruin anything. but his body moves on its own. “this is mine,” is what he’s trying to say

ꪆৎ Stan has always been the loud, charismatic one. Ford’s the thinker, the quiet one, who would rather bury himself in books than make small talk but he just cant help it. Ford doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like how his heart races with frustration or how his fists ball up, wanting to grab you and pull you away. he wont do it, but it doesn't mean he cant imagine it

ꪆৎ if you wear something revealing, Ford absolutely adores it, but insists on walking right next to you all evening

ꪆৎ he overhears you talking about a celebrity crush and spends ten minutes googling them in secret, furiously comparing their jawlines, yeah

ꪆৎ OMG. i believe he clears his throat when someone flirts with you... you know

ꪆৎ if it’s Stan flirting with you, Ford plays it off like he’s above it “Stanley, can you be serious for once?” but his eyes are laser-focused on you, reading your expression

ꪆৎ lmao, you'll probably hear smth as “i hope you had a pleasant conversation with my brother. he can be. . . charming, when he wishes.” prob says it with the politeness of someone screaming internally. and then he obsessively throws himself into work, convinced he's being ridiculous. you're allowed to have friends. you’re not his. not really

ꪆৎ i mean, he wants you to be. but he's terrified of what he might become if he lets himself act like it

ꪆৎ a lot of phrases like “well, i would’ve helped you carry that, but i assume your new friend has that covered.”

“no, go ahead! ill wait. im clearly not as exciting to talk to.” he’ll say it politely though, you wont even notice. even with a smile. and if you don’t pick up on it, he gets quiet and tells himself he’s just being irrational, but it still eats him alive

ꪆৎ Ford still tries to suppress it, but his eyes give him away. he stares. hard. at the person touching you. at the way your mouth curves. at your hands when they gesture

ꪆৎ and if he lets this jealousy win in the public, which happens like really rarely, Ford will absolutely pull you away from a conversation. six fingered hand at your elbow, “excuse us” and you’ll be halfway down the hall before he spins you against the wall

ꪆৎ but may also say, when you're two alone after you spend whole evening talking to someone, “oh, im sorry, were you enjoying yourself? you seemed so. . . engaged with them. i didn’t want to interrupt.”

ꪆৎ you get a pet. a cat, a dog, whatever. and suddenly your affection is going to this creature and not him. Ford doesn’t act out but he gets so still. sits next to you while you pet it, hand on your thigh, but not saying a word. you look over and he finally admits, looking so needy, “i’m being ridiculous but i want to be babied too” so you pull him into your lap instead and he kisses your shoulder with a quiet smile <3

ꪆৎ he gets also weirdly sulky about it. “you let the cat sleep on your chest, when it's my turn?”, “i counted, you kissed it on the head four times. i only got two :(” yes he’s serious. he’s a little unwell

ꪆৎ uhh, u call your pet “baby” and Ford visibly pouts

ꪆৎ if you’re talking to someone “too long” at a gathering, Ford won’t interrupt. but he will appear silently next to you, hand brushing your lower back, and when you finally break away and turn to him like “what’s up?” he’ll smile, as always, so polite. “nothing. i just missed the sound of your voice”

“that person seemed very interested in you. lucky them.”

“did you like the way they looked at you?”

ꪆৎ and the thing is, he’s insecure. so when he’s possessive, it’s always laced with guilt. Ford hates that he wants to stake a claim. hates how it feels to need you so much it makes his skin crawl when you’re focused on someone else

ꪆৎ Ford's jealousy always turns into guilt. he’s always so self-critical, he feels like he should be better than this. Ford knows it’s irrational, that you wouldn’t cheat or leave him for someone else, but it doesn’t stop the surge of possessiveness.

ꪆৎ he can’t help but feel like maybe he’s not enough for you, and that’s what sparks the jealousy in the first place. he feels the jealousy deep in his chest, this irrational, ugly thing he can’t quite stamp out

ꪆৎ he’ll kiss your neck just a little too hard. grip your wrist too long. but it’s always followed by “was that okay?” or “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to get carried away.” and god help him if you ever tease him for it

ꪆৎ “ohhh, baby. you’re jealous, aren’t you?” he’ll bristle, sputter, adjust his coat and glasses, trying to avoid looking into your eyes. “that’s ridiculous. i— no, i simply don’t appreciate disrespect. I’m not. . . possessive.” but when you'll play this game of silence, watching him, waiting him to spill it, oh he will!! “okay. was it that obvious?” he’ll say this so small. you’ll want to eat him alive <3

ꪆৎ Ford doesn’t always keep it all bottled up, so then, when you’re finally alone and he got u all to himself, he’s kissing you, but being more rough about it, not like hurting you, but sometimes, i like when Ford gets more dominant and brave in his actions. hand around your jaw, palm splayed across your back, pulling you in. “you’re mine.” he'll whisper right into your lips because hes lowkey getting turned on by your little gasps whenever he tightens his grip. “no one else gets to hear these sounds from you. please, tell me, tell me im the only one.” he always has to ask, always needs to hear it back

ꪆৎ if you ever jokingly mention how hot he gets when jealous, he will hide his face in your shoulder/neck/hair, very very quietly muttering, “you’re cruel, honey, you enjoy making me lose my mind, don’t you?”

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #gravity falls #x reader #stanford pines #ford pines smut #ford pines x you #grunkle ford #stanford pines headcanons #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader

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wendichester · 25 days ago

Text

⋆˚✿˖° prettier than heaven,

summary. to castiel, you're as pretty as flowers, as pretty than the universe itself.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 473

He stares at you like you hung the stars.

You’re not even doing anything special��just sitting cross-legged on the hood of the Impala, biting into a gas station snack with more chemicals than actual food in it, eyes turned lazily up to the sky. Your hair’s a little messy, there's smudged eyeliner at the corners of your eyes, and you’ve got mustard on your thumb.

And Castiel is looking at you like you’re the first beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “You’re staring again.”

“I know,” he says simply.

He doesn’t look away.

You let out a breath, somewhere between flattered and flustered. “Seriously. Do I have something on my face?”

“Yes,” he says, leaning closer.

You blink.

“There,” he says softly, reaching out. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, careful and reverent, like he thinks you’ll shatter if he touches you wrong.

You freeze. His hand lingers, just barely.

“...Mustard,” he explains, voice quieter now. “You had a bit on your—on your face.”

“Oh.” You laugh awkwardly, pulling back slightly, suddenly hyperaware of your entire existence. “Right. That’s glamorous.”

He tilts his head. “I don’t understand.”

You sigh, cheeks warm. “I mean, I’m a mess right now. And you’re just… staring. Like I’m not.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Then: “To me, you’re as beautiful as flowers.”

You pause mid-snort.

“What?”

He nods, serious as ever. “Or perhaps more so. Flowers fade quickly. You are constant.”

Your throat goes a little dry.

“And the stars,” he continues, softly now. “I’ve seen them up close. I've walked between planets, witnessed the dust of galaxies being born. But even with all of that... I have never been compelled the way I am when I look at you.”

You blink at him. Hard.

“I—” you start, but it comes out choked. “Cas. You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you breathe, heartbeat climbing, “normal people don’t compare other people to galaxies.”

“I’m not normal,” he says. Matter-of-fact. Like that’s the whole point. “I’m an angel. And you are the most beautiful part of my experience on Earth.”

Your hands curl against the metal of the Impala. The world feels too quiet all of a sudden. Too still. Like everything’s holding its breath around his words.

You swallow, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out soft. Fragile.

“Okay, well. You’re not too bad yourself, angel boy.”

Castiel looks almost confused. “You think I’m… attractive?”

You nod. “Devastatingly.”

“Oh,” he says, blinking. Then—he smiles. Just a little. Barely there. But real.

And when he looks up at the stars beside you, it’s different now.

He isn’t looking for wonder.

He’s sharing it.

And you? You let yourself lean just a bit closer.

Just in case he wants to keep comparing you to the universe.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel fluff #castiel fic #castiel novak #castiel spn #supernatural #spn #.docx #d : prettier than heaven

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inkieun · 13 days ago

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INKIEUN'S CORNER: MASTERLIST!──★!!

all banners and dividers were made by me! Please don’t take without asking! name: katrina || she/her || 23 ──★!! side blog : afterheese ★!!

💌 A Little Note Before You Dive In! 💌

Just a gentle reminder that the works in this corner may contain smut, yandere themes, and dark content—all intended for readers who are 18+ only. Each piece will come with its own content warnings, so if something ever feels a bit too much or uncomfortable, it's totally okay to click away. Your comfort always comes first! ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

💭 Requests are welcome! Just a tiny sprinkle of patience, please, as it may take a bit of time to get them posted. ✮⋆˙

🚫 Please don’t repost, translate, or use anything from this blog without permission.—these stories are close to my heart and meant to stay right here. ♡

Thanks for being here and reading! Stay cozy and safe~

WEAK HERO CLASS 1 & 2 a quiet but deadly student takes on ruthless bullies with brains and brutal fists in a high school where survival means fighting back.

YEON SIEUN ──★

Twisted : Walking home used to be routine. Easy. Safe. Now? Every step feels like a mistake. There's this feeling that's clinging to me like a second skin that I'm not alone. That someone... is always just out of sight. (completed)

The Bystander Effect : He stepped closer again, and this time your back hit the edge of a desk. His voice came out low, slow, like a knife dragged across glass. “You stood there.” You shook your head. “No—I—” “You watched. You didn’t stop it.” (completed)

OH BEOMSEOK ──★

Word for Word : “You ever meet someone who just feels off?” you ask, stabbing your straw into a watery iced americano. Suho and Sieun trade a glance—Suho half-hidden in his hoodie, Sieun boredly tearing at his sandwich. “That Beom-seok guy?” Sieun says. (completed)

GEUM SEONG JE ──★

SERIES ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Pretty Mouth : You get shoved into the bathroom by Seongje, the door slamming shut behind you and before you can even catch your breath, the lock clicks into place. “You’re not leaving, not until we fix that mouth of yours.” (Updates in the Works 💌)

featuring : Na Baekjin ✩ Park Humin

(part one) || (part two) || (part three)

ONE AND DONE -`✮´-

Pretty Little Thing : His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The kind that said he wasn’t seeing a person. Just… something he could get his hands on. “Well, well,” he said, voice smooth like oil over something sharp. “Didn’t know you came with accessories, Hyun-Tak.” (completed)

STUDY GROUP in a school where fists speak louder than books, a quiet student joins a brutal fight club to protect his friends and prove brains can brawl too.

MINHWAN MA ──★

Hide & Seek : Just as the metallic click of Min-Hwan’s modified gun froze her veins, a whisper “I see you” came from behind, and when she turned, he was already there. (completed)

More on the Way!―୨୧⋆ ˚

#tw.noncon #weak hero 2 #weak hero class #study group #vigilante #midnight #revenge of others #brave citizen #all of us are dead #dark content #yandere #tw dark themes #masterlist #x reader #x reader smut #inkieun #smut #dead dove do not eat

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lightyaoigami · 1 year ago

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☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ how to resume ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ

after 10 years & 6 jobs in corporate america, i would like to share how to game the system. we all want the biggest payoff for the least amount of work, right?

know thine enemy: beating the robots

i see a lot of misinformation about how AI is used to scrape resumes. i can't speak for every company but most corporations use what is called applicant tracking software (ATS).

no respectable company is using chatgpt to sort applications. i don't know how you'd even write the prompt to get a consumer-facing product to do this. i guarantee that target, walmart, bank of america, whatever, they are all using B2B SaaS enterprise solutions. there is not one hiring manager plinking away at at a large language model.

ATS scans your resume in comparison to the job posting, parses which resumes contain key words, and presents the recruiter and/or hiring manager with resumes with a high "score." the goal of writing your resume is to get your "score" as high as possible.

but tumblr user lightyaoigami, how do i beat the robots?

great question, y/n. you will want to seek out an ATS resume checker. i have personally found success with jobscan, which is not free, but works extremely well. there is a free trial period, and other ATS scanners are in fact free. some of these tools are so sophisticated that they can actually help build your resume from scratch with your input. i wrote my own resume and used jobscan to compare it to the applications i was finishing.

do not use chatgpt to write your resume or cover letter. it is painfully obvious. here is a tutorial on how to use jobscan. for the zillionth time i do not work for jobscan nor am i a #jobscanpartner i am just a person who used this tool to land a job at a challenging time.

the resume checkers will tell you what words and/or phrases you need to shoehorn into your bullet points - i.e., if you are applying for a job that requires you to be a strong collaborator, the resume checker might suggest you include the phrase "cross-functional teams." you can easily re-word your bullets to include this with a little noodling.

don't i need a cover letter?

it depends on the job. after you have about 5 years of experience, i would say that they are largely unnecessary. while i was laid off, i applied to about 100 jobs in a three-month period (#blessed to have been hired quickly). i did not submit a cover letter for any of them, and i had a solid rate of phone screens/interviews after submission despite not having a cover letter. if you are absolutely required to write one, do not have chatgpt do it for you. use a guide from a human being who knows what they are talking about, like ask a manager or betterup.

but i don't even know where to start!

i know it's hard, but you have to have a bit of entrepreneurial spirit here. google duckduckgo is your friend. don't pull any bean soup what-about-me-isms. if you truly don't know where to start, look for an ATS-optimized resume template.

a word about neurodivergence and job applications

i, like many of you, am autistic. i am intimately familiar with how painful it is to expend limited energy on this demoralizing task only to have your "reward" be an equally, if not more so, demoralizing work experience. i don't have a lot of advice for this beyond craft your worksona like you're making a d&d character (or a fursona or a sim or an OC or whatever made up blorbo generator you personally enjoy).

and, remember, while a lot of office work is really uncomfortable and involves stuff like "talking in meetings" and "answering the phone," these things are not an inherent risk. discomfort is not tantamount to danger, and we all have to do uncomfortable things in order to thrive. there are a lot of ways to do this and there is no one-size-fits-all answer. not everyone can mask for extended periods, so be your own judge of what you can or can't do.

i like to think of work as a drag show where i perform this other personality in exchange for money. it is much easier to do this than to fight tooth and nail to be unmasked at work, which can be a risk to your livelihood and peace of mind. i don't think it's a good thing that we have to mask at work, but it's an important survival skill.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ good luck ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ｡⋆

#i don't know what to tag this lmao #job hunting #resume writing tips

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revelboo · 3 months ago

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Hey I hope you are doing well and just wanted to say you are one of the reasons that I'm still madly obsessed with Transformers and to be honest I don't read much of they comics but I do love watching their shows, ( it's more merciful to my wallet because most of their show are free to watch then buying every comic and it is hard to find a comic shop where I'm from) but can I ask for an intimate Megatronus of Transformers One story, I'm curious how he would handle the reader, and his reaction be of their face and body, because it's the first time in his life he ever sees something like the reader.

👉👈🫣

Sure! 18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Scenario-First Time

Megatronus Prime x Reader

• Servos brushing your collarbone when he touches the edge of your loose covering, there’s not much to it. Just this thin bit of cloth and a sash around your middle keeping it closed. Wishes you’d look up at him as the tip of a servo slides along skin brushing cloth, but your head is down, face flushed. Shy now? Servos skimming down your body, he plays with the end of the sash. One little tug and it will come loose and he’ll see what you keep hidden from him. Wants to do bad his aching with it. His sweet little, shy mate. “I won’t take anything you’re unwilling to offer,” he says and your lips part. Needs you to look at him, to meet his optics. To know you still want this. Want him. Doesn’t want you to feel obligated, that you have to do this, to give yourself to him.

• Heart racing, you laying your hand on his. Even mass displaced, he’s so big. Intimidating, but you’re not scared of him. Know him after being trapped here with him so long, he’s your protector, your friend. And you want him, want to have this moment. Blowing out a breath, your fingers brush his servos, picking apart the loose knot on your sash. “It’s not that,” you reassure him, self conscious and trying to understand why he wants you. You’ve come to love him, but compared to them, you must be unsettling, right? Soft and alien instead of what he’s used to and maybe you’re just a curiosity to him. Maybe he’s only interested because you’re a new experience not because he actually wants you. You’re just scratching an itch to explore a new kink. And it’s okay if that’s all this is, if he can’t love you. Keep repeating the lie to yourself.

• Loose robe gaping open to reveal a tantalizing stretch of skin, he reaches to tip your chin up with a servo. “Then what is it?” Those eyes finally lift to his optics, uncertain and so achingly vulnerable. Do you have any idea how precious you are to him? How much he loves you? Venting with a smile behind his mask, he eases down to kneel at your feet, putting himself closer to your level. Reaching to cup your face in his hands and you offer him a hesitant smile. “Talk to me, little one.” Going still when you reach to touch his mask, fingers brushing the edges, but not trying to remove it. And no one unmasks him, not even the other Primes. But as your eyes dip, unable to meet his optics, he reaches up to lay his hands on the back of your much smaller ones, removing his mask for you.

• He’s handsome under the mask, his face scarred from an old injury that twists his features into a harshness that doesn’t reach those kind optics and you’re reaching before you can stop yourself. Fingers stopping just shy of touching him. And he closes the distance, laying his cheek against your palm and his big hand covering yours to keep it there. Watching you touch him and your thumb slides against his bottom lip, flirting with the edge of that scarring. “What happened?”

• Even before the injury, he never was lovely, not like Prima, he’d done his duty but wasn’t adored the way Prima was. Wasn’t loved. “Another time.” Shielded his siblings and taken the brunt of an attack to spare them, but he doesn’t want to share war stories with you, doesn’t want you to worry over him and he knows you will. Turning his head to brush his mouth against your palm to distract you, he lays his other hand on you, servos brushing your collar bone and warm skin. And he feels your breathing hitch. Eyes shying away again as you shift slightly and that soft cloth slides off your shoulders to fall to the floor. No more secrets. Takes it as permission, servos brushing over you, tracing curves and hollows. Lingering when you make soft noises. Spreading his thighs wider apart, he tugs you against his frame, lips brushing your throat, sliding to your shoulder, as every intake fills him with the scent of you. The taste of your skin on his glossa when his mouth opens against you.

• Big hands stroking over you, touching so gently like you’re made of glass. But then he could break you so easily without meaning to, something you’re painfully aware of. Hands gripping his helm when his mouth slides over you and his own hands find your hips. Lifting you into his arms and you realize he’s freed his spike at some point, feel the length of him sliding against you. Feet unable to touch the ground, your toes curl as he keeps rocking the length of his spike between your thighs, teasing you both. “Megatronus,” you whimper and he growls at the sound of his name. Mouth back on your throat, kissing and sucking the skin there, denta grazing you. And your body is heating, coiling at just the feel of him sliding against your slick core again and again, at those big hands on you, aware that you’re going to come apart before he’s even inside you. Begging for him, clinging to him as he rumbles softly against you and whispers that you’re his.

#megatronus prime x reader #transformers x reader #megatronus

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 11 months ago

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How about an Emily Prentiss x reader smut where she uses a strap on the reader for the first time

Hey, anon! So sorry it's taking me like a million years to get through these requests. But, as always, please keep them coming! – illdowhatiwantthanks

Control

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: NSFW (18+ MDNI), smut, literally just unfettered smut, strap-on, mentions of AFAB genitalia, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: It's your first time being strapped, and you're nervous as hell. Thankfully, Emily knows what she's doing. 😉

NOTE: This can be read as older Emily or younger Emily, whatever your preference. I just haven't had a chance to use a GIF of absolutely fucking FINE gray-haired Emily yet, so....

You eyed the strap suspiciously from your perch on the bed as Emily harnessed herself up. You exhaled shakily and thought to yourself, There’s no way that’s gonna fit inside me.

Emily gave you a small smile when she looked in your direction. “You alright?” she asked, her voice confident yet concerned.

You nodded, but your voice shook. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Emily chuckled, crawling toward you on the bed and placing her hand on the side of your face before kissing you. You were breathless by the time she let you go, with a quick peck on the tip of your nose.

“You’re a bad liar,” she said, smirking and sitting back. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

You picked at your fingernails and avoided her eyes.

Emily nudged you with her shoulder. “I think you’ll like it though. But say the word and we’ll do something else. It’s not a big deal, okay?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, staring hard at the strap. “I mean, women enjoy this, right? Hypothetically?”

Emily shrugged. “I think it depends on the woman.”

“Have you done it before? R-received?” you asked, blushing a little.

“Yeah,” Emily told you, taking your hand in hers and running her finger along the lines of your palm. “With men, though. Never with a woman.”

“Why not?” you thought out loud.

Emily bit her lip. “When I started sleeping with women, I just… found a different role, sexually. One I liked better.”

“But did you like it when you did? Before?” You were far enough in now you might as well keep asking.

“I don’t know that my experiences with men are what you want to be comparing this to. At least, I certainly hope not.”

“But you think I’ll like it?” you asked, incredulous.

“Honey,” she said, grasping your chin to look you in the eyes. “We really don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”

“No, no! I… I want to, I’m just… nervous,” you admitted.

“Look at me, baby,” she said, maneuvering your body gently down on the bed, running her thumbs gently over your cheekbones. “I might be the one with the strap, but you’re the one in control. Alright? You say the word, I’ll stop. I promise. We’ll go slow, okay? Slow and gentle.”

You nodded and let Emily kiss you again, harder, more frantic than before. You moaned into her as she caressed your body, as she placed open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbone.

You buried your hands in her hair, back arched, as she slowly swirled her tongue around your nipples, excruciatingly slow, until they were hardened into swollen peaks. You felt the cool line of her tongue draw a line from your rib cage down to your lower stomach, and you writhed as Emily placed ghostly, light kisses on your inner thighs and around your clit.

You could feel yourself glistening, feel the wetness between your legs. You were ready for more.

“Em, please,” you protested when she sat up. You opened your eyes to find Emily sitting back and applying lube to the strap, pupils absolutely blown, staring at you with equal parts love and hunger.

She wiped her hands off on the towel draped over the nightstand, then leaned forward, brushing your hair out of your face. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, gripping the bed sheets in both anxiety and anticipation.

Emily stared pointedly at you. “You’re sure?” You nodded again and she prompted. “Words, please.”

“Yes, Em,” you whispered breathlessly. “I’m ready for you.”

She blinked and shook her head, as if your words were a little too much for her.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” she said, maneuvering the strap so that it rubbed against your entrance.

You let out a strangled moan, somewhere between a scared yelp and a groan of pleasure, as Emily pressed into you, slowly filling you up.

You almost had a hard time catching your breath, as if all your body’s attention was now solely focused on this overwhelming, foreign thing inside of it. It wasn’t necessarily bad, just new, but your body did not seem to know what to do with it, and you could feel your insides pulsing with both pleasure and pain, trying to adjust to the new sensation.

When Emily had pressed most of the strap inside of you, she leaned down to caress your face, planting kisses on your forehead. “Good girl, honey. You’re doing so good for me. Are you okay?”

You nodded, face beet red from the pain and from holding your breath.

“Breathe for me, baby, alright?” Emily asked, slowly starting to rock her hips, moving the strap in and out. “Look at me, look at my face. Breathe. Like this.”

You followed the pattern of Emily’s breath to catch yours, and when you’d finally regulated your breathing, everything else seemed to fall into place too. You weren’t exactly in pain anymore as much as you were… full. But… in a good way? In a way that felt oddly wonderful? Maybe it was the physical sensation of the strap and maybe it was the knowledge that a part of Emily was inside of you that shot arousal straight from your head to your toes.

You whined a bit and moved your hips to meet Emily’s as a wave of pleasure rolled through you, intensified by whatever mysterious spot inside of you Emily had found and was now hitting relentlessly.

“Fuck, baby,” Emily breathed, and you could tell from her voice, from the flush of her chest, by the way her breath was frantic and caught every few minutes, that she was wildly turned on. And it was at that moment–staring up at Emily, seeing the sweat the beaded her forehead, the scrunch of her eyebrows in deep concentration, her hips against you in that way, particular to Emily, that always let you know she was trying hard and largely failing not to chase her orgasm–that you realized Emily was right.

It was you who had the power here. You who could make Emily fall apart, could drive her crazy. And you felt drunk all at once on power and pleasure–particularly the pleasure of seeing Emily losing her fucking mind on top of you.

With one hand, you pulled at her hips, encouraging her to go deeper, faster, harder. With the other, you cupped the back of her neck and drew her close to you, moaning in her ear.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, breath catching in her throat.

“Come on, Em,” you whispered. “You’re so close. Come on, baby, I want you to come inside me.”

The thrusting of her hips became sloppier and sloppier as she chased her high, her face pressed into your neck so that you could hear her huffs of breath, could smell her sweat as she worked for it.

Her noises became high and desperate and you felt your own orgasm close behind, knew it would come just from watching Emily fall apart, just from feeling her lose herself inside of you.

Emily’s breath hitched in her throat and you knew she was there. You pressed your own hips into hers, grinding into her, shoving the strap deeper as she jerked against you, until your own vision blurred and you wrapped yourself around Emily, riding out your high.

With a final shaky thrust into you, Emily collapsed against you, sweaty and spent. You grinned a her as she caught her breath, rolling to lay on your chest.

“Fuck,” she gasped, trying to get enough air. “You’re sure you haven’t done that before?”

You kissed her forehead and swiped a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead. “I only take strap for you, honey.”

Emily shuddered, then carefully slid out of you. “You,” she said, burying her tongue in your mouth as she removed the harness and threw it to the side of the room. “Are perfect.”

You kissed her back, surprised at how quickly arousal flooded back into your body.

“Hey,” you said, breathless, pulling your sticky bodies apart to look at her.

“What?”

“Next time,” you told her. “I want to ride you.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she nearly fell out of bed feeling for the harness again.

“How soon is next time?” she asked, glancing at you before strapping up.

“How soon can you get that on?” you grinned, sitting back to admire her.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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lunajay33 · 6 months ago

Text

Protect Me

•🤎🪵🌲🪨•

Summary: Being the youngest was hard especially being a girl, Sam and Dean always tried to protect you but on one hunt the monster takes you and the after math is bad, so they have to call in John

Pairing: Sam Winchester x sister, Dean Winchester x sister, John Winchester x daughter

•Masterlist•

Being the youngest was hard especially being a girl in this family work, I’m only a year younger than Sam but still I felt like a baby compared to them, when Sam went off to school it was just Dean and me and dad took it hard especially on me, he pushed me to work harder all the time and the pressure became overwhelming

Well now he’s missing and it’s just me and my brothers, driving down the interstate to a new mission, this one was a bit out of my league, vampires, they’re strong and I don’t have as much experience with them as Sam and Dean

“Hey you okay back there, you’re pretty quiet” Dean asks as he looks through the rearview mirror

“Oh yeah just nervous”

“Hey we’ll be there the whole time, nothings going to happen to you sis” Sam smiles as he turns back to me

“Do you think we’ll find dad soon?”

“I don’t know kid, soon I hope”

After a bit more driving we made it to the motel and it was time to do some digging on these vampires as Dean came back with take out for supper

“Can I ask you guys something?” I sigh closing a historic book of the town

“Sure what’s up kid” Dean asks as he chows down on a burger

“Do you think dad left because of me?” They both stopped and gave me their full attention

“Why would you say that?” Sam asks giving me his puppy expression

“Well I’m not as good as Dean and he’s been getting more and more angry with me every mission, maybe he just didn’t wanna deal with me anymore, maybe he finally realized I’m just a burden” my bottom lip trembled finally letting out the feelings I’ve been holding in

“Are you nuts? Dad was only being hard because he wanted to make sure you were safe he loves you”

“Yeah you’re his daughter and he’d never leave us like this because of a few mistakes, don’t worry your little head” Sam reach over the table squeezing my shoulder

“Alright” I sigh going back to reading

•

The next day we gathered our supplies and were off to find them finding their small nest was camped out somewhere in the woods, we got out of the impala on a dirt road, getting our weapons ready

“Okay make sure you stay alert, watch eachothers back” Dean states and we start out into the darkening woods

My heart was beating so fast that’s all I could hear, walking behind Dean with Sam behind me, when a cry comes from up ahead and we’re sprinting towards it carefully but not quiet enough

I feel myself being thrown across the damp forest floor until a tree smashed against my back and I’m crumbling on the ground in pain

“Y/N!” Dean and Sam scream as they run towards me but they stop when I’m pulled up from behind by my throat my feet dangling above the ground

“Dean” I gasp as the air burns in my lungs and my vision blurs

“You leave us alone and leave town” the vampire states

“Oh not a chance we’re gonna kill every single one of you” that only angered it as it took my arm and effortlessly snapped it like a twig, I scream wailing in pain

“I won’t ask again”

“Fine fine we’ll go, just stop hurting her” Sam called out desperate

“If you come back again, she’s dead” the vampire hissed before throwing me to my brothers feet and it was gone

My arm felt like it’s been set on fire, my throat hurt so much I could barely breath, my back felt like a thousand knives had been ripping me open

I whine in pain as Sam picks me up, crying into his chest as they run back to the car frantic

“Just hold on we’re going to the hospital you’ll be fine” Sam says as he gently lays me in his lap in the back of the car as Dean puts his foot pedal to the metal driving so fast it was almost nauseating

The pain was all consuming I just want to close my eyes

“Hey you gotta stay awake” Sam says shaking me gently but the darkness took me and I was out

•

The beeping woke me up, opening my eyes to a dimly lit room, the only light coming from the monitor and the hallway

I try to sit up but gasp from the pain, noticing my arm in a cast and a brace around my neck, immediately Sam and Dean woke up from where they were sat in the chairs

“Hey you’re awake how do you feel?” Dean asks as Sam pushes my hair back

I open my mouth trying to answer but nothing comes out except a whine, my throat felt like a machete had been sliced through it as we would a vampire

“Can you talk?” Sam asks worried

I try again but nothing, I shake my head defeated and scared, scared they see I really am useless and they’ll leave me behind, the anxiety is all consuming and I know they can tell I’m upset

“Come on let’s get you back to the motel, just be gentle” they helped me sit up slowly placing me in the wheelchair and wheeling me out to the impala

When we get back to the motel I hobble over to the bathroom my back on fire as I slowly take off the neck brace, revealing the black and blue that covered the entirety of my throat , my eyes red from the burst blood vessels, lifting my shirt I turn seeing my back in the same condition also covered in cuts

“Oh sis, I’m so sorry” Sam came in seeing everything, I pull my shirt back down and make my way over to my bed Dean helping me lay down

“Can we get you anything? I’ll go out and get your favorite food” I reach out and grip his necklace and he knew what I meant he sighed and nodded, we all knew it probably wouldn’t work he hasn’t been answering calls so why would he this time

Dean picked up his phone and called I could faintly hear the voice mail if grown accustom to

“Dad it’s y/n she’s really hurt, she needs you, please if you get this this would be the time to show up” he closed his phone and sat next to me rubbing my leg

“It’ll be okay, you’ve still got us Angel” I nodded before drifting off to sleep again

My dreams are consumed by every hunting mistake I’ve made, everytime dad was mad at me, everytime I let them all down I wake up with a gasp again when I hear the front door slam open, I slowly sit up feeling my shirt rid up and that’s when I hear him, the voice I’ve missed so much

“Oh my baby girl” he comes around the bed and kneels infront of me, taking in my horrific beat up body

“The vampire it got a hold of her before we even saw it” Sam said

“I…..” that’s all I could get out before I was aching with pain keeling over as the waves of pain rolled over me

He took my shoulders and held me close

“This is why I’ve always been so hard on you, cause see you like this kills me, I promised your mother I’d never let anything bad happen to you” he sighed

At least they were all here now

“Maybe she needs to take a break for a while” Dean intervened

“Yeah and I’m not leaving till your better” I nodded feeling a little more relieved finally having my family back together

#supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #supernatural #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #john winchester x daughter #john winchester fluff #john winchester imagine

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hochsleep · 9 months ago

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Relationship with Daryl Dixon (headcanons)

This is my first experience writing headcanons, but I have a lot to say! And yes, I used a gif from Beth, but we don't support that pairing here, guys.....

Also, thanks to the author of the gif!

Pronouns: she/her (fem!reader) / (I'll do headcanons for Daryl's relationship for gender-neutral readers later on)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon/fem!reader (Y/N)

Warnings: no, not this time. Everything is decent (underage readers can read)

• Daryl Dixon is far from stupid. I mean, he can certainly tell the difference between romantic interest and friendly sympathy. He has Carol, his best friend, and he knows that he feels for her the kind of platonic friendly love he usually feels for a family member. But that's not the case with you. Sure, you've most likely known Daryl for a long time (assuming you joined Rick's group at any point from Atlanta to Prison, can pick at your discretion). So since you've known each other for a while, Daryl has had time to realize that his feelings for you are far from friendly. All the tenderness and care that he feels for you hardly compares to friendship. Daryl definitely didn't feel like kissing Carol's lips every time she came into his field of vision. That's the difference.

• But realizing your feelings is only halfway there. Daryl isn't the type to make the first move and declare his love. He's a very insecure person because of his past, so it would be hard for him to believe that someone like you would want someone like him. Daryl will just watch over you from the sidelines, he will make sure you are safe and will always be there to protect you. Even if it's just a harmless fall down the stairs when you were arranging jars of canned fruit on the top shelf in the Alexandria pantry. He will notice that the stepladder beneath you is wobbling dangerously and will be there to catch you and prevent you from bruising any part of your body. He will take great care of you.

• Daryl is probably the type of man who idolizes and admires the girl he's in love with. Both her character and inner world, as well as her looks. He would spend hours just looking at your unconditionally beautiful face. Every mole, every freckle, every wrinkle in the corner of your eyes when you smile. God, he could never get enough. Every part of you is perfect. Daryl's not sure he's ever seen a more beautiful woman. I mean, he probably had a soft spot for women he personally thought were pretty in the past, but it was never more than a glance in their direction. Just trying to say that Daryl isn't a pristine and innocent man who never thought about women. Over the many years of his maybe not the most prosperous life, Daryl has definitely had his fair share of beautiful women. But it had always been respectful. Mental admiration from the sidelines. Daryl never "barked" or "bit" like Merle. Daryl is much more respectful of women.

• That's why he likes to watch from the sidelines and think about you. A lot of thinking. Daryl is indeed a man of few words, but he has more than enough to think about. And when he falls in love, you become the center. Except when Daryl has to think about survival or when he and Rick are making a plan of action to save the group. But rest assured, all of Daryl's free time is spent thinking about you. He's very observant and remembers every little thing about you so he can think about it later. Do you like to read? Daryl will listen to you talk about your favorite books and find them during one of your outings, rest assured. Do you like wildflowers? Great, a bouquet of a hundred of them will be waiting for you on the doorstep of your Alexandria home when you come home after a hard day's work. Maybe you like a certain kind of clothing? Like something knit? Daryl will either find it during the outing or ask Carol to help with it when she's not busy. He won't say who it's for, but Carol certainly knows. And after you get those little gifts, Daryl will watch you smile widely because you know who left them under your door. And Daryl will think about your smile until he falls asleep at night. But he'll only dream about you, too.

• Somehow you were the first to admit your feelings because Daryl is actually cowardly about these things. A man can take on walkers or hostile people with his bare hands (like the Saviors), but he definitely can't just go and tell someone he really likes how he feels. No, you have to push him. And hints aren't enough, you have to say it outright. And then probably prove the sincerity of your words of love for the rest of your life, because Daryl Dixon is a very insecure man. He knows in his brain that you really do love him and will be faithful to him, but those childhood traumas are really getting in the way of his life. Be prepared for that.

• Your relationship with Daryl will gain momentum gradually. I don't think Daryl really likes all these formalities and labels like "girlfriend" and "boyfriend". You're just his and he's just yours. There's no need to complicate it all, the world of the zombie apocalypse is already very complicated. But if you care about dates and formalities, surely Daryl can learn to take it seriously. Not right away, but he will. Just give him time and he'll lay the whole world at your feet. And he'll start marking your anniversary with a marker on his calendar so that he definitely won't miss this important day for you (he won't admit it, but for him too). Daryl will be learning and you'll have to be a good mentor in this relationship for the first few years. It will be worth it, trust me.

• Daryl Dixon gets attached to people easily. He's like a big loyal dog. I mean, have you seen how loyal he is to Rick and Carol? He bites at first, doesn't want to let anyone in, but eventually he gives in and lets you take his heart and soul under his protection. Take care of that. My point is that this is the same way love works in Daryl's case. I'm pretty sure Daryl doesn't believe in the concept of love at first sight and stuff, he rather believes that love only comes about through the process of a relationship. So at first he thinks you are just a pretty woman. Then a friend. Then a good friend. And yes, he may feel sympathy, affection and probably crush at this time, but not love. No, he falls in love with you gradually. It's a slow process, but in Daryl's case it will be forever. He's definitely a one-woman man. And when he allows himself to really love you and not just be a little bit in love, when his heart completely belongs to you and he finally says "I love you" with all seriousness and responsibility, rest assured that this is love. This man will show you what true love is. Safe, sincere, and endlessly committed. Just give him time. Let him love you.

• The following headcanon (though I think it's unqualified canon) about Daryl's loyalty follows from this. You may try to be jealous of him or think he'll fall in love with someone else (it all depends on your confidence), but Daryl will prove time and time again that he's only loyal to you. This man is serious about his and your feelings and your relationship. Therefore, he will not give not a single reason for jealousy. But there could be quite a few women around (and men probably too) who might like Daryl. He doesn't care, he will never look at anyone else. Why would he do that when he has you? You're perfect for him and his heart doesn't belong to him anymore. So if Daryl notices your jealousy and insecurity, he'll spend all his time trying to prove to you that you're the one for him. He's deeply committed. To Rick, to Carol, to Maggie, to Alexandria. He's eternally devoted to you.

• The relationship with Daryl will be full of complexities, let's not turn a blind eye to that. He's a complicated man with a lot of trauma behind him. The situation is more acute if you're a complicated person, too. There's a lot to put up with. Probably a lot of fighting at the beginning of the relationship, especially if we're talking about Daryl from the first seasons of the show. But if you're both willing to work on that relationship, it will work well. Again, not right away, but it will. Daryl is sure that his love for you will be enough for both of you and certainly for solving all your problems in this relationship. He will try his best for you and you will try your best for him too.

• Physical intimacy is probably going to be difficult. Daryl's not a fan of close physical contact, especially with someone he can't call his family. You know, the boy had a shitty childhood. But he feels the need to feel the warmth of your skin on his skin. So he may unknowingly touch you before your relationship even begins. It could just be a "casual" hand collision when you both reached for the same item on the shelf. Or he may lightly touch your shoulder when he needs to get your attention and say something to you. You shouldn't pressure him with this and force a hug or anything like that. He will definitely come to it on his own when he's comfortable and he sees that you're okay with it. As your relationship progresses, he will open up to new types of physical contact more quickly. Sure he'll hug you a lot, try to hold your hand in his, but it's all in private. And of course kissing. I think Daryl actually likes kissing, but he's not very good at it for lack of much experience. Teach him how to kiss well if you have enough experience yourself. He'll be a good student. Especially when it comes to lessons involving his lips on yours. I'm pretty sure Daryl will become very clingy as your relationship progresses. When you're alone together, he won't be able to feel comfortable unless his arms are around you in one way or another. He physically needs to hold you, to bump his nose into your neck and hair to smell your scent, which he loves so much. And of course kissing. Gentle kisses or passionate French kisses, he loves it all.

• Daryl definitely doesn't like the display of attachment on the publick. He considers it yours and his alone. Something private that needs to be kept out of the public eye. Well, he's also pissed off by those ambiguous looks Carol and Rick give him after you call him "baby" or "cutie" in public. But Daryl is willing to hold your hands and will even let you kiss him on the cheek in public if he's in a good mood. He'll save the rest for the two of you alone in your sweet home in Alexandria.

• As for intimacy, everything is ambiguous here. I think for Daryl it is not at all a mandatory aspect of the relationship. If you are asexual, he will have absolutely no problem with this. You are more than enough. The opportunity to see you smile, hug you and make you happy is all he needs. Sex is not necessary and Daryl can definitely live without it if you are not interested in sexual relations. But if you are not against it, then he will be happy to please you. I mean, he does it every day just by existing and loving you, but if he can please you in a sexual sense, he will be happy to do so. But again, not right away. You both will go to this gradually. Trial and error. Only when he completely opens up to you and is not ashamed of his scars, knowing that you love them completely and completely because they are a part of him. But most importantly, when you yourself tell him that you are also ready, then you can act. Daryl has some experience. Merle ordered Daryl... a prostitute for his twenty-first birthday and Daryl had to do it. I think he was the one feeling like a prostitute, not the woman. And maybe he's slept with random women from a bar a couple of times after drinking too much. But it was never anything special and not out of great desire. With you, it's different. Sex with you is his way of showing you love in a new way. Either way, he knows how it works, but you still need to guide him. Show him how you like it and help him the first few times. Daryl is a quick learner, especially if you help him. So pretty soon he'll memorize all the right places and positions to make you feel good as hell, nothing less. Daryl will make sure that you feel good first.

• Your comfort is Daryl's absolute priority. Over the years, he will learn to compromise and give in when necessary. Daryl loves you unconditionally and is ready to be on his knees in front of you, this is what you have done to him with your love and tenderness. Daryl Dixon has become soft and fluffy around you. Just for you. Merle would call him a pansy and laugh, but Daryl doesn't care. Not anymore. You're all he cares about.

• You're his safe place. His home. His heart and soul belong to you, take care of it. And then Daryl Dixon will move mountains for you, you bet he will.

~ A cute little headcanon as a bonus: I honestly think the soundtrack of the relationship with Daryl, is the song: The Goo Goo Dolls - Iris.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon headcanons #twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader

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heliza24 · 1 year ago

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I want to talk a little bit about Daniel in the Interview with the Vampire show, because the new trailer material has me stuck thinking about him, and also I’ve never written about how meaningful he is as disabled character to me before.

I don’t see many people thinking about show!Daniel in these terms, but he’s a canon disabled character. And I think the way he is written is just SO good. The acerbic wit, his relationship to doctors and his medication, his rueful acceptance of the way his disability has changed him. It is all so correct!! It’s really incredibly rare to have not only a disabled character written this well but specifically a chronically ill character written this well. His illness is always present; it doesn’t get forgotten about by the story. It gives Daniel insight into the vampires (more on this in a min), but it also gives Louis and Armand leverage over him. When Louis triggers his Parkinson’s symptoms? Deeply not ok. But that’s what made it such a great scene, and really made Louis feel dangerous and threateningin that moment. Armand and Louis arranging Daniel’s meds is a sign of great care and also great power over Daniel. It’s the perfect way to communicate the complicated power dynamic in their relationship.

I also just fucking love that this show takes place in 2022 and doesn’t erase the pandemic. Covid is a very present concern for Daniel and I cannot describe how validating that is for me as someone who is clinically vulnerable to Covid and who has had to really limit my life and take a lot of precautions because everyone else has decided to stop caring whether they pass on Covid or not. The fact that Daniel gets on a plane to Dubai is a BIG DEAL. He’s risking his life to talk to Louis and Armand before he’s even in the room with them. He really wants to be there. I have to make a similar calculation every time I travel, and trust me, getting on that plane knowing getting sick could spiral you into even worse health or kill you is really hard.

I think making Daniel disabled and including the pandemic is kind of a genius level decision on a thematic level. Of course Daniel is now facing down his mortality, which gives him a whole new lens on the vampires and the fact that he once asked them to turn him. And the pandemic further highlights his fragility, and is also possibly being used as a cover for drama that’s happening in the vampire world. But I think it also really sets Daniel up as a foil to Louis.

There’s a lot of analysis of the vampire chronicles that reads vampirism as a metaphor for queerness. But I would actually propose that it’s a much neater parallel for disability and illness in a lot of ways. So many of Louis’s initial experiences after being turned resonated with me, as someone who became chronically ill in my 20s. My appetite and relationship to food completely changed, much like Louis. My relationship with the outdoors and the sun changed, because of dysautonomia and allergy reasons. I was very mad, and very depressed, and I too have missed out on birthday parties and big life events like Louis did because I was too sick to go. Hell, you can even say that the way that Louis is treated as evil by his family, that the way vampires literally can’t be a part of society during the day, is reminiscent of ableist exclusion and ugly laws. (Ugly laws were laws that forbid disabled people, especially those with visible differences, from being out in public, and they were on the books in many American municipalities until the 1970s.) You can look at Lestat being an out and proud vampire in the first few episodes on the season and imploring Louis to leave his shame behind as a queer thing, but you can also view it as a disabled thing. Disabled people are portrayed as monstrous so often (and in a way that has gone relatively unexamined compared to say, the queer coded villain trope) that sometimes it’s just easier to embrace that label: I’m the monstrous Crip, but at least I’m not ashamed of or disgusted by who I am anymore.

I do think the real strength of this adaptation is that while you can find parallels between queerness or disability or other forms of marginalization with vampirism, ultimately it’s not a one-to-one parallel. It speaks to the real world but ultimately it is a gothic horror story about supernatural monsters. So I don’t mean to say that vampirism directly equals disability, because it does not. But I do think that making Daniel disabled was an intentional choice to help draw out some of those parallels, and I think the text is richer for it.

So Louis and Daniel have had these kind of parallel experiences of uncontrollable and difficult things happening to their bodies. It sets them up perfectly as foils, and even, I would argue, as the A plot and B Plot protagonists. This is one of my favorite ways of kind of examining the structure of a TV show (or maybe it’s that most of my favorite shows seem to be structured this way?). When TV was all episodic, it would be common to refer to the A plot (mystery of the week), B plot (interpersonal drama happening as the mystery gets solved) and C plot (any overarching plot tying the season together) in an episode. Now that stuff is serialized, there’s often a main protagonist, who has the main dramatic question and the most agency, and then there is often a secondary B plot that explores similar themes and mirrors the A plot, or presents a second main character who is the ldifferent side of the same coin” to the main protagonist. (My favorite example of this is Flint and Max in Black Sails, and I’ve also made the argument that Wilhelm and Sara fit this pattern in Young Royals.) In IwtV, Louis is obviously the main protagonist of the show, especially in the A Plot, which is the stuff taking place in New Orleans/Paris. But I would argue that Daniel is the protagonist of the B Plot set in Dubai. At the very least they’re intentionally set up as mirrors of each other:

They are both unreliable narrators, who are struggling with the way memory contorts (through memory erasure, illness, deliberate obfuscations, and just the passage of time). The most recent teaser trailer, where we hear Louis saying “I don’t remember that”, with panic in his voice, further underlined this similarity between Louis and Daniel to me. I don’t know if it means that Louis has also had his memory tampered with, as I’m assuming Daniel has, but I do think it means that Louis is going to be struggling with feeling out of control of his own narrative more in season 2, a thing that was already starting for Daniel in season 1.

They are also both locked into power struggles with people more powerful than they are. The fact that Louis is under Lestat in the flashbacks and above Daniel in the Dubai scenes in terms of power/status makes it all the more interesting. And, if we want to go ahead and assume that the Devils Minion’s years have happened in the past by the time we get to Dubai— it’s possible that both Daniel and Louis are united in being the less powerful partner in their own respective fucked up gothic romances.

They’re also both the audience’s entry point into their respective stories. Louis’s narration guides us into the world of vampires. Daniel’s questioning satisfies our human curiosity in Dubai.

I think one of the things that makes the show so special is the way that these two protagonists interact. In a lot of shows the a plot and the b plot stay pretty separate. I love talking about Black Sails for this because I think it’s such a good example; Flint and Max never exchange dialogue the entire show, even though they’re so clearly affecting each other the whole time. But the way that Louis and Daniel clash in Dubai is so exciting. We see them both wrestling for control of the narrative. It’s thrilling to watch and it just hammers home the theme of how complicated and changeable stories can be.

I am SO excited to see how the Dubai scenes play out in season 2 because of it. I really can’t wait. I’m really hoping we’ll see Daniel and Louis’s relationship evolve in surprising ways, and I’m holding my breath that we’ll get a lot of Armandaniel material to work with. (I have a whole other post drafted that’s much less smart than this one and is just me waxing poetic about Devil Minion’s theories which I may post at some point. You have been warned.)

I do have two wishes for Daniel in the new season, and they’re 1: that he gets to have romance/sex, because disabled (and older!) characters are so often seen as unworthy of being desired, and I would like to see that challenged and 2: that he continues to refuse to be turned/is not offered a vampiric cure for Parkinson’s. The magic cure for a disability or chronic illness is probably my least favorite disability trope, because it serves to erase disabled characters and representation from the narrative, and I want to see my experiences continue to be reflected in Daniel’s. That means that whatever ending Daniel’s story has will probably have at least a bit of tragedy baked into it, but I’m ok with that.

#interview with the vampire amc #interview with the vampire #iwtv #daniel molloy #armandaniel #devils minion #louis de pointe du lac #armand #my meta #my crip media reviews #devil’s minion

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seeingivy · 1 year ago

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obsessions

sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends (older brother) series

previous part linked here

sukuna always considered himself an entirely different entity, especially when he was comparing himself to you. labels were something he learned quick and fast – that he was gifted, that he was juvenile, that he was his mother’s angel boy, but he could never seem to do right by her, or anyone else for that matter, besides it.

he doesn’t understand it. sukuna wasn’t quite gifted, school just seemed to be something that functioned without requiring any effort from him. that the connections formed in his head, that he was athletic, that people just wanted to be around him.

that deep down, he wished he could have had the struggle, something that would help him relate to his peers – just so he could be a little bit more touchable. a little more human.

that sometimes without explaining, he would have this tensing energy in him, that always culminated in him pulling a girl’s hair or punching one of his classmates when they made him too angry. that sometimes it was the only way he could relieve that tension that had been building for days.

that he was an angel boy to his mother, who was too spineless to stand up for her sons, and instead left him to do it for the group of them. it didn’t matter if he was eleven, if he was cowering in fear or sixteen and grieving, because someone had to stand at the plate and he had to be the one to do it when no one else would.

that despite the selflessness it took, it made him angry. that deep down, as an eldest son, as an older sibling – he should have been overjoyed. he should have been happy that no one else did it for him, because it meant he was spared the pain.

he should have been glad he got to protect them. that at the end of the day, it was his job.

but no matter how hard he tried, it would still never be enough. the expectations were high and he would never be tall enough to reach them.

it’s why it sends him into a spiraling hole when he fails to deliver for you. quite possibly, the only person he’d want to fill that role for.

“sukuna?”

“hm, dollface?”

he watches as you pace around the room, clasping your necklace around your neck, and smiles at the light pink ribbon in your hair.

“were you able to wash my sweater? the pink one?” you ask.

sukuna bites hard into the softness of his cheek, the pit in his stomach rolling in waves.

the pink sweater, for valentines day.

he walks closer to you, as you plate the little heart shaped cookies and grab your bouquet of flowers as you look up at him, expectantly. there’s a certain franticness in your demeanor, like you’re ready to bolt out the door in his old college sweatshirt that you were wearing over your skirt without giving it a second thought.

there’s pink glitter smeared over your eyelids, a sweet flowery smell from your freshly sprayed perfume, and a white ribbon in your hair – you’re so perfect and it makes him feel like a failure.

“baby, i’m so sorry. i can go throw it for a wash right now.” he murmurs.

you wince.

“honey. i’m already running late.” you groan.

you shake your head, locking your phone as you place your cold hand on his cheek and press a kiss to his skin.

“no problem, s’my fault anyways. i’ll yank something from kugi’s closet and see you after bestie-tines, okay?”

sukuna gives you a halfhearted nod, something you don’t notice as you rush out to your little party, and he can’t help but feel his heart sink.

there’s only one reason that sukuna’s able to read you so well – so keen, so aware about how obsessive you can really be.

it’s because he’s the same way.

for you, the comments regarding your looks, the perceived slights of awkwardness you seem to experience, they send you tumbling. make you meticulously brush your hair multiple times, vigorously rub your skin till its nearly pink.

and for him. the small things he fails at, that he can never seem to do anything right – by his parents, his brother, his beloved girlfriend.

it nearly drives him crazy. and makes it unable for him to stop.

bestie-tines is a simple tradition that was established three years ago, on february 13th.

valentine’s day, originally, was always a day that you and yuuji reserved for one another. it started out simple – that the two of you could bond on this holiday, be a soft place for each other when other people couldn’t.

it was always your friends – who felt smarter, prettier, more intelligent and more interesting than you. it was like there was a secret, that there was something fundamental about them that you lacked. that you could pin it to that inherent thing that you would never really possess, which is why you always ended up alone on this day.

or begging for a text back.

and for yuuji. it was the teasing comments. from his dad, a classmate, something said in passing that would never leave his mind. and really, the deep rooted despair – that this holiday, in its entirety, would never be one that he would get to enjoy. that even if he was happy, he wouldn’t ever be normal, that maybe he’d always get a weird look or turn a head just for being how he was.

and when kugisaki came along, it was nearly perfect. you’d each plan a little activity together. you’d get the two of them to bake with you – or more appropriately, stick their fingers into the batter and watch you bake – and kugisaki would make you participate in some ear-splitting karaoke.

yuuji always liked the warmth of it all, that you’d both fall asleep on his shoulders halfway into the stupid rom-com he picked, and that in the confined walls of his room, he could pretend for one second that things weren’t as they were.

and years later, megumi was added to the bunch and by translation, whichever girl nobara seemed to be talking to at the time, ended up tagging along too.

it dampens the mood a little bit. that yuuji and megumi will be holding hands and making the batter together – in a way that seems entirely romantic and antithetical to what the point of bestie-tines was. and nobara’s partners were always in that stage, that stage of talking where the chase became so intoxicating, that other people didn’t seem to exist anymore.

it didn’t bother you much. the underlying theme was still there – and being the person barring partners from a valentine’s day event seemed to be too pathetic of a hole to crawl into.

yuuji swings the door open after your first knock, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. you nearly cowering at the touch and wiping the wetness away from your cheek.

“i haven’t seen you in forever, dude. where have you been?” yuuji asks, nearly pulling you in by the arms and taking the little platter from your hands.

you tuck the ends of your hair behind your ears, giving side hugs to both nobara and megumi as you respond.

“just around. you know. senior year, thesis stuff.”

“i feel like i could usually find you holed up in the library somewhere. d’you find some new secret spot that you aren’t telling me about?” yuuji asks.

yes. your brother’s apartment.

and you would tell him – you have every intention to let all of them know that you were dating sukuna by the end of the night, because at this point, it was almost stupid not to.

because really, at the core of it, it’s not like you're embarrassed of him. actually quite the opposite.

and it’s not that yuuji can police who you date. and if it’s something that makes you happy, it should be something that makes them happy too.

and deep down, you know it will. that the fact that you were finally, almost being rewarded with what you were given – someone who was patient, was understanding.

someone who would be able to love you.

“university of reading? who goes to the university of reading?”

you look down at your sweatshirt, biting down on your cheek, as you give megumi a peachy smile.

“sukuna did. like back in the day.” yuuji answers, halfheartedly, into the conversation as he and maki, nobara’s guest for this bestie-tines, set up the karaoke machine.

megumi gives you a weird look, before leaning against the counter and nobara joining you at your side. she leans her head against your shoulder, one of the little heart shaped cookies trapped in between her lips, as she mumbles through the crumb.

“are they stale? i had to make them yesterday.”

“nope. s’perfect.”

you hum in response.

“are you bringing anyone, y/n?” maki asks, flipping all the little strobe lights on the little machine.

“oh-”

“y/n doesn’t bring anyone to bestie-tines.” yuuji answers, unwrapping the coil of the microphone.

“our little baby. y’know, she’s always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” nobara states, pinching the side of your cheek before she reaches forward to flip in through the little catlog of songs.

you pinch your lips into a straight line – swallowing down that acidic feeling in your throat.

the jokes don’t work the same anymore. not that you were going to be sukuna’s bride, but the implication is entirely different.

and maybe the phrasing was a little weird. it’s not like you would never bring someone to bestie-tines, it’s just that it had to be someone who was an established partner of yours. and at the core of it – it was always about friends, not romantic partners, and you never felt the need to front.

not that you would ever say that. it almost felt wrong to – to police something for yuuji when what he got to experience, at least in the romantic sphere in public, was always going to be met with some level of scrutiny.

but it was always wrong. what you used to reach for – lipstick on a pig, always an angel never a god, the poet but never the poem.

but…but it didn’t ring true. at least not anymore.

and it goes fine and well. yuuji – and a megumi who takes a little convincing – sing lover and nobara gives you her annual loving serenade to the song one less lonely girl.

and it all comes crashing down when they ask you to sing all by myself by celine dion.

“oh, c’mon. you sing it like every year! it’s like your anthem!” yuuji whines, pressing the microphone into your hand.

you shake your head, bringing your hands up in protest.

“no singing from me this year. i’ve retired.”

“dude, it’s like a tradition!” nobara adds, a hand lazily slung over maki’s shoulder.

you swallow down the retort. that actually, the tradition was that ALL of you sang all by myself together. not you alone, while they sat there and watched you. and that you all baked the cookies together, not you alone the night before in your apartment.

“not this year!” you respond, getting a resounding group of boo’s before maki takes her place.

if they really cared about traditions, megumi and maki wouldn’t be there right now – they’d celebrate tomorrow. on valentine’s day, like intended.

yuuji comes out at your side, megumi distracted by recording the god awful mess coming out of maki’s mouth, and places his hands on your shoulders – leaning his chin right against the top of your head.

“you okay?” he asks.

“mhm.”

yuuji pauses, before digging his fingers into your muscle and forcing you to spin around to look at him. it’s gives you a weird twinge for a split second – how similar he looks to sukuna – before you muster your best smile for him.

“we’re good, right?”

“yeah! yeah, of course. still on for friday?”

“yeah.”

you hum in response, the two of you giving each other tight lipped smiles in the awkward silence, before yuuji leans against the counter, the two of you watching maki and nobara make their attempts to strangle megumi.

“maybe next year we can keep bestie-tines to just you and me.” yuuji states.

you frown.

“no! no, it’s always fun with the group. plus, it’s nobara’s karaoke machine. doubt she’d let us use it without an invite.”

yuuji smiles in response, an airy laugh leaving his lips. he leans his head against yours, his cheek smushed against your head before squeezing you hard.

“i like the group too. but, we rarely get any me and you time anymore. so, just our thing. i can live one day without megumi.”

you grin.

“i find that hard to believe. and don’t worry. i’m really not upset or anything, you-you don’t have to change plans and stuff. i just…didn’t want to sing the song. for my own reasons.” you state.

yuuji gives you a nod.

“yeah, i know. but still – just feel like i barely know what’s going on with you anymore. what rom-com are you going to watch tomorrow?”

this is your segway.

yuuji knows that you always spend valentine’s day the same way. that you make the ten minute sheet valentine’s day cookies, light your peony and rose candle, and pick a rom-com before you head to bed early.

“ah. i’m having an early brunch before class.”

“fancy. it’s always nice to treat yourself.” yuuji states.

you bite your tongue.

“yeah, yeah it is. but…i’m going with my boyfriend.”

yuuji leans off of your body, eyes pinched in confusion as he looks down at you. the rolling wave of embarrassment, of nerve-wracking doubt courses through you.

“you have a boyfriend?”

you swallow hard.

“yeah. um, we’ve been seeing each other since after christmas. he’s um…really good to me and stuff. i really like him – well actually i told him i was falling in love with him and he said he was too and-”

“woah. that’s kind of fast.” yuuji states.

“yeah. but, i’ve also known him for a long time, so…so we kind of skipped some of that like – are you a murderer? talking stage.” you state.

“the odds are low, but never zero.” yuuji jokes.

the two of you laugh, as you dig your nails into the hardness of your palm.

“you should have brought him. though in hindsight, that probably would have scared him off.” yuuji states.

“it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before though. but i couldn’t exactly bring sukuna here without telling you first. or everyone else too.” you murmur.

yuuji pauses, before fully turning to face you.

“you…you’re dating sukuna?”

“yeah. that’s where i’ve been, i guess. he gave me a key to his apartment since mai is mai and i just kind of stay there a lot.” you state.

yuuji’s nodding, like he’s rolling over the information on his mind.

the immediate hesitation, the silence – it speaks volumes.

he doesn’t approve.

“is he going to come on friday?”

“no. not if you don’t want him to.” you state.

“yeah. s’just…the mix of the parents. and him and you and sammy stuff. just give me a second to get used to all of that.” yuuji states.

you bite down on your cheek.

“you’re okay with it?”

yuuji smiles, the sentiment not meeting his eyes.

“not like that’s going to stop you, right?” he asks, an almost jeering tone in his voice.

“yuuji.”

“i’m kidding! if he makes you happy, then good for you. just don’t want it to change things between us. don’t go forgetting all about me because you have him.”

that’s rich coming from him.

“of course. you and me, first. always.”

yuuji gives you an affirmative nod, before pushing off the counter and leaving you alone.

you’re tipsy when you get on the train. and by the time you’re pushing the key through sukuna’s doors, the tears that have been streaming down your face for the past twenty minutes are obstructing your vision.

you’re not sure when it was that you started crying. somewhere between fifteenth street and your stop and that overwhelming feeling with no real source – of the embarrassment, the bleakness, the disappointment – it’s enough to bring everything coming to a head.

and the thing that pushes you right over the edge is the fact that you can’t slide the key into the lock. it's so frustrating that you give up and lean against the door, the wood of the frame surely indenting your forehead as you heavily pant.

after five minutes, you nearly collapse into sukuna’s arms when he opens the door you were leaning your entire weight against. he’s fast with it, his hands at your sides holding you up against him.

“jesus fuck, y/n. i thought someone was trying to break in.” sukuna utters.

you instinctively wrap your arms around his frame, burying your face into the warmth of his neck. you can tell that he’s confused by the gesture – his arms not coming up around yours immediately.

“sorry. didn’t mean to scare you.” you sniffle, leaning your burning eyelids against his cold skin.

“are you crying, doll?”

“maybe a little.”

your voice comes out all muffled against his shirt, as he wraps his hand around your neck and lolls your head back with his fingers. the sparkly glitter is spread all over your face now, accompanied with black streaks running down your cheek.

sukuna immediately frowns, thumb rubbing against the wetness as his eyes soften.

it nearly makes you start crying all over again.

“do you want me to kill someone?” sukuna jokes.

sukuna can see the smallest makings of a smile on your face.

“your key hole. i couldn’t open the door.” you whisper.

“done. fuck the door.”

sukuna watches as you laugh, bringing the palms up to your face as you wipe away at your cheeks. he watches as you eye the mess of glitter on your hands, trying to wipe it away, before you look back up at him.

“you smell like detergent, sukuna.” you murmur, wrinkling your nose.

his eyes go wide, an almost pink flush creeping up his neck as he shakes his head. he tries to change the subject

“why are you crying?”

you heave, the tiredness sitting in your limbs as you frown at him.

“sukuna, honey. i’m really tired and i…i just want to get into bed. just tell me why you smell like you rolled around in the laundry detergent for an hour.”

you watch as sukuna pinches his lips in a line, before bring his hands down to lock them with yours. he lifts them briefly just to press a kiss on top of your knuckles, his eyes downcast, before he murmurs against them.

“let’s get ready for bed. i’ll tell you, okay?” he murmurs.

you give him an affirmative nod, the two of you shuffling around each other in the bedroom and bathroom as you wordlessly go through your routines. the two of you brush your teeth together, sukuna pulling a piece of floss for you, and sukuna carefully helps you change without sparing a second glance.

the smell of detergent is almost worse in the bedroom – overwhelming at first before your nose adjusts and you crawl under the sheets with sukuna. you watch as he swipes his shirt over his neck with one hand, necklace hanging loosely around his neck, as he digs one of his arms underneath you.

sukuna leans over to your side, as he reaches for your hair and he twists one of the loose strands in his fingers.

“your stupid thing didn’t go well?”

you sigh.

“no. i told yuuji i was dating you. guess it wasn’t the reaction i was expecting.”

“you told him?”

in the pale light, your eyes having adjusted to the darkness, you reach forward and press your fingers against his dimple.

“course i did. i’m serious about you…and i don’t want to hide that.”

sukuna can feel the sweet ache blooming in his chest, his eyes nearly squinting with a soft joy.

“i just feel like it’s weird. i think they got used to my whole…personality being that guys treat me bad, that my love life is lame that…maybe they don’t know what to do when that doesn’t apply anymore.” you murmur.

your palm is flesh against sukuna’s lips and he uses it as an opportunity to press a kiss to your skin.

“and it’s not just them, i guess. i feel that to some extent too. i feel like…i held onto everything that happened and that it became a part of me. but now that i have no reason to feel that way and sometimes it feels like i don’t know anything. i don’t know what music to listen to because the sad songs don’t really hit anymore. spending time alone isn’t a curse, it’s actually really enjoyable sometimes. and it’s weird to try to figure out who i am when i’m not sad, especially when it feels like…people might not like me if i change.”

it comes out quietly when sukuna says it.

“i’ll love you regardless.”

you hum in response, the words making your chest ache, as you lean forward and tuck yourself into his arms. you bring up one of your hands to his bare pecs and squeeze and you can hear the disdain in his scoff as you can’t help but quietly giggle.

“i’m going to break your hands if you do that again.”

“just so comforting, y’know? really helps me feel better.”

“right. me telling you i’ll love you forever pales in comparison.”

you smile.

“you said you’ll love me regardless. like you will, in the future. now you’re saying you’ll love me forever, which kind of insinuates that you do right now.”

sukuna rolls his eyes, one of his warm hands enveloping your cheek.

“do you want to hear me say it, brat?”

you grin.

“maybe a little.”

your heart beats faster as you wait in anticipation, for the three words leaving his lips.

“i love you, pretty girl.”

sukuna watches as you smile wider, the sweetness in your face as you press a kiss to his lips. he can feel you smiling into him, your hands featherlike around his neck as you pull him closer.

“i love you too, stinky.”

“you ruined it.” sukuna groans.

you press your cheek against his shoulder, before you mumble again.

“now tell me what happened with you today?”

sukuna groans, before ghosting his hands under your his shirt.

“princess.”

“you could never say anything that i’d find weird, y’know? i’m never going to pass judgment on you, i just want to know so i can help you if need be.” you whisper.

sukuna gives you a quiet nod, before talking.

“i took every piece of clothing you had here and threw it in the laundry.” sukuna states.

“huh?”

that had to have taken hours. you’ve nearly transferred your entire wardrobe over here at this point.

“you…you asked me to wash the sweater for your party. and i know that you take time to pick out your outfits and match your accessories and, and themed parties like this are like your shit or whatever.”

his voice gets quieter.

“i’d hate to think i ruined something for you, y/n.”

“sukuna. it’s just a shi-”

“it’s not just a shirt to me. because i’ll forget to wash your shirt but then i’ll be to tired to help you do dishes. won’t be able to tear myself from work to pick you up from school when you ask. forget to respond to your emails and become neglectful. i’d hate to have you be disappointed at me when i can’t do these things for you.”

you’re quiet. you can tell that there’s something he’s trying to say, at the tip of his tongue, but he won’t let it go.

“c’mon, baby. keep going for me?” you whisper.

the gentleness in your voice feels like a promise. and maybe if there wasn’t something so intoxicating about baring himself to you, giving you his secrets to keep, he wouldn’t be so keen on doing it all the time.

“i’ve disappointed my mom time and time again. been able to mediate fights between her and my dad, but barely control my temper at school. and yuuji – i know he needed me, but sometimes i was…it was too much for me that i couldn’t do it for him. i’ve failed them in more ways than one and i can’t do that with you. you…you have to be the exception when it comes to this.”

the desolate tone in his voice is nearly enough to bring tears into your eyes as you tuck his head into your neck, his breaths labored, as you run your hands through his hair.

“i…i can’t promise you that it won’t be weird. when i get like this, my mom would almost get pissed sometimes because i’d try to do everything to make it up to her. open the door for her, answer her phone. one time i even tried to make her drink water while i held the glass. i-i know it’s weird but i-”

you dig your fingers into his scalp, feeling the pulsating near his temple.

“okay, sukuna. i’ll be more than thankful if you decide to help me with the little things. but, sweetheart. please don’t think you have some debt against me. you don’t owe me anything.”

“i know it’s not a normal habit and i-”

“that’s not what i meant, sukuna. i know that you’re aware of that. but…but just let me say these things till they sink in for you, okay? you’re my boyfriend and that doesn’t mean you have to be the end all be all. i can wash my own shirts here and there and help you out too. i love that you want to be helpful honey, but lean on me too, okay?”

sukuna feels small. not in the infantile, reductive kind of way. in the rare kind of ways he’s felt only a handful of times. like when he got sick and his mom had to take care of him. or when yuuji had to help him out by carrying his books after he broke his arm.

“what’s that weird shit you told me about once? about the little you inside you or whatever?”

“oh. an inner child?”

“yeah.”

“what about it?” you ask.

“you just kind of…remind me of it sometimes.” sukuna states.

“in a good way or a bad way?”

sukuna smiles.

“good. sometimes i forget that’s in there. s’nice that you see that part of me. bring it out of me sometimes.”

the earnestness almost makes you cry. you love him so much.

“me too, baby.”

next part linked here

an: no one look at me. this is for me and me only. (the headspace goes crazy at the current moment) the next chapter gives me second hand embarrassment but also its for the plot so im excited

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