#when it's easier to smile through it and pretend it doesn't hurt

[treasure-goblin]

"Time to go downstairs and be made fun of for my lack of structural integrity"

Don't mind me. Just wishing I could have a chat with them.

I haven't seen you, but here's what I do know: no one should comment on that. Maybe you're not the "ideal" or whatever, but if your feet touch the ground and you have skin on your body, then no one should be commenting on how you're structured. Honestly, unless the words coming past their lips aren't to check on your health or lift you up, they shouldn't pass their lips. Period. Mama always said, "If you don't have somethin' nice to say, don't say anything at all." If they can't follow a rule taught successfully to toddlers, then they aren't worth listening to.

You deserve better than that. Please know that their words reflect their own rancid state and have nothing of substance to do with you.

Jsjejjejkdjdjndhfhdhf

That honestly made me feel so much better. Thank you so much.

[joelscruff]

imperfect for you (joel miller x f!reader)

masterlist | a/n written for @janaispunk's 1500 kisses challenge! i got joel + nose kisses with this lovely moodboard and actually managed to write something!!! believe it or not this started out as a drabble lmao. i hope you like it jana - sorry it's a bit late, and congrats again on your milestone 🤍 summary: you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby. warnings: age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles word count: 5.5k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics

"When's the last time you slept?"

He doesn't bother to grace you with an answer, hands clenched on the steering wheel as you barrel down the vacant stretch of highway back to Lincoln. He's been ignoring you for the past fifteen minutes now, eyes straight ahead, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. But he looks pale, almost sickly, the whites of his knuckles stark against the sudden greenish hue of his skin. The last thing you need is for him to pass out and for the two of you to crash into a damn ditch.

"I'm just saying," you continue with an exasperated sigh, "I could drive the rest of the way, we're almost there."

No reply. You roll your eyes and cross your arms indignantly in the passenger seat, returning his icy demeanor. He's in one of his moods again, the ones only Tess really knows how to handle, but you'd volunteered to try your hand at a supply run in her stead which means she's not here to mediate. You should've known some issue would arise, stubborn Joel inventing problems in typical Joel fashion.

"You could've tried to last at least one more hour pretending to like me," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't say anything.

Almost a year of working with them now, and you still don't understand him. You're not sure you ever will. Tess, she's much easier to understand, much more open to being understood. She'd seen your potential and taken you under her wing, brought you in to help, taught you everything you needed to know about smuggling. And Joel... well, he's a different story.

"You know, Tess thinks I have promise," you continue anyway, expression crumpling into a scowl, "She thinks I can do this. I don't get why you don't."

No answer.

"And don't say it's 'cause I'm a kid, because I'm not. I'm twenty three now, I'm past the point of being called a fucking kid. The shit I've seen in that QZ-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head, "I'm not a kid."

His lack of response is beginning to hurt deeper than you'd really like to admit. You glance over at him again; he's still staring straight ahead, still ignoring your presence. It makes unwanted tears prick in your eyes, nose stinging a little as you peer down at your lap and fold your hands together.

You'd been excited for this supply run, probably against your better judgement. You'd wanted to show him how much you know and understand, how hard you've been working, how you're up to the task. Hoped maybe he'd give you a smile - rare, but not impossible - and tell you that you did good, that he sees potential in you too.

You care what he thinks, almost more than what Tess thinks. And you know why, can sense it deep in the pit of your stomach and in the way your heart stutters when he looks at you, but you're clearly living in a fantasy world if you think he's ever gonna get past whatever this stigma is that he has against your age. She's too young, Tess. She'll get hurt, Tess. She shouldn't be doin' this, Tess. You've heard it all, muffled through closed doors in a dark and damp hallway.

He doesn't want you, and you're not sure how much longer you can go on like this. If he's not willing to change his stance, view you as anything other than an inconvenience...maybe Tess will have to find somebody else to help out.

"I know what I'm doing," you mumble, a tear dribbling down your left cheek, "I just wanna help."

You spare him one more look, fruitlessly hoping that maybe he'll feel bad now that he's made you cry - a childish thought, considering you're trying to make a case for being mature, but you can't help it. You know he's capable of being gentle, of being kind. You've experienced it with him before, quiet moments between the two of you in his apartment while waiting for Tess to return, making small talk, him peering at you with a softness in those brown eyes that have since made frequent appearances in your dreams. Moments where you swear you felt wanted under that gaze, but it must've been in your head, because you certainly don't feel wanted right now.

He doesn't look well, you have to admit. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, getting paler by the second, turning an unnatural grey color akin to some of the hair on his head. His eyes are glassy, dark bags settled beneath them that you've noticed getting worse and worse over the past few weeks. You shoot a glance at his hands again and are surprised to see that he's loosened his grip, that his fingers seem to be trembling against the rubber.

"Joel," you say, raising your voice a bit, "Joel, are you okay?"

His lack of response no longer angers you - it worries you. Carefully, you reach over and slowly wrap your hand around his right wrist, eyes trained on his face. At your touch, he finally turns to look at you, almost like he's only just noticed you're even there.

"You say somethin'?" he asks, voice raspy, a bit slurred.

Your grip tightens on his wrist, "I think you should stop the car."

He looks at you curiously, dazedly. It's the expression of a man who's running on two, maybe three hours of sleep in the last few days. You choose your next words carefully, eyes flickering back and forth toward his face and the road that he's suddenly no longer watching.

"Let's slow down a bit," you murmur, thumb stroking gently along his skin - he's warm, warmer than normal - "I'm gonna drive the rest of the way, okay?"

You expect some pushback, an attempt at an argument, but the tiredness is setting in quickly. Without any hesitation he eases his foot off the gas and you hurriedly reach your own leg over into his space to push down on the brake. He doesn't seem to notice the way your bare leg brushes his jeans, the crease in your knee bending over the warmth of his thigh.

"There we go," you say softly, bringing the car to a slow stop. He's still looking at you, eyes unfocused as you carefully lean over a little more to unbuckle his seatbelt. You try to ignore how good he smells, how big he is compared to you, putting all your attention on getting him out of the front seat. You unlock his door and then unbuckle your own belt, hurrying out of the car to his side.

"M'okay," he mumbles as soon as you open his door. You start to help him out, and you think he's becoming a little more aware of the situation now, allowing you to pull him to his feet as you tug open the back door. "What's happenin'?"

"You're just tired," you tell him softly, "It's okay, you can sleep in the back, I'll drive."

"Bill n' Frank's," he says as you lead him the right way, pushing him a little and helping him place his knee down on the seat, "Y'know where it is? You remember?"

"I do," you tell him confidently, your hand coming down to press flat against his back - he's so solid, heat radiating against your palm, "Only twenty minutes away now, I got it. You just sleep."

He doesn't argue; in fact, he makes your job easier by crawling onto the seat and settling down with a low groan, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. You can't help but let a small smile cross your features, watching as one of his hands comes up to rest atop his belly, the other dangling onto the floor. His eyelashes flutter a little, lips parting, and you're about to shut the door when he speaks again.

"I know you jus' wanna help, baby."

You stand there for a moment just staring at him, confusion racing through your thoughts. Goosebumps rise on your flesh as the last word repeats like a mantra in your head, steady and slow as Joel drifts off. It's only when the door is shut and you're in the front seat that you're able to put some meaning to the words, eyes wide as you stare at the faded lines on the road.

I know what I'm doing, you'd said, I just wanna help.

You leave him in the car when you get to Bill and Frank's, typing in the gate code with a backward glance at his loose form in the backseat. They must see him on one of the security monitors, because as soon as the doors open you spot them sprinting out of the house toward you, a scanner gripped in Bill's hand. Typical.

"He's okay," you tell them as soon as you're out of the car, instantly alleviating their stress, "He's just exhausted, I think he needs to sleep for a little while."

"Understatement of the century," Frank replies with a relieved laugh, eyeing the backseat, "Think we can get him in the house?"

"Just leave him in the car," Bill says with a wave of his hand, already turning to head back towards the house with the scanner hanging out of his pocket, "He'll be fine."

Your gaze meets Frank's and he rolls his eyes, "Come on, baby, let's get him upstairs." Your brows go up at the pet name, the same word that had fallen from Joel's lips only twenty minutes ago, but then Bill is shuffling back over with an annoyed look on his face and you quickly realize he's not talking to you.

Getting Joel out of the car proves to be a lot more difficult than getting him in. You try a gentle approach at first, brushing his arm and stroking his skin with your thumb again like you'd done earlier. You can feel Frank's eyes on you as you squeeze Joel's bicep, his wrist, his thigh, and you pretend you don't see the look that passes between him and Bill as you step out to let them take a turn.

Bill goes for a much more aggressive approach, shaking Joel's shoulders wildly and practically yanking him out of the car. Understandably, Joel wakes with a gasp and kicks his legs out, hand reaching for his pistol as he frantically tries to escape Bill's grasp. Before he can grab it though, he's suddenly falling forward, knees buckling as he faceplants onto the pavement beside the car.

Well, that certainly wakes him up. His hands press into the gravel and his head shoots up, blood trickling down his nose as he peers up at the three of you, stunned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bill," Frank groans.

"That was not my fault."

Ignoring them, you kneel down and gently touch Joel's shoulder, a concerned look on your face as you eye the splattered blood on the ground, "Fuck, are you okay?"

"What in the hell is goin' on?" he groans, turning to look at you, "Did Bill just break my fuckin' nose?"

"Don't be dramatic," Bill barks, spinning on the spot and heading into the house, "Shoulda just left you in the car."

Joel starts scrambling after him, rising up and standing on wobbly legs, hand reaching for his pistol once again. You and Frank grab him before he can do anything, both of you taking an arm and holding him back.

"Joel, you're exhausted," you tell him quickly, utilizing all your strength, "You just need to lay down. Please."

He turns his face to look at you and something flutters in your chest when you catch the way his eyes soften, the anger in his expression fading as he acknowledges your presence. You can vaguely make out Frank watching the two of you in your periphery, but you try your best to ignore it, instead opting to give Joel a reassuring smile.

"Let's just get you cleaned up, okay?"

You're grateful that Frank leaves you alone with Joel to tend to his nose. You've only met him a handful of times, but each time he'd somehow been able to clock the way you interact with Joel, the way you look at him. The last time you'd been here he'd subtly pulled you aside to give you a few words of wisdom.

"You do realize he's extremely unavailable, right?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd smiled, tapped his nose and given you a knowing look, "And I don't just mean because of Tess. That man is emotionally constipated, kiddo. He's an island." He'd laughed then at your confused expression, shaking his head, "Just be careful, s'all I'm saying."

You'd gone to walk away, forget the conversation even happened, when he'd softly called after you:

"And I'm pretty sure Tess would hang your head on her wall."

You think of those words now as you stand in front of Joel in the small bathroom off the landing, lip between your teeth as you eye the cut on his nose. It isn't broken, thank fuck, but you can see some dirt and gravel in there that you need to clean out.

"It's not broken," you tell him softly. He's sitting on the edge of the bath tub, peering up at you with a much more alert expression. The fall definitely woke him up, not to mention the choice words he and Bill had thrown at each other as you and Frank helped him up the stairs. He's still exhausted though, and he needs to rest.

"I know it's not," he grumbles, "Just wanted to give Bill a piece of my mind for once."

You laugh softly as you reach for the damp cloth beside you, bringing it up to carefully pat it against the gash on the bridge of his nose. You can feel his eyes on you, watching and assessing as you do your best to wipe the area clean.

"I can do that myself," he murmurs.

"I just wanna help," you say quietly, and your eyes fall to his in a knowing glance. He doesn't seem to remember though, just nods and lets you carry on.

It's rare for you to be this alone with him. And by that, you mean this far from Tess. You're painfully aware that it would be impossible for her to walk in at any moment, to see the way you're standing over him, touching him. Frank's words from last time echo in your head but you're not quite sure you believe them; would she really be that angry if she knew how you felt about Joel? It's not like he'd return it, right? The man is twenty years your senior and, as Frank said, extremely unavailable. Not to mention Tess and Joel's relationship has been a point of confusion to you for a year now, still unsure exactly what they are to each other - would she really care?

You reach for the antiseptic - one of the many perks of having an injury in a supply house - and carefully dab some onto the cloth. Your hand trembles a bit as you reach up to carefully hold Joel's chin, your thumb getting lost in his greying beard.

"You haven't shaved in a while," you breathe, your eyes meeting his, and you wonder if you've already crossed a line by even noticing.

He doesn't seem to mind though, sighing deeply, "I haven't slept in a while, so let's hurry this up," he eyes the cloth, "Don't gotta warn me, just do it."

His words bring you back to the present, and you slowly ease the cloth down onto his cut. He hisses a bit, a normal reaction, but it only takes a few seconds to clean and then you're already reaching for a bandage, reluctantly letting go of his chin.

"I was worried about you, before. In the car," you tell him softly, unpeeling the adhesive, "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

His eyes fall to the floor, "I just don't sleep good. Never have."

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugs, gives you a humorless laugh, "Handful o' pills and a couple sips o' whiskey usually does the trick."

It makes sense, then, why these past few weeks he's seemed worse. It's been longer than usual since your last supply run and the three of you had started running out of vital supplies over a week ago now, not only for buyers but for yourselves. Joel had written whiskey near the top of the latter list, along with hydromorphone which he'd underlined several times.

"You should've told me you weren't feeling well," you murmur, applying the bandage carefully, "I could've driven the whole way."

"Could've, should've," he dismisses you with a grunt, "Doesn't matter now, does it? We got here, that's what counts."

You linger a little longer than you should on the bandage, thumb falling to gently trace the crease of his nose as you assess your work. It might scar, but it feels pointless to voice this - he already has so many, scattered across his face and neck like confetti. It hurts a little, knowing he's been through so much, seeing the evidence written all over him.

"My mom had this superstition," you tell him softly, a smile playing at your lips as you trace one of the scars under his eye, soft and delicate, "Whenever I got hurt, skinned my knee or busted my elbow playing, she'd bandage me up and then kiss it. She said a kiss would seal her love in there, keep me safe and protected. And if it scarred, that meant it worked."

He blinks at you, expression faltering a bit, "That's...that's a nice thought."

You shake your head, "It's silly, and not true. But... but I still do it anyway, even though she's gone. Just in case," you bite your lip, "I mean, who doesn't wanna feel a little more safe? A little more protected?"

Your gazes lock, and neither of you seem to move, caught in the stillness of the moment and the way your thumb is still stroking his face. You know you have limited time, maybe a few seconds before he breaks it, so without much thought at all you lean down and lightly press your lips to the bandage, eyes closed.

He inhales sharply, a sound that triggers butterflies in your tummy as you hold your mouth against his nose, soft and sweet. It's the closest you've ever been to him, even if you're kissing gauze and not skin - you can still feel the warmth radiating from him, sense the way he freezes below you. A squeaking sound pierces the silence, his hand squeezing the edge of the bath tub tightly. It startles you, your eyes blinking open as you pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are tinged pink, eyelids heavy as he peers up at you with slow blinks.

"You're tired," you breathe, unable to stop your hand from flitting to his hair, pushing a little behind his ear, "Let's get you to bed."

The Joel Miller in Bill and Frank's guest room is not the Joel Miller you thought you knew.

This Joel is loose, pliant. He lets you lead him into the bedroom with a hand on his back, lets you carefully turn him on the spot to reach up and undo the buttons on his flannel. Frank had told you on your way up to make sure Joel didn't get blood on the sheets, so you're only following orders, only doing what you were told.

"Sorry," you murmur softly, fingers shaking every so often as they toy with the buttons, sticky with his blood. Joel doesn't seem to notice though, retreating more and more into the sleepy state he'd been in earlier.

Once his flannel is off you assess his t-shirt and jeans, and you're not sure how to feel about the fact that they didn't get dirty in the fall. On the other hand, though, you're not sure you'd have been brave enough to take them off. Instead you help him toward the bed, pull back the sheets and carefully push him ahead.

"There you go," you whisper, helping him under the covers and pulling the blankets back over him. The sun is streaming through the window, casting the golden light of early evening across the bed, and while it's quite beautiful you shut the curtains anyway, knowing he'll sleep better in darkness. When you turn back around, he's already fallen asleep, lips parted, face peaceful. A different man.

You don't linger, even though you want to.

It's around ten o'clock when you decide to check on him again. You'd watched a movie with Bill and Frank, feeling more than a little unwelcome as Bill tossed you a few dirty looks every so often, though Frank repeatedly told you to ignore him. Now they're in bed downstairs while you pad from your own room across the hall to Joel's, turning the knob carefully. The hinges squeak a little as you open it and you wince.

"Who's there?" you hear Joel grumble from the bed. So much for just taking a peek.

"Me, just me." You push the door wider and walk inside, eyebrows going up when Joel turns on the bedside lamp. He seems a little more rested, although you know he still needs a full night's sleep. "I sent a message to Tess through the radio to let her know we're not coming back tonight - well, Frank did. Picked a song called Tomorrow or something like that."

"Hope it was the Johnny Mathis version," he mumbles, and you watch as he brings his hands up to rub across his face. He accidentally dismantles the bandage and you step forward without really thinking, hurrying to his side and reaching down to fix it.

His hand comes up to grab yours and you freeze in place.

"I can do it," he says, giving you a curt look and then releasing your hand to adjust the gauze himself.

Well, you suppose lax and sleepy Joel couldn't stick around forever. You stand awkwardly by the side of the bed, toying with the edge of the blanket as he rubs his eyes and sits up a little, leaning back against the headboard. He looks so much older in this light; you can see the little flecks of grey in his beard and hair that have been starting to get more noticeable lately, the crows feet, the wrinkles.

He's so handsome.

He turns to look at you with a frown, as if he's only just realizing what you said, "We can go back tonight, I'm fine."

"You're not and you know it. Besides, it's already past ten and now I'm tired, I won't be able to drive."

"I can drive."

"Joel," you surprise yourself by sitting down on the edge of the bed, narrowing your brow as you give him a serious look, "You can't drive. You almost fucking killed us both."

"No I-"

"Yes you did," your tone is firm, suddenly angry - are you angry? - "If I hadn't been talking to you, if I hadn't noticed something was wrong, you would've driven us off the damn road."

He goes quiet at that, frown deepening, the lines on his face more prominent in the low lamplight. You sigh, eyes falling to rest on where your hand is settled on the bed, only inches from his. Part of you wants to reach out and touch, feel the warmth of his skin, the rough of his palm - the other part decides to do something even more stupid.

"You called me baby."

It's out of your mouth before you've even really acknowledged it, and once the words have tumbled out you know there's no taking them back. Your gaze snaps back up to his, slightly surprised to see that he doesn't seem very shocked by your admission.

He clears his throat a little, averting his gaze and shuffling a bit under the covers, "Did I?"

"...Yeah."

You think maybe he'll say something else - anything else - but he doesn't. God, it really is like pulling teeth with him; he's so fucking beautiful but so impossible, never being able to expand on something unless prompted, never being able to answer a single question without jerking you around first. How the fuck has Tess managed to deal with it for so long?

The thought of Tess sends a wave of guilt through your body, Frank's words echoing in your head, but you shove it down.

"What made you... I mean why..." your voice is soft, apprehensive and shy in the quiet of the bedroom, "why'd you call me baby?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Don't ask me that."

The mood has shifted, your sudden anger ebbing and his annoyance fading into something else, something on the brink of being real. He's avoiding your eyes, peering at the window with the curtains drawn and tapping his fingers anxiously against the mattress, so close to your hand. He's nervous; you're making him nervous.

You stay silent, hoping he'll speak again, hoping maybe just this one time he'll tell you what he's thinking.

"I don't know why."

The words are barely a whisper, almost like he's telling you a secret, and he leaves them hanging in the air briefly before amending - "Well," he sighs and finally looks at you, an emotion you can't place crossing his features, "that's not true. But... I didn't mean - fuck, I was passin' out, for Christ's sake, I didn't realize-"

He cuts himself off again, raising his hand up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose, briefly forgetting the bandage. He winces when he comes in contact with the gauze, "Can I take this off? It's drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

"Let me do it," you say quietly, inching forward on the bed and reaching for his face. He flinches when you go to touch him, and your hand freezes mid-air.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking his head like he's shaking off a sensation, a chill, "Go ahead."

With careful - and slightly trembling - fingers, you remove the bandage from his nose. It looks much better than before, no fresh blood in sight, and you suppose it's okay for him to keep it uncovered for the night. Without really thinking about it you gently thumb the side of his nose just shy of the cut, the tips of your other fingers brushing against his cheek.

"It's not too bad," you murmur, and before you know it you're suddenly cupping his jaw, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your gaze falls to his lips, your thoughts going a mile a minute.

You realize you're close enough that you could kiss him, if you really wanted to. If he really wanted to. All it would take is one small movement, one little push from the both of you, one leap of faith...

And then he whispers your name, almost a warning, and it's like his thoughts are mirroring yours - like he can see exactly what you're picturing, wishing for. Your eyes meet his and you feel a flutter in your stomach when you see the way he's looking at you, a quiet hunger hidden in the deep brown.

You decide to test the waters. You lean in and softly press another kiss to his nose, this time without the gauze in the way. Just like you'd thought, his skin is hot under your lips, soft but scarred, and his smell - god, he smells so masculine and safe, invading your senses as your lips trail downwards to press a small kiss to his cupid's bow, then another to the corner of his mouth. It's sharp, prickly from his scruff, but it doesn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you kind of like the dull pain, the way it grounds you, keeps you in the moment.

"Baby," he whispers, and a soft little whine falls from your lips without meaning to as your lips move to ghost across his mouth, going for another kiss - a real kiss.

He pulls away before you get there, but then his hand comes up to touch your face, big and wide. He holds you like you're precious, small. His baby.

"S'not right," he whispers, though his thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, "S'not okay for me to want you like that."

You close your eyes at his touch, breathing deeply, "But you do."

"Yeah, I do," you hear him murmur, "You know I do."

"For how long?"

He doesn't respond right away, just continues to stroke your cheek, hold what feels like all of you in his warm palm. You tilt your head a bit to the side, eyes fluttering open to look at him again. You catch the way his lips turn up a little at the movement.

"Too damn long," he sighs, "But that don't... that's not..." he brings his other hand up to cup the other side of your face, holding you still as he peers at you in earnest, brow furrowed, "Point is, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be out here alone with me. Tess knows how I-" he cuts himself off again, and you can see now how difficult it is for him to communicate like this, to be open and honest, "I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"Why?"

He laughs lightly, thumbs circling the apples of your cheeks, "'Cause look where we ended up." He swallows, eyes falling to your lips, "Look where you are right now, baby. Look where my damn hands are for cryin' out loud."

"Keep calling me baby," you breathe, a desperation in your voice that betrays your emotions, tears pricking in your eyes as the weight of this conversation comes crashing down around you. He wants you - he's always wanted you. His words to Tess about not wanting to put you in danger, wanting you to stay away, those soft looks you've shared in his apartment, the small talk, all of it - it's because he wants you.

"We can't do this," he murmurs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, eyes closing, "I can't do this, you're so- you're too-" he groans, fingers digging into your hair, "You're so young, baby."

"I don't care," you whine, butting your head forward to chase his lips, suddenly yearning to be kissed and held and protected by him, be wrapped in his embrace.

But he pulls away, removing his hands from your face and shuffling back a bit on the bed, away from you. Your hand drops but you reach out pathetically for him anyway, moving closer, attempting to pull the covers back. His hands capture yours and he squeezes them firmly, shaking his head.

"You need to go back to your room," he tells you, and his tone has changed from soft to serious, "It's late and I'm... well, you know I'm fuckin' exhausted. And you've had a long day." He looks at you with pleading eyes, like he's silently begging for you not to put him in this situation, "Let's just call it a night, okay?"

"But-" you start, tears shining in your eyes.

"Please," he breathes, "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

You do not want to get up from his bed. But you do.

You do not want to leave his room. But you do.

You do not want to lie awake in your own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how his hands felt on your face, the way his eyes searched yours, the way his skin felt under your lips.

But you do.

You lie there for hours, thumbs twiddling against your belly, tears trickling down your cheeks every so often. All you can hear in your mind over and over again is the word Baby, punctuated by that soft groan he'd made, the way his thumbs had stroked your cheeks, how large and warm and safe he'd seemed in that bed.

All you want to do is be in that bed with him.

So it's no surprise when, as the sun is beginning to rise and that warm golden light starts to stream through your window, you crawl out from under your blankets and cross the hall one more time.

"We shouldn't" he murmurs when you climb into bed with him, when you tuck yourself into his side and bury your face in his shoulder, but his hands are already in your hair, fingers stroking along the back of your head.

Your bodies mold together like they've always been meant to fit that way, your legs tangled with his, arms trapped under big biceps and hairy forearms, breasts flush with his suddenly bare chest.

"I wanna be your baby," you whisper.

The nose you'd kissed brushes slowly up and down the side of your face, and he doesn't hesitate this time. He reaches up to turn your head, presses his lips against yours and lets you melt into him. Lets you trail your hand downward to unbutton his jeans in the silence of the early morning.

"You already are."

[matryosika]

Attraction, obsession, infatuation

Pairing — Hyunjin and fem!reader Wordcount — 7,680 words Includes — Explicit sexual content. Alcohol consumption, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness. Smut warnings under the cut. Summary — It is easier to hate than to admit loving. Alternatively, where Hyunjin realizes he might be tired of pretending he doesn't want to be more than just your toy. Author's Note — First 2024 full story! One of my New Year's resolutions was to keep on writing, since the last two years have been a bit too rough with my creativity and, overall, life. I hope I can continue posting stuff this year, but I literally can't ignore the fact that I am graduating college this June and that the adult life is, inevitably, catching up to me. Still, writing is something I love so I am determined to take this hobby very seriously, since it's one of the few things I enjoy! I hope you like this, please remember that english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes in advanced. If you wish to support my work, please leave a comment, reblog or ask 💌 Post divider by @/cafekitsune

Smut Warnings — Dirty talk, (very) mild humiliation, oral sex (m. receiving), face fucking and deep throating, voyeurism, female (solo) masturbation), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, marking (and mentions of pain), dacryphilia, creampie.

Humiliating.

There is no other way to describe the situation that perfectly.

[21:19 p.m., Hyunjin: Seems like you got yourself a new toy]

[21:19 p.m., Hyunjin: You don’t want to play with me anymore?]

[21:20 p.m., Hyunjin: I mean, we both know why you agreed to come here in the first place. It's not like you're the best of friends with any of my roommates, anyways.]

You hate how right he always is —how shamelessly he speaks, how pridefully he carries that ego of him. 

People say there is a thin line between hatred and love, but they never talk about how tempting it is to walk on it. Especially because said line doesn't involve any of the former—if anything, that line represents all the carnal pleasures. 

Pure lust.

[21:21 p.m., You: Please]

[21:21 p.m., You: You’re so full of yourself, you know that?]

Hyunjin rolls his eyes right in front of you, tongue poking through his cheek while he reads your messages.

[21:22 p.m., Hyunjin: That never seems to be a problem when you're in my bed]

It's a never ending bickering. A never ending teasing. 

Hyunjin has always loved the thrill of doing things he isn't supposed to —no wonder why he ended up fucking you, out of all the women he knows. 

Attraction, obsession, infatuation. 

No amount of words could describe what happens between the two of you.

[21:23 p.m., You: I’m busy, in case you haven’t tell]

His cheeks grow hotter, killer eyes darting between you and the man you're talking to; appearing all sweet, gentle, collected, and everything you're not when you are with him. Your hand lays peacefully over your companion’s thigh, playfully hitting it when he says something remotely funny. 

Your smile hasn't worn off since you entered the party, and Hyunjin genuinely wonders if you’re that happy and comfortable to be around any other man. Inevitably, he begins to wonder if you'd let him touch you like he does, kiss you like he has. He stares at you two for a little too long, and questions if you'd let that man do everything Hyunjin is entitled to do with you. 

Would you let him treat you like he can? Let him fuck you like he does?

He chugs down the alcohol from his cup and uses that as an excuse to calm his masochistic urges, walking away from the scene he has been staring at for almost 10 minutes now. 

It's like pouring lime over a wound, like pulling out a loose tooth. It hurts, but it makes him feel something.

“If you didn't hate her I would say you're totally drooling over her,” a black-haired man that smiles teasingly with his eyes is quick to ambush Hyunjin as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

“What? Did your date get tired of you too early tonight?”

Changbin’s tongue pokes his cheek, and he can’t help but smile at Hyunjin’s moodiness. “She went to the bathroom, I just came here for some drinks”. 

“Well, get to it,” Hyunjin commands, stretching his shoulders in an attempt to release all the build-up tension over them.

“Man, you've been acting so out of your element lately,” Changbin remarks, placing a bottle of vodka and another of pineapple juice aside with two red solo cups. “You’re always in a fucking mood, this is actually the first time I see you outside your bedroom in like... a while”. 

Hyunjin won't admit it, but he is sulking. 

Because of college, because of work, because of things he can't begin to fix and because of you.

“Just busy, I guess,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry I can't spend all day sticking my dick in different holes and doing an 8-hour shift at the gym”. 

Changbin scoffs bitterly under his breath, nose flaring at his friend's harshness. “Maybe that's exactly what you need,” he nods, pouring a drink for himself and his date, “a good fuck”.

He rolls his eyes. 

Yeah, maybe he needs that, but he also needs for you to stop touching your date's thigh, laughing amusingly loudly like you want him to hear how much of a great time you're having. Maybe Hyunjin needs to relieve all his anger on you, or he just needs for you to spare him a fucking glance because you haven't even looked at him since you walked in.

“Yeah,” he finally exhales, stealing the vodka bottle from Changbin’s grip to pour some onto his cup. He chugs it down quickly, and clears his throat when he feels the liquid burning inside, “that’s what I need”. 

Changbin pats his right shoulder and abandons the kitchen when he spots his date closing the bathroom door behind her. And Hyunjin is left alone once again, wondering if it's time to ditch the party and lock himself inside his room or if he should hurt himself a bit more to get a grip on reality.

Inconveniently, he chooses the latter. Resting his hips against the kitchen counter, and turning his back on the full view of the living room, Hyunjin begins to thread a line of questions that may never have a proper answer. 

Had he met you in another context, and in a distinct light, would things be different? Would your dynamic be different?

Maybe he would've apologized when he had time, for all the useless bickering that always took place between the two along the friend group. Had he surrendered to your stubbornness, rather than putting up a fight like it's typical from him, would the anguish be less?

Now that he reflects on it, Hyunjin can't even tell why you two hate each other these days. He never questioned it, the hatred you felt for each other, but he no longer knows why it's still there. Maybe it was a first impression, maybe it was a dumb comment or joke he cracked when you were introduced to the friend group. Maybe it was the fact that you two are so alike, personality wise, that you never seemed to get on.

Maybe you keep on hating each other because that's how it always has been, because there hasn't been a room to question the "what if's". 

Or maybe you hate him just for being him, and the only thing you've come to mend with is the fact that he is nothing more than a good fuck.

His heart aches because of this last thought, and he stares at his phone screen for a bit too long, hoping to get a text from you. But you're busy, you said it yourself, and he is just feeling out of place. 

“Hey,” the familiar voice it's enough for him to lift up his eyes from his phone, encountering a sheepishly grinning, red-eyed Jisung. “Changbin told me you’re in a mood, again”.

“He should put his mouth to good use,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. 

“He is worried about you though,” his friend says. “We all are, you know”. 

Hyunjin sighs, “I’m fine”. 

“Dude, come on,” Jisung drags his words lazily. “It’s about her, right?”

He shoots a killer gaze at him, “about who?”

If Jisung hadn't been higher than the fucking Empire State, he would've considered Hyunjin’s gaze a threat. But his mind is not precisely paying attention to any social cues, so he proceeds to say your name as a response. 

"You should stop smoking that shit ever so often, you know?" he spits in annoyance, "it's making you delusional".

“Yeah, right man,” Jisung nods. “And you can keep being angry with the world just because you can't be angry with her”. 

It disgusts Hyunjin how poetic that sounds, but his friend isn't too far from the truth —he would much rather project his anger and annoyance onto everyone else before you.

Because if you call, if you look for him, if you text him and ask him to see you, he will always be available. Even when he is not. Even when he has a ton shit to do. Even if all you want is his dick and a couple of dirty words. 

Every time you ask, Hyunjin will give you anything you want.

“We don't have to talk about her though. Just wanted to check up on you,” his friend continues after an excruciatingly long silence, patting one of his shoulders like Changbin did before. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, anyways,” Hyunjin says.

“Are you on, like, bad terms?” 

“We’re not on any terms,” again, the urge to deny everything. It's always easier to pretend nothing it's going on than admitting there's a huge fucking elephant in the room. “We fuck, occasionally, and that's it. Not friendship, not intimacy, not trivial conversations about each other's days”. 

“Well, that's some sort of the ideal to a fuck buddy relationship,” Jisung tilts his head. “It’s supposed to work”. 

It should. 

And it did, for a while —when the feelings were minimum and could be repressed, when the anger only translated to hatred and annoyance, and not jealousy and possessiveness.

These days, it's just not enough.

“Yeah well,” Hyunjin scoffs bitterly, holding the almost empty bottle of alcohol to his lips. 

Thank God he isn't a light weight, because he would've been screwed by now. Vodka isn't his greatest match, but neither are you and he knows he has to sacrifice something tonight —whether it’s his rationality or his heart. 

“Alright,” he finally exhales, pushing the empty bottle away from the edge of the counter. “I’m going back to my room”.

"Already?"

“That's the beauty of people using your apartment to host a fucking party, I guess,” Hyunjin says, leaning down to one of the kitchen pantries to grab his favorite bottle of wine. “You can just walk a minute and be in the comfort of your own bed”. 

“Haven’t you drunk too much?” Jisung asks. 

“Definitely not enough,” the dark-haired replies, grabbing both the bottle and a glass with one of his hands. “Tell Jeongin to kick everyone out by 2, I’m not paying for another noise complaint again”. 

And as he makes his way to his room, it's inevitable for Hyunjin not to spare a glance at the couch you were once sitting on. But his eyes meet Changbin and his date instead, without any trace of you or the man you were with. And he doesn't know if he should feel relieved or worried because you're no longer in his eyesight, and as comforting as that thought should be is nothing more than anguish-inducing.

He says goodbye to some of his friends, and also deals with Changbin’s insistence to stay around before he is able to lock himself inside his room. It was, at best, a 3 minute situation from the kitchen to his bed, but it felt like ages. Mostly because his eyes kept on scanning the whole apartment, hoping to find something that could tell him you're still there and you didn't leave the party with that man although you probably did. 

Much to his surprise, when he opens the door to his room, he finds you sitting at the edge of his bed.

You don't say anything, and neither does he. So you two stare at each other for a while before Hyunjin closes the door right behind him, leaving the wine and glass on a small table by the door.

“Wine? At a college party?” You finally interrupt the silence, using that playful, teasing tone you always use when you want to get on his nerves. “You really are something else”. 

Typical Hyunjin would think of a comeback rather quicker than the speed of light —he has always been witty and good with his words, and that's something you find utterly, despicably attractive in him. 

But after 4 shots of vodka and an unamusing mood, all he wants it’s to kick you out and plop down onto his bed. 

“Weren’t you busy?” he asks in a murmur, too lazy to make himself be heard. But it is loud and clear for you to hear, even with the bustling coming from down the hall.

“He bored me,” you admit. “Kept talking about his football team, and how he is going to work at his father's company once he graduates”. 

Hyunjin lets out a bitter and quiet scoff, giving you his back while he pours some wine onto his glass. You can’t fool him, even if you try like right now.

But he attempts to ignore his rapid heartbeats by keeping a nonchalant, even annoyed countenance, albeit a part of him can't ignore the fact that you're in his room. 

Just you and him, finally.

“Are you going back to the party or…”

“I’m tired,” he cuts you short, chugging down the wine like it's a shot of anything else. Can't care less about etiquette when all he wants is to lose his sobriety along with his rationality. “I want to sleep”. 

“It’s 10:30,” you tease him, cocking one of your eyebrows and giving him that look that always makes him feel ridiculous.

On any other day, that would've been fuel to erase that smile off of your face by pushing it onto the pillows while he fucks you from behind.

Tonight, though, it just blatantly stings. 

“So?” The coldness in his voice makes you shudder, and when he doesn't respond like he usually does it's when you realize there's something different going on.

You and Hyunjin don't share that kind of intimacy. You don't tell him your problems, and he doesn't tell you his problems either. You don't comfort each other through words or romantic touches. You don't give words of encouragement and you don't talk things through.

If there's something to say, you do so through sex. 

But right now, that you've interrupted his night, you feel somewhat compromised to ask if he is alright.

“Bad day?”

Bad week, bad month, bad year, a bad fucking life.

“Don’t have to act like you care,” Hyunjin says, resting his hips against the furniture while he pours himself another glass of wine.

The comment catches you off-guard. First and foremost, because you're not quite sure you don't care about him at all. And second, because he is making it seem like you are the reason behind his bad mood.

But if he doesn’t want to talk, you’re not going to force him to. After all, you’re in his room for one reason, and one reason only. 

“Shit, sorry for asking,” you murmur, gripping the edge of the bed sheets with both of your hands. It's a common ground you've walked in, thousands of times. You've been in his bed for far more times than you can remember, and you've fucked a lot more than you can count. So you're not afraid of asking the question: maybe you should release some stress?

Hyunjin knows what you mean. He knows the sexual connotations of it, and knows that’s exactly the reason why you're in his room. 

On any other day, Hyunjin would've taken your word. But right now, when his eyes can only focus on the crimson bruise on your neck, the proposition enrages him.

He walks towards you, completely towering over your figure. One hand holds the glass of wine, while the other cups your face and maneuvers it harshly, leaving the hickey for him to see. 

“He bored you?” The way he spits such a question makes your heart skip a beat. Don’t leave a rough mark, you told the guy, just a faint hickey. Of course he wouldn’t care, and neither did you —otherwise you would’ve checked yourself in the mirror before approaching Hyunjin wearing someone else’s lovebites, “or he just wasn't the one you wanted to fuck tonight?”

You move your head away from his touch with a swift movement, immediately missing the warmth of his skin against yours, "does that even make a difference?"

But it doesn't.

In the end, you only look for him because you want a good fuck and it seemed like your date just couldn't get the job done.

Not because you want him, particularly. 

“No,” Hyunjin replies coldly. “But you should at least have some decency, you know?”

You know he isn't teasing you, like he always does. He is not saying all this to get a reaction from you, and that unsettles you.

He is acting and saying such things because he means them. Because he feels like them.

“Since when do you care about what I do or I don't?” you ask him, the tone in your voice increasing as Hyunjin’s gaze intensifies.

“You can do whoever the fuck you want,” he murmurs, uncrossing his arms to grip at the edge of the furniture behind him.

“Well, I want to do you”. 

“Maybe tonight I don’t,” Hyunjin gulps down the wine, having a way harder time swallowing the euphoric sensation of his ego rather than the alcohol coming down his throat.

 And you stare at him like he just said something controversial. Something weird, something unusual coming from him.

“You’re lying,” you say, darting him a challenging look. “You always want me”. 

“Why would I want something that everyone can have?” 

It’s his anger talking. His rage, his uncertainty, his jealousy. 

You're not wrong. He wants you, he always has and most likely always will. 

But he is too proud to admit it, both to you and himself. Especially after you’ve walked into his room with the ghost of another man’s hands and lips, wearing a mark on your skin that will never compare to how Hyunjin has been allowed to mark you.

“So that’s the issue?” you defy him, standing up from the edge of his bed to walk forward. “You’re acting like this just because I was with someone else?”

Your mocking tone makes it seem like it's something ridiculous and irrational, but you've aced your initial hypothesis.

You are the reason behind his bad mood.

“Just get out,” Hyunjin says, tense jaw and cold eyes locked into yours. “You're getting on my nerves”. 

Your tongue pokes through your cheek and you look at him in disbelief —you feel taken aback because of how he is acting, and you want to blame it on the alcohol he has ingested throughout the night. But he looks sober, and way more serious than his immature facade has ever made him appear.

“If I wanted to be with someone else tonight, I would’ve left your apartment a fucking hour ago,” the boldness in your voice only challenges Hyunjin to this staring contest he didn't know he is playing. Without blinking, without parting his gaze away, all his undivided attention is on you, and the way you're spitting your words like you're truly the one with a reason to be angry. 

Needless to say, your audacity only infuriates him further.

“If you wanted to be with me, you would’ve come into my room the second you step a foot into the apartment,” he shoots back, straightening his body against the furniture and causing it to move an inch closer to you, “I mean, you know the way well, don’t you?” 

He raises one of his eyebrows, and it’s embarrassing. 

Pathetically embarrassing. 

Stupidly idiotic.

“You've crawled on all fours from the door to my room before,” Hyunjin continues, tilting his head while his gaze falls from your eyes to your parted lips, “I'm sure that was enough for you to remember the path fairly well”. 

It was one time, you say to yourself. And you'd rather die than having to admit such a humiliating thing to anyone other than him. 

You'd rather die than having everyone know what you allow Hyunjin to do to you. You'd rather disappear into thin air than having to deal with the judgemental gazes from all of your friends.

The Hwang Hyunjin? The one you say you can't stand? The one that gets on your nerves because of how childish he is? The one you tell your friends you'd turn down a thousand times even if he was the last man standing on earth?

“Go fuck yourself, Hwang,” you're so close to him you can practically taste the red wine off of his lips. You're breathing the same air, hearts beating at the same rate.

You want him worse than you wanted him before —you like the feeling of his jealousy and his possessiveness. You like it when his hatred towards you transforms into hatred to anyone who dares to touch you; no one is allowed to have you like he is entitled to, and no one is allowed to hate you the way he does.

So he leaves the empty glass of wine behind, and guides one of his hands to your heated cheeks. He caresses it, pushing away the hairs from your face —the intimate touch might feel out of place and context, but you know damn well it's nothing more than the calm before the storm. 

A calling.

A warning.

You know Hyunjin more than you'd ever want to admit, and you crave him worse than you'd ever allow yourself to think.

"God fucked you up by giving you this shitty ego,” he murmurs, brushing his lips ever so slightly against yours. It seems as if Hyunjin walked right into your trap without knowing, blinded by instincts and completely ignoring the awful show you put up earlier with a man you don't even know his name, “and he fucked me up even more for making me like it”. 

It all happens in a fraction of second, too fast for you to catch some air and too sloppy for you to get the kiss right.

You're tasting the red wine, and his rage, and the longing lust you are always demanding from him whenever your body is against his. He kisses you ardently, teasing your tongue and biting your lower lip trying to fill you up just with him —to get rid of whoever kissed you first that night, and to intoxicate you with all of him for whoever will kiss you next.

One of his hands wraps around your figure, pressing you tighter against him, while the other swims through the roots of your hair, already in position to manhandle you like he knows he can.

The way he knows you want him to.

And you don't stop him when you feel the sting in your scalp, forcing you to break the kiss and down to your knees right in front of him in a careless way that will probably leave bruises.

“Said you wanted to do me?” Hyunjin asks, unzipping his pants with his available hand while the other holds your head still, despite your efforts to wipe away the drool from your lips and the hair sticking to your cheeks with his spit. “I’m right fucking here, do me”. 

You look at him with loathing but it is nothing more than a projection: you hate yourself for how much you needed this. 

For how much you need him.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” he falsely pouts, but the sound gets drowned in a grunt when he wraps his hand around his dick to stroke it a few times before guiding your mouth to the tip of it, “you want this”. 

His gaze finds yours in the midst of the struggle, and the only way you can think of letting him know you're consenting to this is by sticking your tongue out and licking the tip of his cock, collecting all his salty precum and tasting it like you've been starving for it.

At the sight, Hyunjin chuckles lowly. Still as cold, still as enraged.

“Did you suck him off too?” he asks, using the grip on your hair as his favor —with ease, he slams his hips against your mouth, letting the tip of his cock reach parts of your throat that are still tense. “Does he taste as good as I do?”

Hyunjin doesn't need to know that you planned this all along —that you purposely did everything to get him jealous. He doesn't need to know that you like the thrill of it, of watching his possessive and jealous side.

He doesn't need to know that you utterly adore when he fucks you like he actually hates you. Like you mean nothing and everything to him at the same time.

Hyunjin doesn't need to know a lot of things, so you tag along with the fantasy of everything you've yet to deny.

“Relax,” more than a soothing word, it’s an order. He maneuvers your head all along his length, applying more pressure when your nose hits his pubic bone and then forcing you away to let you breathe. “You’ve taken this cock before, you know exactly how to do it”. 

You try to regain control of your body, and your rationality, but it seems a rather useless task —when you're with Hyunjin, he is the one that does the thinking for you. When you're with him, you can't think of anything else but him, his voice, his eyes, the way he touches and kisses you, the way he tastes and the way he feels inside you.

“Too big,” you gasp in between thrusts of his hips against your lips. Your hand flies to reach the base of his cock, but he is quick to force you backwards with the grip on your hair.

“Do not touch me”.

“Hyun-”

“I said, do not touch me,” he repeats when you try to touch him again. “Do you really think you can go around touching other men and I won't do anything about it?”

Hyunjin wishes he wasn’t as prideful as he is —if he could swallow his ego easily, he could have your hands all over his body by now. But he is proud, and vengeful, and stubborn. No matter how much his skin is burning to feel the softness of yours against it, he needs to make his point.

“You’re- you can’t be serious,” you struggle between moans, with a voice so hoarse it's barely audible. 

“There’s the door,” he forces your head towards it, “you can leave if you don’t like it”. 

Your doe eyes, filled with anger and defy, dart between him and the door. Hyunjin is always the one in control, you're not really unfamiliar with that —the fact that he is acting like this, offering you a way out if you’re not willing to do things his way, makes you feel uneasy and curious.

You choose to stay only for the latter. Not because of anything else, right?

Right?

You don’t say anything, but fix your gaze on the man in front of you. 

And Hyunjin gets it, he gets the look you're giving him. That, paired with the fact that you're not doing anything to get away from his grip, tells him that you're more than willing to keep on going, so he continues manhandling you around.

“C’mere,” he mutters when guiding your head along his cock again, making you swallow him full without giving you any kind of warning whatsoever, “just like that”. 

You're gagging, and tearing up, and clearly struggling to take all of his cock. But never have you felt this hungry, and never have you felt this emptiness between your legs that only Hyunjin seems to be able to fill.

Your hands ache for his flesh, and so desperately you want to sink them on his thighs or ass; intertwine them with his, latch your fingers against his and squeeze them while you prove to him that he's the only one that gets to fuck your mouth like this. 

“Please,” you cry out when he gives you a break to catch some air, “I need- let me touch you, please”. 

"Should've thought of it before putting your hands on someone else," he hissed, brushing your hair wet with drool and tears away from your face. “Should’ve thought about me before running to another man”. 

“Hyunjin”.

Oh, how pretty his name sounds falling from your lips —especially when accompanied with sobs and whimpers. You're always so cool and collected, like you control everything and everyone around you. You never cry, never show anyone else a crevice of what you truly are, but he is the only one that gets to see you like this. The only one you really trust, the only one you give control to.

If you hate him that much, why do you always come crawling back to him?

If you hate him that much, why is he the only one that gets to use you like this?

And if you hate him that much, why can't Hyunjin forget what he truly feels about you?

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, cleaning your mouth and chin with the back of your hand. “I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’m sorry”. 

“For what exactly?” He is so close to you, you can feel the tip of his nose brushing against yours and get drunk on the wine that lingers in his breath. He is so close to you, he almost can't resist the urge of crashing his lips against yours again and taste himself off of you. 

“I don’t know,” you look at him with teary eyes. You feel like crying, and Hyunjin can tell. “I don’t know, it’s just- I’m sorry, okay? If that’s what you want to hear, then I’m sorry”. 

His eyebrows furrow.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he says. “Your apologies mean nothing to me”. 

Your heart stings, and it is unusual. He is unusual, painfully real unlike all the times you've pretended to hate each other just for the dynamic.

Blame it on the alcohol, or the stress he has been feeling lately, or the fact that you've been nothing but a brat these days, but Hyunjin is angry. And hurt.

“Your actions, on the other hand,” it's all he tells you with his bright eyes boring into yours. “I want you to show me how sorry you truly are”. 

“Wha-”

He maneuvers you from the floor to his bed, forcing you on your back against the sheets you've grown to know fairly well. Your body writhes under him, and you fight back the urges to wrap your arms around his neck and force his body close to yours. 

“How- am I supposed to show you?” you ask in between the struggle, moving your body to Hyunjin’s will. With your help, he unbuttons your jeans and scatters them along the floor, just like your blouse and underwear.

He lets out a soft scoff, blowing air through his nose, amused. "As if you don't know me that well".

And because you know him well, you can't avoid the eerie feeling of fear that settles up in the deepest pits of your chest when his cold gaze makes contact with yours.

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask, with your heart ringing loudly in your ears.

“You should be asking what you're going to do for me, instead,” he murmurs, caressing the sides of your body with a creepy delicacy that doesn't match his demeanor at all. "Don't you want to be forgiven?" It's a rhetorical question, you know that much. And you do want to be forgiven, but you're not quite sure what twisted idea Hyunjin has of an apology. 

So you stay quiet, and hope for the best.

“You said you wanted me, right?” He asks yet again, fixing his eyes on yours. You just nod. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Yes,” you rush to say, “yes, I said I want you”. 

“How bad?”

The endless teasing is making you frustrated, but you're used to that. However, you're not used to feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes with each second that passes by.

You need him desperately. You need his kiss, and tongue, and hands on every part of your body that you'd never allow anyone else to touch.

No matter how much you say you dislike Hyunjin.

“So fucking bad,” you cry out, kicking you head back against the pillow.

Hyunjin hums, peppering wet and sloppy kisses over your tummy and inner thighs. You feel his breath so close to your wet center that you can only hope he gives you the attention you need. 

But that is not going to happen any time soon, and you know that.

“Fuck yourself,” he commands you, kneeling between your spread legs on top of his bed, “prove to me that you want me”.

You know the catch, know why Hyunjin is asking you such a thing.

He never does, unless he wants to punish you. And albeit not a rough punishment, there's nothing sweeter than watching you fall apart in frustration, to watch you deny yourself because he said so, to see you squirming in pain because you overstimulated yourself.

But then again, you'd do anything he says, just to be one step closer to him.

So you comply, with your index and middle finger shaking in anticipation as they make contact with your folds. Slowly but surely, you start fulfilling his demand —bitterly, with a look of disdain. 

One of his hands spread your legs further, and he stays kneeling between your thighs as he watches you. 

Impatient, eager, angry.

“I don’t have all day,” he finally snaps after a good 30 seconds of you just timidly teasing yourself. You can’t admit it out loud, but it is embarrassing —to have his eyes all over you but not his hands, to have your legs spread for someone who has no interest in touching you.

It's also embarrassing how wet you are by all of this. By his attitude, his anger and his jealousy.

“Sorry,” you barely mumble, sinking two fingers inside your throbbing pussy. 

You feel nothing. Not pain, nor pleasure. Just nothing.

“One more,” Hyunjin tells you and you comply. But after getting used to him and his size, nothing fills you up anymore. 

“You don’t- you don’t expect me to come just by this, do you?” You ask with a nervous scoff, biting down on your lower lip as you pull your fingers out just to thrust them inside again.

Hyunjin doesn't answer, and that only fuels your anguish even more. Instead, he fixes his eyes on your fingers, and the way they glisten with your wetness. He focuses on the sounds they make, and how warm you must feel after all the teasing.

You let out a whine, but it is not out of pleasure. It's a frustrated whine, a desperate one. You kick your head back, and fuck yourself harder with your fingers.

All your efforts are pointless.

“Don’t you dare,” Hyunjin warns you when your other hand slips to touch your clit. 

“I- I can’t just come with this,” you groan.

“How is that my problem?” 

It is humiliating —the way he is looking down on you, the way he is clearly amused by how stupid you must look right now touching yourself without feeling anything.

“Keep on going,” he tells you, licking his lips, “you won’t stop until you come”.

You shake your head and kick it against his pillow, trying to go impossibly deeper in hopes of finding that spot inside of you that only Hyunjin seems to know well.

Again, pointless.

“Come on,” you whine, now really on the brink of tears, “don’t do this to me”. 

“You did this to yourself,” he simply says, and his digits graze against your naked legs. 

The stimulation on your flesh is enough for you to clench around your fingers, and Hyunjin lets out a twisted smile when he sees the goosebumps flowering.

“Hyunjin”. 

“Can’t come by yourself?” He asks with a fake empathy, “you need me for that, right?”

You know where this is heading, and you’re willingly letting him lead you that way —you nod, swallowing thickly. 

“Yes,” you admit, hoping such a confession is enough to do something. Anything.

“Am I the only one who can make you come?”

“Yes, Hyunjin,” there's an inner conflict between your lust and your ego —you wish to fight back, but your mind is already surrendering. Your answer isn't far from the truth anyways, so why is it so difficult to admit it out loud? “Yes, you’re the only one”. 

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers quietly, dragging the tip of his digits along your spread thighs.

You’re aroused and whriting in anticipation, You’re aroused and trembling in anticipation, your whole body is ready for him, anything he wants to give you, and he can tell.

That's probably the worst part of it all —your mouth can always voice how much you hate him, but your body will keep on betraying you every time.

“I can’t,” you murmur, relentlessly trying to get yourself to your high, “I can't do this on my own anymore, you're the only one who can”. 

It's embarrassing to admit such a thing, both to him and yourself —it's not like you're saying so just to get what you want.

You're saying so because it's the truth, because not even you nor your toys can get you to come like Hyunjin does. 

“Remember that every time you even think about being with someone else,” Hyunjin’s body hovers over you, fitting perfectly between your open legs. “No one is going to make you feel like I can”. 

You drown a moan when you feel his clothed erection pressing against your folds. The fabric of his pants is rough, but your body unconsciously grinds on it.

“Just fuck me, Hyunjin,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his hips and feeling his warmth spreading from your chest to your limbs, “please, please, please”.

He needs you just as much.

And his intention was never to deny you, but to remind you that you belong to him. Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you even know it —your body responds to Hyunjin, and Hyunjin only. 

“Patience is a virtue, you know?” He scoffs, sneaking a hand between your bodies to slide the tip of his dick against your folds, “I spent all night looking how someone else got his hands all over you”.

You tremble underneath him, begging for anything he might want to give you. 

“It wasn’t a pretty sight, you know?” Hyunjin continues, “it kills me that no one knows you're mine”. 

Your heart skips a beat at his rageful words, as you breathe the same oxygen that leaves his lungs. 

“Hyunjin”. 

“I hate the fact that I just can’t kiss you when I feel like it,” he presses his forehead against yours, taunting your lips with his. “Can’t even fuck you when I want, without caring if someone hears or not”. 

There's a pinch of frustration and despair in his voice. Like he is asking you to read between the lines, to give some sense to his words.

“We hate each other, don’t we?” You remind him, digging your nails in the flesh of the sides of his body.

“Do you really think this is hate?” He asks, and presses his hips against yours. You feel his hardened length getting coated with your wetness, and you can’t help but moan. 

“Everybody thinks we can’t stand each other,” you wrap your legs around his hips, forcing him to make a move. And as if on cue, he gets what you’re demanding —he slides the tip of his dick in, so easily that it's hard to believe your body wasn't perfectly made for him.

“But no one knows what we do behind their backs, do they?” He asks, grunting quietly when he finally bottoms out, “they don’t know how good we fuck each other, how good we make us feel”. 

It's not the time to pause and reflect about the dynamic you've shared with Hyunjin over the past year. It's also not the time to think about what could happen if you were to reveal to your closest friends what you and Hyunjin have. 

It's exciting to keep things a secret, but you're not quite sure how long you can go without one of you getting tired of it.

It's not the time, and you don't dwell on it because you soon feel Hyunjin's hips slowly pulling and then bottoming out again. The sudden hit of his pubic bone against your swollen clit sends shivers down your spine, and you hug him tightly against you.

“Because you make me feel so good,” he murmurs, leaving a wet trail of kisses from your lips, to your chin and jaw, “so fucking good”. 

You clench around him at his words, and he lets out a raw moan. 

“You too,” you swallow thickly, “you too- make me feel so good”. 

“Just me?”

“Just you Hyunjin- fuck,” you bite down the flesh on his shoulders when his hips snap against yours, making your whole body jolt, “like that, fuck me like that”. 

With painfully slow but hard strokes, Hyunjin pounds his dick inside your wet pussy.

The lewd noises it makes, paired with his skin hitting yours, drowns his bedroom. They also drown the bustle behind the door, the faint voices of those who are still outside partying and drinking.

Those who don't know how much you love fucking Hyunjin, and how much he loves fucking you.

“I have to make sure it's only me who gets to have you like this,” and with that being said, he sinks his teeth and nibbles at the flesh where burgundy and purple bruises rest. 

You arch your back in pain, feeling your neck burning. He holds you in place as you writhe beneath him, placing all his weight over you to prevent you from squirming away from him.

“It’s just a little pain,” his soft voice coos, grabbing the sides of your neck with one of his hands while his lips attack the love bites made by someone else, “nothing compared to what you made me feel tonight”.

Your heart starts beating faster at his words.

“I’m sorry,” tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you still let Hyunjin mark you. 

You want him to, anyway. No matter how painful it can be.

“I know you are,” he hums, satisfied with the way you’re clenching around him. 

He kisses your flesh softly, trying to soothe the pain away, and you move your hips, desperate to have him moving inside of you again.

He loses no time into it, holding his weight back off of you to continue on fucking you.

“You look so pretty now,” he twistedly smiles, with a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead and nose, “my lips and teeth look so good on you”. 

The minute he bites down his lower lip and his eyes go blank, you start feeling the tension building up inside your abdomen. You’re close, and you’re desperate to come.

“Hyunjin,” one of your hands holds his bicep, while the other makes a mess of the bed sheets beneath you.

“Not yet,” he warns you, and at that you let out a frustrated sound, “hold it a bit longer, come with me”. 

You close your eyes shut and kick your head back, hoping that if you don't look at him, you can prolong the time before you come. But he is fucking you so good, and his dick is hitting all the right spots inside of you, that you really don't think you can hold it as long as he wants you to.

“Please,” you cry out, this time tearing up. You can’t help it —the tears fall from your closed eyes without a warning. They stain your cheeks, and get lost in the crook of your neck that is still burning with Hyunjin’s love bites. 

“Open your eyes,” his hand cups your face, and you snap them open as a reflex, “let me see you crying”.

His words ignite a fire inside you, just as much as your tears do to him. His cock twitches at the sight of your clouded eyes and the way they beg for his release.

It’s the first time he sees you cry, 

and it shouldn't arouse him as much as it does. He knows what's behind those tears, and maybe that's the reason why he is enjoying them.

Frustration, rage, despair, attraction, obsession, infatuation.

He buries his nose on the flesh of your cheek and kisses your tears, one by one, as he continues pounding himself inside of you. 

“Can’t-” you murmur, digging your nails on his shoulders. Hyunjin hisses at that. “I can’t hold it”. 

“Give it to me,” he finally exhales, increasing the movements of his hips. And you comply —you give your orgasm to him, squeezing his cock almost aggressively. Your body trembles and he hugs it tightly, fucking you through your high as he comes with you.

“Fuck, Hyunjin,” at one point, your body goes limp —the pleasure becomes too strong that you melt into his arms. 

He moans your name, over and over again, until his voice becomes a whisper, and his hips relax into yours. His body rests on top of you, hugging you, pressing kisses to your forehead and temples while you wrap your arms around him. He doesn't pull out, and you don't want him to —at least not yet.

Sex with Hyunjin always goes a little bit like this, but it never feels as intimate as it does right now.

Your sweating bodies are pressed against each other, and your hearts are beating at the same rate. Your mouth tastes like red wine, despite you not having drunk any, and Hyunjin’s chest smells like your perfume. 

The crescent moon-like imprints from your nails are still pulsing on his shoulders and back with desire, and your neck still burns with his possessiveness.

It seems as though you two are one, and it is impossible to deny it.

If hate is another synonym for infatuation, you might as well be willing to hate each other until death.

[sukimii]

Clingy

Tags: fuff, slight angst, foul language, touch-starved!Reader

Notes: Before reading any of my fics please read this first, thank you.

"Do you even love me?"

"Yes" your answer is immediate, with no hesitation. Of course, you love him, if you could write it in the sky you would. Yet now, the man you love is angry at you, with a mix of disappointment while you're on the verge of crying.

"Then why the fuck aren't you initiating shit?"

You know you should say something. You know you should open up and explain your behavior, but it's easier said than done. Because in the past, whenever you opened up no one listened. They either pretended not to hear or changed the topic of conversation. So you settled on pretending.

Over the years you became good at faking your moods and smiles. It came naturally for you to plaster a smile on your face and make it believable. You became good at pretending you were fine, when in fact you wanted nothing more than to have someone to listen. But no one ever did. No one cared enough to listen to the end, because as long as it doesn't concern them your insecurities are irrelevant.

"If I don't text you, you don't. If I don't call you, you don't. If I don't kiss you, you don't. Why the fuck are we in a relationship then?" The anger in his voice is deafening. It makes you want to crawl on yourself, wishing to disappear. You can feel his resentment in your bones. You know you should speak up, but your voice seems to be stuck in your throat.

"I didn't call you for three fucking days to see if you would. And guess what? You didn't!" Bakugou's eyes narrow on you, waiting for an answer that he will probably never get. "Why the fuck aren't you speaking?! Do you even give a shit about me? About our relationship?"

"I-I do care"

"Fucking bullshit." He scoffs, one hand dragging along the roots of his hair while the other one curled into a fist. "If you cared you would've reached for me. If you cared you would show it through your actions. If you cared-"

You can't listen to all your flaws.

He's listing the very same things people in your past had complained about. The sad part is that you already know the endgame, which only worsens the angst creeping up your back.

Bakugou is the only person you managed to fall in love with. He's the only one that makes you feel important, the only one that always waits for you. He is the first one that makes your heart beat so loud to the point of tuning out the world. He is the only one that keeps you on your toes. The only one that can awaken emotions buried in the depths of your heart and soul.

But now, having him complain about you was destroying your already fragile heart. All the wounds that you managed to somehow patch over the years are now ripped open again. It hurts. His words are like stabs, and you don't have the strength to listen. Because the man you love isn't willing to wait anymore.

You should've seen this coming. It was bound to happen. But your childish self, that small part of you that believes in hope, thought he was going to be the exception. You feel betrayed, by yourself. And you snap.

"BECAUSE YOU WILL HATE IT!"

Your breathing is heavy and ragged, tears already spilling down your cheeks while Bakugou is stunned to silence, watching you with both his eyebrows raised. Then he frowns.

"Why would I hate it?"

"Because everyone does, sooner or later." You can feel snot threatening to drip down your nose, and you sniff, using the abused napkin in your hand to wipe it. "You say now that you want me to do all those things, but as soon as I do you will get sick of me. So-" you choke back another sob, gathering your phone and bag. "It's best if we break up. Sorry for wasting your time" and with those final words, you get up from the table, intent on leaving his house.

It's always like this.

In every relationship that you had, it always ended up with them complaining about you. Something, at the end of the day, made you unable to satisfy them properly. There's always something wrong with you. You. You're your own reason why no one can ever stand you. Right now, all you want to do is get back to your house and cry out all your frustrations. But before you reach the handle, something tugs your other wrist, spinning you around into a hard chest.

"You're not going away, not when you're opening up. Fucking finally" Bakugou drags you back to the living room, this time on the couch. All your protests fall on deaf ears, even the attempts of pushing him away are an utter failure.

"Sit your ass down and start chirpin'."

To Bakugou it's clear that there is a problem, which might run deeper than he originally expected. So he waits for you to speak up.

Yet again, you seem to lose your voice, uncomfortable under his stare, and you look anywhere but at him.

After several beats of silence - disrupted by your sniffs in a poor attempt to not cry- Bakugou sighs. "If we- if you don't speak up, I don't know how to help you. I already have a feeling of what the problem might be, but I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you."

You mull a little over his words, weighing down your options. The past experiences with childhood friends, exes, and family members, taught you to never expect anything from anyone. Sometimes people pretend to listen because their goal is to seem nice, but once they realize that the problem is nothing interesting, they drop the subject. And as much as you love Bakugou, you don't believe he'll be any different.

"There's nothing too important. It's exactly what I said it is. You think I don't want to hold your hand? You think I don't want to wrap my whole body on you like a koala all day? I crave physical touch, I crave it so bad, but I can't. I can't" as you keep spilling out your frustrations, your voice grows bitter and resentful. "Because you enjoy it in the beginning, but then you'll get sick of it and call me clingy, just like everyone else did! I know that after, you'll tell me to 'get a life', to 'go bother someone else' and I don't want it to happen again! Because I'll be the one getting heartbroken while you all keep surfing life as if you didn't stump on my stupid, useless feelings! You're no different from the others, once you get what you want then I hold no value in your eyes. Just another bitch to add to the fuck list no-" Bakugou is quick to cover your mouth with his palm, and you finally look at him.

He looks… sad. His eyes are soft, mouth pressed into a thin line as he looks at you with what you could describe as pity. But in reality, you couldn't be any farther from the truth, because Bakugou isn't pitying you. No. He understands you.

"We already fucked, two months ago. And I'm still here, aren't I?" His voice is gentle, probably the softest you've ever heard him. As if trying to soothe a wounded animal. It's endearing.

Blinking the heavy veil of unshed tears away, you give him a couple of nods.

"Do you really think I would do something like that to you? Do you think I would say to anybody that I love them?" his palm slides down your neck until it rests comfortably at the back of your head. With breath stuck in your lungs, you offer him a soft shake of your head, no. You don't think Bakugou is that type, but you never know.

"Do you have any idea of how much I want you to do all those things? Fuck- be a fucking leech for all I care, just-!" His forehead lightly bumps into yours, the tip of the nose rubbing a couple of times against yours. His eyes are transfixed into yours, and you can feel goosebumps raise on your whole body at the intensity of his stare.

"I don't care if I'm in an uncomfortable position. I don't care if you're all sweaty from working out or if I'm barely standing because of a rough day. I want you to do anything you want. You want to spoon me? Do it. You want to hold my hand in public? Do it. You want hugs when I'm busy? Do it. Fuckin' do it. I don't care. Fuck- I could be in the middle of an important call and I still wouldn't refuse your attention!" His head dips into the crook of your shoulder while leaving a trail of kisses down your neck.

"I don't care what shit-stain you dated before me, all I care about is for you to be comfortable with me. Do you understand?" His arms are circling your back, holding you tight, but not enough to cut the breath out of you. You sniff, suppressing another sob that threatens to come out.

"Y-yes"

"Then hug me" He gives you a squeeze, voice barely above a whisper. "Please"

You know that this doesn't count as a potential improvement since, again, Bakugou is the one that initiated the physical contact. But you oblige, wrapping your arms around his neck.

For several minutes, you bask in the silence, enjoying the comfort and warmth. Until Bakugou speaks again, voice partially muffled by your clothes.

"I noticed how different you are with that weir- Hatsume."

"She-" you clear your throat, trying to get rid of the ragged tone "she never pushed me away. Probably the only one that never did." you don't want to relieve the past, but with Bakugou seems right. Up until now, he showed nothing but understanding.

"There were times when I would visit her back when she was in UA. She didn't mind when I would sleep on her while she worked on her babies. One day I remember falling asleep on her back, and she didn't complain. She- she was the only one that never called me a bother."

"You didn't do anything too scared I would…" he trails, lifting a little his head just enough to see your eyes.

"Call me clingy." You finish for him. His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer.

"Even my parents pushed me away. I used to seek physical attention all the time. If it were possible, I would stay with you like this all day, but I know it's impossible. And I don't want you to think that I-… I don't want to be a burden. An inconvenience. I don't want you to hate me because of that. So I give you space. I let you initiate everything on your own terms because I'm scared of being annoying."

Bakugou listens. He knows that if he speaks you might try to make the conversation take a detour. So he waits for you to continue.

"I used to like sleepovers. I used to beg my parents to let me sleep at a friend's house. But then they told me no because I would be a bother, and that people are too nice to tell me that. Even holding hands was something I enjoyed, until someone slapped my hand away."

That detail doesn't sit right with Bakugou, and whoever slapped your hand was already on his piss-the-fuck-off list.

"Is this why you keep refusing to stay the night?" When you nod, Bakugou feels like the heaviest stone has just been lifted from his chest. When he slept with you for the first time, he asked you to stay over. It was late, and dark outside, and letting you wander the streets where danger lurked wasn't something he was keen on. Plus, it would give him more time to spend with you. But when you got up and dressed, turning down his offer saying that you were busy the next day, he walked you home.

The second time, again, you shut him down. He tried to be understanding. At the time, he couldn't understand why you refused to crash at his place when he did overstay at yours. At first, he thought you didn't like his apartment, or that you didn't feel comfortable enough. So, he bought a couple of plants, hoping that it will ease you, and stuffed his bathroom with products he saw at yours. He made sure to put hairclips and hair ties near the sink, in a pink-stained glass bowl. And different types of pads were stashed in the first drawer, just in case. He also added some décor, similar to your aesthetic, but even that didn't work. Despite your compliments, saying that you loved the changes he made, it still wasn't enough to make you stay.

Another time he tried again was three weeks ago. He tried his hardest to fuck you stupid, he hoped that six hours of constant sex will tire you out enough that you will cave, and finally spend the night at his. He tried different positions that he knew would strain your legs. Positions that will weaken your body, and time for you to recover were minimal. If he was generous, only a minute before he went at it again. Despite all his efforts, you still went home. Bruised, body screaming in pain at the effort, and on the verge of passing out, you asked him to take you home. And Bakugou, at that point, began to think that maybe you didn't love him.

He became self-conscious. Because why else wouldn't you want to spend more time with him? Why would you only have sex and then drop out as soon as you felt like sleeping?

Yet that theory wasn't exactly making sense, because the very next day you asked him to stay over at yours.

But now, Bakugou understands. He now knows what the problem is, and he has to admit that you told him way more than he originally expected. He's glad you did so, it's a step in the right direction, and he believes that improvements will happen soon.

One hand moves on the back of your head, cradling you closer while his lips ghost the skin right below your ear.

"Let's take baby steps" he murmurs, leaving a feathery kiss on the side of your neck. Your arms hook around his shoulders, leaning into him.

"Stay tonight" He feels your body tense up, and before you can utter a word -already knowing what you were going to say, he squeezes you, silently adding the 'please' that was lingering on the tip of his tongue.

When he feels your body relax in his hold, and a soft 'ok' leaves your lips, Bakugou allows himself to smile, happy with the outcome.

[elliespuns]

The whole scene where Ellie is leaving Dina and JJ is so heavy, it makes it harder for me to breathe. One would say the only horrible thing about this scene is the fact that Ellie is leaving, choosing Abby over her family. But there's more than that, and it's killing me.

When Dina comes downstairs and sees Ellie packing her bag, she appears unaware of what is happening. But in fact, she is well aware. She knows it as soon as she wakes up and finds out that Ellie is not in the bed. And what makes this scene so heavy is the way Dina tries to convince herself that THIS is not happening AGAIN. The way she just smiles and starts talking about JJ so casually, as if she didn't catch Ellie packing her bag to leave her. She doesn't want to admit it to herself. She can't admit it to herself, even though she already knows. She knows Ellie has already made up her mind when she sees her in Joel's jacket in the dark.

The way she says, "Come back to bed." and turns around, praying for Ellie to change her mind in that moment. But that doesn't happen. Instead, Ellie speaks up, and we see in the way Dina closes her eyes how the crushing feeling of losing Ellie suddenly becomes so real and palpable to her. She doesn't need to admit it to herself anymore. It's happening, and it's so hard to accept.

We finally see that Ellie is not the only one struggling. They were both there in Seattle when it all came down. "For you and for him, I deal with it." Dina says and we realize that maybe if it weren't for the two of them, she would be a wreck too.

But to realize it, Dina and the way Ellie treats her in this scene is not the only one to get sad over. Ellie has her reasons, and knowing what she went through and who she lost, we can't blame her for them. This makes this moment much more painful because we know Ellie is living her family life in denial. We know this has nothing to do with Dina or JJ. Ellie has always loved them. But she's not doing well, bottling up her feelings. She doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, has panic attacks and bad memories to remind her every step of the way of just how big of a hole there is in her heart. They have a beautiful home, but they aren't happy—maybe at heart, but not inside their heads. Dina has always known there was going to be a time like this where Ellie's bad memories win, and Ellie lives her life pretending everything is fine because she doesn't want to hurt the people she loves the most.

Also, we can see how deeply Ellie hurts by choosing to leave Dina. When she says, "I love you." and Dina wants her to prove it, Ellie knows she can't. And it has nothing to do with the feelings she has for Dina. She loves her, there's no doubt about that. But she can't go on like this. She can't rest until she gets closure. This way, she'd finally be able to give Dina what she deserves. She feels like shit, it hurts her so bad knowing that Dina has always been there for her, choosing her over anything else—almost dying because of her. And now, when the tables have turned, she's not able to do the same for her. She's leaving her instead, and it hurts so fucking bad.

"I'm not gonna do this again." is when Dina breaks up with Ellie, and through a heavy heart, Ellie lets her because she knows it's for the best. She knows she's weighing her down, and she believes Dina will be better off without her. That's why her answer is more of a cold one, "That's up to you." because Ellie needs to give Dina a reason to think she doesn't deserve her love; all to make it easier on her to let her go. I just can't.

[steventhusiast]

STWG daily prompt 14/9/23

prompt: "You know what? It's not me, it's you."

pairing/character(s): steddie

-

Steve tries to ignore his father's irritated gaze as he eats his food. Bringing Eddie to a rare dinner with his parents was definitely a bold move, but he knows that if Eddie wasn't here he wouldn't survive it. Steve could barely force himself to come back to Hawkins for it, but his mother had guilted him into it.

It's so hard to pretend not to be hurt when his parents ask him things that prove they know nothing about him. (Especially now that he's nearing thirty and has started thinking about having kids himself.) But it's easier with Eddie's hand on his knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth for comfort.

"Steven, I thought I told you this was a family dinner." Robert says, pointedly looking over at Eddie.

To his credit, Eddie looks very comfortable despite the uncomfortable situation. He's meeting Robert's eyes for the subtle glares, and hasn't toned himself down at all. Steve's so glad he's here.

"Yep. You did." Steve answers his father, voice clipped.

Robert rolls his eyes, and that's when Linda finally speaks up. She's nicer about things than Robert is, but it couldn't be more fake. She offers Eddie and Steve a very tense fake smile.

"I think what Robert's trying to say is that we didn't expect you to bring a friend, sweetheart."

This time Steve rolls his eyes. How many times does he have to come out to them for them to stop ignoring it.

"Eddie's not a friend, mom. You know this."

"Steven." Robert warns.

"No, dad. I'm fucking tired of it." Steve says with an incredulous laugh, and Eddie gives his knee a gentle squeeze to catch his gaze.

"It's okay, Stevie."

The sweet tone of Eddie's voice calms Steve a little, and he's about to take a deep breath when Robert slices through the sweet moment.

"Now you're letting him call you a girl's name? I can't believe what this miscreant is doing to you, Steven."

Eddie rolls his eyes at the comment, and from the set of his jaw Steve knows he's gritting his teeth to hold himself back.

"You used to be such a lovely boy, Steven. But if you're still... Adamant about this lifestyle, then I don't know if we can support it. It's very unreasonable and irresponsible of you." Linda adds on.

Steve laughs again at the insinuation that they've ever supported him at all, and lifts a hand to run through his hair as he thinks through his next words.

"No, mom. You know what? It's not me that's being an unreasonable piece of shit here. It's you two. You practically dragged me back to this shithole because you're 'grieving' grandma. I didn't want to come. I don't want to be here right now. But I am. And you're just..." He trails off and makes a vague gesture to the two of them.

Linda's mouth has dropped open from her own son swearing at her, and Robert's face is twisted into an expression of anger. Steve doesn't know why he thought this was anywhere close to a good idea.

"I mean what is this? Why am I here? I am twenty nine years old, and I will not sit here and listen to you talk to the man I love like this."

He makes direct eye contact with Robert as he speaks, not softening his glare at all. If his parents are going to drop the facade of respect, so is he. In fact, after glaring at his parents for a few seconds, he just gets up, grabs Eddie's hand, and pulls him toward the door.

"Fuck this." He mutters as they leave.

"That sucked." Eddie comments once they're in their car, and Steve huffs out a strained laugh as he nods. Now that they're out of that situation, and his adrenaline is starting to crash, inexplicable tears are starting to well in his eyes, "But you have also never been hotter. Standing up to the man like that? Most elaborate foreplay ever, Stevie-bee."

And then the ridiculousness of that comment shocks a laugh out of him, and the tears are gone. He grins over at Eddie and shakes his head at how Eddie's clearly holding back his own laughter.

God, he loves him.

[bored-storyteller]

Warning: slight angst, angst/comfort, blood mentions, Leona licks you, some may not like it so you are warned.

Author's note: It was supposed to come out on his birthday but that's okay, it's a reworking of something I've already written in the past.

Twisted Wonderland, Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Nightmare

Leona always thought that becoming king would be the greatest joy he could ever get in life. To be acclaimed by his people, loved, respected, seen for the wonder that he truly is. All his problems disappear before his merits, finally recognized.

You're proud of him, aren't you?

He looks at you next to him, he sees your smile. You know you will share his privileges with him.

You love him, you told him in many ways.

So why that sharp pain in his stomach, that death throb under his side?

You smile happily as you hold the bloody sword in your hands. His blood, dripping on the ground, on the royal robes, flowing amidst the laughter of jubilation at the deliverance from the dying king. Ruggie celebrates too, and Jack, and Epel, and even the brats of Heartslabyus cheer in victory. You didn't even bother using magic, just a sharp blade was enough.

His hand grips the wound in a vain attempt to survive.

But if he survives, what's he ever going to do with your hate on his shoulders?

Leona closes his eyes, and for a moment he asks for everything to end soon. But then he realizes from his gasp that it doesn't have the traits of death. The pain in his stomach is suddenly gone: he's awake.

He finds himself sitting between the sheets of his bed in the dark room.

All is calm, only the pale moon is watching him. His hand is wet yes, but only with the sweat of his torment.

It's just a nightmare, he tells himelf, and Leona Kingscholar is no longer a puppy afraid of nightmares. But even as he says it, his chest hurts, a primal dread scrapes the edges of his mind.

He feels so alone in that bed. It’s not the solitude that he claims, to which he is accustomed. It's a loneliness that asks him questions that he never wants to answer, it's a real loneliness, not the one he pretends to want.

Tomorrow everything will be easier with the sun, he thinks, yet he is downstairs outside his room.

He feels cold, his bare toes starting to bother him, but he's stronger than that.

His knocking on your door is insistent and arrogant, but effective.

When you open the door, a thousand emotions pass through your eyes: concern and confusion prevail.

He stands there like a grumpy tousled cat, cuddled up and nose wrinkled as your eyes alternate between him and the time on your phone's glowing screen.

“Leona…is it…quarter past three in the morning?”

“It seems.”

He sees you flutter tired eyelids: “What's going on? Did something catch fire? Is anyone sick? Hurt?”

Leona awake during the day is already a special event, but at night it is definitely a sign of misfortune.

But he snorts: “Nothing like that. Will you let me in?”

You smile at him, stepping aside: “Well, it's the practice, right?”

He doesn't moan or huff, he just walks past you looking for the first place he can sit down. Your expression saddens.

"Leona..." You call him softly, you kneel in front of him but his eyes escape you. His ears hang over his head and for some reason his general appearance of him brings you a melancholy that doesn't usually come from him. The boredom and pent-up anger that is usually your issues with him are dissolved into an existential sadness.

“What happens?” You investigate again, as gently as possible. What on earth could have hurt the prince so much as to reduce him like this? And what can you do, little creature, in front of something like that?

Leona remains immersed in silence for a period of time that you cannot quantify, but when his green eyes finally look at yours and you can hear his voice, there is no answer waiting for you: "Do you hate me?"

That question comes out to him in such a strange tone, feeble and wounded, that it scares even him. The big bad lion is not brave enough to face his inner monsters.

You're shocked, you almost think it's a joke, or you're dreaming, because such Leona is unthinkable.

“Do people hang out with those they hate at your home?” You ask with a hint of a smile that just wants to reassure him, even if you aren't sure either. Your hands slide over his, you take them meekly as if they were wet little birds: "Why on earth should I hate you, Leona?"

His mind suddenly comes up with more reasons than are actually real, and at the same time he seeks an answer within your gaze.

Then, suddenly, his eyebrows furrow in tension as he sights something that had gone unnoticed up to that moment.

“What did you do?” He asks as his thumb brushes the edges of what looks like a dry cut on your forehead near your left temple.

“What? What is it?” You ask confused at first, as your hand goes up to his.

“Oh, no, it's nothing!” Then you laugh, relaxing “A small accident during the alchemy lesson a few days ago. Nothing serious."

A few days ago. Nothing serious.

He hadn't noticed. Even though you'd been around him most of the time, he hadn't noticed at all. You had been hurt and he hadn't noticed.

He must have let you down, and he feels humiliated. Someone looked after you so well that you didn't even feel the need to tell him – or maybe he didn't listen to you?

He bites his lower lip in an unconscious punishment, while he feels his swollen heart become heavier in the new awareness of being useless to you.

“Come here.”

His dragging you into his lap feels rough, but you sense that something has changed in him, something that had remained unknown until then.

“Leona?” You call him quietly, but he silences you with a soft whisper. You're not sure what his behavior responds to, whether it's a puppy's need for affection, the care of a lover or a primordial protective instinct that resides in the animal part of him.

His tongue slowly caresses your wound with mechanical and slow movements. They are of no use now, yet they speak of his need to have you near, to be worthy of having you.

It's a prayer for forgiveness he'll never say in words, but what's the need for words?

Your palms rest patiently on his shoulders, and his hand gently holds the opposite side of your face as he continues that primal ritual.

How many hidden sides does your magical prince have?

“You should do this more often.” You tell him, while you hug more to his chest.

“Don't get your hopes up.” He answers you, but in the meantime he feels your body abandoned in his hands, all your need to receive the love of your loved one.

Your hand rests on his neck, caresses him, then goes up his cheek, up to his sensitive ear. Leona meekly bows his head to let himself be cuddled. For once, in the middle of the night, with you, he can afford it.

You still love him, it's a relief. A relief that deserves his invaluable commitment, not to make you leave.

[blitzwhore]

You Love Him (Not)

Stolitz | 800 words | G | Blitzø character study, Blitzø loves Stolas, Blitzø is bad at feelings (and traumatized), 2nd person POV

On AO3

A peek into what goes on in Blitzø's mind when he looks at his selfie in bed with Stolas.

Curled up on the sofa, home alone on a Friday night, you scroll mindlessly through your phone gallery, as you so often do. 

And it hurts, it aches, but you just can't seem to stop. Seeing yourself next to all these people, your smiling face not crossed out for once, is an addictive sort of pain, one that has you hooked. The light from your phone screen blinds you in the darkness of your flat, sucking you in, urging you to scroll faster. Fizz, Verosika, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Barbie. We were happy, you think as you scroll. For a little while, I made them all happy. 

But when you see your picture with Stolas, you pause. 

Because, in this picture, you don't just look happy. You look content.

It's as though your own eyes are staring back at you through the camera, except the person in the picture doesn't feel like he's you. Not with that gaze that looks so perfectly at ease. Not when his face looks so soft as he holds Stolas close. The person in the picture is peaceful and untroubled, without a single care in the world. And you… well. You're a wreck, that's what you are.

You just can't look away, mesmerized and terrified in equal parts by how carefree you look next to Stolas. And what's scariest is that, if anyone were to see this picture, this moment that you secretly froze in time and have held close to your heart ever since, they'd see… they'd know that you… 

Blinking, you stop that thought before it can fully form. No. 

You don't.  

You lock your phone—close your eyes, fighting the wave of distress that overtakes you. 

You don't love Stolas. 

You don't love Stolas because it isn't worth it. You've already been there and done that so many times before—the hope, the vulnerability. The inevitable heartbreak. The insults, the disdain. You don't need to love anyone else—the world has already assured you over and over again that you are unlovable. A selfish partner, a freak, a piece of shit. 

You don't love Stolas because love is a fancy, overused word, anyway. It doesn't mean anything. Not when people so often say it, and then leave anyway. Leave before you can understand why they don't want you around anymore—leave before you're ready to lose them, or go on without them. 

You don't love Stolas because your love consumes everything in its wake. The second you get too close, the second you allow others in, they get burned. A single touch of your fingertips can trigger a wildfire, and you're helpless to stop it. You've made peace with it; learned to capitalize off of it, even. But Stolas is too precious to lose, and so he's too precious to be loved by you. 

You don't love Stolas because that's the only way you can be sure you will never lose him. Because how can you lose someone you've never truly had in the first place?

You press your fisted hands to your eyes, fighting back tears. You don't love Stolas. You don't love Stolas because you're too damaged to be loved back. Because every time Stolas looks your way, you can't return the look, your gaze darting to the ground, begging it to swallow you and spare the world from your sad, sorry presence. You don't love Stolas because, when you're with him, you just feel inadequate—broken— wrong . A shell that pretends to be empty, but that is full of all this pain it can't contain, a spiralling hurricane of grief and loneliness and self-loathing that's constantly threatening to burst, to spill, to hurt, to burn.

You don't love Stolas because you can't. Not again. The mere notion makes you cower. To open your heart up to someone like that again, knowing the pain that will inevitably follow—it's more than you can bear. It's easier to live just on the edge of something real, to be a shadow, a play of light. It's easier when every single crack in your shell can be brushed off with a joke. It's easier to be the person who doesn't care, who's always right, always loud and obnoxious, always one step ahead, always in control.

No, you don't love Stolas. You don't, because the Blitzo who was strong enough to love died a long time ago, and you, Blitzø, can't go through that again. 

You're not strong enough to face what loving Stolas might do to you. 

You can't love him. 

You can't love him. You can't. 

And yet. 

And yet, despite it all… 

You unlock your phone once more, and there it is again. Staring back at you, bright as day, the evidence too clear to deny.

You...

Oh, Satan.

You love him. 

[hunnidmilly]

crushin’ on you. |s.s|

(a/n) omg. im kinda nervous here. i wanted to try my luck at writing for solo sikoa. aye it’s wild asl when the whole damn family fine asl. im also cooking up something for jey usoooo :))). this is also inspired by @msbigredmachine ‘I still heart you’ oneshot featuring solo and nadine. complete credit to you <3. enjoy.

“it’s cool, not tryin’ to put the rush on you. i had to let you know that i got a crush on you…”

warnings: none.

parings: fluff!solo sikoa x black!reader

tagged: @cyberdejos2

“Shit!” You let out a painful groan as you almost twisted your ankle while wearing your 6 inch heels.

“You’re so damn childish.” Your best friend, Leilani, mumbled with a roll of her eyes trailing behind you as you rushed towards catering, “You a little too old for this shit, no?”

“Instead of running your motormouth, you need to be making sure he’s not near me.” You pant, nearly out of breath from your speed walking.

“Bitch, we just speedwalked all the way to the other side of the damn building away from him! He can’t fucking teleport, dammit.” Leilani responds pulling out a chair to sit down lowering her head to the table, “Why won’t you jus—“

“You think he saw me? What if he thinks I’m crazy? All he did was wave. Fuck man. Fuck!” You whine as you throw your head into your hands in embarrassment

“I hope the motherfucker does, then you can stop running away like a 6 year old child.”

“Your mother.” You mumbled out

Currently, you found yourself in a sticky situation. You were always told before you got into this business, “Don’t fall in love with your coworkers.” And here you were. Head over heels for a certain younger Samoan. Solo was practically your husband in your head at this point. You've had a crush on him since meeting him in developmental. With a handful of conversations, hanging out with your friend group, and even going out to eat, how could you not develop even the slightest of feelings for him?

While many saw him as the silent enforcer to his older cousin, Roman, he often showed you a different side when you were alone with him. When you allowed yourself to be. You could barely contain yourself around him. If it’s from falling over the damn air, to stuttering over your words, or saying the most random shit ever…you were crushin’ on him. and you had it bad.

Safe to say, you spent your nights in your hotel room with only a box of your favorite 10 piece hot wing combo, lurking on his socials, and his friends and family’s socials from a separate account than your company one.

You found it easier to just avoid him all together, to keep your little schoolgirl feelings safe. You’ve had way too many experiences of admitting your feelings for others and it went completely left. Rejection is a part of life, but that doesn’t mean it doesn't hurt. And a man like him? coming from one of the biggest wrestling families? You were nowhere near comparable. Deciding to save yourself from the embarrassment, you’d admire the Samoan from a distance…all while creating it.

Leilani and you were walking down a hall when you spotted him talking to his brother. He through a wave in your direction with a dazzling smile, expecting you to return it. Yeah, you didn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You pretend as if you didn’t see him. And spun on your heel and speed walked down the opposite direction you were intending.

Even though Solo clearly saw you, see him, see you, see him.

“Stupid, you do know you’re 31 years old, right? Not 13. Just tell him you like him. What’s the worst he can do?” Leilani explains with a agitated expression coating her face

“He could say, ‘Hey, I’m not interested.’ and there goes my fuckin

dignity. Right down the drain.” You answer

“Then onto the next, girl! He’s not the only guy you’re ever going to like. He’s not the only guy who’ll rejec—“

“Reject me. I know. Save the speech, Joel Olsten. I don’t need the embarrassment that comes from that. We work together, Lei. Do you understand how awkward that would be?” You screech out slamming your hands in the table

“You knew it was going to be awkward when you started liking him. You and him have gone out before. You’re literally friends.”

“We’re friends through friends, Lei. It’s different. We’ve never gone out alone. It’s always been with other people. But he’s not the ‘enforcer’ around me. He’s just Joseph.” You sighed, beginning to feel sorry for yourself.

Leilani was right. You were a grown woman. He’s not the only guy in the world. But somehow, in front of other people, he always had a way of doing so.

One time you went out bowling with your friends a few months back, and he opened the door for you, placing his hand on your lower back, letting you enter the building before him. That entire night, he paid more than enough attention to you. Asking you about your life outside of wrestling, laughing at your jokes, and poking fun at your lack of ability to bowl. He even ordered your food for you. He ended that night by giving you a small hug.

You could still smell his cologne if you closed your eyes tightly enough.

But what if you were reading into this all wrong? He could’ve done that as a way to show he was sincerely interested in being your friend.

Late at night you always dreamed, he was crushin’ just as hard on you as you were to him. But he’s a grown man too. He would’ve said something by now if he was genuinely interested. Right?

Right?

“You need to put on your granny panties and go up to him and ask him to hang out. Bitch, you’re old. Get your ass up. Oop, just in time.” Lei suddenly smirks, her eyes moving past your head

You furrowed your eyebrows and turned in your chair to see Solo entering the catering area, his face in his phone. You admittedly felt yourself begin to shake and start to sweat. Your chest getting heavy.

“Girl, get the fuck up. You know what, actually. Solo!” Lei suddenly shouts getting his attention

“What the fuck are you doing?” You snap into her direction

“I’m deflowering your pussy ass. Either take the chance, or shut up! Hey, Solo!”

You turned around to see him making his way to your table with a smile on his face. ‘I’m going to bitch slap her so hard’ you thought in your head, glaring at Leilani.

“Wassup y’all?” Solo says as he sits in a metal chair next to you

“Hey! We’re just talking about this one’s match tonight. I was just saying we need new gear. Here, let me sho—Dammit. My phone died. I’m gonna go get my iPad; I'll be back in a jiffy.”

Your eyes nearly popped from your skull at Leilani’s words, “I’ll be back, you two. Don’t go anywhere, yeah?” She snickers at the inside joke before standing up and walking off

You bit down on your tongue as you watched her saunter off, down the hallway of the arena. opposite of her locker room, where her iPad would be.

little lying ass bitch.

“So y’all thinking about new gear? Whatchall’ thinking about?” Solo asks, moving his arm to lay against the back of your chair.

Fuck me now, “Um…y-yeah. We are. Y’know? We needa stay up to par as tag team champions.” You stutter, silently curing yourself in your head.

“Hell yea! Yall have been killing it lately out there. I remember in developmental, you’d always say how one day you were going to dominate the women's tag team division. If only little you could see yourself right now. Right?” He grins showing his teeth

He remembered that? That was a while ago.

“Yeah. She’d probably be shitting herself.” Fuck.

He chuckles to himself before facing you again, “You guys ready for backlash? I see Natalya is gearing up. Ion know. You might got some serious competition there, baby girl.”

Was that a pet name? Why’d he call you that? Where did he get that? How many other girls does he call that?

“W-w-well she better bring her ass then to be geared the fuck down!” You respond, slightly cursing yourself.

Solo laughs at your bashfulness and you grab a mini water bottle from the center of the table. You quickly opened it and attempted to drown it in its entirety before you began coughing.

Who swallows water the wrong way? Seriously?

“Yo! Yo! You good?” Solo perches upwards with a concern look on his face actively patting your back

Does it look like i’m fucking good? What do you think?

“Y-yeah!” You cough out still hacking your lungs

“Lemme getchu som—Hey, wait a minute.“ Solo's words were cut off as you waved your hand off and stood up to leave. Still coughing, you walked toward the exit with a frown on your face.

Once again, you fucked it up and embarrassed yourself. This time by choking on your water.

“Hey, wait. It’s oka—“ Solo's words were cut off once again as you leaned too close to the door, yanking it open resulting in hitting your head with it.

Before anyone else could see your multiple fuckups, you quickly exited the catering area. You walked as fast as you could to your locker room, clutching your head. You felt the tears in your eyes begin to form at your embarrassment. You felt sorry for yourself. A 31 year old grown ass woman, couldn’t admit to a dude that you were feeling him. The shit was pitiful to say the least.

You clutched your jacket closer to your body as you waited for your Uber Eats delivery to arrive. After a long night, you made the ‘expected’ decision to just head back to the hotel for the night. Avoiding Solo for the duration of the show. Wherever you spotted him, you made sure you weren’t. or at least well hidden. You lowered your gaze down to your phone, eyeing the unread message from Leilani.

Lei: Soooooo. You 2 lovebirds bond?

You didn’t have it in your heart to tell her the truth. Once again, you messed up. If he didn’t think you were weird before, he certainly does now.

Shaming yourself for wearing shorts, while it was chilly outside, you saw the car of your Uber Eats driver pull up. You stayed near the hotel entrance and prepared to greet him to receive your order. As the man gets out with a bag, from the corner of your eye, you couldn’t help but notice Solo beginning to walk towards you, his suitcase in tow. You quickly retrieved your bag, and headed back inside.

Not again. No, never again.

Just as you pressed the elevator button, you heard the creaking of wheels.

“Wassup?” He greets with a smile

“Hey.” You smile back up at the man

Solo's face gains a confused look. You were being short with him. while he knew you were shy. You at least attempted more of a conversation with him.

As the elevator opened, you both entered. You kept your head hung low, as you both waited to reach the floor. When the doors opened, you stepped out and quickly walked towards your room door, accepting your defeat.

“Hey, wait a second.” Solo starts, following behind you.

You were prepared to keep the conversation short and simple. Do not allow yourself to be swept away into another series of painful and embarrassing events.

“Why are you always so…different? Around me. I see you with everyone else. Leilani. The other ladies and guys. You’re yourself. But when it comes to me? You’re different. Wassup? Did I do something?”

You let out a breath as you stared up at the man. You had one shot. And here it was, right here. He was right. You weren’t normally the shy type. But dammit, you could barely form a sentence near him. Leilani was right. There were more fish in the sea. Even if this was the fish you wanted.

“Solo listen. I…I have feelings for you. Bad. I try to save my own feelings by pushing them to the side, but instead I end up looking like a fucking dumbass, every-single-time. I know what you’re going to say. And it’s cool. I’m not tryna put the rush on you. So just sav—“

You were ready to continue your ramble. Ready to explain and accept your rejection. You felt yourself being pressed against the door of your hotel room as Solo's lips combined with yours.

You dropped your bag of food onto the ground, and your arms slid around his neck. You felt yourself moan into his mouth as his tongue snaked into yours, welcoming. His arms slid around your waist, pressing your body against his. As you both tasted each other and fought for dominance, you thought back to what Leilani said. Ole ass was right.

You pulled away from Solo, keeping your arms locked around his neck. “And what if I said I was feeling you too? Then what?” He responded

“I’d be speechless.”

“Good. Save yourself from saying something crazy again.” He chuckles before diving in again for another taste of your lips against his.

[misc-obeyme]

for the event thingy.. barbie x (your mc or just generic mc depending on what youre comfortable with) !!! authors choice but i do have a very strong preference towards hurt/comfort

🐈‍⬛

Hello there, 🐈‍⬛ anon!

I apologize for the wait on this. I went back and forth for a bit. I couldn't decide if I wanted to actually use my MC or not... but then I had ideas for a general MC, so I ended up doing that lol. However, I admit that I've never written anything involving Ciaran headcanon style. Maybe I should? I've also never posted any writing featuring Ciaran on this blog. I dunno, if people want to see it, maybe I will. They do have their whole own story. ANYWAY, I quite liked writing this one but as usual I am Barb biased lol and I went with hurt/comfort!

Thanks for participating!

COZY COMFORTS EVENT

GN!MC x Barbatos

Warnings: none

There was a time long ago when Barbatos let himself be unrestrained. It was a path that led only to heartache, so he closed himself off. By the time you arrive in his life, he is used to being in the background. He's used to helping, to supporting, to observing, never stepping into the spotlight himself or only at the request of others. You fascinate him, just like you fascinate every demon you seem to come across, but he's content to watch you from afar. He will indulge himself with tea party invitations and learning your favorite foods, but always he keeps that distance between you.

Sometimes Barbatos wonders what would happen if he was more proactive in his feelings for you. At night, when the world is sleeping, he thinks about having you there in his arms. He thinks about how full his heart would feel with you there, snugly pressed against him, slow sleeping breaths and a soft heartbeat. It's painful when he snaps back to his reality - his empty room, alone without you. It's at these times that he considers things like a confession or simply a way to indicate to you that his feelings extend beyond friendship.

Barbatos always shuts that down come morning. When he's bustling about the castle, working to look after the Young Master, preparing for another day at RAD, fulfilling all of his butler duties, it's easier to push all those thoughts and feelings aside. He can focus on who he knows he is, who he chose to be, holding it all in so he can be the very best at his job. There's too much for him to do and he finds he doesn't have time to worry about such silly things as feelings. And anyway, he's always been happy with helping you from a distance. He still gets to see you, to watch you flourish, to spend some time with you. It's more than enough.

But it isn't. And he knows it. And he doesn't admit that to himself until he starts to notice some little things. They don't pass him by, not for a second, because he notices everything about you. That's why he sees it the instant there's something new in your eyes when you look at him. He hears the change in your voice when you speak his name - it's become softer, more profound. These are subtle things and he watches them for a time before you make some bolder choices.

One day you show up at the castle unexpectedly with some tea for him. The little Ds usher you into the kitchen where you blush and stammer your way through presenting him with your gift. He smiles at you and accepts it graciously. He's about to offer to make some for you, but you run away like a startled deer - to nervous to stay with him anymore. His reaction to this episode is complicated. He had noticed your change, but this…

Barbatos agonizes over what to do next. He never once suspected, in all those lonely nights of longing for you, that you might end up returning his feelings. But he can't deny it now. The sweet blush on your face, the way you couldn't meet his eyes, and when you practically sprinted out of the kitchen, it was all too much for him to ignore. He couldn't just pretend he didn't know anymore. And his own heart wouldn't stop thudding whenever he thought of your smile.

In the end, Barbatos chooses to confess to you. Your own nervousness indicates to him that you might not be very likely to confess to him. And now that he knows how you feel, he finds himself unexpectedly impatient. He's spent enough time pining after you, even if you weren't aware of it. He doesn't want you to have to pine for him, not when there is no reason for it. He wants to see you safe and happy in his arms.

It's a simple statement. He loves you with all that he is, MC. He loves you more than he ever thought possible. Please tell him that you feel the same. Please tell him that he interpreted your feelings correctly. Tell him that you'll let him hold you, that you'll let him listen to the beating of your heart. If you say yes, Barbatos will never hold back from you again.

cozy comforts | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[bobacupcake]

Hi, I'm a guy standing by the doors of a convenient store that you frequent. It's 10pm and you're out because your wife needed Sprite and Gatorade because her tummy hurts and you'd do anything to make her life easier. Anyway I'm asking you something.

"Hey excuse me, can I ask you a question?"

You say no but I keep talking because I have a very obvious script in my head and you're messing it up so I ignore you.

" I'm not trying to bother you but I noticed your rims are dirty. I clean rims as a side hustle. It's 3 rims for $15."

" You only offer a three pack?" You say visibly confused.

" Well no I can do all four but that’s $20."

"That isn't a deal then if every rim was already $5 each, you know that right?"

"Uhh umm"

I'm stumbling. No one has ever talked to me this long.

"So do you want your rims cleaned?" I’m hopeful.

" No. it's 10pm and we're at a Dollar General. You don't have water or soap or anything."

"Uhhh ummm I can do it some other ti-"

You cut me off.

"And why don't you clean the entire car? Detail all the outside and maybe the inside? Wouldn't that be a better business model?"

" Uhhh well i-"

you cut me off again

"I have to go inside now."

You make a show of locking your car doors. You walk to the entrance and look back and I've disappeared.

You're at the drink aisle and they’re out of your wife's Gatorade that she likes. She's very picky and only likes the light blue one. They only have yellow one. You opt in for Powerade instead, she doesn't like the blue Powerade one so maybe the red one is the safest choice. She does like fruit juice so why wouldn't she like fruit punch flavor? Oh why didn't you have her write an entire essay on her opinions on sports drinks! You're kicking yourself but you grab the bottle and go to the fridges in the back to get a bottle of Sprite. They changed what the bottle looks like again. It looks like every other bottle. God damn these corporations making everything look palatable to everyone. The green bottle kicked ass. You grab the bottle and double check to make sure it's not Sprite Zero because all the bottles look the same and you've made that mistake before. Your wife pretended it was fine and took a baby sip of the soda in front of you to make you believe that it truly was okay then she put it to the side and never touched it again. You threw the full bottle away two days later when you cleaned the house.

Everything checked out so you head to the cash register, walking slowly to look at all the candy hanging in the aisle. “Maybe I should get some gummy sharks” you think but it's already 10pm and they close at 10:30pm. So it's best you just keep walking and not waste time. The lights flicker above you as you walk. You put your items on the conveyor belt and the cashier asks

"Did you find everything okay?"

What? How? It's the same man from outside but he's wearing different clothes and he's smiling so big it looks like it hurts.

"Um yeah I did thanks." You say as calmly as you can. 

You pay with your card but the machine isn't processing it.

"Push the card in more" he says.

"Okay yeah."

It works and the payment goes through. You walk fast to your car and get in and drive home. You’re shaken. You wish that your home was farther from that place than it was. You realize it's an easily walkable distance to your home. Something I could easily walk and find your car and its dirty rims. You almost run a red light.

You make it home and it feels nice outside. Feels nicer here than it did there? It's only a 3 minute drive apart. How is that possible? You walk inside and give your wife her drinks. It's clear you made the wrong decision by getting the Powerade. But she drinks the sprite. You take off your shoes and put on pajamas. You don't sleep that night. You think about me and my terrible business I'm running.

The next morning you go outside to clean your rims. They are indeed dirty and maybe I had a point when I said they needed to be cleaned. You make your pathetic little soap mixture and sit down to get to work. With soapy rag in hand, you see a little smiley face etched out of the dirt on your driver front rim. You spend too much time scrubbing away the dirt. After an hour, you get up tired and wet and think "maybe that was worth $20"

m;y wife doesnt drink soda

[turtlecleric]

Venty thing set in the bayverse, Raph is mentioned but no turtles show up

CWs: Implied depression and suicidal ideation, hurt no comfort

Hm.

-

Maybe it's because you haven't been sleeping much lately. Actually, it could be that you haven't been doing a very good job of taking your medicine consistently. Yeah, maybe- but you've only missed a few doses. Work is stressful, sure, but that's nothing new.

Whatever the case, it's 5:00 in the afternoon, and you've yet to drag yourself out of bed. Not because you've actually been resting, no, but there's just... something weighing you down. Something holding you here that you can't name or explain very well.

You consider reaching out to one of the guys. They always make you feel better - at least, until you say something stupid and ruin your own mood. But you... you don't really want to be around anyone right now. Especially them. They haven't seen you like this. At least not when it's been this bad. No, better to wait it out, you think. Wait until you can actually make yourself smile. Wait until you can at least act like a normal person.

You feel like you've spent most of your life waiting.

Your phone buzzes shortly. An email, maybe. Or some random app notification. You don't care enough to check.

You feel gross. Maybe a shower would help. But if you're going to shower, then you might as well work out a little first. That's supposed to help, too, or so you've heard. Hasn't yet, but maybe it's the kind of thing you have to do over the course of several months? Or maybe you're just... doing it wrong.

Sometimes it feels like you do everything wrong.

You sigh and roll over, staring at the light filtering into the room through your curtains. For some reason, you wish it was darker outside. This feeling, whatever it is, when it's dark out, it feels... well, not better, exactly, but. Easier? No, that's not right either. More understandable? You don't know. But you wish it was darker all the same.

Surely there's something you can do to feel better. It's been months of this feeling, though, with very little reprieve, despite everything you've done to try and push through it. Trying to keep a positive attitude. Trying to be kinder to yourself. Trying to distract yourself and take steps to avoid isolation when things get dangerous. Trying, trying, trying, that's all you ever do is try. You're tired. Tired of feeling like this, tired of pretending that you're h-

Crying again. You're not sure why you started. You're not sure why you can't stop.

You wonder if Raph ever feels like this. If he ever has days where it feels easier to stay down. Probably not. He's never been one to stay down - not in the time you've known him, at least. He'd probably be able to push through this like it's nothing. He'd probably be disappointed in you for not being able to-

No. You're being overly critical again. Putting sentiments in other people's heads when you've got no evidence that that's what they think. You can't possibly know what Raph would think unless you actually ask him - and that's certainly out of the question.

Still. Maybe you could... text him. It would distract you for a little while, at least, from the gaping maw that is your chest.

You roll over again and reach out, fumbling with your phone. Shaky hands. You should eat.

Maybe later.

You swipe away the notifications that have gathered. Nothing of importance, you note. No one's messaged you. The emails are all spam. Just a bunch of random shit, like you expected.

A voice in the back of your head whispers that if Raphael wanted to talk to you, then he would have messaged you first. You push the thought away, reminding yourself that relationships are a two-way street. And just because someone hasn't reached out doesn't mean they don't want to talk to you at all.

Still. Your thumbs hesitate after opening the text thread you've got with him. You... don't even have anything to say. Not really. There's nothing you feel like talking about, you just- you just want-

You don't know what you want.

You lock your phone and toss it to the side. Maybe you'll message him later.

Or maybe you'll go into the bathroom. And stare at the medicine cabinet for a while.

[reve-writes]

—fallingforyou; gojo satoru.

ʚ gojo satoru x reader | jujutsu kaisen | 1,3k words. ʚ inspired by the 1975's fallingforyou. | satoru is your best friend. he wishes he was more. ʚ friends-to-lovers; there are a couple mentions of gojo being taller than reader; kissing. ʚ a/n —

Satoru is your best friend. He can say the same about you. Sometimes, he grins—that wide, carefree grin that makes you wonder how he does it, because you've gone through hell and back together—and calls you his spouse. Often, you elbow him and tell him he can keep dreaming with an annoyed look.

“What? We're practically married.” He pouts. You go everywhere together. You tell each other everything—almost.

You pat the top of his head. He's taller than you when he stands, but you can reach his messy white hair when he sits next to you like this with his long legs crossed over each other. “You wish.”

“I do.”

You don't respond. His hand touches your leg, just above your knee. You let it stay, linger for a couple seconds too long before you stand up, stretching your back. “We are too young to be married anyway.”

The sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the two of you. “When will we stop being too young then?”

He lies down with his hands on the back of his head, watching you carefully. Patiently waiting for your answer. You huff, leaning over him. He wants to close his eyes. Maybe — just maybe — you'll kiss him. His eyes slam shut when your fingers flick his forehead. Satoru lets out a loud yelp, instinctively rubbing the reddening spot.

“I think you have other things to worry about, Mr. Six Eyes,” you tease.

He doesn't press further, even though he always pushes matters further than they need to go, but not this one. Not when it can truly become a rejection—your rejection of him.

“I have nothing to worry about. I don't know what you mean.”

He says it lightly, with his usual cheerful persona. Sometimes you want to hug him and tell him it's okay, it's going to be okay, but you don't. You let the person who absolutely cares so much about everything pretend he doesn't because it's easier for him.

“I expect no less from you nitwit.”

He gasps, pressing a hand over his chest. “That hurts. I can't believe you. How could you?”

“Shut up, Satoru.” You roll your eyes, but your lips quirk up to form a small smile. “Come on, we've got to head back for dinner.”

You put your hands over his and tug with your whole strength. He slightly tugs back, relishing in the warmth of your palms clutched over his.

“Let's go,” you whine.

Satoru chuckles, finally relenting as he stands. He lets the touch of your hands linger for as long as you let it. Then, he raises his hand to rub the top of your head. “Okay, you baby.”

Satoru is your best friend. He cannot say no when you pout at him, with big puppy-like eyes, begging him to teach you how to ride a bike. You're frankly embarrassed that you have no idea how to do it even after you've graduated high school.

“You're doing great,” he compliments you. You roll your eyes, knowing full well that his hands are holding the back of your seat to keep your bike steady as you slowly pedal around the parking lot near his house. “You're going to beat me in a race soon.”

“Satoru, stop making fun of me,” you sigh, turning to look at him. Instinctively, as if he's caught red-handed doing something he's not supposed to, Satoru lets go of the backseat of your bike.

Your eyes widen, the bike wobbles and suddenly everything slips out of under you and you're falling to the floor. He catches you before you hit your elbow on the concrete. His other arm is holding your bike up to keep it from coming down on you.

“I'm so sorry,” he says. “That was my bad. Are you okay?”

Your back is facing him and you can feel him pressed against you. His head hovers just above your shoulder, lips beside your ear as he speaks. You have to suppress a shiver up your spine. You've been this close to Satoru before, you don't know why it's different this time.

Satoru calls your name twice, before you blink at him.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, pulling you up from the ground. He gently lets your bicycle fall as he pats you down. “Are you bleeding?”

His eyebrows are scrunched in worry. His back is hunched to look over you since he's taller than you are. He calls your name again and you finally snap out of it.

You laugh nervously. “I'm fine, Toru. Nowhere is hurt. You're acting like my mother.”

Satoru lets out a relieved sigh. “More like your husband.”

There it is again. Your heart does a little flip when he refers to himself as your spouse, because he's your best friend for god's sake.

“Come on, enough bike riding lessons for the day,” Satoru cuts in, not letting the teasing hang in the air for long. He sees the way your brow scrunches after he says the word husband. If you're ever going to reject him, it won't be today. “We can get some ice cream. My treat.”

Something is definitely in the air because you tilt your head up to look at him and grin. “Lead the way, husband.”

Satoru doesn't know what to do with himself.

You yelp, feeling a tug as Satoru walks past you to go to the bathroom. Your keychain that you hang on your bag is caught in his clothes. He lets out a surprised noise, turning back to look at the snowy white cat charm that he gave you tangled in the threads of his sweater.

“Shit,” he curses, fumbling with it. His long fingers are already pulling at the keychain.

“Let me do it. You're going to ruin your sweater.” You lightly slap his hands away. He lets you.

You step a little closer to ease the tension between the thread and your keychain. Without really paying attention, your feet are suddenly in-between his. His head is hovering over your shoulder and he can smell your shampoo. It makes Satoru dizzy.

“Done!” You say excitedly, pulling the keychain up towards your face to show off to him.

When you look up, his face is too close to yours. You can feel when he exhales on your skin. His eyes are so blue that they were easy to drown in. One of his hands move to grab your wrist, pulling you even closer as he bends down to rest his forehead on your shoulder.

“I can't do this anymore,” he whispers.

Neither can you, but you let him continue. He's trembling slightly when he speaks. If you're going to reject him, it may as well be today. Satoru takes a deep breath before talking.

“I don't want to be your friend,” he says. “I just—”

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, cat-like, and tentatively, he pressed his lips just above your collarbone. You feel his lips move when he speaks.

“I don't want to be just friends anymore.”

You slide your hands up his arms, coming to rest at the back of his head. “Okay, Toru.”

You tug his hair slightly to make him look up. There's a light dust of pink over his cheeks and ears.

“I want you — I want us to be more than friends,” he says again, clarifying. “Let me be your boyfriend.”

You nod.

He blinks emptily. “I'm being serious.”

You hummed. “I want that for us, too. I like you a lot, Satoru.”

With that, he presses his lips onto yours. They're warm and soft. He thinks he's dreaming when your lips move against his. The way you run your finger through his hair is driving him up the wall. His tongue swipes at your lip and you open your mouth slightly wider exploring the taste of him.

You're breathless when Satoru pulls away. It's embarrassing how you lean forward to chase after his lips. He chuckles, craddling your face and brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“Say it again,” he says. “Say that you like me.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss on his nose. “I like you, you goof.”

[ ]

[steveshairychest]

Strawberry Kisses

(For @steddie-week day 2 :] Bittersweet/Angst)

"I can't stay here anymore." The words taste like ash in Eddie's mouth and he takes a swig of the beer they're sharing to wash it down.

Steve doesn't say anything, he just nods and nods and nods and when the tears slip from his eyes and roll down his cheeks, Eddie has to grip the bottle tighter in his hands to stop himself from reaching out, stop himself from comforting Steve and wiping his tears away.

"You don't want me to come with you, do you?" Steve's voice cracks as he finally meets Eddie's eyes, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

It hurts. It hurts so much because it's not what he wants. Eddie wants to take Steve with him and show him the world, but he knows he has to do this for himself. He needs to start over. He feels stuck. He needs to figure out who he is, and he needs to do it on his own.

And Steve knows this. He's seen it in the way Eddie's been stashing money away and slowly cleaning out his room. Seen it in the way he's started drawing away from Steve. He was waiting for it to come, waiting for Eddie to man up and just tell him. And even though he knew it was coming, it still felt like Eddie had reached into his chest and crushed what remained of his already bruised heart.

"I need - " Eddie starts but Steve cuts him off.

"You don't need to explain anything to me. Just tell me when you're going." He tries to smile, tries to pretend that he's happy for Eddie, but the wobble of his bottom lip gives him away.

Eddie sighs and puts the nearly empty beer down beside him; they're sitting on the couch on the front porch of the trailer, their knees pressed close together. He'll miss this. He looks over at Steve, who runs a shaky hand through his hair while breathing out slowly. He'll miss Steve.

"Tomorrow." Eddie says softly.

Steve crumbles. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands to try and muffle his broken sob. Eddie lifts his hand to rub soothing circles on Steve's back but pulls it back at the last minute. He'll just make things worse. He needs Steve to hate him. Needs Steve to yell and scream at him to make leaving easier.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." The broken wails tearing from Steve's lips cause Eddie to bite his lip and swallow back his own sobs. "Steve, I-I'm sorry." When Steve lifts his head and meets Eddie's gaze with his red, puffy eyes, Eddie can't stop the tears anymore. "I'm sorry." He says again because he doesn't know what else to say.

He knows what he's done is awful. He should have told Steve weeks ago when he first decided he was going to leave Hawkins. He should have given Steve time.

Time to forget him. Time for Steve to move on so that when Eddie packed up his van and drove away, he wouldn't be standing in the driveway crying.

They don't talk for a while. They sit in the afternoon sun sniffling and wiping away any remaining tears. They lean heavily against each other; Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder and Eddie's cheek pressed against the top of Steve's head.

"It was fun while it lasted." Steve says quietly, his hands fiddling with the rip in Eddie's jeans.

Eddie laughs softly, new tears pooling in his eyes as the reality that this is over, this is it, hits him. "It was fun, really fun."

"Do you remember when we got kicked out of that diner?" Steve moves in closer to Eddie so that they are pressed as close as possible. It almost feels normal, almost feels like nothing has changed. The way Steve's hand shakes as he pulls at the loose string on Eddie's jeans reminds Eddie that everything has changed. And it's his fault. "You laughed so hard, you spilled both of our milkshakes and then you stole all the paper towels from the bathroom to try and clean it up, but you just spread the mess around."

Eddie laughs, really laughs. The movement jostles Steve and causes him to sit up, there's a small, sad smile on his lips as he says, "I remember we got home afterwards and our clothes were covered in strawberry milkshake and you said you were sorry for ruining our date. But I didn't care because I hadn't laughed that hard in years. I think about that first date every time I eat anything strawberry flavoured."

"And I'll still remember and cherish the memory when you go." The smile Steve gives him is bittersweet, and Eddie can't stop himself anymore. He reaches out and pulls Steve into a soft but desperate kiss that tastes like the salt from their tears and the strawberry milkshake from their first date.

[starsoftheeye]

i keep thinking about my "samcelia relationship of convenience turned real relationship" post because think about it

imagine celia ripley, no stranger to the way the world works, making her way to a goverment job to gather information on whatever messed up shit the magnus institute had going on, and maybe figure out how she got to this universe in the meantime, expecting to keep her head down as to not attract suspicion, just doing her job with the occasional researching of specific files when nobody is looking

when on her first day she meets samama khalid, a wet cat of a man who either has a crush on her or is an extremely nice person, and after an apocalypse the latter is hard to believe now. and at first she feels a little bad, because yeah unrequited love sucks and all, and its not like he isnt a nice guy, but she really doesn't have the time for that right now. so she keeps looking into the magnus institute

until she finds out about his past. and thats when the cogs in her brain start turning. its morally dubious, but most things at the oiar seem to be, and shes not afraid of hurting a few feelings to get what she wants

so celia and sam start going out. he's excited, and she cant stop herself from feeling just a little guilty, but the flirting comes fairly easily to her and she needs any information she can get her hands on, so she pushes it aside. kindness wont help her here. it certainly didnt help the archivist, even more trapped than she is

so she plays the role of the girlfriend. flirtatious comments here and there, enough physical contact to maintain appearances, smiles when he thinks she thinks he isnt looking. pulling all the stops from all the generic romance movies she doesnt remember seeing

and it does prove useful. its helpful to have someone else on her side of things, even if they arent fully aware of it. shes getting more information now, more than she could've on her own, and sams still none the wiser.

it feels nice, to have someone in her corner. she has georgie of course, but she cant talk to her about the statements, and the less she knows, maybe the better. and she plays the part of the sweet office girlfriend well. she comforts and supports when she can, the hands on his shoulders she uses to steer him in certain directions are as gentle as she can keep them while doing what needs to be done. its a little awkward for her at times, but shes definitely been through worse

and it does get easier. sams sweet, and hes difficult not to like. he cares for her, genuinely cares for her, and she cant help but return the favour at times. he makes her smile, even sometimes when he isnt looking, and somehow, even when she is so out of place in this world, she feels less alone with him

she still keeps her hands on his shoulders, never willing to give up the opportunity shes been given, but its different now, and she wonders if when hes given her all the information he can whether she can keep her hands there, no steering or pulling, just gentle touch, and the question of what will become of him when she has all the information he needs becomes a little harder to answer. then one day she kisses him, and she wonders when exactly she stopped pretending

[mctna2019]

Pull me to life

Nights haven't usually been relaxing for you. "you can even sleep standing up easily." Yeon used to say. you laughed, although at night, when she fell asleep, you stared at her in silence and darkness while thousands of thoughts crawled in your brain like worms. Yeon's medicine, her illness, her security, your small savings. worry and fear were consuming you till you wanted to hold your head and scream. suddenly your mind was opening a door to hope. Seon-ho was there. in all the pains, worries and hardships. it didn't matter if he was helping or not or you were wanting that from him, he always was there. you never wanted his father's money to solve your and Yeon's life problems. just the presence of him and his encouragement was enough. you just were grateful for all he did in those hard times to making life easier for you two

That big room was like an ocean that you were sinking into. you never once considered it your own, not any other place in that mansion. except where you and your mother lived before Min-ho's death. that small and shabby room felt safe for you. when your mother's hands would hug you to sleep and you would breathe in her scent and sleep easily. then you had to sleep in Min-ho's grave. maybe Min-ho didn't forgive you for living instead of him. or maybe your mother's sad soul was wandering in that mansion to take the peace of its inhabitants. because that mansion was full of ghosts who wanted peace from your father. there was only one place where you could feel alive. the feeling that you aren't living instead of no one but yourself. there you could laugh freely and not have a heavy weight on your heart. Hwi and Yeon waited for you with big smiles on their face.

You could only go to that point, not more. those walls around him wouldn't let you in. even in that times, it wasn't easy to understand Seon-ho's feelings. it was as if there was always an invisible aura around him that didn't allow you to penetrate. he could walk through it and come to you, but not you. and you wanted to know more. you wanted to find the reason for the sadness hidden behind his eyes. it never occurred to you what exactly brought him to the point of standing in front of you, or indeed you standing in front of him.because in these years, one by one, you destroyed all the walls of your mind, and he was buried under its rubble. now when you pull him out from under the rubble, wounded and half alive, that invisible aura is no longer around him. he's alone, scared and helpless. it doesn't matter how he pretends to hate you and is angry with his eyes or push your hand away. in the end, he's just a lonely boy in the rubble.

Sometimes you want to shout at him and tell him the whole truth you buried in your heart. in the past, it didn't matter how much you lied or pretended that you didn't have a problem, he could only understand from your eyes that you aren't ok. but now he looks at you with indifference and says things that grab your heart and make it harder for you to pretend. all the memories of the distant years pass before your eyes and you continue to paddle in this dirty ocean until maybe one day everything will be better. for Hwi, Yeon and maybe yourself. as your mother willed. as Hwi asked you before the military exam to change the world and he believed in you. so you parted your own way from him for he wouldn't get hurt. because only you knew how dangerous and disgusting this way is. as more blood engulfs you, you survive with happy memories of Hwi and Yeon. it isn't time to give up yet.

There are still many thoughts in your mind at night. you don't worry about Yeon anymore, because she's no longer sick and you aren't so poor. because Yeon isn't here at all. you just miss her. now your whole mind is full of unanswered questions about him. you don't want to think about his death. that he killed himself or was killed by now. You'll not mourn him. not as long as he's alive in your mind. not until he's wounded and alone in the shelter of your mind. not until you find him by yourself. you look for him everywhere. even in that big room where the dust of oblivion is sitting on it. his prison that you just realized after years. so you don't stop and keep looking for him. until you find him and remove the pain of all the past years from his broken heart.

When your hands couldn't touch her cold body, when all your efforts were in vain and when you saw the lonely crane with a broken wing, you decided not to let your father live in peace till you live. this was your mission, not Hwi. he shouldn't get blood on his hands more than this. you'd drown in blood and drag your father down with you too. Hwi has to live, even if he doesn't want to. you're sorry, because of everything he's been through. because of the warm smile that no longer shine in his eyes. you just keep fighting a little longer. when you push away his warm hand with your cold hand, when your heart is empty of all motivation to survive and fight, you'll understand that your existence hasn't benefited anyone. you realize that all these years you have only breathed in vain. and then he's here, with eyes you've never seen before and desperately asking you to keep living.