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ikaroux · 8 months

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How are they with their pregnant partner? Itto, Heizou, Lyney.

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/partner is over the moon. But how would he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Alert: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Itto, Heizou, Lyney.

Note: Wow, it's been so long since I've written NSFW…. I'm a bit rusty.

Then I'll have to do Aether, Neuvillette and Wriothesley, as well as diving back into rewriting the old texts in this series. I'd also like to do Freminet… Let me know if you're interested in other characters.

Since I now have an AO3 account, I decided to rewrite the first versions of this series to post them on it. I hope you'll still enjoy them.

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Part 3 Dottore, Pantalone, Alhaitham.

Part 4 Cyno, Ayato.

Part 5 Tighnari.

Part 6 Capitano, Kaveh + Bonus

"Ah?! A ba-baby!?"

Itto's reaction was surely overblown, yet the expression on his face was undoubtedly to die for. Mouth wide open, he stared at you in shock, taking a long moment before pulling himself together.

Bursting into laughter, he wrapped his muscular arms around you. "Ha ha ha! I've got to tell the Arataki gang! They'll be so happy to know that their leader will soon be a father! No, wait! I'll announce it to all of Inazuma! Let's have a big party! OYE! SHINOBU!" You hit him hard on the head, red with shame.

"I forbid you to tell anyone until you're three months pregnant! Have I made myself clear?!" Your stern tone sent shivers up and down his spine.

"Ah?! Why not now?" You sighed. You may have loved this man with all your being, but he was still exhausting your nerves.

"There's a high risk of miscarriage during this period, which is why I'm asking you not to talk about it... Please. Please." His expression slowly softened as his gaze dipped into yours. Again, he wrapped his arms around you more gently, tenderly kissing your forehead.

"Understood, boss." You smiled, lovingly returning his embrace.

Itto's behavior during the pregnancy was so exemplary that the members of his gang, Shinobu first, wondered if he hadn't suddenly fallen on his face. He even went so far as to find "honest" jobs here and there to buy you maternity clothes and furniture for his future bedroom.

Your husband had the ingenious idea of consulting the high priestess Yae Miko for advice on your pregnancy... Peculiar. Itto knew of no demon in his circle who had fathered a child with a human. His instincts warned him of the risks you could run with a half-demon baby. Miko will make sure you're taken care of by a midwife who knows the oni world.

You felt terribly ill during your pregnancy. From beginning to end, your vomiting and discomfort drove Itto crazy with worry. You could see him running around looking for anything that would make you feel better. If you were vomiting, Itto would stay with you, stroking your back until it passed. If you felt dizzy, he'd lift you into his arms and sit you on his lap, rocking you gently until you felt better.

Often, you could see your companion admiring you with a blissful expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?" you'd ask him every time, knowing perfectly well his answer. You loved hearing him repeat the same passionate, loving words to you. "I just think you're beautiful. I can't take my eyes off you. Héhé." Itto always had this little blush on his face when he admired your rounded belly. Really, pregnancy made him much softer and more considerate than usual.

You didn't like people touching your belly just because you were pregnant. And it took you a long time to accept that Itto would do it without you grumbling. Yet it was his childlike smile and the stars in his eyes that gradually made you accept the situation.

Itto would often talk to his baby, telling him how his day was going or stories about the oni clans. You could only listen, rolling your eyes as he combined words with gestures. Even so, you couldn't resist stroking your companion's imposing hair, smiling tenderly as you watched him.

When your belly is rounded enough to be visible even from several meters away, Itto will make a habit of always kissing it, amused by the baby's kicks that would distort your belly. "HAHAHA this child will be big and strong, just like his father!"

It was quite amusing to see your companion preparing for the birth of your child, taking crash courses with a few women from your village. Shinobu was obviously making sure that his boss used the right gestures to calm a child's cries, change its diapers or properly hold its baby in his arms.

As expected, the delivery was difficult. Giving birth to a half-demon child demanded a strength your human body didn't possess. Blood loss made you wince and Itto thought for a moment he was going to lose you both. But you showed exemplary strength, and the support of your companion, as well as that of the high priestess, enabled you to pass this difficult ordeal. Your baby's cries echoed through the room, and Itto wept loudly, clutching your hand to his cheek. His tremors and muffled sobs made you smile tenderly, as happy as he was that all had ended well.

Itto was speechless as he took his child in his arms for the first time. Was this little crying creature his baby? The one he'd seen growing in your belly? HIS child?! He was so tiny, so cute with his little scarlet horns barely visible on the top of his skull. Not quite knowing how to soothe his crying baby, you showed him the right way to rock him and... Surprisingly, Itto was extremely good at it...

Your tender oni is said to be a very protective and cheerful father. He wants his child to always see the world in a positive light. He'll sometimes be a bit too daredevil with him, earning your wrath. Fortunately for you, Itto will calm down over the years…

NSFW Bonus

"POUAH, I'm exhausted!" Itto dropped onto the bed, arms and legs spread wide as he let his heavy eyes close. "The Arataki gang gave it their all again today. Hehe, at least we're not causing Shinobu any more trouble!" Watching him out of the corner of your eye, you smiled slyly, striding towards him with hushed steps. The oni opened his eyes abruptly when he felt you climb astride his hips, your hands sensually massaging his bare chest. You'd always appreciated the firmness of his muscles, taking pleasure in exploring each of his curves to discover the most sensitive places he hid. Leaning over him, letting your chest, slightly swollen with pregnancy hormones, rest against his, you nibbled his lower lip. His eyes, immediately filling with desire, couldn't tear themselves away from yours. You could quickly feel your lover hardening beneath you.

"Do you still have enough strength left to care for your companion in need?" You mumble erotically in his ear, teasing his nipples with your fingertips. "I want it terribly~" Itto lifts his hips to meet yours, one of his hands positioning itself on your waist to rock you onto your back.

"Do you feel that?" His hand crept under your clothes, passing the band of your underwear to caress your femininity. "Héhé~ you're already soaking wet darling~ Is it being pregnant that puts you in the mood?" Without giving you time to respond to his comment, Itto enters two fingers deep inside you, making you cry out in surprise. He knew perfectly well where all your sensitive points were, pressing slyly on them to make you moan loudly. Your body sought to escape the delicious torture he was inflicting, his fingers aggressively penetrating you. "Don't awaken the beast in me if you don't want to writhe in pleasure under my ministrations." Itto was a completely different man when he had sex with you, his usually jovial face transforming into a darker expression as his desires got the better of him.

Pregnant or not, he was never one to go out of his way. Itto knew he was big, too big for you, and foreplay was always a mandatory step before he could implant his sex inside you. "Look at you, darling, your breasts are so big with pregnancy. I want to lick them terribly!" Itto grabbed one of your breasts between his lips, adding a third finger inside you as his free hand groped his pants to pull out his excruciatingly hard member. It was too much for you, and your back arched beneath him, your hips swaying to the rhythm of his fingers. You were so close, and seeing him caress himself while he fingered you made you come hard on his hand. Itto pulled away slightly you, leaning toward the other nipple he hadn't yet teased. "Not yet... Not until you can take four inside you." Damn, that damned demon!

Itto looked thirstier than you, his eyes glowing scarlet as he watched you cum with four of his fingers inside you, just as he'd promised. Sex with him had always been sport, but now that you were pregnant, everything seemed more intense. When he finally penetrated you, that damned demon took a malicious pleasure in watching you from all his height, holding your legs close to his hips as he pounded you rigorously. His eager eyes darted between your face distorted with pleasure, your swollen breasts bouncing with each of his hip thrusts and your slightly rounded belly.

Itto was a man of stamina, far more than anything you could take. So when you begged him to stop, the oni would comply at once, fear settling in his brain. Had he hurt you? Was the baby all right? None of the above... But you were clearly close to fainting. Itto, aware that he'd been a bit hard on you, will take care of your body, immersing you with him in a warm bath, his big hands massaging your shoulders. He won't be frightened to see you asleep in his arms, so, taking advantage of your sleep, your companion will cuddle you tenderly, one hand resting on your belly, lovingly caressing it.

"I'm going to be a dad? Really?"

You smiled tenderly, taking his trembling hands in yours. Heizou's gaze flickered between your eyes and your belly. A baby? You were pregnant?! His mind blurred as a vision of you with a round belly popped into his head. All of a sudden, the word dad sounded pretty good in his head... Kneeling in front of you, Heizou encircled your thighs with his arms, placing a tender ear close to your belly, a joyful smile on his lips. "I'm going to be a daddy... I'm going to be... Daddy!" Slowly, tears rolled down the cheeks of your companion, who had suddenly gone silent. Your hands were lost in his hair, cradling Heizou against you, feeling his tears stain your clothes. You waited patiently for him to calm down before kneeling down in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your forehead resting against his as a gentle smile stretched your lips. Heizou closed his eyes, resting the palms of his hands on your cheeks, his thumbs lovingly caressing your skin. He breathed in your scent slowly, enjoying it more and more each day.

The two of you remained like this for a long moment, enjoying the tender silence that surrounded you. Images of your future life flashed through your minds. Heizou carrying your child in his arms, his gaze tenderly on him until that tenderness was directed at you...

Heizou was nothing but sweetness and tenderness to you. Even before carrying his child, this man never raised his voice at you or refused to take you in his arms. He loved to cuddle you, take care of you and listen to you. Sometimes, he would take you on his lap and listen to you affectionately talk about your future child, imagining your future life with him. You could sometimes see a dreamy smile stretch your companion's lips, as he imagined, just like you, this wonderful life.

Kazuha was a close friend of yours, so he was one of the first to be informed of your pregnancy. What a surprise when he knocked on your door, a gentle smile on his lips, holding your letter in his bandaged hand. "I've asked Beidou to make a little detour to come and see you. Congratulations, both of you." The two men weren't very tactile compared to you, who didn't hesitate to hug him in thanks. "Hehe, expect the title of Uncle Kazuha! What do you think Heizou? Sounds pretty good, doesn't it?"; "Pretty good indeed." Heizou replied, a warm smile on his lips. To tell the truth, Kazuha didn't mind and, in a way, was happy to know that a family would now be waiting for him back in Inazuma.

Your companion's job was a constant source of anxiety for you. The midwife had gently admonished you for this, reminding you that stress during pregnancy could be bad for you and the child. Heizou, who accompanied you that day, bowed respectfully to her, promising to do all he could to calm your anxieties. Obviously, you were feeling terrible as you left the surgery, crying your eyes out in your companion's arms. Heizou comforted you tenderly, murmuring words filled with love. After this episode, he promised you he wouldn't take any more potentially dangerous commissions for the rest of your pregnancy…

For a few weeks, you'd been practicing cooking for your future baby. Heizou was sort of your test subject, trying to create colorful and cute bento. He enjoyed it every time, looking forward to seeing what you had prepared for him. He loved the little octopuses you made with the sausages, or the animal-shaped onigiri. His favorite was surely the pink onigiri that strongly resembled a fox. He was sure you'd tried to imitate Lady Yae Miko in her yokai form.

Heizou was sitting comfortably on your bed, one hand tenderly caressing your scalp while your head rested on his thigh. You could feel his other hand warmly covering your six-month-old belly, occasionally enjoying the little kicks his child gave through you. Heizou's fingers had always had this magical effect on you, weighing down your eyelids as sleep slowly invaded. Heizou was happy to have you in his arms, confident and at peace, pampering and cherishing you. Your breathing was a soothing sound to his ears and the movements of his child against his hand, an affectionate warmth he loved to feel.

"Heizou, promise me you'll stay with me through the birth! The closer the fateful date gets, the more I'm afraid of what's going to happen..." Your companion took you in his arms, gently caressing the small of your back. "I promise I'll be there, from the beginning, until the end." His lips kissed your forehead, moving down your nose until they settled on your lips. "Together... Even if I end up with a crushed hand, I'll stay by your side." You laughed, hitting his arm without force. "Everything will be okay, Y/N... I love you."

Your companion managed your first contractions with impressive composure. He quickly took you to the midwife's office, insisting on staying by your side all the way, as he had promised. Your companion kept your hand in his, occasionally wiping your forehead with a cool cloth. He encouraged you all the way, worrying about your cries of pain. He knew it could last several hours, and seeing you suffer helplessly gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. Despite the context, he promised himself to remind you later of all the curses you'd shouted against him and the gods, while your mind was clouded with pain. He would surely have laughed if he hadn't seen the tears rolling down your cheeks…

Heizou remained silent for a long time, as he gazed with tear-filled eyes at his infant, comfortably ensconced in the crook of his arms. Sitting cautiously by your side, he finally dared to explore his child's chubby face, tenderly brushing his cheeks, nose and little lips. Curious, he placed a finger in the hollow of his palm, his little hand automatically tightening around it. Heizou let his tears flow, leaning gently towards his baby to kiss the top of his head, then towards you, lovingly claiming your lips.

Heizou will be a very warm and instructive father. He wants his child to be able to learn all sorts of things for himself, encouraging his curiosity and intellect. He will never be too hard or too strict with him, preferring to explain things several times rather than let him give up. He doesn't expect his child to follow in his footsteps, but he'll still be happy when he tells him he wants to become a great detective, just like him.

NSFW bonus:

You were naked, leaning over the bathtub to check that the water temperature wasn't too hot, completely oblivious to the olive eyes staring back at you with a brilliant gleam of desire. Heizou approached you, like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. His hand rested on your belly as his bare chest pressed against your back. You shivered as his teeth nibbled your earlobe. "You really are gorgeous..." He murmured sensually as his hands worshipped every inch of your skin.

"Hei-Heizou, you really are insatiable! We've already made love today! Twice!" You growl without any real motivation, your lover's hands slowly kneading your chest. You hear him giggle against your ear, pressing his hips against your buttocks.

"Is that a problem? I can easily guess you want this as much as I do..." That man and his damned intuitions! You quickly gave up the fight as Heizou sensually lowered one of his hands between your thighs, teasing your femininity with his fingers. "You're so wet already~ Is it pregnancy that's got you all worked up?" Heizou pinched your nipple as one finger penetrated you with ease, making you squeal against him.

"Stop teasing me for a moment! I need you..." You begged, your fingers encircling Heizou's wrist. Your companion breathed an amused laugh, withdrawing his hand from you to guide you to the bathtub. He didn't need to fight your desires, because after all... He wanted the same thing you did.

Heizou kissed you with tender passion, his hands resting on your hips helping to lift you onto his member. And as he pulled away from your lips to better admire you, seeing you gasp, head slightly tilted back and lips parted under the influence of pleasure swelled his heart with pride. He was the one who put you in this state... Singing his name as he touched all your sweet spots... You were so sensitive with pregnancy, it made him dizzy. He couldn't help it, he needed to see your flushed face, hear your moans of pleasure. Heizou had always enjoyed sex with you, but pregnancy made you so needy that he lost control…

It was so good to feel your hands in his hair, your body pressed against his with only your hips swaying on his shaft. Heizou loved breathing in your perfume, tasting your skin, having your little round belly against his stomach and your voice so close to his ear... Unable to take it any longer, Heizou helped you speed up the pace of your back-and-forth, making you cry out his name. He wanted to feel you cum, to have your walls tight around him. Heizou licked hungrily at your neck, grunting against you as he savored the tension rising in your abdomen, indicating that you were nearing your climax. And when, at last, you freed yourself from that merciless knot, squeezing his member in sweet, pleasurable torture, Heizou released into you. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as his hand tenderly caressed your back, murmuring soft words against your neck, feverish kisses wetting your skin.

Heizou will help you wash, towel and dress, taking you back to your room to rest... Until the next round.

"I'd really like to start a family with you, Y/N."

That's what he'd said to you one night, as he cuddled you in bed after a session of passionate lovemaking. How could you refuse him? You felt ready, and so did he.

A month later, when you were suffering from persistent vomiting and exhaustion, Lyney decided to take you to see a doctor as a matter of urgency. How could he not be concerned, seeing you in this state for over a week? And why didn't Lynette seem more concerned about your condition? He didn't have time to ask himself these questions. Your health was all that mattered to him...

"Congratulations, you're pregnant." declared the doctor with a big smile. Lyney, sitting beside you, remained silent, his eyes wide with surprise, unlike yours, which had a smile stretching to your ears.

As you left the practice, you walked quietly through the streets of Fontaine, Lyney at your side. He hadn't said a word since you left the office... And that began to worry you. Did he regret it? "Lyney... ?" Whereas up until now, your gazes had fled each other, you put aside the fear knotting your stomach to confront him... And then, as you turned to face him, you saw them... His tears streaming down his cheeks... "Lyney! Why are you crying?! Don't... Don't you want this child?" Suddenly he took you in his arms, embracing you warmly as his face hid in the hollow of your shoulder. "Y/N... I promise I'll do anything to make sure our child has a wonderful life! I swear it! I'll take good care of him. Both of you. You'll never want for anything! *snif *. Thank you, Y/N. I love you, mon amour. I love you so much." It was your turn to cry, the pressure knotting your stomach disappearing with his words. Your arms wrapped around his neck. Yes, you were going to build your own home. A home filled with joy and happiness...

Lyney would be surprised to see you so clingy with him. To tell the truth, it was usually his job to be clingy. You didn't want him to leave your side or take his hand away from your skin... Pregnancy made you very emotional, and only Lyney's smell, his presence, his warmth comforted you... He never complained, and to tell you the truth, he loved it. Receiving free hugs or feeling you curl up around him like a koala when you slept always made him smile stupidly.

He'd obviously let Lynette and Freminet know, although both seemed to have already guessed your condition... He was happy to see his family accept your pregnancy with such joy. His sister and little brother were very close to you and, like Lyney before them, promised to do everything in their power to make their nephew's/niece's life a wonderful dream.

Lyney would bend over backwards to meet your needs. Pregnancy made you very greedy and your desires were sometimes... Wacky. Why were you suddenly craving a bowl of soba, a dish that was only served at Inazuma? No matter! He would learn to cook it to please you...

When you became pregnant, you and Lyney were just engaged. Seeing that your belly was getting rounder, Lyney thought you'd look gorgeous in a wedding dress. And he wasn't wrong... On your wedding day, when he first saw you in it, the harmonious curves of your belly making you even more sublime, he froze in front of your beauty. You were beautiful, as bright as the sun, as soft as spring, as gorgeous as the rainbow rose. He could hardly believe that this incredible being would not only be his wife, but also the mother of his child.

"Lyney!" Your husband gasped as he heard your angry voice calling his name. Your mood swings had been quite hazardous since your pregnancy, and your husband's slightest misstep sent you into a tizzy. "I told you not to leave your magic accessories lying around the apartment! I'm not asking you for heaven!" Lyney was quick to apologize, immediately putting his things away. After that, he always knew how to make amends, kissing every part of your face, massaging every sore spot on your shoulders, whispering words of love to you.

He loved to make you sit between his legs, tenderly caressing your belly to feel his child against his palms. He loved having you against him, your hands resting tenderly on his to guide him to the places where you felt the baby move. The first time he felt it, he marveled as children do at his magic tricks. He wondered if he knew that the hands on his mother's belly were those of his father, or if he recognized his voice... And you were sure he did, because every time Lyney spoke to him to tell stories, your baby seemed to react, bubbling in your belly. "Hey, mon petit ange, do you know how Daddy managed to seduce Mommy? No ? Then let me tell you a story~... It all started with a rainbow rose..."

Since you were pregnant, you had learned to knit. Lyney was silently raving behind the back of the sofa where you were sitting, humming a few nursery rhymes while you finished your work. Leaning back on the backrest, his chin resting on his arms, Lyney admired you with loving eyes, listening to the sound of your voice while you remained oblivious to his gaze, too focused on the little socks you were lovingly knitting. At that very moment, Lyney felt blessed by the gods... You were a true blessing in his life.

At times, Lyney was filled with doubt. His childhood had been miserable, he had never known the love of a parent, only the cruelty of Men. The hearth had given him and his sister a home and a family, but even so, Lyney hadn't had a childhood. Would he really be able to give his baby a happy childhood? Would he be able to preserve his innocence? He had promised himself to be strong, as a husband, but also as a father. He often discussed this with you, exposing his darkest fears. You were his light, always finding the right words to illuminate his darkest thoughts.

You were nearing the end of your pregnancy, and the contractions were becoming more and more present. Lyney, tormented by your suffering, stayed by your side, keeping you upright and helping you breathe deeply to ease the pain. As soon as the contractions subsided, Lyney took the time to help you sit up, then took care of your belongings. You were close to delivery and it was out of the question for you to take care of anything while he was around. The midwife was already aware of your close contractions thanks to Lynette, and Freminet kept an eye on you, occasionally refreshing your sweaty forehead. As soon as he was ready, Lyney called a carriage to take you quickly to the Fontaine maternity hospital. It had, quite literally, become a family affair...

Although the birth lasted only four short hours, Lyney was heartbroken to hear your cries of pain. The pain on your face made him lose his mind, and even though your hand was crushing his, he paid it no mind - after all, his pain was nothing compared to yours. All he wanted to do was encourage you and pray for the best... He was scared... Although Fontaine's technology ensured that pregnant women were well cared for, tragedies could still happen. Finally, when he heard the baby's first cries echoing through the room, he allowed himself to breathe. Crying his eyes out, he kissed your forehead several times, hoping to convey all the love he felt for you. "Bravo mon amour, you did it. You've done it. I'm proud of you..."

The first time Lyney saw his baby in your arms, his eyes would fill with tears, bellowing how beautiful he was and how much he looked like you... Almost hesitating to take his baby in his arms, Lyney trembled as he became aware of the reality of this being so small, so fragile... His child. Stars shone in Lyney's amethyst eyes as a happy smile stretched his lips. Gently, he placed a kiss on his baby's forehead, promising that he would always be by his side and do everything in his power to protect him.

Lyney will be an exceptional father. He will look after his child with care and tenderness, using his magic tricks to make his child's eyes shine with joy. As he promised, Lyney will do everything to make your life beautiful. He was a loving, caring, funny and magical father and husband...

Bonus NSFW:

You heard the sound of a door closing, indicating that Lyney had just returned from his magic show at the opera. Abandoning everything you were doing, you rushed to the entrance to find him... No one. The living room perhaps? You quickly made your way there, finding your companion slumped in the armchair, admiring with a gentle smile the stuffed animal he held over his face. You had knitted it for your baby, modeling it on the amethyst-eyed cat he camouflaged in his top hat... Gently, you approached Lyney, gazing at his beautiful, moonlit features. When he finally noticed you, his face lit up as he lovingly whispered your name. His hand reached out to you, inviting you to sit on his lap. Your heart palpitated, happy to accept his attention. Maybe it was because you hadn't seen him all day, or maybe pregnancy and its hormones were making you feel unbearably lonely. Whatever the case, this sense of urgency led you to him at a run, your fingers curling tenderly around his.

"I've missed you, mon amour." Lyney helped you settle astride him, wrapping his arms around your waist. The warmth he radiated as he pulled you firmly back against his chest made you want more....

"I missed you too..." You whispered back to him, eager for his attention, wanting more than just a hug. You felt insatiable, on the brink. It had been weeks since you'd been thrilled by him, though the look in his eyes made it clear he wanted to claim you... Was it your belly that was stopping him? Had he built a wall between you and himself to prevent him from giving in to his deep-seated desires? Yet when he saw the need in your eyes, Lyney languorously moved one of his hands up to your hair, tracing a slow line down your back to your neck before following the path of your jaw. Once he reached your hair, he gently grabbed a tuft, bringing your face close to his, your lips brushing lightly against his. Aaaah~ You could already feel him hard against your groin…

"Y/N, if you look at me with those eyes.... I don't know if I could hold it in... But I don't know if it's wise for me to make love to you in your state, ma chérie... Tell me to stop if you don't want it to get out of hand..."

Grabbing his shirt, you closed the distance between you and his lips, kissing him with need, your hips pressing a little harder against his erection. You needed him as much as he needed you... Now!

"I asked the midwife about it... She said it was safe..." You murmur against his lips before diving back into your kiss. That man was so weak under you...

Lyney took the time to prepare you with his fingers, encouraging your hips that moved sensuously to the rhythm of his hand working you languorously. Your companion always went slowly with his foreplay, starting first with teasing caresses on your clitoris before inserting a finger then two between your walls. His thumb, which was not devoid of agility, massaged your swollen nerve, almost making you moan loudly into his neck. Lyney was never silent during your intercourse, even when he wasn't yet sheathed inside you, he felt a torturous pleasure just by hearing the sounds you produced under his ministrations... Your belly had taken on a few curves with the pregnancy, and Lyney took a malicious pleasure in caressing it with his free hand, whispering words of love to you.

"Y/N~ Seigneur... I love you, ma chérie. I love you both... When I think that you- Hm! - carrying my child... It drives me crazy! I don't know why- Ahh~ - it puts me in such a state!" His hips crushed your heart as he withdrew his fingers to unbutton his pants, freeing his painfully hard, engorged member. "If you weren't already pregnant, I'd make sure you were tonight!"

"Ly-Lyney!" You cried out in pleasure as he began to penetrate you inch by inch, making you tremble on top of him. It felt so good it made you dizzy.... Lyney clung to you, rocking your hips with his hands to help him reach the bottom. You were so tight around him that he was sometimes forced to stop to help you relax.

"Relax mon amour... I don't want to hurt you... Ah! You're tight!" When he finally reached the bottom, Lyney stroked your back limply, his face buried in the hollow of your neck. You were both panting, drenched in sweat and trembling. The clothes still on you were becoming suffocating and you had to pull away from him to get rid of your top and bra. As you did so, your eyes never left Lyney's, who mimicked your actions, throwing his own clothes away before pulling your face towards him. His tongue forced your lips open, tangling with need around yours. It was a sloppy kiss, fueled by the desire you had for each other. This simple fact made your lover far more needy, his member trembling inside you. No longer having the patience to wait, you slowly lifted your hips, leaving only the tip of his sex inside you, before moving back down to the guard... It was a languorous dance, where your breaths served as music.

Lyney would move slowly, his member touching the deepest, most sensitive parts of your femininity. He'd manage to make you see the stars with so little effort, sometimes changing your position to sit in reverse cowgirl or simply tipping you gently over onto the living room table, legs braced on his shoulders as he sensually pounded you. Your pleas drove him mad, always asking for more... And by the seven, he loved it.

After your escapades, Lyney would make a point of carrying you to bed, cleaning you thoroughly with a warm towel and kisses lost on your skin. You quickly fell asleep under his gentle caresses, giving him the opportunity to whisper words of affection to your belly. His hands tenderly cradled your belly as he rested his head on it, feeling the slight movements of his little one.

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setsugekka · 11 months

Text

❥outsourcing (m)

↳ With monogamy as the assumed, standard relationship model, what happens when a few years down the line, you and your husband come to the understanding that both of you are interested in exploring more?

You call his friend over for dinner and entertainment, of course.

husband!bang chan x fem!reader x bull!lee minho — ethical non-monogamy, explicit sexual content. [5,8k wc] cws: hot wifing/cuckholding!!, dom/sub dynamics (dom!minho), penetrative sex (unprotected), oral sex (m), hair pulling, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation, pet names (incl. slut).

Renegotiation of terms.

There are always terms and conditions.

We don’t typically refer to it in such a crass way – the agreed upon conditions of a relationship upon entering it. The expectations and boundaries each individual may have for the other. Typically, most things that would constitute the terms and conditions are assumed upon entry.

Monogamy is assumed. The standard. This is the baseline, unless otherwise stated. The end all, be all of a relationships' foundation, in many cases. Do you want to fuck other people, or not?

Sometimes, when entering a new relationship, we agree to terms that at the time we are happy with. Of course I don’t want to be with anyone else, I love you, why would I? You’re all I could ever need.

The concept of one person providing any and everything you could possibly ever need. Such a socially common set up for failure. An impossible task we ask of partners without even truly stating it. Be everything at all times for me, and I will be the same for you. The idea that seeking anything outside of a partner is bad – when that is precisely what friends, family, colleagues all provide, without the logical connection being made.

Is one person ever truly enough? Is it logical to even believe in such a fairy tale?

The truth of the matter, is that you are not enough. There is comfort, serenity, freedom upon accepting this as the case. We are only human, after all. Being human is okay.

“Do you ever think about it?”

You watch the back of Chan’s head from your seated position at the dining room table – you watch his arms still only briefly from the chopping motion of him working into the onions on the counter before he turns slowly to look behind him – at you, and his brows furrow in confusion. “Think about…what?”

The innocuous conversation about your time together as a couple – now married – had started simply enough, discussing the past and present and all of your little journeys together in between, sexual and not – but naturally, as the hours wore on, the sexual nature had begun looming more and more in the foreground of the talk.

Besides, you had been thinking about it for months, now. How to bring it up. If you even should. Suppose now was as good a time as ever.

It was difficult sneaking it in there, between some recollection of dirty talking and fantasy discussion. He was the one that had brought it up to begin with, after all. He put the thought in your head. Nothing you were too keen on in particular at the time – three or so years back, and in the middle of sex – but the idea stuck with you, creeping back in with more and more frequency. He brought it up. He mentioned it. It was his idea.

But did he even remember?

Bringing an elbow up to the table and placing your chin in your palm, you grin towards him. Your husband. Love of your life. It wasn’t as if you wanted to replace him, after all. He was perfect, amazing, wonderful, and the sex was, too. It wasn’t about any of that.

You weren’t really sure what it was about. Curiosity? Taboo? A sort of itch unable to be scratched, but also lingering without cause. The truth was this: you had perfectly fine dick at home, so why were you wanting more?

He brought it up.

“Remember that anniversary night that we got pretty drunk, you said that thing,” you begin, taking the utmost care in how you traverse your words. “About…someone else?”

It always was cute, the way you could watch Chan’s ears redden in real time.

“Were you serious?”

Chan sets the knife down and turns slowly, leaning the small of his back up against the counter edge as if in need of the support for the conversation that is about to take place. Chewing on the inside of his mouth as if just as carefully attempting to choose his words, he silences for far too long for your own liking, before finally allowing a response from himself.

“Do you want that?”

“Don’t answer my question with another question!” you whine, jokingly throwing a hand towel in his direction and only for it to fall flat on the floor in front of him. He flinches regardless and smiles.

“Fine,” he says, before making his way to sit across from you at the table. “Then we need to like…talk about this.”

Chan reaches forward and takes your free hand into one of his own, gently rubbing his thumb over the top of it and bashfully smiles at you. Ears still bright with shyness, and he pulls his eyes down and away from your own briefly before answering the question.

“For me? Yeah, I mean,” he pauses, once again thinking through his response carefully and in real time. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything but…I think about it, yeah.”

“Do you jerk off to it?”

“Oh come on, really?”

“I feel like that’s the best indicator of how into something you are,” you joke, “if you come to it, then you’re into it. At least, the idea of it.”

Pulling his hand away and sitting back in his chair to cross his arms, playfully huffy at the way the conversation has turned, he rolls his eyes before reluctantly answering. “Yes! Is that what you want me to say? Yes, I have.”

“Okay, good,” you say, reaching forward again with a grabby hand indicating that you wish to receive physical affection from him just as he had been giving prior to the line of questioning. “What is it about it that you…like?”

You can tell that your husband struggles with coming to terms with the conversation taking place. Not from a place of humiliation, or dissatisfaction, but rather that it was one he hadn’t intended on ever having, most likely. A conversation that he had never once played out in his head, or practiced. A passing whim one drunken night, locked away into the back of his mind – only to be indulged between him and his hand – now bare and laid out on the table for questioning. By his wife. In regards to a monogamous marriage.

…Unless?

Chan shifts in his seat and gives his hand back to you, bringing his elbow up to mirror your own posture before responding. “Suppose…something about watching you – would just be incredibly sexy to me. Making eye contact with you while it happens even if I’m not involved.”

And now you’re really taken aback, because the original assumption had been one of a threesome, but now with new information present – you realize the two of you had been on much different pages all along – and the difficulty of not expressing your shock at the revelation holds firm as it paints your facial features. “Not involved?”

But he only smiles in reply, as if the initial timidity had already worn off with the one, single expression of his desires. However, perhaps he had merely passed it to you, now, feeling the tips of your ears heat up at the implications racing through your mind.

Not a threesome. Watching.

“You think about watching another man fuck me?”

Just right out with it, then.

Chan chuckles at the fact that you’ve finally caught up with what’s actually being discussed and squeezes your hand in affirmation. “You know I’ve never been the jealous type, babe.”

“I mean, yeah,” you stumble through your words, “I just figure…most men would at least want to be involved.”

“I would be involved, I’d be there, just wouldn’t be the one fucking you.”

“You’ve really thought about this before?” you ask, suspicious.

“More than you even know.”

Your eyes widen in silent shock at the admission. You learn so much about your husband everyday, suppose today would be no different, would it?

“Besides,” he begins again, “you’re the one that broached this conversation, so obviously you’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Yeah, a threesome, not-”

“Fucking another man, in general. The details are just that, really.”

Chan saying it like that makes you feel a little guilty, you realize. Shying away from the topic both verbally and physically – gently attempting to pull your hand from his own you watch the way his face Changes from playful to concerned – he always was incredibly attentive and quick on the pickup. “Whoa, whoa,” he stammers, “what’s wrong?”

Concern lacing your own features, you refrain from making eye contact with him – unsure of the turn that the discussion had taken. “I don’t want you to think that you’re like…not good enough or something, or like I’m constantly fantasizing about other men, or-”

“Aww, babe,” Chan coos, motioning you out of your chair and over to him. He seats you on his lap and quickly wraps strong arms around you. “I don’t. I am not even a little insecure about this – or about us – you have to know that.”

Chan kisses your arm, the only thing in direct kissable range and smiles up at you as you look down at him. “Trust me, that I know what I’m okay with, yeah? You don’t have to babysit me, I promise.”

“Okay, I believe you.”

“So, shall we dabble, then? Wade in the pools of non-monogamy?”

Hearing him say the words, non-monogamy, it sort of makes your head spin. Obviously, that is precisely what is at hand, so it being said shouldn’t elicit such a bizarre reaction deep within you. Innate guilt, worry, almost a sense of dirtiness begins to bubble up in your gut – and realistically, you know why.

Monogamy is the implied social standard. Anything outside of that is wrong. That’s what you’ve grown up being told…by everyone, by everything. Is it really okay, to bring someone else into your marriage, even if both parties are enthusiastically on board?

Hell yeah it is.

The truth is, renegotiating the terms of ones marriage – even just for a night, takes time. It takes work. It takes numerous conversations – and as a result, it’s approximately six months that go by before the logistics ever really feel ironed out enough to make the dive. Discussions of friends? Mutual friends? One-sided friends? Strangers? Each coupling will have their own preference of whom to invite in, even be it only for an evening, but upon settling on the first term, it’s only a whole slew of others thereafter. After a point, you begin to consider if sex is ever even going to happen, or if the two of you will simply talk about it forever.

But such is how it must be, to help ensure that the night – and relationship – not end in catastrophe.

It does, however, sneak up on you faster than expected – once a third and the date arrive. Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, clipping the backing of your earring on – is when you hear the voice of your husband greeting another of only semi-familiarity.

Lee Minho was Chan’s friend. He was in the wedding party. The two of you had spent just enough time together that you felt comfortable around him but not so much so that he felt too close to you, specifically. The perfect candidate. Drop-dead gorgeous. Not shy about his particular…endeavors, either. He fit the bill, perfectly.

Because you and your husband were searching for something quite specific for the evening.

It was in that moment, though – knowing that the two men were both in your home now, that it felt truly real. Of course, there was still much conversation to take place before anyone's clothing would be coming off, but he was here. Your husband was here. You were here. You were…going to have sex with another man for your husbands viewing pleasure tonight.

Probably not a story for the future grandchildren.

“Hey.”

There they are. The two men of the night standing in the doorway, now both looking at you as you slink into the living room slowly – as if not to disturb, and you can’t help but carefully scan the expressions on both of them – as if looking for the tiniest sign of reluctance.

But Minho knows why he’s here tonight – naturally, best not to spring this sort of arrangement on an unsuspecting party.

“Hey,” Minho says, continuing to shrug off his coat and hanging it on the rack next to the door. With shoes already off, he makes his way over to you and kisses the air next to your cheek. “Long time no see, huh? You look nice.”

It feels normal, in ways. It also feels incredibly bizarre. Perhaps you expected him to act some way, some way different – although you’re not sure how. But he wasn’t. He was the same as always. You aren’t sure if it makes it feel better or worse. Weird?

You look over at your husband, once again looking for any signs that this should end now before it even gets started.

But Chan only smiles. All lights green for go.

Chan handles dinner as he typically does, and it goes smoothly as expected. Catching up with Minho as if he’s any other house guest – except for tonight, a careful consideration for the alcohol intake by all parties. A soft ‘two drink maximum’ is agreed upon long before his arrival by all participants, as to not get too carried away on any end. Once food is eaten and plates cleared, Chan pours everyone their second and final glasses of wine for the night before taking his seat at the shared table again and he inhales deeply, purposefully.

Because it’s time for negotiations.

“So, suppose we should talk about the rest of the night, then?”

You shuffle in your seat a bit at the idea of how the talk will go, despite having already had similar discussions previously over the months. Minho is no stranger to the topic at hand, and it’s not even his first time being a third to a couple – information he casually mentioned upon the first inquiry – it was comforting to you in a particular way, that at least someone involved in tonight's festivities had been here before.

“Pretty much,” Chan starts, and surprisingly confident, “the two of you just have fun. I don’t have any particular boundaries of what you can and can’t do, but I think it’s best if we use the color system for safety, just in case.”

Green means “everything is good,” yellow means “slow down, I need a moment to recollect myself,” and red means “immediate full stop.”

“Yeah, that sounds best,” Minho agrees, and then turns his sight to you across the table. “Are you okay with that? Is there anything you can think of that you do or don’t want me to do?”

Just the question itself makes you feel a little light-headed. You had thought about this numerous times already, for months, and yet your mind still felt empty in the moment. As if not even a second of consideration had been had prior. It was excitement, but it was also fear. The fear of doing something wrong. The fear of the potential aftermath of tonight.

Sensing your hesitation, Minho looks at Chan before reaching his hand across and taking your own. “Hey, you don’t have to do this just because I’m here, seriously, we don’t have to do anything, I can go home now, later, right in the middle of it – it’s all fine by me.”

“No, no!” you insist, realizing how standoffish you appear. Reluctant. scared. You are a little bit, but in no way are you rethinking. “I do, I want to…I'm just, nervous? I guess?”

“Is it because I’m here?” Chan asks suddenly, and you realize upon hearing the words that yeah, it kind of is. He smiles and nods at your admission, gently reaching over and adding his own hand onto the pile of reaffirming ones already laid out atop the table.

“Don’t worry about me, if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

Arms pull back and negotiations continue, easier than before. Minho asks about the common things; condoms, anal, penis in vagina, oral…along with some less common things that are more within the scope of the role he’s meant to play that night, and with boundaries more or less set, the three of you stand up, and head towards the bedroom. Minho walks ahead, taking your hand into his own to lead you – briefly looking back at your husband, with a smile on his face – it’s the first time that the guilt and fear truly subsides – and is replaced with excitement, anticipation, desire.

Pulling up a chair, Chan sits himself down a bit distanced from the corner of the bed as to allow ample space for the scene that is about to take place before him. You suspect that perhaps he had downplayed his interest in the whole thing, with how the smile on his face never diminishes even once Minho starts kissing you.

You think it’s charming, but you know that eventually, you’re going to have to let the thought of your husband fall by the wayside to truly enjoy the fun that the night has to offer.

Standing at the side of the bed, Minho gently wraps one, strong, arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him before kissing you on the mouth – and the excitement of another man kissing you, lips completely unfamiliar after years of familiarity, immediately sends a rush of anticipation to your groin. Gently sucking at your bottom lip, teeth ghosting against the flesh – you’re reminded that Minho had been invited to play a very particular role that night – one that Chan never had been all that willing to play, even after all of your years together.

Minho was there to use you.

Pulling back from you, you already feel a bit dazed from the rush of adrenaline – looking at the man before you as he begins unbuttoning his white dress shirt, looking at you through long lashes and whispy, black hair, he smiles briefly before quickly kissing you again.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, remember that,” he whispers as he continues fiddling with his buttons. “Ever. You can tell me to stop any time.”

“I know,” you respond, a bit breathier with want than you had liked, and Minho chuckles under his breath at the effect that he’s already had on you before shrugging his shirt off and bending down for the bottom of your dress – carefully pulling it up and over your head.

Now it was very real.

Minho kisses you again, arms pulling you against him, and you revel at the way it feels to have the heat of another man on your skin. When you had imagined the moment, you hadn’t thought it to feel anything like this. The excitement, the anticipation, the needy want of another man inside of you, and already? Truthfully, you were a little humiliated at what he was doing to you.

“I’m gonna start the scene now,” Minho says quietly, looking you in the eyes and scanning your features. “Remember what I said.”

“Yeah, okay,” you exhale, and it’s shaky.

“Are you okay?” Minho chuckles again before starting, and you can only laugh at yourself in response.

“Yeah, you’re…I want to fuck you.”

You hear Chan off in the corner, and he’s laughing at your admission, which only causes Minho to laugh a bit, himself. “Okay well, we’ll get there, needy.”

Hearing Minho call you needy certainly doesn’t offset your desire for him, but watching his expression harden and his eyes darken right before you – as if settling into character – only sets off the growing desire in the pit of your stomach more.

“Get on your knees.”

Minho is already unbuckling his belt and prying his zipper down as the demand leaves his lips, and you’re all too happy to follow suit, dropping quickly and placing your hands on his thighs for leverage as he exposes himself to you. Slightly thinner than Chan, but also slightly longer – the idea of taking a dick that you’re not familiar with rushes to the forefront of your mind and the familiar ache of want begins to settle between your legs.

You haven’t even touched it, yet.

“Why don’t you go ahead and make coming here worth my time, then?”

And you’re all too happy to oblige, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock and slowly working him before gently running a circle over the tip of him with your tongue – Minho’s breath hitches as he watches you then take the majority of his length into your mouth. Three strokes of your lips onto him, Minho brings a hand up and into your hair, gripping slightly and pulling you off of him. He smiles, rubbing the head of himself against your already red lips and watching the way you already – seemingly desperately – wish to have him in your mouth again.

“Look at you,” he says, satisfaction lacing his tone, “so desperate for strange cock. Color?”

It almost gives you whiplash, but you answer right away, “green.”

“Good, that’s what I thought – now show me just how bad you want it.”

And you do, in quick fashion. Combining the motion of your mouth and your hands as you work him, tongue lapping circles over the tip of his cock when you pull off, you love the way he watches every motion of you on him – and almost with a look of disdain. As if he doesn’t respect you, as if you’re nothing but a place to come for him.

Precisely everything that Chan could never do.

Working him quickly, you feel his fingertips curl into your scalp as the words leave his lips – except that they’re not intended for you.

“Mmm, your wife sucks cock pretty well, might have to make a regular arrangement of this.”

You think in that moment, that you might come untouched after all.

But just as quickly, Minho pulls you off of him and motions for you to get onto the bed as he pulls his jeans from his legs the rest of the way. You quickly oblige, and it’s not long before Minho is up and between your legs – meeting you face to face again and kissing you rough, with teeth. needy and hard between your legs. Hands snaking up his toned arms – not as thick and built as Chan – but enough to be strong, you feel all of the ways that he’s different from the man that you married. That you love. The thought brings your attention back to Chan, seated across the room – hand firmly and slowly wrapped around himself.

He was enjoying watching it. Suppose it really was his ultimate fantasy all along: watching you fuck another man for his entertainment.

And naturally, the fact that he was enjoying it, touching himself to it, only made the desire pool between your legs that much more.

“Don’t look at him,” Minho says, pulling your face over and towards him with a finger, “you’re mine, tonight.”

Oh my god.

You feel Minho’s hand slink down your body and between your legs, fingers pressed up against your clothed pussy, and you watch the way genuine shock takes his features – it’s almost out of character in the split second – it might actually be out of character.

You wore lace panties. Can’t hide much with that.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims, barely touching the soaked fabric between your legs, “you’re so wet.”

“Minho!” you shyly reply, swatting his arm as it holds him in a hovering position over you, and he only laughs in response.

“Sorry, I’m just – wow – good.”

And it’s as if he remembers to slip back into a more domineering character, that he adds, “I was going to eat you out, but suppose I don’t have to.”

Pulling himself up and seated on his heels, Minho slips a finger on each side of your hips into your panties, “can I take these off?” and you nod hurriedly in response. Minho’s eyes follow the string of arousal that connects the fabric to you as he pulls it from you in near awe – and playfully shakes his head at you before crawling back up your torso and settling down against you – head of his length just faintly pressed against your folds.

“Sure you don’t want me to wear a condom?”

“No, I-” and you pause, eyes pulling towards your husband again – his own eyes intently gazing upon the display in front of him – and you snap.

“I want to feel you, I want to feel all of you.”

Minho only smiles, dipping his head down into the crook of your neck as he reaches down to line himself up with you. Kissing your skin, his lips make their way to the shell of your ear as he slowly presses himself forward and in.

“God baby, you want me so bad, hm? Don’t worry, I’ll have you drooling for me…”

It’s a whisper, dialogue only to be heard between the two of you – not for your husbands ears, and the implications make your head spin, along with the slow stretch of unfamiliarity prying you apart in new and different ways from what you’re used to. Once pressed hip to hip, Minho stills and pulls himself up and off of you to look at you – taking you in visually.

“Can I move?”

“Please,” you just about beg.

If you were honest, Minho was being much less domineering than you had expected – you assume that it’s due to this being the first time that this arrangement is taking place – that he’s playing it safe and not wanting to take too many risks. You kind of wish he would be riskier, but the excitement of a new partner is already doing majority of the work for him as it is – mind racing at how wrong it is, allowing another man to fuck you, and raw at that.

And come inside of you?

With just the thought, your walls tighten against him and he feels it, humming at the sensation in a slow build up to a pace that suits the both of you – Minho hovers over you with both palms flat against the mattress to either side, looking down at how he enters and exits you – and then back up at the absolute delight splashed across your face.

Biting your lip as his pace builds, the overwhelming need to vocalize threatens you, and it feels all too real in the moment. Moaning as another man fucks you, for your husband to hear, but Minho’s too quick on the uptake and he recognizes it. Another easy win, for him.

“You worried he’s gonna hear you?” Minho groans as he finally settles into his pace – fucking hard into you and the sounds echoing throughout the room. “Worried he’s gonna hear how much you love my cock? He can hear you, he’s going to hear you, it’s okay.”

You can’t even control it at that point, exasperated fuck and oh my God escaping your bitten red lips as he fucks into you, and it only makes him thrust against you harder – so hard that it pushes you up the bed. “That’s right, don’t hold back, let him hear you, baby, let him know you like it.”

Head spinning, and muscles tightening, you scramble to grab onto anything that you feel will give you any sort of leverage as you feel your first orgasm quickly threatening – Minho’s forearms seeming as good a choice as any as your nails dig in, and he hisses in response with a smile, all the while continuing his relentless pace into you.

“You can come” he insists with a soft, gentle utterance, “you can come for me, and you can come for him.”

And for whatever reason, that’s what makes you snap.

The orgasm tears through you in violent fashion, eyes darting down to watch your husband as he pulls at himself at the sight. Looking back up at the man taking you through it, he grins down at you with his bottom lip pulled up between his teeth in satisfaction.

As Minho finishes riding you through it, he presses himself down against you again – mouth against the skin of your cheek, hot breath against you as he breathes out, and you can feel him begin to withdraw from you.

“That one was for me, now one for him, hm?”

Before you can think through the implications of the words, Minho pulls up and away – taking your limp body with him and turning you to face Chan across the room – your arms barely able to catch you from face planting into the mattress, and the man steadies your hips up and towards him and just as fluidly sinks himself into you again with a groan as he leans forward and settles a fist in your hair – ensuring that you’re watching your husband just before you.

“You like having him watch you?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter out and against the sheets.

Minho looks up and at Chan, “you like watching her get fucked?”

It’s breathy and shaken, but a “yeah” escapes from him in response.

“Good,” Minho says, burying himself deep into you from behind – so hard that the force and weight of him pushes you down and flat against the bed beneath you – now straddling you from behind, he brings his hand back, flat against the between of your shoulders to hold you in place as he continues into you. “She’s so wet, think she’s going to come watching you.”

Chan groans at the words, and the truth of the matter is that he might be right – feeling the familiar coiling between your legs again, and already at that.

“You gonna come for him, baby?” Minho growls, his motions harsher and rougher than before, getting more comfortable in his role as a sort of dom for the night. “Gonna let him watch you get filled up with my cum, maybe?”

“Fuck, Minho,” is all you can manage through gritted teeth, fingertips curled into the sheets beneath you begging for any purchase onto reality, but the truth is, you’re watching Chan – watching the way he palms himself at the sight of another man fucking you, talking to you like this, saying that he’s going to come inside of you – and Chan is enjoying it. He’s close.

It only gets you there even faster.

“Oh, hear that? Thought of me coming in her has her moaning my name,” he says smugly, thrusts harder than ever before, “well go ahead then, milk me, slut. Earn it.”

Quickly, you feel Minho lean down and against your ear, “can I cum inside of you?” and you just as quickly answer in affirmation. You had discussed it prior, but you appreciate the check in, nonetheless. He pulls back up, both hands gripped into the flesh of your behind as he rocks into you, desperate pleas for him not to stop falling from your mouth as you bring your attention back up to your husband – and with finality, you deliver the final blow of the night.

“I’m coming, please, please, i-inside, I want-”

Your incoherent babbling is enough to set both of the men over the edge, but it’s Chan who is the first to go, breathy curses leaving his lips in what you think might be the hardest he’s ever come – and you think to yourself in one split-second moment of clarity how lucky you are to be in such a position where you can simply witness it, as almost a bystander of sorts – to the absolute visual glory that is your husband stroking himself to completion as milky-clear ropes of cum coat his abs and fingers upon the display before him.

You’re the second to find your end, tightening hard around Minho’s cock at the visual of watching Chan finish, and it’s all it takes to topple the man inside of you over the edge – fingernails gripped deep into your skin as he fucks into you hard – three, four more times – throbbing through his release inside of you before slowly coming to a halt and slumping over your back with a heaving chest.

As sanity begins to come back to you, you consider the fact that there’s a lot of post-nut clarity to wade through right about now.

But Minho takes over, just as he had majority of the night – being the sort of guide throughout – he soon after finishing withdraws from you and peels himself from you altogether, lying down next to and brushing hair from your face.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?”

It takes you a few moments to answer, but the concern across his face pushes you forward. he’s worried. He needs to hear that you’re okay. That it’s all okay. That he didn’t fuck up and that you’re not feeling regretful, guilty, remorse.

“Yeah,” you finally exhale, “yeah, I’m okay, I feel good.”

And Minho smiles at the response, feeling relieved. He reaches down and finds your hand, lacing his fingers with your own, before leaning forward and kissing you on the forehead. “Good.”

With that, he then slowly cranes his neck up and over to get a visual of Chan, still breathy and spent just a bit across the room. “You good, champ?”

But Chan can only chuckle in response at first, before nodding and acknowledging the mess before him, “if she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

“Thanks for everything again,” Chan says, handing Minho a bag of food to take home in the morning. “You do good work, very professional,” he jokes.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m work for hire, oh my God,” Minho scoffs, pulling his jacket on and taking the bag from Chan. “I did you the favor!”

“Fucking my wife is a favor to me?”

“Evidently, I didn’t invite myself.”

“Don’t listen to him,” you smile, playfully slapping Chan on the arm before reaching towards Minho and hugging him goodbye. “Thanks for last night, you took really good care of us, it means a lot.”

Minho sort of rolls his eyes, as if embarrassed by the idea of being complimented for a job well done, but says that you’re more than welcome to you before turning back towards your husband, and with an elbow to the arm and a sly grin, “be careful buddy, might steal your girl.”

And Chan rolls his eyes in response, thanking Minho again for his time before pushing him out of the front door in envious jest.

With the door closed, and an end to the chapter, Chan pulls you into his embrace and hugs you tightly, much to your surprise. “I love you,” he says.

“Babe,” you start, apprehensively, “are you really worried he’s going to take me? You don’t have to-”

“No,” Chan interjects, pulling you from him and just as lightning quick hoisting you up and over his shoulder before heading to the bedroom.

“But don’t worry, I’m about to undo everything he just did.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

2K notes · View notes

fandomxpreferences · 5 months

Text

Man Eater (18+)

Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x dark femme female reader (like siren energy)

TW: toxic, manipulation, smut, I think this counts as dub con, oral ( f receiving), I think that’s all but as always read at your own risk

Summary: Rafe can’t help but fall into your trap every single time.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: this is not my best work but I’m dipping my toes back in so please be nice to me

As much as he hates it, there’s something about you Rafe just can’t let go of. You're mysterious and seductive without trying; the most elusive woman he's ever met. You hold all the power, and for some reason, he keeps coming back for more.

Nobody knows what the two of you do behind closed doors. You show up when you feel like it, and every single time Rafe is waiting on his knees for you. Every time you leave he swears he's done, but then you call or show up and you're all he can focus on. You have a hold on him in a way that no one ever has before.

You don't think twice as you walk into the gala at tannyhill wearing a red gown; you smile and greet familiar faces just like usual. You're somehow kind and heartless at the same time, and Rafe has never been able to make sense of it.

He swears his breathing stops altogether when you make your entrance, but he remains stoic as he sips on whiskey. There’s something so powerful in the way you carry yourself; like you either own the place or don’t care who does. It draws him in and he can’t help but be mesmerized by just your presence.

He watches people move out of your way and men nearly break their necks as you float by ethereal and beautiful as ever. You’d think you’re a royal that should have a security team the way you command the room, and Rafe can’t look away.

You know he’s there and you can feel him watching your every move as you slink toward the bar and stop just a few feet away from him. While you may be sweet as sugar to most, Rafe gets to see the opposing side of you.

It's as if you're a siren; so beautiful and innocent one moment and sinister the next. He shifts closer so your shoulders are almost touching, and flags the bartender down with the subtle wag of his finger.

“She’s with me. Pour from our personal collection.” He instructs, and the man nods.

You glance over at him with a smirk and place your clutch on the counter before propping up on your elbows. You raise your eyebrows expectantly, and as if he has been perfectly trained, he orders your usual drink without further instruction.

“Always so eager to please.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your crimson-stained lips, and Rafe watches you with the same predatory gaze he always does.

“Only you.”

The way you stare up at him through thick lashes and winged eyeliner nearly makes him collapse, and he tries to calm the wild beating of his heart. You’re the type of beautiful that’s intimidating; so stunning that even the unshakable Rafe Cameron quakes in your presence.

You take a sip from your glass with a wink before strutting off, and he grins to himself. He knows how lucky he is to have you in any sense, and he also knows that you’re not in a place to be tied down.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from longing for more. He’s certain that you were made for him; and that there aren’t any other men in outer banks truly capable of keeping up with you the way he can.

As strong as he is, even Rafe falls victim to your spell. Anyone else would simply be steamrolled, and he thinks on some level you know that. He knows you two would rule Figure Eight together and be unstoppable, but he’ll accept what you give.

He’s not usually worried about you getting around because even if you aren’t exclusive by any means, you’re extremely selective. You don’t seek attention; that's why you get so much of it. Normally, you don't pay it any mind.

Tonight, however, Rafe clenches his jaw until it aches as you nurse drinks made from his liquor while rubbing another man's arm. He knows he has no claim to you; you’ve made that very clear. He isn’t even sure if you have his name saved in your phone.

Despite having that knowledge, he finds himself slowly maneuvering through the crowd in your direction. You lock eyes with him over the shoulder of the man sitting in front of you, and you quirk your brow just enough for Rafe to notice.

It startles Rafe sometimes; how your eyes sparkle with the same thrill and mischief as his. You’re easily just as crazy as he is and he’s absolutely addicted to the rush of being with you.

“My dad wants to say hello.” Rafe lies, not giving you a chance to speak. He can see the way you’re weighing your options in your mind. He knows there’s a possibility that you tell him to fuck off; despite your arrangement, going home together is not a given.

“Excuse me.” You politely smile, giving one last squeeze before releasing the man's bicep and stepping around him.

Rafe’s arm wraps around your waist instantly, with his hand splayed across your side and onto your stomach as he holds you close to him. You stumble a bit in your heels when he jerks you into him, but don’t show any emotion.

“Bit bold tonight, aren’t we?” You say just loud enough for him to hear, and his fingertips dig further into your flesh.

“Not bolder than wearing a dress with your entire back out and drinking my liquor with another man.” He bites, and you let him lead, not wanting to cause any more of a scene. He doesn’t stop until you’re standing in his room and shuts the door.

He stays facing away from you for a moment, and you tap your shoe impatiently.

“Did you bring me up here just t-“ You’re cut off when Rafe tilts his head back and sighs with annoyance.

“Shut up and listen.” He turns around and you try to cover your shock at his forwardness.

“Are you fucking other guys?”

You open your mouth to answer but he takes a stride forward and grips your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“The truth.”

When you don't speak, he narrows his eyes and takes a step impossibly closer.

“Look me in my eyes. Are we ever going to be more or am I really just a hookup? I need to know.”

You give him a pointed look but he doesn't waver and you roll your eyes.

“Rafe, don't pull at this thread. You know what this is.”

He licks his lower lip and nods before pulling back.

“I can’t do this with you anymore.”

Without skipping a beat, you close the distance he created and run your hands across his chest and onto his broad shoulders.

“I know you like it when I dress up, Rafe. Let's just work it out with our bodies, yeah? Let me ride you and ease your mind.” You purr and with lightning speed, Rafe grabs your throat and spins you around so your back is pressed against the door.

“Don't.” He grits out, but you can see the will starting to crumble in his ocean eyes.

You push against his chest just enough to get his attention, and he keeps his hold on your neck as you slowly move him backward. You both know that this dance always ends the same way, and it infuriates him as much as it turns him on.

He crashes back onto the mattress and you stand between his knees while he peers up at you. If you asked him, Rafe would insist that you’re not real. He swears there’s a glow surrounding you as he finds himself succumbing to you once again.

You reach back and slowly unzip your dress before wiggling your hips dramatically and letting it pool around your feet. You leave the heels on and swing one leg up so you’re half straddling him, and he watches with lust-blown pupils.

As much as he hates this cycle, he loves it just the same. You’ll manipulate him and he’ll let you because that's how much power you have over him.

You slowly crawl up his body, dragging your hands across his twitching muscles until your fingers are laced over his head, and lower your hips until you’re sitting on his bulge.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, your lips brushing against his throat.

“No.”

You slowly push forward and brush your chest against his face, sitting up when he tries to nip at the skin. You guide his hands against your hips and shift slightly, eliciting a deep groan.

“Show me how to please you.” You whisper, and something in Rafe snaps. He doesn't care about the party downstairs, he doesn't care that he's giving in to you again; all he cares about is claiming you in a way that shows you he’s capable of taking the control back at any second.

Before you can process, he flips you onto your back and rips your panties in half. You gasp with wide eyes, and Rafe slips his hand behind you. You arch your back so he can unhook your bra while his other hand dips into your folds.

He sucks a hickey into the top of your breast while his nimble fingers slip your bra off with ease, and he licks a strip from the dark bruise to the column of your throat. He keeps his head buried there working on the tender flesh while pumping his fingers in and out of your slick.

You buck up when he curls into your g-spot, and he repeats the movement while gasps fall from your lips.

“I know, baby. I got you.”

He presses one last kiss to your collarbone before trailing his lips and nose all the way down your torso. He wastes no time, and you cry out when his lips wrap around your clit. His free hand settles on the inside of your upper thigh, holding it open.

He hits a spot that causes you to pull away from him, and a sharp slap rings out before he wraps his hand around the back of your leg and yanks you back into him. He moves with your body as you writhe around, and continues his brutal pace.

He has you approaching that high in record time and reaches up to lace his fingers with yours as your head flings back while you tremble against him. He carries you through it the entire time, not even flinching when your nails draw blood or when his signet ring digs into his finger.

As soon as your vision clears, you sit up and start ripping at the buttons on his tux. He smirks at how eager you are and watches the way you try to cover it up. Regardless of what he is to you, no man will ever have you the way he has and you know that.

His lips crash against yours while you fiddle with his tie, and he quickly removes his belt and pants before leaning forward until you're flat against the bed. He gently moves your hands away and takes over, taking off the layers of clothing the best he can without breaking the kiss.

The second you feel the heat from his body, your hands roam his exposed flesh. His large hand grabs the back of your knee and hikes your leg around his waist, and you nod into him. He wraps his hand around his cock and pumps a few times, hissing at the sensation.

He breaks away and presses his forehead to yours before tilting his head down to watch where he presses into you. You both inhale sharply, and you cling to him for dear life as he eases In until his pelvis hits yours.

He rolls his hips, hitting that sweet spot while also brushing against your swollen bundle of nerves. It's a torturously slow pace as he fucks into you deep and slow, and your sweat mingles as your bodies start to fall into a natural rhythm.

You push forward when he pulls back, and he litters bites and licks across your neck. Your sweet moans mix with his deep grunts and occasional whimpers to make a hymn as you worship each other.

“Fuck, you feel too good.” He groans, and you whine into his shoulder.

“You always think you're this little minx that can get whatever she wants. I let you because I want you to be happy. Sometimes you just have to be reminded that you’re not the apex predator you think you are. Not with me.”

His hand wraps around your throat and squeezes lightly, and you grin at the feeling. You can say whatever you want, but Rafe knows you would never let another man have this level of control let alone smile at it. It's those little things that keep a spark of hope alive; moments where he sees you want him as much as he wants you.

He forces your mouth apart with his tongue before devouring you like a man starved. Your skin burns hot as the two of you tangle in the sheets, too lost in each other to care about anything else.

You leverage your weight and flip over, slipping back onto his pulsing cock before he can protest. His head falls back with a strangled groan as he reaches a new depth, and his hands instantly settle on your waist.

You rock back and forth a few times, testing the water before settling in. You note every little gasp and nose scrunch, making sure to make those movements again.

His fingertips dig into the flesh on your hips as he guides you and you watch him through hooded eyes as he attempts to maintain some semblance of composure.

The two of you writhe in unison as you chase your highs, beads of sweat glistening like diamonds as they trickle down your bodies and mingle together.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Rafe is barely within his right mind, but the statement still sends a paralyzing shiver down your spine. For the first time, you feel a tinge of remorse and it causes your movements to stutter.

You recover quickly and continue until you feel him twitch and ride him through his high. Your mind is racing at light speed as you quickly climb off and start dressing, eager to get away.

Suddenly the room feels suffocating as Rafe’s cologne engulfs your senses and you keep your eyes cast downward. You don’t want to see the lacrosse trophies or the framed family photos; reminders that outside of your arrangement, Rafe is a real person with a real life.

“Whoah hold up, slow down.”

Rafe’s voice is laced with confusion as he comes back down and notices you all but sprinting around the room.

His large hands wrap around your biceps in an attempt to stop you, and your heart lurches when you spare a glance at his cerulean eyes.

“You’re not staying?”

Admittedly, you’ve gotten a smidge too comfortable and it’s become somewhat of a routine for you to stay over and leave when the sun comes up.

When you don’t answer and instead try to side step him, his brow furrows and he matches your movement so you’re blocked. His hand comes up to pinch your chin between this thumb and forefinger, and you try to ignore the way your skin tingles.

“Look at me. What’s going on?”

It occurs to you that he isn’t aware of what he said, and you swallow before taking a deep breath and holding your head high.

“I think you’re right. We shouldn’t do this anymore.”

His hand drops in shock, and before he can react you slink around him and race downstairs straight out the door.

Rafe stands in place for a second trying to process what just happened. He yanks on some sweatpants and goes bounding after you, but by the time he makes it outside, you’re already gone.

He runs his hand over his head before taking off back toward his room. He ignores the odd looks he receives from Gala guests roaming the property and continues on his mission until he’s back upstairs holding his phone.

It’s muscle memory at this point, finding you in his favorites comes with ease and it only takes a second for his thumb to press the number that he’s committed to heart.

His heart thumps in his chest as it rings once, then twice.

The number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please hang up and try again.

He hangs up and calls back three more times only to receive the same dreaded message each time before he lobs his phone across the room and looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

#rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron outer banks #outer banks angst #outer banks smut #outer banks #obx #outer banks imagine #obx imagine

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snowsonlylove · 2 months

Text

Looking So Crazy in Love

Pairing: Academy!Coriolanus Snow x Enemy!Reader

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow have been butting heads since the very first time they met despite their parents being mutual friends, which makes them frustrated as it means that they have to see each other every time the families gather. Now, they’re both 18 and are considered young adults. Their friends, Arachne and Festus, are sick of them arguing and throw them in a closet to sort it out (Arachne secretly setting this up with Festus after seeing how Coriolanus looks at Y/N), which leads to them having rough, hateful sex.

Fic Type: Smut (NSFW) 18+, Enemies to Lovers

Warnings: blowjob, unprotected sex (don’t do this people, wear it before you tap dat ass), degradation, mommy issues, lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 2.3k

I do not own Coriolanus Snow or Y/N Y/L/N (cuz it’s you, boo). All credits go to Suzanne Collins and her team. Song credits also go to Beyonce and her team.

Also, ageless and empty blogs will be BLOCKED as this is a 18+ fic. Report my fics and you’re blocked cuz if u don’t like it, LEAVEEEE.

Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow first met during the tender age of 3, both being the only children of their families and the apples of their fathers’ eyes. You may think that this makes it so that they have something in common, however that is totally not the case. Since the first time they’ve looked into each other’s eyes, all they saw was someone who can take away their parent’s love because of how similar they are.

Coriolanus felt that Y/N was someone that his parents would really love as there was a time where her mother mentioned having a girl instead of a boy. That statement made him blind with rage since he thought that his mother never saw him as good enough. He professed this to his father, who looked shocked as he comforted him before confronting his mother after, which led to a huge fight he would rather not discuss.

Y/N however had it worse as her mother always saw her as someone who could take her spot as the sole love of her husband and hated her since birth. Whenever she looked into Y/N’s eyes, all she saw was hate, burning aflame as she saw red with how much she hated her daughter. Y/N not only took away her beauty, but added to her life baggage as she started to have droopy eyes, saggy breasts and a flabby stomach, making her hate Y/N more.

15 years later, both Y/N and Coriolanus are now 18, both preparing for their coming of age gala hosted in the Y/L/N’s estate. As Y/N got ready for the upcoming gala, she thought about how much better life had been had her mother accepted her for who she is. She doesn’t know why her mother hated her, always criticising her looks, her weight, her actions. She was just sick of it. She wanted a way out of it, and she would find a way.

Coriolanus on the other hand, had started to notice how Y/N’s features have benefitted her lately, her ass plumper, her breasts more prominent and her facial features all enhanced into a perfect symphony. He doesn’t know what this tugging feeling is, but he always felt it when being in proximity, especially when in the same room with Y/N. He tried to be discreet as he took glances from time to time, admiring her features. Unfortunately, he was not as sleek as he thought as a certain Arachne Crane saw this exchange and devised the perfect plan before running to her go-to pal for chaos, Festus Creed.

As Y/N finished getting ready, Coriolanus arrived to the Y/L/N mansion looking exceptionally handsome with his curls perfectly tame, his dress shirt clinging to his perfectly sculpted muscles and his blazer and dress pants a perfect blood red, referring to the Snow’s love for roses as the Snow family entered the estate, the picture of perfection if there ever was one.

Coriolanus looked around the crowd, before treating himself to a tall glass of posca, anxious to see what his arch-nemesis looked like when all of the sudden, the lights dimmed in the estate as the Y/L/N family walked down the ginormous flight of stairs, all made of expensive granite as Y/N’s parents walked down hand-in-hand before Y/N joined shortly after. All eyes on her as they stared in either awe or jealousy as she sauntered down the flight of stairs like she owned it (which she does fyi).

Coriolanus felt every movement around him slow down as he took in Y/N’s appearance as one of an angel, with her feathery dress cut down to a modest length, ending just above her thighs as the dress had jewels and rhinestones echo around her in a wave of beauty, wrapping around her features like a second skin of sorts. As he glanced at her, she suddenly met his gaze and gave him a look of confusion, which immediately made him snap out of his trance as he walked away.

Y/N reached the floor of the gala as she glided through the crowd to the drinks station, in which she entertained herself to a glass of posca, swallowing the harsh liquid in one go. She examined the crowd as she saw her friends talking and decided to join in their conversation. “Hi guys, what are we discussing?” Arachne looked at Y/N, feigning surprise all the sudden, “Oh! Look who’s joined us, the star of the moment.” Y/N looked at Arachne with a pointed look, tilting her head to the side, “That, I am. Thank you for saying that, Arachne. Always looking forward to hearing something so unprofessional from that dick-sucking mouth of yours.” She gave her a snide smile after.

Most of the friend group around them laughed, some even slapping their friend’s arms in disbelief. It was at that moment where Coriolanus showed up and swung a hand over Y/N’s shoulder, acting as if they were best friends. Y/N then looked at him incredulously, shoving his hand out of her shoulder. The group looked at them as if they were watching a movie. The atmosphere was tense for a moment before Clemensia let out a frustrated sigh, “Oh my god! Guys, what is up with you two? You guys always fight every time you’re together and it’s killing me over here!”

Both Y/N and Coriolanus looked at her, shocked before their arms were pulled by two bodies. Arachne pulled Y/N and Festus pulled Coriolanus as they dragged the two to a quiet shady place in the Y/L/N estate before shoving them in a nearby closet and locking it from the outside. “Y/N! Coriolanus! We’re sick of you two fighting! You two better work it out if you want to be let out!” Y/N’s and Coriolanus’s hands were turned to fists as their hands furiously banged on the closet to be let out. “Let me out, you bitch! Oh, just wait until I get out of here!” Y/N screamed as her face turned red. Arachne and Festus laughed from outside the closet before pulling each other towards the gala, leaving the two of them alone.

Coriolanus sighed as Y/N gave up and tried her best to sit with whatever space they had. “Hey, are you okay?” Coriolanus said as Y/N looked at him, her face the picture of female rage. “Okay? What the fuck do you mean am i okay Coriolanus?! Are you fucking kidding me?! God! I can’t believe you’re that dumb!” Coriolanus was offended by that statement as he stared at her for a moment for furrowed brows before responding in an equally frustrated tone, “I’m just trying to comfort you, Y/N! God! I can’t even be civil with you anymore! Genuinely, what do I have to do to make you show me just an ounce of respect?!”

Y/N looked at him with a deadpan expression, “Are you actually fucking with me right now? Coryo, we’ve never been friends! The fact that you think we'd be best friends now is seriously beyond me. Why do you even care, huh? Every time you look at me, all you do is look at me like I crushed your favourite Barbie doll or something, why do you think I’d be civil with you?” She kept on riling him up as Coriolanus stood in the closet, heaving huge, deep breaths as he tried to calm himself down before he suddenly exploded, “Because I like you, okay! Good God! I don’t know when or how I like you but it. just. happened. There! Happy now?!’

Y/N looked at him, her breaths slowing down as she looked at him with an expression of disbelief, “What… W-What? H-How, Coriolanus?” “I don’t know, Y/N! All I know is that I’m in love with you and it’s killing me that you’re not even looking at me whenever we’re together.” Y/N looked at him, her mouth turned to an “O” shape, “Oh…” Coriolanus continued, his hands suddenly going to cup her cheeks as he leaned his forehead towards hers, “Y/N Y/L/N… I have been in love with you and I haven’t been honest about it. I’ve gone from wanting to kill you.. to wanting to kill for you. Please, don’t push me away. Let’s work this out..”

Y/N reluctantly leaned in as she closed the gap between them, their teeth and tongues clashing together in a crazed frenzy. It was almost like a battle between them as Y/N pulled on Coriolanus’s bottom lip as he pushed her against the closet with what little space they had, making the closet move with great force as they stumbled a little without breaking their kiss. They continue this battle as they roughly shoved each other’s clothes out of the other’s as Y/N tore Coriolanus’s dress shirt open after shoving his blazer off, ripping the fabric and tearing the buttons off in the process.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus’s hands went to the back of her dress and quickly pulled her zipper down before roughly shoving her dress down, tugging her lace underwear down and unclipping her bra with one hand. Y/N’s hands roamed around his chest as she moved from kissing his lips to kissing his neck, collarbone and shoulder before continuing all the way to his barely visible happy trail, tugging the zipper of his pants down just enough for her to pull his huge, aching hardness with pre-cum leaking on its tip.

Y/N tried her best to kneel as she looked up to him with her eyes glazed with lust as she pumped his dick up and down a few times before swirling her tongue on the tip of his dick and working up until she was able to take about half of his dick until she suddenly felt this force on her head, pushing her down further to take more of his dick. She then heard one of the most slutty groans ever as she smirked in accomplishment. She started with a slow but deep pace before Coriolanus aided her in increasing her speed into a rough, unforgettably fast pace as the closet echoed with his groans and her gagging on his cock.

This did not last long as Coriolanus groaned a final time before shoving her head all the way to the hilt of his dick as he came into her throat. Y/N moaned as she felt the warm liquid in her throat as she swallowed dutifully before looking up at Coriolanus with her mascara streaming down her face, her lipstick smushed as when she pulled his dick out of her mouth, there was a noticeably red print on his dick. After pulling it out her mouth, Coriolanus continued grabbing her hair as he pulled her into another rough kiss and lined his dick with her pussy before stroking it to her clit a few times and finally pushing it in her dripping wetness, both of them moaning loudly in the process.

Coriolanus moaned, “Ohh, so good, Y/N. Such a dirty, dirty girl. You enjoyed having my dick in your mouth, huh? You're my nasty little slut, yeah? My. dirty. little. whore..” He said as he thrusted his erection in her center with every word. Y/N sighed in pleasure as she shakily moaned while she played with her tits, “Y-Yes, Coryo. Fuck me h-harder, I’m y-your little slut. I’m such a dirty little w-whore.”

This fueled Coryo as his thrusts became rougher and he continued thrusting himself into her harder and harder, causing the closet to shake in tandem as their moans and groans echoed around the closet. There was also a very distinct sound of skin slapping echoing as his balls slapped her ass, both Y/N and Coriolanus wrapping their arms around each other as Coriolanus lifted her right leg up to his waist as his thrusts became deeper with him getting close.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, sweetheart. Such a good little whore..” His forehead was glistening with sweat as he felt his body becoming warmer and warmer with Y/N moaning incessantly as she also felt herself getting closer, “O-Ohh, Coryo! I’m so close, so so close. Oh, you’re gonna make me come.” She panted, “I’m coming, Coryo. I’m coming. OHH GODD!”

“So good, Y/N. So good..” Coriolanus panted as he quickly pulled out of her and pushed her down to her knees before pumping his cock and cumming on her face and breasts. His cum was everywhere. It decorated her nose, her eyebrows, her eyelashes, her forehead, down to her cheeks and lips, which were covered with his pearly white, spent. The rest was all over her collarbone, shoulder and her breasts as well as the valley of it. She damn looked like a whore, his whore.

“Y’so pretty like this.. covered in my cum everywhere. Just like one of those district whores. But now, you’re all mine sweetheart, you’d do well to remember that.” He said with an evil smirk. Y/N looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she gave an evil smile of her own, “Who’s to say I am? You know, I might as well be fucking someone else. Sejanus looks pretty handsome tonight. Might even invite him-” Her words were taken out of her as his eyes turned a dark hue and he dragged her towards him and kissed her lips hard before going down and sucking a big, fat hickey on her. He tasted himself on her tongue but he didn’t care as he kept sucking, therefore preventing her on finding any other guy.

Y/N moaned as she tangled her hands in his hair as as he pulled his face from her neck, he said with a dark tone, “No, sweetheart… That’s never gonna happen with me. Unless you look forward to seeing Sejanus’s decapitated head on the news one day? That is not happening anytime soon.. You’re mine, understand? No one is gonna touch you from now on.. You’re mine as much as I’m yours, understood?”

Y/N gave him a small smile as she responded with a soft tone, “Understood, Coryo.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #snow x reader #coryo x reader #coriolanus snow smut #Spotify

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frostedpuffs · 1 month

Text

some thoughts about furry au:

while Adrien is still a model, he also participates in "cat shows", which are like the real world counterpart we have, except its more to show off agility and a well-groomed coat...but this often results in Adrien batting a cat toy around on stage and the audience going "his FORM! it's immaculate!" i don't think he'd like participating in these shows very much. he finds them fake (and boring. Because he always wins)

marinette, like a hamster, uses her cheek pouches as a place to store things. she will bring her friends snacks this way. they are polite and accept the treats...even if they're like "umm...this was in your mouth?" sometimes she forgets she put something in there until someone points it out

Adrien's fur is softer than soft. supremely soft and conditioned. he takes very good care of his coat and brushes it daily. this may or may not be because his mom scared him as a kid telling him if he doesn't take good care of his fur, it'll fall off and he'll look like his father (a sphinx cat)

nino's tail is almost always wagging. especially when he is with alya. that is one happy dog

you know how baby hamsters start as "pinkies" with no fur? yeah that was Marinette. have fun with that visual

lila tried to say she was a rare breed of fox for the longest time. people bought it

gorilla is a silverback gorilla. you can't change my mind. it's practically canon

chloe is extremely conceited about the fact that she is a mink

Felix still tries to impersonate Adrien. when people question where all Adrien's perfectly groomed fluff went, felix tells them he had a bad trip to the groomers. that becomes a headline in all the magazines

when Adrien first develops a crush on Marinette he physically cannot stop himself from purring at the sight of her and Nino has to discreetly be like "bro, your motor started up again"

whenever luka is getting into a really good jam it's hard to stop himself from howling to the music

#text post #furry au #i have so many thoughts but i dont want to fill up the dash

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rodolfoparras · 7 months

Note

But like instead of sugar daddy Price how about sugar baby Price.

Thinking about Sugar Baby!Price

Pairing: John Price x Male Reader

Cw: power dynamic, sugar daddy/ sugar baby dynamic, age gap,

Thinking about Sugar baby! Price who signed up to a sugar baby/ daddy website in an attempt to earn some money on the side but because of his age he only gets a handful of matches and those that he gets never lead to dates.

But one day, after going without a match for a good couple of weeks, he gets matched with someone.

At first Price is confused because in his preferences he clearly states that he would rather be matched with a woman but on his screen there’s a picture of you, a man, who looks to be much younger than he is. By looking further into your profile, he sees that you’re a successful businessman, who’s looking for a date to attend with you to events and he can also see you’ve got no gender preference.

So it couldn’t have been a mistake right?

But Price is still hesitant because he’s never been on a date with a man and he’s heard his fair share of horror stories of sugar daddies from the women that frequented the same site, but money is money and Price finds himself accepting the offer.

However as he drives over to the restaurant he can’t keep doubts from creeping into his head, wondering if there’s a slight chance that you’re expecting a woman on this date.

But all doubts disappear when he walks through the door only to be met with the sight of your smiling face as you go to pull out a chair for him.

So far you seem polite, charming even and you look really handsome. Price might have only dated women before but he can admit when a man looks good. However looks can be deceiving and behind that exterior there might be someone that’s expecting more of him, something more like sex.

Just hearing the word echoing in his head has his throat drying up as he fiddles with the napkin in his hand. “I’d like to make one thing clear, I’m perfectly okay with dates but anything past that-“

He’s abruptly cut off by you, a chore of no’s escaping your lips as you frantically wave your hands in the air.

“Oh no no no I don’t do that I don’t sleep with uh my clients”

Oh, okay. Good.

“I didn’t think-“ he shakes his head, looking down at the table, feeling his neck, ears and cheeks burn.

“Don’t get me wrong,sir-“

“John” the older man corrects, looking up at you beneath long black lashes and you feel heat creep up your own neck, ears and cheek.

“Don’t get me wrong John, you’re very attractive,” you say with a soft smile still displayed on your face, but the only thing he can focus on is your words.

Attractive .

Attractive ?

You found him attractive.

“But I’m just looking for a date to attend with me to different type of events,”

Price who’s still lost in the thought that you find him attractive only nods his head and the two of you proceed to order dinner.

The date goes exceptionally well. For whatever reason you seem more interested in hearing him talk about himself rather than talking about yourself.

Although it may sound wrong in someone’s ear, he can’t help but love how much attention you’re paying to him.

You even drive him home instead of asking your Chauffeur to do so and you don’t leave until he’s safe inside his house.

When he goes inside he almost feels like a teenager, face flushed hair mussed, hands jittery and you haven’t even done anything!

And when he gets a text asking for another date he happily agrees to it.

Date after date and you continue to stick to your words, never initiating anything that might make him uncomfortable but for whatever reason Price is unable to shake the feeling of disappointment that starts to grow inside of him.

The doubts that have made home in his mind start telling him that maybe you don’t even find him attractive.

Price isn’t stupid he knows he isn’t young anymore, that he isn’t the most desirable bachelor in the world but that doesn’t mean that it hurts any less knowing that you don’t find him attractive.

However things take a turn one day, when the two of you are trying out suits that he can wear for an event.

As he stands there in the changing room, looking at his reflection in the mirror, he can’t help but feel a surge of confidence running through his body.

For the first time in a while he feels attractive. You’d gone out of your way to get a tailored suit for him even though he’d vehemently denied it, fearing it’d be too expensive and that he had a perfectly fine suit somewhere buried inside of his closet.

But now that he’s looking at himself he can’t help but feel immensely thankful for your kind gesture because the suit hugs his curves so well, the rich black color compliments his skin tone beautifully, and there’s even a pop of blue in his pockets and buttons that match the color of his eyes.

Prior to this you even made sure he got a haircut and trimmed his mutton chops.

“I have to admit, I’ll miss these curls” you say while running a hand through his sandy brown hair, and once again he feels heat creep up his cheeks neck and ears “But Marisa knows what she’s doing”

And he couldn’t agree more, whilst looking at himself in the mirror, hair much shorter now and slicked back, with facial hair trimmed and showing off the sharpness of his features.

When he walks out to show you the outfit, he hears a small gasp escape your lips while your eyes trail down his body.

Once again he can feel heat creeping up on him but he also feels a surge of confidence- a sense of power for having affected you in this way.

You finally manage to pull your eyes away from him, awkwardly clearing your throat as you go to speak “you look good John, really good” you say the second part quieter.

He manages to respond with a smooth thank you, tone sounding like the one he only ever used to charm his late wife, even biting back a smirk while saying that.

On the night of the event the two of you almost seem to be glued to each other. You don’t do anything to overstep boundaries but he can see the way your gaze is trained on him, the way you keep almost a possessive hand on his hip and the compliments that just keep rolling off your tongue while chatting with him.

When the night nears to an end and you’re walking him to his door he can’t help but get lost in his thoughts, in the feeling of you arm slung over his shoulder the smell of your cologne and the compliments that never seem to stop rolling off your tongue.

It all ends with him uttering the words “would you like to come in?” you freeze in your step and fall silent for a moment before finding your words again “Are you sure we don’t have to-

“I want to” he croaks out, throat suddenly feeling dry “I really really want to”

#there will be more parts Mwah #I didn’t want to jam it all into one #you have found my weekness anonie bc I love this trope #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #john price x male reader #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #top male reader #dom male reader #sub male character #bottom male character #adding this tag bc eventually it’ll get there

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mikareo · 3 months

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౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ A LOVE LETTER TO: THE LOUVRE ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . org. writing repost ꒱ . . . word count; 12.9k

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, geto's world has been black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide.

contains; colorblind!geto, painter!reader, geto's mom is reader’s art mentor, he hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn, swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, geto sucks at flirting author's note; repost of a bllk fic i have, titled 'rationalism'. if there are any plot errors pls let me know,, the original fic is still posted, i just wanted this up for jjk too,, enjoy!

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Suguru knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.

However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.

Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Suguru, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.

He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.

And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Suguru hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.

“Do you like it?”

Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.

“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”

“What do you think?”

You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Suguru is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.

“I like this shape.” Suguru purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”

You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”

Suguru’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him.

You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Suguru is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”

“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Geto’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”

Does she ever stop talking? Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.

The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before.

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that.

“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”

Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.

“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

You’re smiling now and Suguru doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.

He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Suguru recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”

“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”

Before Suguru can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Geto!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”

You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes.

“Oh, Suguru! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Satoru decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”

She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Suguru is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail.

However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired.

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”

The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Suguru, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Suguru’s never been one for art.”

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’?

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Geto. I apologize if I overstepped.”

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Suguru is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize.

He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality.

God, he’s so bad at flirting.

“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”

He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.

You’ve left your entire bag this time.

He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense.

It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Suguru is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together.

He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.

You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin).

He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind.

A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.

‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”

As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will.

It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you.

Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear.

‘Hello. You know me.’

Perfect.

In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Suguru can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Satoru still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.

‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Suguru. That text was very…you.’

‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’

He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Suguru is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan.

“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”

He’s so bad at this.

You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.

“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so.

The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Suguru’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often).

“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”

“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again.

“Shit!” Suguru hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?”

This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Suguru hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution.

Suguru is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years.

The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Suguru finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”

You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”

And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world.

As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings - to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color.

It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of.

To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his.

He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?

How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand…

…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand.

Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.

He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same.

Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions.

“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”

Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Suguru happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Suguru despite this.

“Really?” Suguru dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?”

“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.”

Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence.

“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Suguru - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.”

He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.

He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now.

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea.

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern.

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything.

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”

Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one.

He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?

“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.”

Oh God, he made it worse.

“What?” Suguru tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?”

How the hell are you so fast?

Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.

“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Suguru, what kind of answer is that?”

You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands.

“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Suguru flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”

“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”

Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”

If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces.

You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Suguru actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared.

“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Suguru been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger.

“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”

“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Suguru, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”

He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.

“How could you even say that?” Suguru can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?”

Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Suguru doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in.

“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”

His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression.

“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”

You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Suguru, what’re you talking about?”

As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free.

“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”

You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”

“Grey.”

He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”

His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.

“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does.

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Suguru wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers.

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Satoru’s call is distant from the turning gears within Suguru’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Suguru feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk.

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The bright-eyed man beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Suguru had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Satoru continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Suguru hates him.

“You’re so funny.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Suguru care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful funny guy who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being so unhelpful.”

Satoru scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Suguru stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Satoru holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his friend chuckles, causing Suguru to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Satoru continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Suguru takes his friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him.

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Suguru’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other.

Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears.

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth.

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Suguru doesn’t even know.

It could’ve been when you showed up to his community soccer game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Suguru!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the opposing team - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rivals from that day. Suguru was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good.

Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things.

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Suguru’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Suguru, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard.

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Suguru! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Suguru’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Suguru feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Satoru to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Suguru on the back.

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!”

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Satoru eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Suguru knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along.

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Suguru’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing.

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Suguru knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you.

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, and I’m sorry.’

He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Suguru can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago.

Suguru has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you.

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back.

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Suguru hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him.

He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before.

“Suguru?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Suguru, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?”

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Suguru Geto.”

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Suguru fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you.

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Suguru relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Suguru’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right.

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Suguru can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls.

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Suguru almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful.

Suguru brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it.

“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay.

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased.

“I love you.”

Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it.

Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they’re a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him.

His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel.

“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Suguru cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…

…a kiss.

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

This is a fancy-ass venue.

Suguru can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Suguru can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it.

It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster.

He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Suguru is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are.

With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching.

“She’s talented isn’t she?”

Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Suguru, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all trying to embarrass him when Satoru walks up with his teeth beaming.

“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this stuff, Suguru.” Satoru ruffles his best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I told you something like this would happen one day! You’ve found yourself a dream girl.”

Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement at his friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Satoru’s always been his number one supporter. Though he’d be surprised if Satoru actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his constant busy schedule and inability to focus on one girl at a time; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.

“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Geto has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her child, and Suguru doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his friends saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”

Hm? Suguru sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?

His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”

His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.

There are tears behind Miss Geto’s eyes and Suguru can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Satoru gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Suguru knows he loves them. His mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Suguru.”

Satoru smiles, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”

Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first girl-related hug he’s given Satoru since he was a teenager, seventeen years old and inseparable. Suguru finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his perspective on life, which was dreary for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he was a child, to which he ran into his mother’s arms at any moment for a grasp at joy. For a long time, Suguru believed that it was only possible to have a singular love. Oh how wrong he was.

“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Satoru pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his best friend, to which Suguru’s mother laughs.

“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Geto nudges Suguru on, standing beside Satoru. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”

With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room.

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking.

Never in Suguru’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.

The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his former classmates).

Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

You said the same thing when you first met.

Suguru looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Suguru believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”

As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Suguru feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.

Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Suguru’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him.

“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

“Oh?’ Suguru raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”

You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it.

He sees himself.

Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his community, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life.

He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular.

"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"

Suguru can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"

Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Suguru. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much.

A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.

There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.

"I love you."

379 notes · View notes

himechia · 5 months

Text

“ ࣭⸰ ★ EYE OF AFFECTION . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀NCT127 ; jeong jaehyun x fem reader (12.9k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, jae's world has been in black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide.

contains; colorblind!jae, painter!reader, jae's mom is reader’s art mentor, jae hates art, strangers to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn (like a nice simmering burn), swearing, fluff, kissing, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, johnny is jae's bestie, happy ending! author's note; hi guys this fic is finally back in the nct tumblr world,, i have this posted on my main blog for blue lock under the name 'rationalism' if u see any name errors that's why,, enjoy!!

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Jaehyun knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.

Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Jaehyun, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.

He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.

And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Jaehyun hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.

“Do you like it?”

Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.

“What do you think?”

You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Jaehyun is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.

“I like this shape.” Jaehyun purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

Jaehyun’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Jaehyun is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened.

“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Jeong’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”

Does she ever stop talking? Jaehyun doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Jaehyun feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that.

“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”

Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.

“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

You’re smiling now and Jaehyun doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.

He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Jaehyun recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”

“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”

Before Jaehyun can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Jeong!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”

You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes.

“Oh, Jaehyun! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Johnny decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”

She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Jaehyun is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail.

However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired.

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Jaehyun, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea, ______.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Jaehyun’s never been one for art.”

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’?

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Jaehyun is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize.

He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality.

God, he’s so bad at flirting.

He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.

You’ve left your entire bag this time.

It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Jaehyun is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together.

He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.

‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”

As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will.

‘Hello, ______. You know me.’

Perfect.

In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Jaehyun can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Johnny still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.

‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Jae. That text was very…you.’

‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’

He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Jaehyun is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”

He’s so bad at this.

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so.

The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Jaehyun’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often).

“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again.

“Shit!” Jaehyun hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?”

This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Jaehyun hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution.

Jaehyun is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years.

The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Jaehyun finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

“Thanks, ______, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”

You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”

And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world.

It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of.

He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?

…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand.

Jaehyun doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.

Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions.

“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”

Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Jaehyun happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Jaehyun despite this.

“Really?” Jaehyun dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?”

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.”

“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Jae - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.”

He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.

He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now.

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea.

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern.

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything.

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”

He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?

Oh God, he made it worse.

“What?” Jaehyun tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?”

How the hell are you so fast?

“Explain what?” Jaehyun flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”

Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”

You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Jaehyun actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared.

“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Jaehyun been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger.

“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”

“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Jae, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”

He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.

“How could you even say that?” Jaehyun can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?”

Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Jaehyun doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in.

You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Jae, what’re you talking about?”

As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free.

“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”

You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”

“Grey.”

His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.

“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does.

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Jaehyun wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers.

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Johnny’s call is distant from the turning gears within Jaehyun’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Jaehyun feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk.

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The dim-eyed boy beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Jaehyun had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Johnny continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Jaehyun hates him.

“You’re an asshole.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Jaehyun care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful asshole who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being said ‘unhelpful asshole’.”

Johnny scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just fucking talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Jaehyun stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Johnny holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his best friend chuckles, causing Jaehyun to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Johnny continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Jaehyun takes his best friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him.

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Jaehyun’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other.

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth.

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Jaehyun doesn’t even know.

It could’ve been when you showed up to his concert unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon, Jae! I know you can do better than that! Sing louder!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of his group - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of insecurities on stage that day. Jaehyun was solely focused on performing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good.

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Jaehyun’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Jae, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard.

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Jae! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Jaehyun’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Jaehyun feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Johnny to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his best friend was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Jaehyun on the back.

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!”

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Johnny eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Jaehyun knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along.

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Jaehyun’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing.

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Jaehyun knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you.

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, ______, and I’m sorry.’

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Jaehyun can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago.

Jaehyun has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you.

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back.

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Jaehyun hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him.

“Jaehyun?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Jaehyun, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?”

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Jaehyun fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you.

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Jaehyun relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Jaehyun’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right.

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that, ______.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Jaehyun can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls.

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Jaehyun almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful.

Jaehyun brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it.

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay.

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased.

“I love you.”

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel.

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Jaehyun cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

…a kiss.

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

This is a fancy-ass venue.

Jaehyun can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Jaehyun can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it.

He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Jaehyun is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are.

With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own mother approaching.

“She’s talented isn’t she?”

Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Jaehyun, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all related when he notices they’re wearing the matching watches they got for Christmas last year; and when Johnny walks up with his teeth beaming, he also practically looks like part of the family. Long lashes and a toothy grin, the physical brand of the Jeong family; famous in not only arts, but good looks!

“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this shit, Jaehyun.” Johnny ruffles his little best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I’m surprised anyone could like your annoying ass, let alone a pretty girl.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes at his best friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Johnny’s just jealous because he can’t get a girl to deal with his narcissism. He’d be surprised if Johnny actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his high standards and demanding schedule; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.

“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Jeong has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her youngest son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her youngest son, and Jaehyun doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his groupmates saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”

Hm? Jaehyun sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?

His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.

There are tears behind Miss Jeong’s eyes and Jaehyun can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Johnny gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Jaehyun knows he loves them. Their mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Jaehyun.”

Johnny smirks, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”

Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first hug he’s given Johnny since he was nothing but a young boy, afraid and stressed, auditioning for the very first time. Jaehyun finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his best friend, who’s been there for him for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he made his first song and ran into his mother to celebrate his newfound passion. For a long time, Jaehyun believed that it was only possible to have that one singular passion. Oh how wrong he was.

“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Johnny pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his younger sibling, to which their mother laughs.

“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Jeong nudges Jaehyun on, standing beside Johnny. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking.

Never in Jaehyun’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.

Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

You said the same thing when you first met.

Jaehyun looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Jaehyun believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Jaehyun feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.

Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Jaehyun’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him.

“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

“Oh?’ Jaehyun raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”

He sees himself.

Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his groupmates, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life.

"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"

Jaehyun can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Jaehyun. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much.

"I love you."

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you so much for reading + supporting! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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