#color against toxic positivity

[vanteguccir]

Matilda | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N remembers her traumatic past, but Matt is there to support her and help her heal the wounds through a day on the beach and playing with toys while recording a video.

Warning: Fighting, crying, cursing, toxic and manipulative parents, traumatic childhood, a mention of aggression. ANGST with a happy ending.

Requested?: Yes, by anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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The sun was radiant in the blue sky as Y/N, Matt, Nick and Chris arrived at the beach on a sunny Saturday, the sound of the boys' little cousins' desperate pleas begging to be allowed into the water filled their ears, along with the waves gently lapping on the shore and the smell of the salty sea, bringing a feeling of comforting familiarity to Y/N.

They quickly chose a spot on the soft sand that was close to the area where the children would play, spreading their beach towels and opening an umbrella to protect themselves from the scorching sun.

"Babe, can you put sunscreen on my back, please?" Y/N asked as she adjusted herself on one of the colorful towels, crossing her legs over the soft fabric.

"Of course, hon." With a gentle smile, Matt picked up the beach bag that rested on the sand, fishing out the sunscreen and approaching his girlfriend. He knelt, positioning himself behind her. "Bend forward a little, my love."

The boy opened the tube, squeezing it lightly and pouring a significant amount of the product onto the palm of his hand before setting the packaging aside. He brought his hand closer to her warm skin, watching a shiver rise up her back at the contact of the cold cream, starting to spread it gently on Y/N's back, his large and skilled hands massaging it with care and affection.

Y/N closed her eyes, losing herself in the comforting sensation of Matt's touch. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and the cool ocean breeze caressing her face.

A loud, joyful scream from one of the children made her open her eyes again, looking up and focusing on where they were running, chasing each other while their hands tightly gripped colorful, plastic beach toys.

The laughter that followed them took her back to a time when she herself longed for that innocence and freedom, but rarely experienced it. Her childhood had been marked by absent parents and a lack of emotional stability that left deep scars on her soul, her mind recreating a scene extremely similar to the one she was experiencing at that moment.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The sun shone high in the sky, warming the small playground where a 5 year old Y/N sat. She dangled her little legs on the wooden bench as she watched the other children play excitedly around her. The playground was filled with laughter and happy screams, but for Y/N, all she felt was loneliness.

Her parents, as always, were absent, lost in their own problems and worries. They rarely had time for Y/N, and when they did, she always felt like an intruder in their busy lives. She could hear their voices shouting at each other a few meters away from where she sat, while her father's phone rang incessantly.

As she watched the other children play with their parents, a lump formed in her throat. She desperately wanted to be like them, to have the attention and affection of her own parents, but she knew that this was just an unattainable dream for her.

Suddenly, Y/N felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, making her jump in fright. Her father was there, looking at her with an impatient expression on his face, the ring of his phone echoing loudly against her ear as the image of her mother with crossed arms and angry eyes appeared behind his back.

"Y/N, let's go. We have things to do." He said abruptly, not caring about the sad expression in her eyes.

"B-but daddy, I-"

"Now!" Her father raised his voice, squeezing the skin of her shoulder with significant force in his fingers, practically pushing her off the bench.

Y/N stood up immediately, her heart heavy with sadness and loneliness. She wanted to say something more. She wanted to beg for a moment of attention and affection, where they could play together on the seesaw or the slide, but she knew it would be useless. Her parents were always too busy for her, always too far away to listen.

As they walked back home, Y/N felt a feeling of deep emptiness settle inside her. That was just another normal day for her family.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

As her painful childhood memories resurfaced in her mind, Y/N felt tears begin to stream down her cheeks. She knew, even at the tender age of five, that her childhood was being stolen from her, that she was being forced to grow up too fast, to adapt to a world where love and attention were luxuries she could never afford to have.

The girl tried to hide it, wiping her face quickly and looking away to the horizon, but the weight of her memories was difficult to bear.

"And... Done!" Matt's voice interrupted her train of thoughts, waking her from her reverie. Matt's hand, now slathered in sunscreen, moved away from her skin, retrieving the tube again before rising from his sitting position.

Y/N whispered a gentle "thank you", blinking quickly to clear away the new tears in her eyes before her boyfriend saw them, a small sniffle escaping her, which she covered with a fake cough.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Nick - who was standing a few meters away - asked, his voice filled with concern as he noticed the tears in her eyes.

Matt, who was next to their bag holding sunscreen again, looked up at his brother's question, his brow furrowed in confusion as he quickly turned around, looking at his girlfriend.

"I'm fine, Nick. I think it's just the sun." Y/N forced a shaky smile, rubbing her eyes with her closed fist, feeling a stab of pain in both of them from the roughness of her movements.

Nick accepted the explanation with a nod, but Matt could see the truth behind Y/N's forced smile. He approached her again, sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders affectionately.

"Sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything, right?" Matt whispered softly, his voice gentle and comforting.

Y/N looked at him, seeing the genuine concern in his blue eyes. She was tempted to open her heart to him, to share the depths of her pain and anguish. But the fear of being judged or rejected still kept her hesitant.

"I know, Matt." Y/N muttered, her voice choked by the weight of her emotions. "I just... I was just thinking about some things, that's all."

Matt wasn't convinced, but he knew that pressuring her wouldn't help her open up. He just held her tighter, offering her silent comfort, his arm working to pull her so that she lay her head on his right shoulder, sealing the top of her hair for long seconds, the fresh smell of sunscreen surrounding their bodies.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

After leaving their cousins ​​at the triplets' aunt and uncle's house again, Y/N and the brothers returned to their childhood home, having the need to return a little earlier so they could record the video that would be posted that Wednesday.

While Nick organized the equipment and Chris set up the table that they would be sat while filming, Matt approached his girlfriend - who was carrying her bags back to Matt's old room -, worried about her somewhat distant expression.

"Is everything okay, petal?" Matt asked softly, walking alongside Y/N towards the bedroom.

The girl paused for a moment, feeling grateful for Matt's concern, but also determined not to make him worry about her, knowing the importance of recording that video, since they couldn't publish the one of last Wednesday.

"I'm fine, baby. I think I'll stay in the room for a while while you record." Matt frowned at her airy response.

"Are you sure? Don't you want to be with us, maybe behind the cameras?" His voice came out small, full of concern, but Y/N just smiled gently in response, appreciating Matt's gentleness but knowing she needed time alone to process her own emotions.

"No, baby. I think I need some time alone." Matt nodded, accepting her decision with understanding.

"Okay, I'll be here if you need anything."

A few minutes later, after a hot and invigorating shower that seemed to wash away all her sorrows, Y/N left the room, her hair damp, and a feeling of freshness surrounding her.

She was heading towards the living room to grab Chris and Nick's bags and take them to their respective bedrooms when she heard voices coming from the kitchen. Curious about the frequent laughter, she followed the sound and found the triplets sitting on the marble table in front of the camera, opening children's toys and testing them out as content.

An excited smile spread across Y/N's face almost automatically. She approached slowly, watching them excitedly, a small "wow" escaping her lips as she saw her boyfriend pick up the colorful cardboard package with a small lamb inside.

Matt, who was showing Snowy to the camera, turned around when he heard Y/N's footsteps, his eyes automatically lighting up when he saw her there.

"Baby! Do you wanna play with us? Look, this is Snowy!" His voice came out excitedly as he quickly showed the toy to his girlfriend, a childish smile gracing his face.

Y/N nodded excitedly, feeling suddenly energized by the relaxed and fun atmosphere in the living room.

"It's so cute, Matt! I've never had one of those." She responded just as excitedly, quickly moving closer to them.

Chris got up from his seat, taking a new chair and placing it on Matt's left side so that it was on the other end opposite Nick.

"Thank you, Chris." Y/N smiled in gratitude, sitting on the upholstered chair and resting her arms on the gray marble.

The girl looked at the lamb in Matt's hands with a sparkle in her eyes, feeling a wave of nostalgia and joy invading her heart. She reached out to stroke the soft fur, feeling an immediate connection to the toy that she never had as a child.

"Here, petal. Try it!" Matt handed it over quickly, the three brothers watching her as she tried to understand how the toy worked.

"This is like a toy I would like." Nick commented briefly.

"It is so cute!" Y/N squealed, her smile lighting up her face as she turned it upside down.

"Wait, I think you turn it on here." Matt leaned closer to her, bringing his right hand closer to the toy and pressing the small, almost invisible button.

Y/N shook the lamb gently, moving it in the air in the hope that it would make it react in some way.

"Wait, let me-" Matt touched the lamb's back after Y/N placed it on the table with a confused expression.

A surprised scream escaped Y/N and Matt as they saw the toy slowly begin to walk, the girl weakly slapping her boyfriend's shoulder as she frantically pointed at Snowy with her other hand.

"Oh my God!" Chris laughed, getting Nick's attention and watching the toy walk towards them.

"Let me put the leash on it!" Nick asked with a smile on his face, taking the toy and attaching the small lilac string to it before letting it walk closer to Y/N again.

Matt stared in amazement at the lamb, wrapping his right arm around his girlfriend's waist and pulling her closer, while his free hand held the small blue bottle, wanting to feed it.

Y/N laughed loudly, feeling completely at ease and free to be her true self. She never had the opportunity to have toys as a child, so that moment meant a lot to her.

As she played with the lamb and the other toys, Y/N felt overwhelmed by a sense of peace and joy, determined to enjoy every moment of the experience, keeping it in her heart as a precious memory of the childhood she never had.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The sun was beginning to set over the horizon when the video came to an end. Nick and Chris were busy putting the toys into boxes to deliver to children in need the next day, when Matt approached Y/N with a mysterious smile on his lips, watching her return from his brothers' room after finally taking their bags to there.

"Baby?" Matt called softly, his voice full of restrained enthusiasm. "I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? What is it?" Y/N looked at him quickly, eyes shining with curiosity and excitement as she felt her heart start racing.

Matt just shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

"It's a surprise, baby. You'll see."

While Nick and Chris finished putting away the equipment, Matt led Y/N out of the house, quickly shouting to his brothers that they would be back soon before closing the door behind him.

The two walked silently towards the car, Matt quickly opening the passenger door for her gently before getting into the driver's seat, noticing from the corner of his eye his girlfriend bouncing her leg up and down anxiously.

The boy quickly brought his right hand to her leg, firming his grip there so that she stopped her frantic movements before stroking the covered skin lightly.

"Relax, pretty girl."

After making sure she was fine, the brunette started the car, driving down the long road, the sun setting painting the sky with shades of pink and orange as they drove away from the city.

Y/N curiously observed the route, trying to guess where they were going. The playlist she and Matt had created at the beginning of their relationship played softly on the radio, filling the car with a selection of their favorite songs that reminded them of each other.

As they got closer to the shore, Y/N felt a pang of anticipation growing inside her chest, her eyes darting across the landscape quickly as her mouth opened slightly.

"Matt, where are we going?"

"You'll see, babe. We're almost there." Matt just smiled, keeping the secret.

Finally, the car parked in one of the beachfront car spaces, and Y/N looked out the window, her eyes widening in surprise as she recognized the familiar scene.

"The beach?" She asked, confused. "What are we doing here?"

Matt turned off the engine and turned to Y/N, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"It's your surprise. Let's enjoy the beach. For real this time."

The sun was already almost completely gone when Matt and Y/N found themselves walking along the beach, their hands intertwined and their feet sinking into the soft sand, while their free hands held tightly to the pair of their own sneakers. The sound of the waves gently crashing beside them created a serene soundtrack to the moment.

Matt looked at Y/N beside him, seeing the mix of emotions on her face as she looked out to the sea, her eyes fixed on the waves, and her brow frowned tightly.

"Hey princess, is everything okay?" Matt asked softly, his soft voice bringing her back to the present while he squeezed her fingers gently.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of sadness and determination.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just trying to process some things." Her voice came out lower than expected, her tongue escaping her mouth and quickly wetting her lips in a nervous act.

Matt nodded understandingly, offering her silent support as they continued to walk along the beach. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, and he was determined to help her find happiness in that moment.

So, suddenly, Matt stopped and looked at Y/N with a mischievous smile on his lips.

"How about we go for a swim?"

Y/N stopped next to him, processing what he said for a few seconds before her eyes widened in surprise, a smile slowly stretching on her face.

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now!" Matt exclaimed, dropping his sneakers onto the sand and taking hers, doing the same before grabbing her hand again, running towards the sea and pulling her tightly behind him, a scream lost against the wind that hit her face.

The two ran across the sand, laughing and screaming in euphoria as the waves lapped at their feet. They threw themselves into the sea, the cold waters enveloping them as they jumped and played like two carefree children, their clothes sticking to the skin of their bodies, but that was their last worry.

Y/N felt a sense of freedom like never before. The salt water washed away her pain, while Matt's laughter filled her ears in joy. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget all the weight of the past and simply live in the present moment, surrendering to the happiness that radiated from each pulse of the sea.

"This is amazing!" Y/N shouted, laughing as she jumped over or into the waves alongside her boyfriend's.

"You are amazing!" Matt replied, a radiant smile lighting up his face as his eyes traveled over the features of Y/N's face, his dilated pupils almost taking the shape of two hearts.

They played and jumped in the waves until they got tired, with each moment sinking deeper into their brain like a precious memory.

When they finally left the sea and threw themselves on the sand, panting and exhausted, Y/N felt a sense of peace and calm invade her being. Matt lay down next to her, their hands touching lightly, both ignoring the strange feeling of the sand against their wet bodies.

Y/N sighed deeply, staring to the starry blanket of the sky above them. She pondered deeply before turning to Matt, lying on her side, the corners of her eyes reflecting the starlight.

"You know, I've never had a real childhood." She began, her soft voice thick with emotion. "I've never talked about this to anyone before, but I know I can trust you, and I feel like it's time to reveal it... after today."

Matt turned so that he was equally lying on his side on the sand and facing her, his eyes showing immense tenderness, encouraging her to continue.

Y/N took a deep breath before speaking again, her words filled with painful memories of her troubled childhood.

"My parents were always busy with their jobs and making money, the more money the better... They rarely had time for me. The only memories I have of my parents are of them yelling at me or at each other." Her voice wavered as she fought to control her emotions. "Sorry." She laughed in disdain at her body's reactions.

"You don't have to be sorry, petal. I'm here with you." Matt whispered quickly, lifting his free hand and bringing it to her waist, caressing the skin covered by her wet clothes.

Y/N closed her eyes before speaking again.

"I felt so lonely, Matt. I never had friends because I was always very closed off, maybe because of the events at home, and the fact that I was quiet seemed to scare the other children away..."

Tears began to form in Y/N's eyes as she relived the painful memories of her neglected childhood.

"I felt so lost and abandoned." The girl continued, her voice shaking with the intensity of her emotions. "I prayed so much to whatever was hearing me to have a normal childhood, with friends and play times, but all I had was loneliness and sadness." She swallowed hard. "You know, my mom used to hit me sometimes... Nothing very serious, she just got angry because of how I behaved so quietly and different from her." Y/N shook her head quickly, a sob escaping her throat.

"Baby..." Matt traveled his hand from her waist to her free hand, holding it firmly, allowing her to cry without interrupting, knowing that she would never go beyond her limit by telling him about her traumas.

Y/N smiled weakly through her tears, feeling grateful for Matt's comforting presence. She snuggled closer to him, sand creeping up her legs, laying her head on his chest, just below his chin, taking comfort in the warmth of his body.

"It's okay, really-"

"No, sweetheart, this is not okay. Please, don't talk about your pain as if it's all alright." Y/N sighed deeply.

"My dad called me last week..." The girl murmured, changing the subject as she played with Matt's fingers between hers. "He wanted to see me again. He said he missed me." She laughed, her laugh full of irony and sarcasm.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N's phone vibrated in her pants pocket, interrupting her as she tidied up her shared room with Matt, taking advantage of the fact that he was recording a video with his brothers. She picked up the device, her brow furrowing as she saw an unknown number on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Y/N, it's me." Her father's voice sounded on the other end of the line, and Y/N swore she felt her heart instantly freeze.

"Dad." Her voice came out indifferent, completely the opposite of her emotions.

"Hey, hi! Hm, I passed by your old room the other day and thought about you, I've been missing you, you know? And I'd like to see you. Can we set up a date?"

Y/N was silent for a moment, fighting a flood of conflicting emotions. She knew she didn't want to see her father, not after all the trauma he and her mother had caused herself. But she didn't want to be rude either; despite having grown up in a troubled home, she learned from life to be kind to everyone.

"Sorry, dad." She murmured finally, her voice firm. "I'm busy. I can't." Her father was silent for long, agonizing seconds, seeming surprised and angry at the same time. "That was all that-"

"What do you mean you're busy? Are you avoiding me?" Y/N took a deep breath, closing her eyes tightly and trying to remain calm.

"It's not that, dad. I'm just busy at the moment. I need to go..."

"That's unfair, Y/N!" Her father snapped, his voice rising in anger. "I really don't understand you. First, you left home at 17 and completely disappeared from our radar in such a way that I only see updates of you through your boyfriend's ridiculous YouTube channel. All you had to do was find a rich boy, so you totally forget about me and your mother. I fed you and gave you a roof over your head all your life, and you treat me like this? You're an ungrateful brat!"

Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes, a mixture of sadness and frustration flooding her body in an atrong shiver. She knew she couldn't continue this conversation if she could even call it a conversation.

"Whatever you say, dad. I have to go." She responded quickly before hanging up the phone, her trembling fingers moving automatically as she blocked the number.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"I said no. I was so short with him. Do you think I was wrong, Matt?" She cried harder, her body shaking as the intense sobs tore from her throat.

"No, never! Baby, listen to me. Fuck your parents, okay?" Matt pulled back slightly, lifting her head gently so he could look into her eyes, seeing a strand of surprise pass through her pupils. "Fuck them for always treating you in a horrible way and totally contrary to how parents should treat their children. Fuck them for fucking your head so much to the point that you feel guilty for not wanting them in your life anymore."

Y/N tried to look away, but Matt's hand beneath her chin held her firmly - but gently - in place, stroking her jaw with his thumb lightly.

"You're amazing, Y/N. You're a strong, amazing woman, and I don't want you to feel guilty about everything that happened in your childhood because none of it was your fault! You don't have to be sorry for leaving them and growing up..." The tone of his voice was firm, while his eyes carried a tone of seriousness unlike any Y/N had ever seen.

Y/N scoffed, trying to shake her head no, her mind reminding her that she wasn't any of those good things.

"I'm serious, pretty girl. You're so strong, the strongest woman I've ever met." He whispered, loosening his grip on her chin slightly, moving his hand up so that it cupped her cheek, caressing the soft skin gently. "You can let it go, you know? You can let it all go. I promise."

"I love you. I love you so much, Matt." The girl murmured, pressing her cheek against his palm and closing her eyes slightly, her wet eyelashes caressing her flushed, wind-chilled skin.

"I'm always here for you." Matt reinforced, leaning his head close to hers and lovingly sealing her forehead with his lips for long seconds, exhaling the salty scent left by the sea.

"Now, how are we going to get back to the house with wet clothes like that?"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @bellasfavbisexual @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

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[sillysowa]

I’m sorry if this is against your boundaries, please say if it is ☺️ But, would you write a Hobie x reader smut but Hobie is kinda like ‘angry’ with y/n bc he’s jealous he’s spending more time with her friends than Hobie so he just one day pulls them away in the middle of a conversation she’s having with her friends maybe to a random room and locks them both in there’s and it’s just jealous Hobie sex its 100% okay if you aren’t okay with writing this! 🫶

I’m completely chill with this in a non-toxic way which is what you clarified in another ask so here you areee~!

JELLY

PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X FEM!READER

GENRE: SUGGESTIVE, SMUT

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

WARNINGS: USE OF Y/N, LIGHT SPANKING, SEMI-PUBLIC SEX, CUMMING ON THIGHS, POSSESSIVENESS AND JEALOUSY, FEM!OC THAT HITS ON READER

AUTHORS NOTE: NOT PROOFREAD

SYNOPSIS: HOBIE’S NOT TOO FOND OF YOUR TOUCHY FRIEND

—

You hadn’t told Hobie that your friends would be at the club tonight.

He doesn’t have a problem with you having friends or hanging out with them—but tonight? Fuck no.

You wore the sexiest dress Hobie had ever seen you in, form fitting and the perfect color on your skin—he was practically glued to you. On the walk to this new hidden nightclub he was dying to go to with you, he had a firm grip on your side, his hand occasionally slipping down to squeeze your ass,

“Look so pretty, doll.” He whispers in your ear, making you blush and shyly tell him,

“Stop~” You giggle. He doesn’t, he lives for that embarrassed look on your face as you press more and more against him while you walk, hugging his whole arm close to you. Any man that walked by eyes you in a predatory way, quickly averting their eyes when Hobie stared back, pulled you closer, or snapped at them with a quick,

“Piss off.”

You near the entrance to the club, a restaurant by day. You both bathe in the purple flown of the LED sign before you stand in the short line, waiting your turn.

The bouncer lets the both of you in, and you walk through the narrow hallway into the lower part of the restaurant. It’s small, it’s beautiful, and it’s packed. You nearly suffocate anywhere you turn. Hobie hokds you close, bringing you onto the dance floor and holding you close,

“This place is nice ain’t it?” He smirks, leaning down so you can hear him over the background sounds. You nod, eyes full of life and energy,

“Yeah! This is gonna be a good night Hobes.” You smile in that silly way that makes his heart squeeze. He dances with you, sensually and smooth. When you dance, you take on a persona of sorts—you’re wild, free and absolutely gorgeous. Hobie doesn’t care if your dancing is objectively good or bad, it’s so you, so to Hobie, it’s beautiful. One specific song gets you revved up, twerking to the beat. Hobie comes close to get behind you when he see’s two manicured hands grab your hips. You both flinch and look at the person, and both of you have vastly different reactions.

“Oh my god, Destiny, Hey! What the fuck, what are you doing here?” You gasp, hugging your best friend as your whole friend group appears behind her.

“It’s just pure coincidence! I had no idea you were here!” She exclaims, excitedly talking with her hands. Hobie walks up behind you, his hand slipping around your waist. He says nothing, just looks down at your friends. The girl closest to you, Destiny he now knows, is actually roughly his height. She looks at him with a slightly challenging look, putting on a smile that makes his skin itch,

“You must be Hobie.” She says, no hand extend, no positive tone, no nothing. Hobie just nods,

“Mhm.”

“Y/N, do you wanna get a drink with me and the girls? I’m buying!” Another one of your friends pipes up, all of the gang excitedly chatting and pulling you with them—some gawking over your outfits and some over your boyfriend. Hobie’s left standing there, completely stunned. He tongues the inside of his cheek, his eyes rolling back and his hand sliding down his face, a chuckle escaping his lips,

“Ohhh, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…”

—

“So like…is it big?” One of your friends asks as your mid sip of your cocktail, nearly choking on it.

“F-Fuck, yes, guys—yes, damn.” You giggle, embarrassed by all the comments and questions asked about your boyfriend. Destiny is awfully quiet, stirring her drink and staring at you with starry eyes. She’s sitting very close to you, her leg against yours. She occasionally will drag her hand up and down your thigh, but for now it just rests idly on top. You don’t think too much of it as she’s often very affectionate, but you do think of Hobie and how that might make him feel.

Oh fuck, where’s Hobie?

You suddenly remember that you left your boyfriend all alone on the dance floor. Your stomach dropped thinking of how that might have made him feel, and your hairs stood up as you thought about what he might do—all jealous. You had never seen Hobie like that, the idea made your thighs squeeze together and tense.

“Nervous?” Destiny asks, her satin voice derailing your train of thought. You notice all the other girls are talking amongst themselves and now Destiny’s full attention is on you,

“About?” You ask, expression innocent and confused. Before she can speak you notice her gaze travel up, smacking her lips after applying her lipgloss and never looking away. You go to turn, but a large and cold hand comes down into your shoulder—Hobie.

“There you are. Havin’ fun with your little friend?” Hobie asks, his voice husky and deep. You shudder, your eyes flickering down to where Destiny’s hand rests on your thigh, softly rubbing the skin there. She doesn’t stop, just holds eye contact with Hobie.

You feel incredibly anxious—caught in between some kind of cat fight between your best friend that obviously has some feelings for you that you weren’t aware of and your jealous boyfriend who looks about ready to jump her.

Instead, Hobie calm and collected grabs your hand and gently helps you up off the bar stool, leading you to the bathroom. Destiny smirks,

“Nice meeting you, Hobart.” She says with mock interest.

“The pleasures all mine.” Hobie quips, not even sparing her another glance as he drags you through the crowd. Your friends at the bar all went silent to watch the show, whispering the moment you were both out of earshot. Hobie opens the one stall restroom, both of you entering as he kick the door shut behind you, locking it without even turning around and instantly, he was all over you. He scooped you up, your ankles around his back as he kissed you all over your neck and but your ear, whispering right into your soul,

“You’re gonna tell me exactly who the fuck that Destiny bird is back there because that was no friendly touching going on.” He grunts, slapping your ass and making you yelp. Hobie sets you down, bending you over the counter and pulling you up by your neck, your back flush against him. You see yourself in the mirror, and you see Hobie. The low lighting in the purple LED lit bathroom makes him look so fucking good—he’s deep gaze in the mirror, his veiny hand over your neck like a necklace and his large frame towering over yours.

“I-I swear I didn’t know it was like that Hobie. She’s always been just a friend.” You admit. It’s the truth, and Hobie believes you. He knows you’d never cheat on him, but God did the idea piss him off. It got under his skin like nothing else. He grunted, his hand sliding up your exposed thigh,

“No one else gets to touch you like this, I thought you knew that.” He says with a sympathetic tone, sighing,

“I guess I have to remind you, hm? Is that how you want it, love?” He smiles, his voice dark and deep. It sends a surge of desire to your pussy, clenching and throbbing. You whimper as his hand trails up and cups your pussy, his large hand on your back and bending you over again. Hobie webs your hands together behind your back, securing them after he asks,

“What’s your color, Y/N?”

“Green…so fucking green.” You murmur, almost positive you’re dripping with arousal by now.

Hobie laughs gently, pulling your dress up to expose your bare ass. He smooths his hands over it, gently caressing. You relax into his touch, getting too comfortable because he soon slaps your ass, causing you to gasp and cry out,

“C’mon, louder f’me love.” He shushes you, kissing right where he spanked you, before slapping the other cheek, reveling in the pretty noises you make.

He spreads your legs, leaning in and burying his face in between your folds. You gasp and cry out,

“Hobie! Hobie ah~!” Your thighs shake around his head as his tongue darts out, lapping up your arousal. Hobie groans at your taste, sucking your pussy and bobbing his head. He can’t get enough of your cunt, worshipping it with his face. He sucks your clit, sliding two fingers into your hole and curling them just the way you like. He’s doing everything in his power to get you as riled up as possible—and it’s working. The small bathroom is filled with the sounds of your pleasure, and you tremble at his tongue,

“Oh~ Hobie, i’m close~” You whimper, his tongue wet and warm on your pulsing clit. He kitten licks you a few more times before completely stopping, pulling away and standing up. You look fucked out already, too needy to even stand up. Hobie smirks at the disappointed look on your face and the way you clench your thighs together.

He’s never edged you before.

“You’re that mad Hobie?” You groan, whimpering and crying because of how much you want to cum. Hobie just sees it as laughable, undoing his belt and pulling his pants down far enough to free his painfully hard cock. He rubs it against you, graining and throwing his head back. You’re both a horny out of your minds, and you’re loud as fuck—everyone even remotely near the bathroom can hear the exact moment that Hobie finally puts it in.

“Oh fuck! Faster, Hobie! Ah~!” You whine and tremble. He’s not holding back, his pace fast and unrelenting. With every drag of him inside you he grunts and hisses. His long fingers trail around your neck and squeeze it just right, pulling you up against him and whispering in your ear,

“Fuck, say that again, baby, say my name. Scream it f’me.” He groans, his hands moving down to cup your breasts. The sound of skin slapping rings like a symphony in your ears, and tears prick in your eyes from the stimulation.

Hobie’s loud and vocal, just the way you like it, and he smirked at every whimper he was able to draw out of you. Your fingers gripped the porcelain sink, your eyes clamped shut—you knew if you looked at Hobie it would be game over and you’d cum instantly. He has this crazed look in his eyes that you’ve never seen, you think it’s the jealousy pumping straight to his cock.

“Open your fucking eyes, Y/N.” He groans, fucking into you impossibly faster. You feel your pussy clench around his Hobie’s cock, and clearly he feels it too, pulling your hips back and grinding them against him. He fucks you with calculated thrusts, hungry for your orgasm,

“Come on love, no one else can fuck you this good yeah?”

“N-no, Hobie!” You moan loudly. His length, all warm soaked, pumps inside you, bringing you right to your orgasm. The sounds you both make are downright sinful and you feel your eyes roll so far back that you sweat you saw your brain.

“S-Shit…Come on, we’re taking this back to mine.” Hobie speaks right into the shell of your ear, his voice an octave lower than the usual and his cock twitching as he pulls out of you, quietly whimpering from the friction. He groans, his pre-cum dripping over your thighs and legs and down to your heels.

“O-Oh, God…Hobie…you’re so messy.” You moan with a slight giggle, the sight and feeling driving you insane. Hobie takes your hand and pulls your up, leading you out of the restroom. You both weave your way through the crowd and you’re positive there’s no way you didn’t smear his cum on some club-goers. You near the exit and lo and behold, Destiny’s there. She’s holding your purse that you had forgotten. When she sees you, shes smiling at first, but the moment she notices the state of you and the semen coating your skin her lips curl in disgust. She hands you your purse and eyes Hobie in disgust, saying nothing. Hobie just chuckles, waving his large hand at her,

“See ya later, ninny.” He spits with a sense of pride. He’s fucked you up this much and he’s not even done with you, plus he got to piss off your touchy friend—it’s a god damn win-win. And holy shit is he going to wreck you when you’re back home. He can barely wait, Hobie grabbing your waist and slinging up into the sky with you,

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, love~”

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #spiderman #hobie brown angst #silly’s fics

[mikareo]

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.”

“I love you.”

“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."

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[himechia]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ 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.

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 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.

“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. 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.”

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?”

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?”

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 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. 

“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 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.

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—”

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?

“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 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’? 

“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 Jeong. I apologize if I overstepped.”

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. 

“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 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.

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. 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?

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 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). 

“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!” 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.”

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. 

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.

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 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?” 

“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, 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.”

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?” 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?

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? Jaehyun, 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?” 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?”

“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. 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. 

“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. “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.”

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. 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. 

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? 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. 

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 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.’

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. 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. 

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. 

“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?

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 Jeong Jaehyun.”

“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.”

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. 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. 

“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.”

“I love you.”

“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 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.

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. 

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. 

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. 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 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 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.”

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 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.

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 groupmates). 

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. 

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 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.”

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 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. 

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?"

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?"

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, Jaehyun. 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."

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

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[allbark-no-bite]

This is Real Life || Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: the kook princess comes home from college with a new boyfriend and Rafe isn’t happy about it. unfortunately, he isn’t in the position to tell her what to do

warnings: 18+ smut, foul language, unprotected sex, slight mention of underage sex

word count: 3.8k

author’s note: this contains NO SPOILERS for season 3! y’all i have had this in the drafts for a year and couldn’t finish it. i was quickly motivated by the release of season three. i actually have some more OBX stuff on wattpad that i hope to transfer over if this gets some attention :)

It was feral really, their relationship. What else was to be expected of Ward Cameron's only son and the kook princess? But for the record, she preferred the term bastard. Born the illegitimate child of the second wealthiest man in the Outer Banks, she could go by whatever she wanted and people would still be besotted—albeit wary—by the name.

She was exactly the type of drug Rafe Cameron couldn't resist time and time again. Better than anything Barry could ever try to sell him. One taste and now he gets an itch for her worse than cocaine. Midsummers made this temptation all the more unbearable. Liable to her father's heavy name, she'd be inclined for the occasion to put on some kind of obscenely form fitting dress that left little to the imagination and Rafe intoxicated by the sight all night.

It's a toxic green color, and by toxic he means the dark teal accents her sun kissed skin and dark hair perfectly. She'd dyed it black two summers ago before leaving for college, and it had yet to return to its natural fair brown. He's sure she did it just to spite him. Rafe had always preferred blondes. But damn did it look good on her.  Shamelessly, his eyes drink her in as she flashes a pearly smile at the bartender taking her order.

Unfortunately, he also then catches sight of the guy standing next to her. He's a tall, brute of a man with large shoulders, a perfect nose, and sickening puppy dog like eyes. From the looks of him, he's undoubtedly one too many years her senior. Despite that, it's obvious that he's not the one in charge. Rafe watches as the older man hovers around her. He's confident in the way he carries himself, but Rafe can see how he moves around her with an air of caution, like he knows she's going to bite him if he gets too close. This observation leads him to his next point; the guy is not her type and Rafe knows it.

She met Armand nearly a year ago through a friend of a friend. He had returned to university from Europe to continue his studies with the leisure that his comfortable home life in a wealthy, two parent household provided him. While the six year age gap certainly raised eyebrows —specifically those of friends of her father's— it's not the reason she was uninterested in him.

Armand was the product of fine European breeding and the maturity that came with age. He spoke astutely and with confidence. He also had an unlimited amount of patience. And while it was nice to be indulged by his attentiveness every so often, it became quite boring if she was being honest. Armand was the type of guy one would bring home to meet their family, a quality that she had very little interest in.

Her eyes catch Rafe's from across the country club bar, and she immediately looks away. Instead she sweetly asks Armie, as she calls him, to get her another glass of champagne — her current one had gone warm. She pretends that she doesn't see him sidling up to her until he's standing right behind her.

Rafe has to hide his smile, licking his lips to wet them. After all these years, he's quite used to the games she plays. She makes him wait a few more seconds before she turns around, her exposed back pressing against the bar as she faces him. Her eyes first travel slowly down his body, coming about as close as one can to undressing a person without actually touching them, and only then returning to his face.

"What are you doing here, Cameron?"

They both know what she means is 'what are you doing in my face' and not 'what are you doing at Midsummers'.

Catching the message that she's not in the mood for any sort of shit answer he could give her about his required attendance at Midsummers, Rafe shrugs casually, rolling his expensive suit clad shoulders. His thumb drags across the smooth plane of his jawline, moving downwards and catching along his bottom lip.

"Heard you looked good in a sundress," he suggests, still trying to maintain an air of nonchalant indifference. He wants to know if her golden skin still tastes how he remembers it.

She rolls her eyes as a lazy, taunting smirk appears on his face. Before she can reply, Rafe saunters closer, practically eliminating the distance between them and blocking her against the bar. His face is close enough to her cheek that she can feel his hot breath as he wets his lips.

"Heard you looked good undressed."

Her expression remains unchanged, not bothered by his forwardness. "Would you let my brother hear those words come out your mouth?" She eyes him knowingly, feigning concern. "Wouldn't want to mess up your pretty face again."

The word 'brother' is synonymous to a warning to Rafe and immediately he glances sideways. Around them, residents of Figure Eight chatter and happily sip champagne. No one is paying the pair at the bar any mind. It is likely that no one has noticed them yet. Usually just the sight of the pair together is enough to draw a couple of stares.

When Malcolm Coors doesn't materialize from the crowd, Rafe's sharp blue eyes settle back on her. “Real funny," he sneers.

She has no shame in admitting she gets a little kick out of Rafe's fear of her brother. The two boys had graduated together a year before her, and she still remembers the pair of them being intentionally separated despite alphabetical order as they walked across the stage to receive their diplomas. Malcolm had been sporting a broken nose at the time and Rafe his own nasty looking black eye.

She smiles, enjoying his irritation. While she would like to bask in the fact that it looks like he's still licking his wounds after the past couple years, they need to get to the point before Malcolm does find them.

Rafe nods his chin over towards the unsuspecting back of her European rendezvous as he chatters amiably with the bartender. Rafe wants to swing a golf club through his perfect teeth. "How do you know this guy?"

She shrugs, playing at indifference. "Your inconsistency introduced us."

They haven't talked since before she blocked his number, which was over a year ago. The interaction wasn't exactly civil either. He specifically remembers screaming through the phone at some ungodly hour of the night and ending the call when she finally hung up on him by hurling his phone against the wall. Thankfully his parents had overheard the conversation and already assumed what all the noise was.

Biting back the urge to argue that he's not the one playing the hot and cold game, he persists "A bit old for you, don't you think?"

Her eyes don't follow Rafe's, which she knows are staring daggers at Armand. "You missed me," she points out.

Rafe sucks his tongue across the front of his teeth as an act of stalling, his expression becoming fed up and annoyed. Getting answers out of her has always been like pulling teeth. She doesn't want to play nice? Fine.

"Daddy doesn't have some billionaire's trust fund baby lined up for you?"

Her black lined eyes narrow. He levels his cool gaze with her. Oh he went there.

"Unlike you, my father has no say in my personal life." She's never referred to the man who sired her as anything other than her 'father'. It's the socially acceptable way of saying 'he's a bastard and I hate him'. "Besides, old money doesn't entice me, Cameron."

"Yeah?" he scoffs. Rafe leans in, murmuring softly into her ear. "That's not what you said what I was inside of you."

Her face flashes hot, and it's the first chip in her armor he has seen all night.

"I was seventeen. A minor, Rafe. You could go to jail for that," she snaps.

He smiles, cocking his head in a manner that says he isn't all that worried about his chances of going to jail. "You always act like I took advantage of you. Sweetheart, even if you hadn't begged me to screw you, we both know there's nothing you could have done to stop me."

It's her turn to scoff. "Am I suppose to thank you? You don't get an award for not being a fucking predator." She spits out the last part, and it causes a few heads to turn in their direction.

Among those heads, Rafe notices the blonde one of Malcolm; aka his sign that he needs to excuse himself. "Bitch," he mutters as he shoves past her.

She catches his arm before he can get too far. "Bathroom. Ten minutes.”

It is actually a grand total of twenty minutes before she finds Rafe in the small guest bathroom. Armie had remained glue to her side for another fifteen minutes and even after she managed to escape him, she was stopped by multiple friends of her father’s, asking how college was going and whatnot.

Nevertheless, Rafe waits for her. Each minute after ten, he promised himself he wouldn’t wait another, but the truth is he would have waited all night.

“Fuck. I’ve been thinking about this dress all damn night,” Rafe groans, grabbing a handful of her green velvet covered ass. His other hand is around her chin, guiding her mouth so that he can kiss her against the wall. Their mouths collide so bruisingly that for a moment he considers if he’s just broken his nose. Rafe doesn’t dwell on the possibility for too long because he’s been achingly hard for over twenty minute now and he won’t make it one more without coming in his pants. There’s only one place he’s coming tonight and it’s inside of her.

“I knew you were always a perv, Cameron,” she huffs out as he pulls away from the kiss to unbuckle his slacks and pull down his boxers. The length of him springs out against his stomach. Just looking at the size of him makes her legs shake. Much to her disappointment, he’s forcing her around, hips pressed against the counter before she can ogle at the sight of him for long.

Rafe slips into her as though it were a well practiced move and not something he hasn’t done in over a year. He still knows his way around her body.

She nearly yelps in surprise at the sudden intrusion. “Jesus—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, breathing hard. Just the feeling of her around him is enough to make him spill right now and he’s trying to hold on a while longer. Stomach burning with the effort of not coming, he bucks, just once to satiate himself, into her. The feeling is overwhelming.

Not pleased with his sudden lack of performance, she consciously clenches around him. “Are you going to fuck me or what because I’m sure Armie—”

Rafe cuts her off by drilling his hips back into her once more, this time much more forcefully, and her pelvis hits the counter. That is going to bruise. Rafe grabs a fist full of her dark hair. “I’m going to fuck you so good you forget his goddamn name. I don’t want to hear it again. You hear me?”

Eyes locked with his in the mirror, she nods quickly, desperate to let him have his way with her. “Fuck. Yeah, Rafe. Please just fuck me.”

Without wasting anymore time adjusting to the feel of her, Rafe begins thrusting his hips rhythmically at a ridiculous pace. The hot heat of her seems to suck him back in each time and he wonders if she’s like this for him. Armand. By the way she’s panting, moaning against the counter, he would say no.

As weird of a thing that it is to say, there are people who are good at sex, and then there are people who are great at sex. Rafe is one of those people. She’s never been with another guy who fucks her like Rafe does. It’s raw and filthy and animalistic.

Just when she think he’s as deep as he can be, he shuffles a bit, readjusting himself to get a better angle and hit a spot inside of her that tears a cry from her throat.

“Oh fuck— Please, Rafe. That’s it. That’s enough. I can’t—” When she starts begging for him to stop is when he knows she’s close. She’s always been too prideful to tell him when she’s close and it pisses him off to no end. He slows his pounding to get in a few more drawn out thrusts. The head of him catches inside of her and she cries at the sensation.

“There you go, there you go,” he groans, finding the breath to encourage her to finish as he struggles to control himself. “Feel me? Atta girl, you’re right there. Right there, baby.”

Crying out a moan, her head falls back as she orgasms, her walls fluttering in protest around him. The shock last for several long seconds throughout her entire body, and she contemplates if she’s ever going to be satisfied by another orgasm ever again. Even after, the electric buzzing sensation remains, and she remembers that Rafe is still throbbing inside of her.

Without warning, he thrusts into her a couple more times before finding his own orgasm. With his nose pressed into her hair, mouth right next to her ear, Rafe moans as he releases inside of her, and he hears her breath hitch at the sound. As if he needed proof of the fiery ball that had been pent up in his stomach all evening, he spills and spills and spill inside of her. It leaves him trembling by the time he’s done.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Fuck,” she repeats, humoring him. He almost laughs but he doesn’t think he had the energy left for it.

Slowly moving again, the noise that his dick makes fucking into her, his cum dripping out is obscene, but he wants to savor the hot mess of her around him for as long as he can.

Smugly, he catches her gaze in the mirror, watching himself move in and out of her. The mascara under her eyes is smudged, making her searing gaze all that much darker. Rafe thinks she always looks perfect no matter what. He does have a bias towards ‘freshly fucked’ though.

As much as he would like to remain pressed against her —and in her— he knows she’ll only tolerate him for so long. So with a final sigh, he presses a prolonged and affectionate kiss to her hair and pulls out of her. As she fixes her dress, he tucks his still-leaking dick back into his boxers, pulls up his pants and watches her walk out the bathroom without a word. Rafe waits a respectful few minutes after her to make his exit.

Feeling truly fucked out, no pun intended, he heads over to the bar, where he spots her with her boyfriend, his arm wrapped low around her waist as he kisses her cheek. He needs a fucking drink, he thinks. And then, probably something stronger.

—

There are very few things that can rouse her from the dead sleep that she gets in her childhood bedroom. Coming home to the plush baby blue comforter that covers her perfectly made bed is like downing a handful of melatonin gummies after sleeping on a crummy twin mattress for nine months. Despite this usually holding true, Armie is the only one dead asleep beside her.

'I’m going to fuck you so good you forget his goddamn name.'  The memory keeps replaying in her head. The perfect infliction of his voice down to the scent of him as he leaned in is marred into her memory. He still wears the same cologne.

Without warning, her phone on the bedside table blares to life, ringing loudly, and the bright screen illuminates the mostly dark bedroom. Scrambling to shut it off before the commotion wakes Armie up, her immediate response is to swipe the answer button.

"Hello?" she asks, her voice hushed, into the phone.

"I need you, (y/n)."

Rafe's voice transfers crystal clear through the receiver, like he's not even trying to be quiet.

"Rafe?" Cupping her hand over the speaker and pressing the device closer to her ear, her eyebrows furrow as she hurriedly swings her legs over the side of the bed and quickly tiptoes out into the hall."Rafe?" she asks, this time louder now that Armie can't hear her. "Are you fucking cra—"

"I—I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. I— fuck, (y/n). I just—" He's rambling, his smooth as honey voice much thicker than usual and notably less precise. He sniffs, loudly.

She sighs as he tries to collect himself over the line, mumbling and stuttering. "Why do you only call me when you're high, Cameron? I mean, seriously?" This is not the first time he's phoned her in the middle of the night, high out of his mind.

Rubbing her hand over her eyes, she checks the clock on the wall. It's well past 3 am. There's a slim chance she will even get any sleep at this point.

"Listen, (y/n). I–I just—"

"No, you listen," she snaps, cutting him off. "You'd better be at your house when I get there or else. Got it?"

She can hear him swallow over the phone and something crashes to the floor. "Yeah— I— yeah, I will. I will."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye."

It helps that the Cameron's live only a few houses down. In reality, no one lives very far from anyone in the Outer Banks. Figure Eight is only a bike ride away from the Cut.

With the majority of the Cameron household likely asleep, and not caring to wake up Ward, she walks in without knocking. She'd never knocked before and wasn't about to make a habit of it now. Creeping slowly through the entryway, her sneakers echo loudly on the pristine tile floor. She knows this house like the back of her hand and therefore has no difficulty in navigating it in the dark. Around her, the house is still.

"Ra—" A hand clamps around her mouth from behind, effectively cutting of her startled shriek. Shoving his heavy body off of her, she whirls around to face him. "What are you doing?" she whispers loudly, shoving his hands away.

"I didn't want to scare you," Rafe defends, his blue eyes shining even in the darkness.

Shoving him once more in the chest, hard for good measure, she moves past him into the kitchen and flips the light on. Now that she can actually see, she steps back to take him in.

His pupils are blown, leaving very little of the blue of his eyes distinguishable. The suit jacket from earlier in the evening is gone, but everything else, from his dress shoes to the the white button up shirt underneath remain. Half of the top buttons of his shirt are open, revealing the golden skin of his chest. Nervously, he rubs at the back of his neck, where the short crop of his buzz cut fades.

"(y/n), I—," Rafe begins, stepping towards her.

"Shut up, Rafe."

His head fogged with the determination to get her to just listen to him, he ignores her instruction. "C'mon, baby. I just—"

"Shut up, Rafe," she repeats, sterner this time. She knows his head is not in the right place at the moment, and he needs to get it together if they're going to have this conversation.

"I need—"

"I said shut up!"

Finally something must reach the inside of that thick skull of his and Rafe immediately clamps his jaw shut. Now silent other than his heavy breathing, his big doe eyes watch her attentively.

She stares at him for a moment, using the quiet to gather her thoughts. Seeing him like this tears her up a little inside and it’s hard to find the right words to say to him. Sure, she treats him like shit most of the time, but that’s because it’s like second nature to the two of them. Fucking is the only thing they’re both good at.

She knows somewhere behind his drug induced haze, he’s really just a scared little kid. Most people take one look at Rafe and assume he’s just another screw up, destined to end up mooching off the Cameron family inheritance for the rest of his life. But she knows deep down that he has it in him to be better.

“You gotta stop, Rafe.” That’s the most honest and genuine sentence she’s spoken to him in a year. “This is not some prodigal son fairytale where you just get to walk away from it all when you decide to get your shit together. This is real life.” Her voice has risen towards the end and his already glossy eyes look wet.

Rafe can count on one hand the number of times he’s cried in his life, especially in front of someone else. His emotions tend to teeter from slightly cocksure to overwhelming rage without much of a grey area. But right now his throat feels tight and his eyes burn and he’s coming pretty damn close. And maybe it’s from the coke he snorted earlier but even that’s starting to wear off. He knows because his head isn’t swimming anymore and his eyeballs don’t feel like they’re rolling around in their sockets.

Fighting the swell of emotion that is threatening to erupt out of his chest, he looks up, tongue pressed into the inside of his cheek, suddenly not wanting to look in her eyes. Rafe finally nods, sniffing hard while he gathers himself. “I know,” he whispers, the noise barley even audible.

Still nodding to himself, he settles his gaze back on her. “And I know you think that this is the cocaine talking, but I promise you it’s not. I mean it when I say I need you.” Timidly, he paces towards her from across the kitchen. “I—I need your help. I need you. I—”

While he continues to ramble, she hushes him as he rests his chin in the crook of her neck. One hand cups the back of his head while the other rubs his shoulder through the soft cotton of his shirt. “Okay. You’re okay,” she murmurs into his ear, still holding onto him as he sinks to his knees on the kitchen floor. He’s tall enough that his head meets the middle of her stomach even on the floor.

Rafe can’t recall the last time anyone has held him so carefully before. But he does know that it feels wildly more intimate than any sort of sex they’ve ever had. Drowsy with relief and crashing from his high, he almost asks her if she loves him. It would be so easy to breathe the words, but instead he closes his eyes and lets her hold him a while longer.

#rafe x y/n #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #outer banks #obx smut #obx3 #obx imagine #obx x reader

[zeldasnotes]

SYNASTRY NOTES 1 👰🏽‍♀️

When someone have their Mars in my 3rd house I almost always find their voice super hot.

One risk with 10th house synastry is that the fights seem to become very public. For example Amber Heards Sun being conjunct Johnny Depps Midheaven.

Moon conjunct Mars can create a dislike that neither person knows where it comes from. Just a sense of being easily irritated or triggered by the other person.

Positive aspects can turn out just as toxic as some of the negative aspects especially when it comes to Venus or Neptune. Venus conjunct Ascendant for example is such a beautiful placement but there is also a very dark side to it if the Venus person is not happy with themselves. Ive seen this one cause extreme envy in the Venus person. Infront of them stands the glamorous Ascendant who got everything they wish they had from looks to manners. Ive seen this aspect cause the Venus person to have this aggressive need to compete with the house person while the house person is not even aware of this competiton.

Also in synastry the Conjunction can be harder to get over than the Square even tho the Square is considered worse. For example Mars Square Neptune in synastry means you see the other with extreeeemely rose colored glasses and then something happens and boom you see ALLL those flaws you ignored earlier. With the conjuncion the energy is much harder to tap out of because the planets are superglued to eachother. So with conjunctions to Neptune the fog never wears off which leads to one person having way too much power over the other. And this can go on for a lifetime. A good example would be a man who everyone in the neighbourhood know is cheating on his partner but the partner refuses to see it because the partners Moon conjuncts the cheating mans Neptune.

Moon conjunct Neptune makes the Moon person easily gloss over anything the Neptune person does. The Neptune person can hurt the Moon person a lot but the Moon person will forgive them. This aspect is super common between parent and child because the child grow up seeing their parent as this super hero and and then slowly realize the painful truth.

Mars in the 8th house makes the connection so intense sometimes it can feel like you need to avoid eyecontact with eachother. Its like your bodies get extra sensitive when you are around eachother.

Ive noticed that people with their Moon in my 3rd house care a lot about what I have to say and are very sensitive to criticism from me. Like if I advice them to do something they would listen. They value my opinion.

I feel like there is always a power struggle involved with 8th house synastry. One of the people involved feels powerless around the other and wants to prove themselves to them. What the powerstruggle is about depends on which planet is. With Venus it can be a powerstruggle over whos the most popular,beautiful, best clothes etc.

Your Vertex conjunct someones personal planet in synastry is someone you are meant to meet and they will have a big impact on your life.

Mars conjunct Mars will either make you rivals or a team. You can either work with eachother or against eachother.

Ive noticed that I tend to almost always be physically attracted to people who got their planets in my 7th house. Especially if its their Venus.

Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton got a Moon 8th house double whammy and they were involved in a huge scandal for having an affair when she worked at the White House. I’m not surprised.💀

The eyecontact hits different when you have 8th house synastry.

ASTEROIDS IN SYNASTRY:

Amber Heards Lilith being conjunct Johnny Depps Venus shows how toxic it can get when Lilith is involved(obviously the people involved got other issues other than synastry, but Lilith will definitely put some fire on it.) It also shows the huge age difference between them. Lilith is common in synastry between couple where there is a huge age gap. Johnny is 23 years older than Amber.

Ive noticed that when someone got their Juno(3) conjunct your personal planets they have a special kind of respect for you because they genuinely like who you are as a person + you usually have the same values which is why this asteroid is so good for marriage. Especially with Juno conjunct Ascendant. Just pure adoration.

Prey(6157) conjunct personal planets in synastry is unfortunately exactly what it sounds like. How they will prey on you or how you will prey on them depends on the planet involved. Moon is usually the most hurtful, pure emotional abuse.

I know a guy whos Sun conjuncts my Knight(29391) and thats exactly what he is for me. He is super protective of me.

Moon conjunct Chiron in synastry is just never ending pain. Its like you just cant stop hurting eachother but being with eachother feels so healing at the same time. From what Ive noticed the Chiron person is usually the one who gets hurt the most with this aspect, the Moon person attacks where it hurts the most. Its like the Moon person just instinctively know what to say or do to hurt the Chiron person.

Lilith 10th house synastry seems to be common between people who have a public beef or just two people that everyone knows dont like eachother.

Nessus(7066) conjunct Ascendant in synastry seems to create an intense sexual obsession and awake sexually devious fantasies in both people.

If anyone got their Nemesis(128), Dejanira(157) or Sado(118230) conjunct my North Node then BYE. No just kidding but seriously I would not trust the person.

Asteroid Bilk(4425) is prominent in the charts of people who take advantage of people for financial gain. A lot of con artists have this prominent. So before you do anything involving money look up this asteroid in the synastry chart.

Someones planet or a ”bad” asteroid conjunct your asteroid Child(4580) could be someone who had a bad influence on your childhood. I know someone who got his Nessus conjunct my Child and lets just say he traumatized me in ways I will never heal from.

©2023 Zeldas Notes

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #lilith aspects #lilith #synastry reading #birth chart readings #asteroids

[hanniluvi]

BITE ME — SUNGHOON ONESHOT

SYNOPSIS : Throughout history, it has been a common practice for vampires to select unsuspecting individuals from the streets as a source of food, feasting not only on their blood but also on their fear. Sunghoon, accustomed to encountering terrified individuals, found it unusual to come across someone devoid of terror in their eyes—until he met you. Not being in the right state of mind, you had requested him to bite you instead. This unexpected request stirred a peculiar warmth in Sunghoon's pale cheeks, deviating from his usual routine of draining all of one's blood.

— when a supposed feast turns into an surprising attraction.

PAIRING : vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE : fantasy, vampire au, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS : mentions of blood, biting, kidnapping, marks on body, mentions of food, cursing, mentions of toxic parents, abandonment, lmk if there’s any more!

FEATURING : all of enhypen

WORD COUNT : 15.7K+ (15722)

SOPH : its here its here!!! def the longest fic i’ve ever wrote 😭 . god this fic will be a ROLLER COASTER i swear (me saying that as roller coaster by txt is playing). i gen had so much fun writing this fic and i was so immersed in writing 😭 this is my first time writing a vampire au so i think its pretty okay for a first timer 🙏 posted a teaser of this and FINALLY finished it sooo thats great 😊 anyways, i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

thank you for my wonderful mooties who read / seen some parts of the fic, your help + comments were great <3 + esp @flwoie , who proofread the whole thing that made their grammar checker crash MANY times … love you 😊🩷

also tysm for 1.5K+ :( <3 i can never be more grateful for all of you guys to keep little tabs on my works so thank you <3 i guess you say this is dedicated for it since i dont have an event planned out for it sooo <3!

ONE — desire for blood

The moon held high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the deserted streets. Sunghoon quickened his pace, brushing against the tall trees that stood before him. Seeking respite, he sought out an empty clearing, settling upon a rugged rock, a faint groan escaping his lips as a throbbing ache pulsated in his head. The change in his eye color served a reminder that he needed to find something, a person whose blood he could consume.

“Jay, I’m going to murder you.” he muttered under his breath, stealing a glance at the night sky. Jay had left him to venture alone, an attempt to foster his independence. “I better find someone, fast.” Renewed determination surged through him as he rose from the rock, relying on his heightened senses and supernatural swiftness to locate his prey.

It was difficult to find someone out in the dark, anyone would know better not to walk alone at night. Especially near the forests, near the vampire’s homes. Yet, there were always those foolish souls who remained oblivious to the dangers, dismissing the existence of the immortal creatures. This was the only time Sunghoon wished for a person just like that to appear in front of his eyes.

Moving with an otherworldly grace, Sunghoon's senses sharpened, propelling him forward with astonishing speed as the scent grew stronger. His swift strides covered considerable ground within mere seconds, until his gaze settled upon a woman strolling along the trail adjacent to the forest—an unwitting offering destined to be his meal for the night.

Focusing on his thoughts, he quickly tapped into the energy that coursed through his immortal veins. Gradually, his body began to shimmer, as if fading from the mortal realm. His transition was complete, and Sunghoon found himself invisible, taking swift steps toward his victim.

Unaware of the danger, his target continued along her path, oblivious to the invisible presence stalking her. Sunghoon positioned himself behind you, mere inches away, his concealed form ready to strike. A muffled scream escaped your lips, stifled by his own hand.

Frantically attempting to break free, her resistance waned, her body growing limp in his firm grasp. A smirk tugged at Sunghoon's lips as his elongated fangs became visible, a sinister transformation hinting at his insatiable thirst. Another night, another feast secured. Without delay, he took her away to his old castle, where he would drain every drop of blood from his new victim.

TWO — bite me

Upon entering the castle, Sunghoon was greeted by a bustling scene that filled the halls. His eyes landed on Jay, lounging in a chair and casually holding a wine glass filled with blood. Jay's legs rested nonchalantly on Sunghoon's cherished table, an act that irked him.

"You're back?" Jay chuckled, wiping the traces of blood from his mouth. Sitting up straight, he placed the glass down and met Sunghoon's gaze. "How did it go?"

"It went fine, but once I finish my meal, I'm going to make sure you regret leaving me alone," Sunghoon retorted, his tone laced with a simmering threat.

"Oh, come on—wait, you brought your meal home? I thought you were planning on disposing of that body," Jay remarked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yeah, well, Jake does this all the time," Sunghoon replied dismissively, his impatience growing.

"That's true. Well, you better hurry. I can sense that the girl is about to regain consciousness," Jay advised, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm on it. And please refrain from putting your feet on my table. I had it custom made for a reason," Sunghoon grumbled, annoyance evident in his voice.

"I can't make any promises," Jay retorted with a smirk, reclaiming his drink. Sunghoon rolled his eyes in exasperation before walking up the spiral staircase. He showed no signs of struggle as he made his way to his room.

Arriving at a door emblazoned with his name, Sunghoon pushed it open, revealing a room adorned with eerie decor. He carefully placed you in front of his ornate chair, a seat that had witnessed countless victims before their deaths.

Adjusting the leather straps to your wrists, he makes sure it’s difficult for you to break free. Settling into his seat, he positioned himself directly in front of you, patiently awaiting your return to consciousness. It didn't take long for the groan that signaled your awakening to reach his ears.

As you struggled to open your eyes, the world appeared hazy and disorienting. Blinking repeatedly, you attempted to discern the figure before you, but the blurriness persisted. Your hand instinctively moved to rub your eyes, only to discover the confinement of the restraints. Panic surged through your veins—were you being held captive?

"You're finally awake?" His voice resonated, sending shivers down your spine in a way no ordinary human's voice ever had. Gradually, your vision cleared, revealing a man seated across from you. His dark brown hair fell messily across his forehead, while he wore a black cloak, a suit adorned with ornate gold gems, and a partially unbuttoned white shirt, hinting at an air of elegance mingled with darkness.

Taking off his cloak, he makes eye contact with you again, and you get a gulp of fear. A smirk played on his lips, his sharpened fangs now fully visible, confirming your worst suspicions—he was a vampire. Your heart raced, with fear coursing through your veins with increasing intensity. Fuck, they were actually real. You were certainly not dreaming.

"Your fear only enhances your scent. Only makes it smell sweeter and irresistible for vampires like me." He remarked, rising from his seat, his senses captivated by the intoxicating aroma that came from you. Rare and special, your scent beckoned to him, captivating his vampiric instincts. Grateful that Jay's hunger hadn't pushed him to steal his meal in mere moments, Sunghoon savored the anticipation.

“You'd better calm that racing heart of yours before I lose control," he warned, his frigid breath grazing your neck as he leaned in closer to deliver his message. Inhaling deeply, you tried to steady your breathing, attempting to stop the pounding beats that echoed within your chest. Sunghoon emitted a low chuckle, surprised at how obedient humans could become when vulnerable to the supernatural allure of his presence.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued as he observed your lack of response. Returning to his seat, he locked eyes with you once again, awaiting your words with an air of anticipation. Yet silence hung heavily in the room; words didn’t seem to escape easily from your mouth.

“You know, I’m not very patient,” he hissed softly, dissatisfied with the lingering quiet that filled his large room. “Don’t think you have any chance of making it out here alive. Just spit it out already.” Crossing his legs, he reached for the golden wine glass, tapping his sharp nails against the delicate surface, his gaze never leaving yours.

Caught off guard by the pressure, panic slipped past your lips, the words tumbling out before you could fully comprehend their weight. ‘Just….bite me.” The room fell into an eerie silence, granting you a moment to process what you had just said. Regret mingled as you realized the significance of what you had uttered.

“Well, that’s certainly unexpected,” Sunghoon responded, a mixture of bewilderment and intrigue flashing across his eyes. He sets the golden cup down, unable to form words himself. The request to be bitten, especially after learning his true nature as a vampire, was entirely new to him. It sparked a strange sensation within his being, a feeling he couldn’t quite decipher. Do humans also feel these kinds of emotions?

“You’re definitely a weird one,” Sunghoon remarked, still feeling flustered by your unconventional response.

“What do you mean?” you questioned, pretty oblivious to the whole situation.

“Most people wouldn’t dare ask a vampire to bite them, especially after their lives are on the line. It takes away the thrill of the feast,” he explained, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Wait, so you vampires feed off fear too?” you inquired, attempting to make sense of the earlier statement.

“That’s a bit rude of you to address us that way.” A small frown forms on his face. “But, of course,” he replied, amusement evident in his tone, “that’s why I told you to claim your racing heart. Fear tends to make it beat even faster.”

“Well, guess what? I am scared right now,” you retorted, defiance lacing your words. “But you can just take a small amount of blood—definitely not all of it, I swear. And don’t forget, I’ll fight back if you push too far.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his amusement turning into a more serious demeanor. “Bold words from a mere weakling. Don’t forget who holds the power of a vampire here.”

“Don’t forget, you’re basically glued to that seat.” He taps on the arm rests of his chair, signaling the leather straps that restrain your hands from moving anywhere.

“Whatever,” you dismissed, frustration tainting your voice. “Are you going to bite me or not? I just want to get out of here, even though I have nowhere to go.”

A flicker of warning passed through Sunghoon's eyes as he leaned in closer. "Don't test my patience. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Maintaining a strong gaze, Sunghoon straightened his posture, his eyes locking with yours. His tongue briefly flicked over his lips, causing his sharp fangs to show once more. “Do you really mean that?” he inquired, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

Nervously, you swallowed hard, offering a slow nod in response, Closing your eyes, you braced yourself, knowing his approach would come closer. The sound of his approaching footsteps echoed in your ears, heightening your fear. Your breath got caught in your throat as his breath brushed against your skin, signaling the upcoming bite. “The pain will be bearable. Just let me know when to stop, and I’ll stop,” he assured you.

“Really?” you stammered, your voice trembling, to which Sunghoon responded with a chuckle. “Vampires have self-control too, you know.”

With the warning given, his teeth easily punctured your neck, and to your surprise, the pain seemed to be more manageable than you thought. He proceeded to drink your blood, causing your head to grow dizzy as if he were sucking all your blood. “Stop,” you groaned, feeling the need to stop the dizziness.

Sunghoon withdrew his teeth, his mouth and fangs were stained with your blood. He was disappointed about how short you lasted, but your blood was great—the best he had in a while. It was sort of addicting; he couldn’t explain the taste. “Barely lasted two minutes. You truly are a weakling,” he snickered, wiping the blood from his chin.

"Shut up," you retorted, the remnants of your strength pushing you to respond. "Could you release my hands now? I promise I won't attempt to escape." You were desperate to remove the restraints being placed on your hands; you felt them becoming sore.

“Oh right,” he replied, walking over to free your hands effortlessly. As the restraints were finally removed, you let out a sigh of relief, feeling the soreness and observing the red marks left behind on your wrists. Instinctively, you tilted your head, your fingers gently making their way to the two puncture wounds near your neck. A hiss escaped your lips as pain radiated from the fresh marks.

“It should heal on its own soon, unless you’d prefer me to heal it immediately,” Sunghoon offered, his gaze focused on your every move. Curiosity tugged at his features as he awaited your response. “And how would you heal it?” you questioned, wary yet curious about his suggestion.

“Well, if you’re comfortable with me licking it–”

“I’ve heard enough,” you interjected, cutting him off. “I’ll pass—I’d be fine with some ointment or bandages.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll fetch something downstairs,” he stated, rising from his seat and adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. “Don’t even try to leave; we have matters to discuss later. And remember, there are other vampires roaming around here who won’t show you the same mercy I did. It would be wise of you to keep that in mind.” With those words of caution, he walked towards the room’s entrance and left after receiving your assurance,

Once again, you found yourself with nowhere else to go. And you definitely did not want to face any more bloodthirsty beings; one was definitely enough. However, an unsettling feeling gnawed at your stomach, and you tried to brush it aside by distracting your thoughts.

As you looked around, the weird atmosphere of the place suddenly became more noticeable, leaving you shuddering that you had only just noticed it.

THREE — keeping a secret

Leaving you to deal with your thoughts, Sunghoon ran down the stairs and made his way through the kitchen, determined to locate a first aid kit. As he rummaged through the cupboards, a voice suddenly disrupted his search, causing him to startle in fright. Jake, wearing a mischievous smirk, held a large cup of blood in his hand.

“God, don’t do that,” Sunghoon chastised, his heart still racing from the surprise.

“You haven’t had a good scare in a while, did you?” Jake chuckled, clearly amused by his reaction.

“Whatever. Do you happen to know where the first-aid kit is? I live here, yet I have no idea where things are kept.” Sunghoon said in annoyance, still looking in the cabinets.

“Why do you need it? You don’t seem to be injured.”

“I just want to have one in my room. I’m tired of coming down here every time I need something.”

“Ah, the life of a loner. That’s probably why Jay made you hunt for your own food—to get you out of your room. And you never leave that area.” Jake teased.

“And you never stop talking. Blood is all over your mouth; don’t embarrass yourself and wipe it.” Jake took Sunghoon’s remarks in stride. He wiped the blood from his mouth as instructed, unfazed by the insult. “The first aid kit is in that cabinet over there, second row.”

“Thanks. By the way, where’s Jay?” Sunghoon asked.

“Probably in the dining room. Why do you ask?” Jake responded.

“I need some more food.”

“Feast wasn’t enough today?”

“Not that. It was too good, and now I crave for more.”

“You should have shared; it must have been good if you say so,” Jake remarked playfully.

"Whatever. See you later. And make sure you clean up your mess. We don't need any more corpses lying around randomly," Sunghoon cautioned.

"Aye, aye, captain," Jake retorted, giving a mock salute.

After leaving Jake behind, Sunghoon continued his search for Jay and found him in the dining room, indulging in another feast. The woman’s screeches were so loud that it was possible to hear them outside of the castle.

“Oh god, not in open daylight.” Sunghoon pretended to cover his eyes, not wanting to see one of his brothers attack a person who's still alive. “We’re vampires, there’s no sunlight— ”

"Take a joke, will you? You're worse than Jake sometimes." Jay laughed, finding amusement in Sunghoon's reaction.

"Chill out, would you? No wonder the others tease you so much," Jay shot back, grabbing a cloth to wipe his mouth as he glanced at Sunghoon.

"Do you need anything?" Jay asked, curious to know what Sunghoon wanted.

"Yeah, do you have any blood packets?" Sunghoon inquired.

"Again? I told you to hunt for something fresh. Why settle for a packet?"

"You saw me carrying someone earlier. I guess that wasn't enough?"

"You need to hunt with me next time. You're not very good at it," Jay remarked.

"Says the person who needs at least five people to feel satisfied with their hunger," Sunghoon countered.

"Shut up. Anyway, you can take that one," Jay pointed to a person sitting in the room without moving. "He's under the influence of sleeping pills. He won't wake up for about eight hours."

"Well, it's certainly better than nothing," Sunghoon responded.

"Are you kidding? That one is blood type AB, the best kind you could get. You should be thankful," Jay emphasized.

Without further ado, Sunghoon sank his teeth into the guy's neck. The person's face grew pale, and their heart gradually slowed until it ceased to beat.

"You were right; that was the best kind," Sunghoon stated, satisfied with his meal. Though, it wasn’t better than yours.

"And you sure were starving. You owe me," Jay reminded him.

"Whatever. I'll just ask one of the guys to hunt someone like that for you," Sunghoon teased.

"You better keep your promise," Jay warned.

"I can't make any promises," Sunghoon mocked Jay, leaving the dining room and making his way back to his room. Jay laughed once more, sinking his teeth into the woman again.

Perhaps he would find a way to make you pay for making him come down here to face two of his annoying siblings.

FOUR — sealing the deal

After what seemed like hours, Sunghoon didn't take that long to come back to his room. I guess he is pretty attached to his own room. Meanwhile, you remained seated, growing increasingly bored as time dragged on. As he closed the door behind him, Sunghoon spoke up, breaking the silence.

“I’m back. Have you noticed any improvement in the healing of your wounds?” he asked. You emitted a soft hum in response, acknowledging the progress. Brushing your fingers over the scabs, you could feel the rough texture of the forming scars.

“Though they’re drying up, I still wouldn’t mind some ointment. And, of course, bandages, of any kind, really,” you requested. Sunghoon surprised you by offering his assistance and asking for your consent. It was a rare display of kindness from him. "Sure," you mumbled, feeling a warm flush on your cheeks. Pushing aside the unfamiliar feeling, you tilted your head towards Sunghoon, allowing him to take care of your wounds.

Sunghoon approached you, and a slightly surprised expression appeared on his face because of your agreement. He brought a chair and placed it closer to you, taking a seat. He moved closer, carefully examining the wounds on your neck. After looking at them, he reached for the first-aid kit he had brought from the kitchen.

Opening the kit, he took out the tube of ointment and a pack of bandages. With gentle movements, he applied the ointment to your wounds, his touch surprisingly tender. You felt a soothing sensation as he spread the ointment over the scabs, alleviating some of the discomfort.

Once the ointment was applied, he proceeded to place a couple of bandages on your neck, securing them in place. He worked efficiently, his movements precise yet careful. The bandages provided a protective layer over the wounds, preventing you from picking at the scabs.

As Sunghoon finished tending to your injuries, he stepped back, looking at his work. “There you go,” he said softly, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “That should help with the healing. If you want me to check up on it, just let me know.”

You thanked him, appreciating his unexpected act of kindness. Despite the circumstances, there was a fleeting moment of connection between you and Sunghoon—a brief glimpse of a different side to him.

As Sunghoon tidied up the first aid kit and stowed it away, an uneasy silence settled in the room. You anxiously twiddle your thumbs while waiting for him to address the matter he mentioned earlier.

"Oh, right!" Sunghoon exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering. He took a seat closer to you, causing a slight flutter of anticipation in your chest.

"You mentioned that you have nowhere to go, correct?" he confirmed, seeking clarification.

"Yes, that's right." You nodded, your voice tinged with curiosity. You couldn't help but wonder where this conversation was headed.

“How about I let you stay here?” Sunghoon proposed, his voice filled with a surprising offer.

“Here...?” you repeated, a hint of disbelief in your tone. The room you were currently in didn’t exactly scream comfort or safety.

“Yes, here in my room,” Sunghoon confirmed, slightly perplexed by your reaction. He was about to remind you of your past statement about having nowhere to go.

“And how long are you suggesting I stay?” you asked, wanting to clarify the terms of the arrangement.

“As long as you want,” he replied, not understanding why you’re hesitating to just agree.

“Well…I have to ask, what’s the catch?” you questioned, sensing that such an offer wouldn’t come without a price.

“You catch on quickly,” Sunghoon remarked, acknowledging how clever you were. “In exchange for your stay, I propose that you provide me with your blood. It seems like a fair deal, doesn’t it?”

“Woah, hold on,” you protested, feeling a mix of shock and distress at Sunghoon’s proposal. “There’s absolutely no way I’m agreeing to this. I mean, we just met! Aren’t you trusting me, a stranger, a little too much now?”

Sunghoon shrugged nonchalantly, seemingly unfazed by your reaction. “It didn’t strike me as that crazy of an idea, but I guess humans are more sensitive about these things,” he remarked, surprised at how fast your voice was raised at him. “I don’t know why you’re so baffled now; you were the one who asked me to bite you.”

“Okay, that was clearly different! It was due to shock, alright?” you said, clearly not being able to rack up any responses to fire back.

“But, whatever! Anyway, as we were saying, of course it sounds crazy to me! You’re a vampire, not some ordinary person that I know. It’s not like I can trust you completely,” you shot back, your frustration becoming more evident.

“Look, I don’t even know your name.” You paused, realizing the absurdity of the situation. You two were getting into a heated conversation, trying to make deals, yet you both haven’t introduced yourselves properly.

“Oh, right—the name is Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon,” he interjected, his tone brimming with impatience. You swore if he wasn’t a stupid vampire, you would’ve knocked him out right there.

“And yours?” He interrupts your thoughts, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“It’s Y/N,” you replied, slightly taken aback by his abruptness.

“Nice to properly have a greeting with you, Y/N,” Sunghoon says with a slight smile. “Now, let's go back to our previous discussion, shall we?”

“Glad you mentioned that. So, exactly how is this deal supposed to work? Where would I even stay, and how often would I have to give my blood to you? Lord, who knows, you might kill me on my second day staying here!” you exclaimed, wanting to understand how shameless Sunghoon can be with his crazy thoughts.

“I understand your concerns about the deal. Let’s address them one by one, alright?” You nodded, willing to hear him out despite your concerns.

“As for where you’ll stay, you obviously don’t need to worry about that. I mean, how bad could it be?” he added with a smirk. “Consider it your sanctuary; don’t worry about anything.”

“And regarding the blood part,” he continued, his tone serious. “I assure you, I have no intention of killing you—well, I’ll try not to. We can establish some clear boundaries after you accept this deal. And we’ll figure out something where you can provide blood for me in controlled amounts.”

You furrowed your brow, still skeptical. “But why do you even need my blood? Can’t you just feed on others?”

Sunghoon sighed, his expression softening slightly. “It’s not as simple as that. I won’t go into all the details now, but let’s just say that your blood has a unique quality that appeals to vampires, especially me. It’s not something I can easily explain.”

You pondered his words for a moment, considering the possibilities. The idea of staying at this castle with a vampire, in fact many, was still unsettling, but you were running out of options.

“Fine,” you finally gave in. “I’ll give it a try. It's not like I can do anything anyway. But if anything feels off or if you break our agreement, I’m out.”

Sunghoon nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fair enough, Y/N. I’ll do my best to upload our agreement and ensure your safety.”

"Wait, so you’re telling me you put on the bandages and ointment for nothing?” you asked, touching the side of your neck.

“Oops,” he says, scratching the nape of his neck.

With that, a strange alliance between you and Sunghoon started to take shape, settling for a unique and uncertain journey ahead.

FIVE — the consequences

As the first night at Sunghoon’s place began, you couldn’t help but wonder how you had gotten yourself into this situation. It was clear that he hadn’t fully thought of a plan for your stay or how to ensure your safety amidst his unpredictable siblings.

Sunghoon, maintaining his composed demeanor, raced his mind as he contemplated the best course of action. Though Sunghoon lived in a spacious place with a huge room of his own, it became apparent that it was not designed to accommodate two people. After all, as a vampire, he would have never imagined sharing a room with a mere human, especially in a place he cherished deeply.

Sunghoon couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside. He reminded himself of the circumstances that brought you here, his promise to keep you safe, and the fact that this arrangement was temporary. He had to do something to make you feel comfortable; he isn’t that bad of a guy after all.

After a few moments of deep thought, he finally spoke up. “Y/N, I apologize for the lack of preparation. You see, I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t expecting this either, until you decided to kidnap me,” you joked, recalling the past moments and trying to tease him with it.

“I guess you’re right.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, smiling to himself as he remembered the past. “But here we are, working something out together.”

Sunghoon contemplated his thoughts, attempting to find a suitable solution. “Well, I guess you can just sleep on my bed.”

“What the hell are you saying? Me, sleeping on your bed?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, surprised by your strong reaction. “What’s wrong with sleeping on my bed? Why do you seem so offended by the idea?” He blinks in confusion, not understanding the commotion with his idea. “You should consider this a luxury—even my siblings do! They rarely lay here, and I’m allowing you to.”

You crossed your arms, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. “It’s just...we barely know each other, and it feels too intimate to share a bed. Plus, it’s your personal space.”

Sunghoon tilted his head, feeling the need to tease you just a little bit. “Intimate? It’s just a bed; we are just sleeping on it. I don’t see it as a big deal. Besides, it’s a spacious bed, and I promise not to invade your personal space. What did you think was the intent behind my words?”

A mischievous smirk graced Sunghoon’s lips as he observed your cheeks turning a shade of red. Caught off guard by his response, you quickly cleared your throat, attempting to regain your composure. However, his gaze remained fixed on you, his smirk persisting, much to your annoyance.

You sighed, trying to find the right words. “Look, I appreciate your offer, but I think it’s best if we find another solution. I need my own space, and you should have yours too.”

“Alright, here’s the plan. You take the bed, and I’ll take the sofa. How does that sound?” Sunghoon proposes, trying to find a compromise.

“The sofa? Wouldn’t that be uncomfortable to sleep on for the night?” You voiced your concern, staring at the white sofa near his bed. It looked rather small, especially for his height.

“It can actually turn into a bed,” he reassured you.

“But I’ll feel bad if you have to sleep on the couch. Are you sure? We can always switch.” You protested, not easily accepting his kind act.

“Look, it’s either we both sleep on the same bed or I sleep on the couch. Keep arguing, and you’ll end up sleeping on the floor. Got it?” Sunghoon’s voice turned stern, attempting to make his point clear.

"...Understood," you reluctantly agreed, realizing his sudden change in mood.

You found yourself lying in Sunghoon’s bed, gazing up at the ceiling. The mattress was undeniably comfortable, but the unsettling atmosphere of the room made it difficult for you to drift off to sleep. Each time you closed your eyes, a chilly breeze seemed to brush against your body, further heightening your unease. This room was definitely not meant for humans to stay in.

Shifting slightly, you noticed Sunghoon’s silhouette remaining still in the darkness. His presence offered some sense of reassurance, but it wasn’t enough to completely dispel the unsettling feeling that hung in the air.

“Stop moving around so much; people might hear you,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice audible in the quiet room, causing you to freeze in your position. You didn’t know he was awake.

You remained silent for a moment, not sure if you should tell him the reason why. However, Sunghoon’s persistence broke the silence; his words were laced with a subtle attempt to gain your trust.

“No, I’m fine,” you replied, turning away from him and facing the other side of the bed.

“Sleep well, Y/N,” Sunghoon said, his voice echoing with the same enigmatic tone that had sent shivers down your spine when you first met.

In a way you couldn't quite understand, Sunghoon's presence was driving you to the edge of madness, albeit in a strangely captivating manner.

“So you’re suggesting I stay here for my entire stay?” you asked, still unsure of what had been planned by him.

“What? Would you rather be thrown into a bloodbath with six other vampires?” Sunghoon questioned you and was quite offended by your response.

“I think I’ll pass on that,” you replied, not eager to experience such a gruesome scenario. The thought of facing six vampires who were similar to Sunghoon, or even worse, sent a shiver down your spine. If they had possessed even a fraction of his intensity or darkness, you knew you would deeply regret your decision to stay. In fact, the idea seemed so terrifying that you would rather take matters into your own hands and end your own life than allow them to have a single drop of blood, Sunghoon included.

Ignoring the potential dangers ahead, you found yourself in his lavish library, with shelves overflowing with books. It was a comfortable and well-maintained space, with not a single speck of dust in sight. Picking up a nearby book, you asked, “You’re quite the reader, huh?”

You read the title, “How to Kill People : Guide for Vampires,” and quickly returned it to its original position. Sunghoon chuckled at your reaction, reminding you, “You’d probably see worse than that.”

His comment left you both intrigued and slightly unnerved, wondering what exactly he meant by it.

“Before I leave, let’s go over some rules I want to establish, shall we?” Sunghoon asks, only to get a nod from you. You hoped these rules weren’t going to be as bizarre as it was for you to be sleeping on Sunghoon’s bed for the whole stay.

Sunghoon dragged a nearby chair and settled himself into it. Resting his arms on the sides of the chair, he cleared his throat, preparing to lay down some ground rules.

"Rule Number One," he began sternly, pointing at you to emphasize his point, "you cannot leave this area until I say it's okay. As I mentioned earlier, I live with six other people who are extremely nosy. Any noise or disturbance will attract their attention, and they'll come running like meerkats trying to figure out what's going on."

You fought back a chuckle, imagining the scene he described, but you held it in, not wanting to upset Sunghoon by not paying attention.

"Rule Number Two," Sunghoon continued, his voice carrying a sense of seriousness, "is to never, and I mean never, expose yourself to them. They can get you killed in an instant, no joke. The last thing we need is another dead body lying around here, especially in my room."

You gulped, feeling a wave of unease wash over you. You nodded along to his words, but your mind began to wander, causing his instructions to fade into background noise. Your nods became automatic, hoping that he would finish speaking soon.

Sunghoon noticed your lack of focus, though he chose not to mention it. He debated whether to stop talking and address the issue or to continue and hope you would snap back to attention. Reluctantly, he decided to keep going, aware of the possibility that you were nodding along to nothing.

"...You got it?" he asked, his voice snapping you back to reality. You nodded and agreed, though you had no recollection of what he had just said. "Really? What did I say?"

You hesitated, realizing that you had completely missed his instructions. Sheepishly, you asked him to repeat it once more, hoping to catch up.

“We are going to be here for a long time, aren’t we?” Sunghoon let out a sigh, clearly disappointed.

He started from the beginning again, and this time, you made a conscious effort to pay attention.

At least that’s what he hoped you would do.

SIX — under his care

"You know, you're going to have to take care of me, right, Sunghoon?" You asked nervously, feeling the weight of your dependency on him.

"What do you mean? You should be able to take care of yourself," Sunghoon replied, seemingly indifferent to your needs.

“I need some food to survive being confined here; I’m not like you,” you pleaded, hoping he would understand.

"Oh. Take a blood packet," he suggested, opening a drawer to reveal a neatly arranged row of plastic packets. He quickly handed one to you, but you couldn't help but feel repulsed by the sight of the bright red liquid.

"I'm not a vampire, Sunghoon. I'm human. I need real food and water, not your blood packets," you protested, suppressing a gag.

"Oh, right," Sunghoon muttered awkwardly, realizing his oversight. He awkwardly moved closer, retrieving the blood packet from your lap and returning it to the drawer. He seemed to be slowly grasping the responsibility of caring for a human, but you couldn't shake the feeling that he resented it. The thought crossed your mind that he might even be contemplating killing you on the spot, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“So…I’m supposed to hunt for you?” Sunghoon asked, sounding completely clueless about the needs of a human. “What kind of food do you guys enjoy?”

"I'm not really picky," you replied, trying to think of all the things you could eat.

"You're okay with raw animals?" he asked, clearly unaware of human dietary preferences.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you retorted, slightly alarmed by his suggestion.

"I'm sorry, I'm not really familiar with this," Sunghoon admitted, realizing his lack of knowledge.

"We eat warm, cooked foods. Sometimes when it’s cold, although it's not always enjoyable. You might need to cook something," you explained, hoping he would understand.

"Cook? The only thing I know is how to boil organs," Sunghoon confessed, his words never failing to make your jaw drop. He’s so unpredictable, you hate it.

"Enough of that," you said firmly, shaking your head to dispel the uncomfortable thoughts. "At least you can do something."

"You have to eat something cooked?" Sunghoon scrunched up his face, contemplating what the future held for him.

"Yes, that's what a normal human being needs," you replied.

"I'll figure something out. You're not picky, right?" Sunghoon asked, trying to reassure himself.

"Don't think I am," you responded, amused by his concern.

"I'll be back," he said, determination filling his voice.

"Don't take too long; I'm starving," you teased, sinking into Sunghoon's comfortable couch in the library and surrounding yourself with piles of books. You just hope he will do something right for once.

Leaving his room behind, Sunghoon let out a deep sigh of exasperation. Cooking a full meal that didn't involve blood was a daunting task for a vampire like him. The last thing he needed was to be caught in the act and subjected to endless questions from his nosy siblings. He moved swiftly and silently through the house, his senses heightened, ensuring that his movements remained undetected.

When Sunghoon opened the fridge, he wasn't surprised to find a limited selection of ingredients. After all, it was a typical vampire household with a preference for non-food items. Who would expect to see a fridge stacked with fresh produce? Luckily, among the assortment of mysterious meats, Sunghoon managed to unearth some ingredients courtesy of Heeseung's recent cooking practices. Heeseung seemed to have taken an interest in culinary pursuits, although the reason remained unknown.

"I'll keep it simple," Sunghoon muttered to himself, reaching for a container of eggs. Setting the eggs aside, he looks through the unorganized cupboards, looking at the scattered pots and pans. He cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a fork. As he moved around the kitchen, the sound of clattering pans and plates filled the air, punctuated by brief pauses as he adjusted his movements to avoid making too much noise.

“What are you doing?” Heeseng’s voice rang out, laced with confusion, as he came to a sudden stop upon seeing one of his brothers actually cooking.

Sunghoon turned to face Heeseung, holding a pan in one hand and eggs in a bowl in the other. He couldn't help but feel a bit sheepish, caught in the act of preparing a meal.

“...Practicing?” Sunghoon shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed about him catching him out here.

"You're making eggs? Want me to help? I can cook some meat or something." Heeseung offered, rolling up his sleeves. "Gotta get some protein for a guy like you." He flashed a smile and opened the fridge.

Sunghoon couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh, setting down the pan and bowl. Heeseung's easy-going nature reminded him why he was his favorite brother. Heeseung never questioned him unnecessarily and was always there to lend a hand when needed.

In no time, Heeseung finished cooking and guided Sunghoon through the steps. As he cleaned the countertop, he asked, "So, what made you want to try your hand at cooking?"

Sunghoon quickly tried to come up with an excuse, standing awkwardly with the dish in his hands. "Uhh...I've seen you cook multiple times and was curious. I thought I'd give it a try and see if I could make some real food. If it turns out good, maybe I'll start cooking more often."

"Ah, I see. Well, if you ever need any help or have any questions about cooking, my room is right next door," Heeseung offered.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind...if you're home," Sunghoon replied, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

As Sunghoon entered the library, he saw you lying on the couch, engrossed in a book, with a stack of books beside you. The sight of you brought a flutter to his heart, a feeling he couldn't quite explain. He greeted you and placed the dish on the table, letting out a sigh of relief.

"You have no idea what I just went through," he exclaimed, flopping face down onto the couch in front of you. You chuckled, and once again, he felt that ticklish sensation in his stomach. These random feelings were starting to puzzle him, but he pushed them aside and focused on your words.

"It's a shame you have to keep going through this," you remarked, surprised at how delicious the simple dish tasted.

Sunghoon sighed, realizing he would have to cook three meals like this every day and rely on Heeseung's help. However, he found himself not objecting to the idea. In fact, he rather liked it, though he couldn't quite figure out why.

SEVEN — unexpected encounter

As the days turned into weeks, the routine of sleeping in Sunghoon’s bed and spending time in the library continued. Sunghoon remained consistent in his actions, always bringing you food despite the strange glances he received from his siblings.

Engrossed in one of the books from Sunghoon’s collection, you heard the door creak open. Assuming it was Sunghoon returning, you began to express your relief, only to pause when you looked up and realized it wasn’t him standing near the door. Instead, it was a different guy—blond hair with bangs gracefully covering his forehead. He exuded an attractive presence with his tall physique and sharp features. Both you and the unknown guy shared a moment of shock, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter.

“I knew Sunghoon was hiding something!” he whispered to himself, unaware you could hear his words. He seemed rather happy that his prediction was correct rather than shocked by a random stranger at his house. “No wonder why that sweet scent lingers around his door,” he continues, pretending to act all smart.

“Um, who are you?” you questioned, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Oh right! The name is Jake. And yours?” he introduced himself and asked, offering a friendly smile. He seems way nicer than Sunghoon, as you thought.

“Y/N,” you said, offering the same smile back. He chuckles. “Nice to meet you, Y/N!”

“Dang, so Sunghoon was brave enough to keep a human hostage?” Jake remarked, clearly surprised that you even managed to live. The Sunghoon he knew would have sucked out all of your blood already. Were you that special to him?

“Where is he?” you inquired, wanting to know Sunghoon’s whereabouts. You couldn’t believe you’d be caring about someone you hated the first day you met him.

“Hunting, perhaps? Why, looking for some company?” Jake teased with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I don’t mind...” you responded, contemplating the idea of having some company while you waited for Sunghoon’s return.

“Don’t mind if I do!” Jake exclaimed enthusiastically, grabbing a book he had been eyeing from the shelf. He hurriedly made his way over to you, claiming the empty spot on the cough. His vibrant energy was surprisingly comforting, quickly making you forget that he was just a stranger a few moments ago.

“What brings you here?” you asked curiously, genuinely interested in his presence.

“I always sneak into Sunghoon’s library, even though he never explicitly allows it. Sometimes he’s fine with it, sometimes he’s not,” Jake explained with a slight pout, recalling past experiences. “Especially this week! He specifically told everyone to stay out of his room and the library because of some deep cleaning. It’s complete nonsense! He always shows up to my room uninvited and complains whenever I do the same.” He scoffs, closing the book for a quick moment.

You chuckled at his storytelling, finding yourself drawn into his narration. It was as if you were being hypnotized by his words. Jake glanced at you, noticing the way your eyes crinkled with amusement. His smile widened, and he felt surprisingly comfortable sharing snippets of his life with you.

You found yourself engrossed in constant conversation with Jake, losing track of time as it slipped through your fingers. He made your entire day in the library more bearable, and you enjoyed his company immensely.

"Sunghoon should be returning soon," Jake mentioned, unaware of how much time had passed. "I should probably leave now."

"Oh, but will you come back tomorrow?" You asked eagerly, hoping he would say yes.

"I'll try my best. Just promise me that you won't tell Sunghoon that I've been sneaking in here, okay?" Jake requested, his eyes searching yours for assurance.

"I promise," you replied sincerely.

"Pinky promise?" he suggested playfully.

"Absolutely, I can even come up with something to prove that my lips are sealed. Maybe I can offer you my blood? You know, to seal our deal." you added, having no harm behind your words.

"You're quite bold, aren't you?" he remarked, slightly taken aback by your audacity.

"Do you want to?" you asked, your voice teasing.

"Where would you like me to bite you?" he quipped back, playing along with your banter.

And with that, Jake left with a broad grin, bidding you farewell with a wave. You waved back, and as your sleeve rolled down, it revealed the two distinctive fang marks near your wrist, a reminder of the unusual encounters you've had lately.

You hoped Sunghoon wouldn’t bother to check your arms.

EIGHT — unwanted guests

As days turned into weeks, Sunghoon diligently continued making your meals, ensuring you had warm and cooked food to sustain yourself. He became more skilled in the kitchen with each passing day, and you couldn't help but appreciate his efforts. Despite the initial awkwardness, a sense of familiarity grew between you, and you found solace in his presence.

Meanwhile, you continued to meet Jake in the library, enjoying each other's company and engaging in conversations that ranged from lighthearted to deep. He became a source of comfort and distraction from the confinement of the vampire household. The stolen moments with Jake brought a sense of excitement and adventure to your otherwise mundane routine.

If you were going to be honest, it would’ve been difficult to choose who was better between the two. While you appreciated Sunghoon's care and the bond that was slowly forming between you, there was an unspoken understanding that your connection with Jake was something entirely different.

Despite the initial success of the plan, Sunghoon's peculiar behavior didn't go unnoticed by his siblings. They started to find it strange that he never left his room and continued to cook meals despite being a vampire who normally consumed blood.

As Sunghoon returned to his room, Sunoo made sure to close the door behind him, maintaining the air of secrecy. When he joined his brothers downstairs, their confusion and concern were evident.

"What's going on with Sunghoon?" Jungwon asked, his expression reflecting his bewilderment after returning from a short trip.

"I've been noticing it too. He's been like this for the past week," Niki chimed in, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is not his usual behavior."

"He's been acting strange, not just with the cooking but also isolating himself in his room," Jay chimed in, furrowing his brows. "I tried talking to him, but he just brushes me off."

"He even told me not to enter his room and to stay away from his library," Heeseung added, his voice filled with genuine confusion. "It's like he's hiding something."

Sunoo, who had just returned from escorting Sunghoon back to his room, couldn't shake off his own concerns. "I've been trying to protect him, keeping everyone away from his room," he admitted. "But I don't know what's going on either. Something feels off."

The brothers exchanged worried glances, realizing that Sunghoon's behavior was a cause for concern. They knew they needed to get to the bottom of it, not only for their own peace of mind but also for Sunghoon's well-being. They decided to confront him together, determined to uncover the truth behind his recent actions and offer him support if needed.

Little did they know that their investigation would reveal the hidden secret you and Jake shared, adding an unexpected twist to the situation and potentially reshaping their perception of Sunghoon forever.

Sunghoon overheard his brothers' worried conversation, their voices growing louder and catching his attention. Concern filled his mind as he realized they might discover his secret. In a state of panic, he darted around, desperately searching for a solution.

Finding you in the library, he hurriedly approached you, his face filled with urgency.

"You need to hide right now," Sunghoon urged, his voice hushed but filled with intensity.

Startled by his sudden request, you quickly set aside the book you were reading and stood up, ready to follow his lead.

"My brothers are onto me. They suspect something's not right," Sunghoon explained, glancing around nervously. He keeps staring at his door, trying to listen for any sudden noises. "I'm afraid they might come barging into my room. We can't let them find you."

You could see the worry in his eyes, and you understood the weight of the situation. Without hesitation, you followed Sunghoon's lead and looked around for a hiding spot.

"Where should I hide?" you asked, trying to remain calm.

Sunghoon scanned the room, his gaze landing on a large antique wardrobe tucked away in a corner.

"Quick, get inside there," he said, opening the wardrobe door and motioning for you to step inside. It was large enough to fit you and pretty hidden away from any of his siblings.

You hurriedly made your way into the wardrobe, squeezing yourself in and pulling the doors shut. It was a tight space, but you hoped it would provide enough cover.

As the brothers deliberated downstairs, their uncertainty apparent, Sunoo voiced his reservations about invading Sunghoon's privacy. Nervously fidgeting with his fingers, he expressed his concerns.

"I don't know about this. I just don't want to intrude on his personal space," Sunoo admitted, his voice filled with unease. "You know, maybe he's still trying to deal with the past.” He bit his lip, avoiding delving into the details of his troubling history.

Heeseung sighed, acknowledging the validity of Sunoo's thoughts. He too was unsure of what to do, caught between his curiosity and his desire to respect Sunghoon's boundaries. The situation left them all in a state of indecision, unsure of how to proceed.

"I'm still worried about his well-being," Jay voiced, with Jake nervously nodding in agreement. Jake's heart raced not only out of concern for Sunghoon but also out of fear of you and him getting caught in the midst of their investigation.

"Okay, let's go." Jungwon decisively took the lead, leading the way up the stairs. The rest of the brothers followed suit, their curiosity piqued as they contemplated what Sunghoon could potentially be hiding.

As they reached the top of the stairs, the brothers could sense the tension in the air. They approached Sunghoon's closed door, hesitating for a moment before Jungwon took a deep breath and knocked.

"Sunghoon, are you in there?" Jungwon called out, his voice filled with concern.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Sunghoon's voice came from the other side, slightly shaky but composed. "Yes, I'm here. Give me a moment."

The brothers exchanged glances, their anticipation building. They knew something was off, and their worry for Sunghoon only grew stronger. As they waited for him to open the door, they couldn't help but wonder what they were about to uncover.

Sunghoon swung the door open, his mouth full of food, as he greeted his six brothers. "Whoa, what's the occasion for this surprise gathering?" he asked nonchalantly, trying to mask his unease.

The rest of the brothers exchanged puzzled glances, failing to detect any apparent change in Sunghoon's behavior. "Do you need something from me before I continue finishing my meal?" Sunghoon inquired, hoping they would take the hint and leave him be.

Niki stepped forward, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Do you mind if we come in?" he asked, voicing the question that had been on everyone's mind.

Sunghoon shrugged, reluctantly allowing them entry. "Sure, but just for a little while. I'd like to eat my meal in peace."

Sunghoon reluctantly stepped aside, allowing his brothers to enter his room. As they filed in, their eyes scanned the surroundings, trying to piece together the puzzle of Sunghoon's recent behavior. The room appeared relatively normal, with the plate of food he cooked on his table and an organized bed.

"What's been going on, Sunghoon?" Heeseung finally spoke up, his voice laced with concern.

“What do you mean? I’ve only tried new things; it’s been interesting, I’ll tell you that.” Sunghoon shrugged, pushing away Heeseung’s question.

"Would it be alright if we entered the library?" Jay proposed, and the six brothers turned their gaze towards Sunghoon.

Sunghoon forced a smile, concealing his anxiety behind a facade. "Of course, go ahead," he replied, his words betraying his true feelings. Deep down, he was terrified of being discovered, even though he had already hidden you away.

Jay reached for the doorknob, his hand trembling slightly as he cautiously opened the door. The brothers held their breath, unsure of what awaited them inside. Their curiosity had overridden any doubts or concerns.

As the door swung open, the brothers stepped into the library, their eyes scanning the room for any signs of unusual activity. Sunghoon tried his best to act nonchalant, with his heart pounding in his chest. He hoped that you had a good hiding spot and that his siblings wouldn't stumble upon any evidence of your presence.

The library appeared just as it always did: shelves filled with books, a cozy atmosphere enveloping the space. The brothers exchanged glances, perplexed by the situation. Everything seemed normal, except for Sunghoon's apprehensive demeanor.

"Smells...rather sweet," Jungwon says, surprised at how quickly he picked up on it. The others nodded in agreement, detecting the faint yet enticing scent in the air.

“Could it be from the cups?” Sunghoon points at them, thankfully coming up with a quick excuse.

Jungwon's face lit up with understanding, and he couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief, followed by a chuckle. “Ah, you've got yourself some good blood there.”

The others continued to look around, not seeming to find anything suspicious.

"Are you sure there's nothing unusual going on here, Sunghoon?" Jake asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice. He had to look convincing to his brothers, at least.

Sunghoon shrugged, feigning innocence. "I'm just enjoying some alone time with my books," he replied, hoping his casual tone would deflect their attention.

The brothers continued to search the library, their footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor. Sunghoon's anxiety grew with each passing moment, praying that his secret would remain hidden.

“Well, there’s nothing,” Jungwon says, finishing his search.

“Sunghoon, just know we care about you, and you can tell us anything, okay?” Heeseung says, making Sunghoon nod to his words.

“We will be leaving now; don’t spend too much time in your room,” Niki says, walking closer to the library’s exit. Finally, satisfied that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, all of the remaining brothers made their way back towards the library entrance. Sunghoon released a silent sigh of relief, grateful that they hadn't discovered your presence.

Sunghoon had nothing else to say but nod his head, wishing his brothers a short goodbye. As the door closed behind them, Sunghoon leaned against it, his body trembling with a mix of fear and relief. He knew he had narrowly escaped being caught, but he also realized that he would have to be even more careful moving forward.

Turning his attention to you, he approached your hiding spot with a mixture of concern and gratitude. "You can come out now," he whispered, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We managed to keep them away, at least for now."

How long will this thing last before the secret is out?

NINE — unbreakable cycle

Sunghoon's recent behavior has left you puzzled. Lately, he has been requesting your blood more frequently, surpassing his usual once or twice a week routine. Not only that, you started feeling a bit tired too, having both Sunghoon and Jake take your blood whenever they wanted.

"Y/N, I need more," Sunghoon said, entering the library with a breathlessness that hinted at an intense workout session. His exhaustion was evident, as if he had been pushing himself too hard in his training.

Concerned by Sunghoon's increased requests for your blood and his apparent exhaustion, you couldn't help but worry about his well-being. You set aside the book you were reading and approached him with a furrowed brow.

"Sunghoon, are you okay? You seem really tired," you remarked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Is something bothering you?"

Sunghoon sighed heavily, leaning against the library wall for support. His gaze met yours, reflecting a mix of weariness and determination.

"I've been pushing myself harder lately," he admitted, his voice tinged with fatigue. "I've been training more intensely, trying to improve my abilities. But it's taking a toll on me. I’ll be fine with a little bit of blood, though."

"Sunghoon, maybe you should take a break," you suggested gently. "Rest and recuperate. Pushing yourself too hard might do more harm than good."

"Thank you, Y/N." He let out a small, quiet chuckle, feeling a bit strange for you to be caring for him right now. "I'm assuming you're tired too? You look like it; it seems like you've been draining all your energy for more than one person."

"How did you know?" you asked, taken aback by his observation.

"What? I was just teasing," Sunghoon replied, his chuckle fading as he sensed your surprise.

Shit. You inwardly cursed your slip-up, realizing you had revealed more than intended.

"Who have you been seeing?" Sunghoon's tone turned stern, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You awkwardly laughed, trying to brush off his suspicions. "I was just joking, Sunghoon. There's no one else."

But Sunghoon wasn't convinced. He could sense the subtle changes in your heartbeat and the uneasiness in your eyes. The trust between you seemed to falter, and he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss.

"Your heart is beating faster," he pointed out, his voice tinged with a hint of betrayal. "Who have you been seeing behind my back? Why can't you be honest with me?"

"Why does it have to concern you?" you replied defensively, feeling a surge of frustration. The tension in the room escalated as both of you struggled to communicate your true feelings.

"It's my room," Sunghoon retorted, his voice growing louder with anger. "You've been hiding something from me, and now you're avoiding giving me your blood. Is this all because of one of my brothers?"

The words hung in the air, a bitter realization dawning on both of you. Sunghoon's protective instincts clashed with the sense of betrayal he felt, while you grappled with the weight of your secrets.

Sunghoon's grip tightened on your wrist, causing a sharp sting and making you instinctively try to pull away. As you did, the pressure on the bite mark caused a slight seepage of blood, staining your sleeve. He stared at the blood with a mix of shock and confusion.

"Did—did one of my brothers do that?" Sunghoon asked, his voice filled with disbelief as he looked back at you. A whirlwind of emotions swept across his face.

"It's nothing. Just mind your own business," you scowled, your frustration evident as you continued to struggle against his grip, wanting to break free.

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed, his anger rising. "How can you expect me to ignore this?” Sunghoon clenched his fists, his anger boiling over. He clearly allowed it to take the best of him, not knowing there could be other ways to talk about this. "I can't believe you would lie to me like this! How could you hide something so important?"

You stood your ground, your own anger rising to match his. Why would you want to allow him to be the only one who could yell? “You don’t have to know everything. You probably see me as a burden anyway.”

"Burden? You think I see you as a burden?" Sunghoon's voice was filled with frustration. "I've done everything I can to protect you and keep you safe. And this is how you repay me?"

"I didn't ask for your protection! Look, I’m glad for your help, but what’s with the big fuss?" You shot back, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You think you're the only one who has sacrifices to make?"

Sunghoon's face was twisted with anger and hurt. “Since you think my brothers are so great, why don’t you just leave right now? Let them have you! Then you would know what it feels like to be abandoned!"

"You don't owe me, Sunghoon. God, just because you're some vampire, do you think you're superior? I wonder how your family even manages to deal with you," You say, returning the same harsh tone he gave you.

The words stung, hitting him like a punch to the gut. You hadn't meant to belittle him, but in the heat of the argument, it felt like the only way to defend yourself.

Sunghoon's expression hardened, his anger giving way to a deep sadness. Your words only brought back his past, making him wince. He turned away from you, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and hurt. "Is that really what you think of me? Just some stuck-up vampire who thinks he's superior?"

Tears welled up in his eyes, and his voice choked with emotion. "I've done everything to make you feel welcomed and loved; well, I tried, and this is how you see me? I never wanted you to feel like that."

The realization hit you like a wave, crashing down your walls of anger. You hadn't meant to reduce him to a stereotype and make him feel unappreciated for all he had done for you.

"I– I didn't mean it like that," you mumbled, your voice filled with regret. "I was just angry and hurt. I didn't think about how my words would affect you."

Sunghoon shook his head, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his emotions. "It's too late now. I can't forget what you said or how you made me feel."

As he walked away, shutting the door with a resounding thud, the silence in the room was suffocating, the realization of the damage you had caused sinking in.

What the hell was that about, and why do you feel guilty?

Great, there's more stuff that you need to take care of.

Guilt was starting to eat you alive, and you had to do something about it quickly.

And how will you do that? It’s simple—asking his sibling for help.

Jake.

TEN — the plan

To your luck, Jake managed to sneak into the library, closing the door quietly behind him. His eyes widened as he looked at you, sensing the tension in the air. He walked closer, whispering to you.

"What's going on with Sunghoon?"

You sighed, the weight of the argument still lingering in your mind. "We had a big fight. Things got really heated between us."

Jake furrowed his brows, concern etched on his face. "What happened?”

"We had an argument about you," you said, wincing as the incident kept replaying in your head. You didn’t want to tell him everything; guilt was just starting to take over you again.

"Me? What about me?" Jake asked, his expression turning serious as he took a seat next to you.

"He found out," you replied, pulling down your sleeves to reveal the fang marks on your arm. "He found our secret meetings."

Jake's eyes widened in realization, and his voice filled with concern. "He knows about us? So was that why he glared at me all day?” Jake says, finally piecing the puzzle together.

“How did he react?"

"He was furious," you confessed, your voice filled with regret. "He accused me of betraying his trust and hiding things from him."

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I never wanted things to get so complicated. I'm sorry, Y/N."

"It's not your fault," you reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his. "We both made mistakes. I should have been more honest with him from the beginning."

Jake nodded, his gaze filled with a mix of guilt and determination. "We need to find a way to fix this, to make things right with Sunghoon.

"But how? He probably hates me now," you said, frustration evident in your voice as you rubbed your head with your hand.

"He doesn't hate you. He probably never will. You just have to be the first one to reach out and talk to him," Jake reassured you, his hand comforting you as he rubbed your back. "Trust me, he's seemed really happy ever since you got here."

"Really?" you asked, a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

"Really," Jake confirmed with a nod.

"Okay, so how am I going to apologize?" You asked, eager to find a way to make things right.

"I have a plan," Jake said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

Curiosity sparked within you as you leaned in, urging him to share his idea.

Jake leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a whisper as he shared his plan with you. His eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and mischief, making you curious about the details of his scheme.

"Here's what we're going to do," Jake began, his voice filled with confidence. "We'll organize a surprise gathering for Sunghoon, something that will catch him off guard when he sees you walk to him instead. I’ll tell him how I need to talk to him.”

You listened intently, nodding as Jake outlined the steps of the plan. It involved a lot of convincing. Sunghoon knew one of his brothers knew you; he just didn’t know which one. Despite his possible anger toward one of them, he’s going to have to speak to them, not wanting to expose the secret of you being here.

"And when the time is right, you can seize the moment and apologize to him sincerely, letting him know how much he means to you." Jake explained.

A mix of anticipation and nervousness filled your chest, but you felt a glimmer of hope. It seemed like a thoughtful and heartfelt gesture that could mend the rift between you and Sunghoon.

"Are you in?" Jake asked with a hint of excitement in his eyes.

With a shared sense of determination, you and Jake began to put the plan into action, eagerly looking forward to the opportunity to make amends and rebuild the trust that had been fractured.

You had to make things right again.

ELEVEN — making up

“Are you ready to talk to him?” Jake asked, sensing your nervous behavior.

"I believe so," you replied with a sigh. "I've allowed him enough time to process."

"Okay, I'll inform him before he comes upstairs," Jake said. You nodded nervously, fidgeting in your seat as you awaited the opportune moment to reveal yourself.

Before you knew it, you heard footsteps ascending the stairs, approaching Sunghoon's room. Holding your breath, you waited for the perfect moment to exit the room.

You opened the door, revealing a fatigued Sunghoon perched on his bed, awaiting Jake's arrival.

"Sunghoon?" You called out his name, causing his eyes to widen. He averted your gaze, not quite ready to meet your eyes. A part of him yearned for a conversation with you, while another part hesitated, unsure of the outcome.

Taking control of the situation, Sunghoon cleared his throat and spoke, his tone detached: "YN, you should return. Jake could return at any moment."

You were hesitant about carrying out the plan; it would reveal who you’ve been seeing for the past few weeks.

But you gathered your courage and walked further toward him, taking a seat beside him on his bed.

Sunghoon's gaze shifted from the floor to you, his eyes searching for answers. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation that was about to unfold.

"I'm sorry, Sunghoon," you spoke up, your voice filled with sincerity. "I should have been honest with you from the beginning. I never wanted to hide anything from you, but I was scared. Scared of causing any conflicts between you and your family. I thought hiding it was the best thing I could do.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that or said anything harsh to you. You didn’t deserve it,” you continued, looking back to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Sunghoon's features softened, and he moved closer, his eyes locking with yours. "Y/N, I didn't handle the situation well either," he admitted, his voice filled with remorse. "I let my anger get the best of me, and I'm sorry for hurting you."

"I just... didn't want to talk to you after you made me think about my past,” Sunghoon sighed, feeling the weight of his experiences. He found himself unexpectedly opening up to you, trusting you with a part of his life he had never shared with anyone before.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the memories to resurface, replaying the painful moments from his past.

"I'm exhausted from constantly taking care of you. Why can't you be normal and not some damned vampire?" Sunghoon's father's voice reverberated in his mind, filled with anger and frustration.

"I'm sorry, Father. I just haven't had anything to fill me up. Not even regular food. I feel myself growing weaker day by day," Sunghoon confessed, his voice tinged with sadness as he recalled the desperate need for blood.

"You're fortunate that your mother and I provide for you. Who else would? But god, I can’t handle having such a freak in the house,” his father continued, reaching for his phone and dialing his mother's number. "I have to do something about you."

"What do you mean?" Sunghoon's fear intensified, unsure of what his father intended. "Father? Father!" he pleaded, trying to push him away, but his father remained fixated on the call to his mother. Sunghoon sat there in resignation, realizing that his true family was willing to abandon him or, worse, even consider harming him.

After hours of intense discussion between his parents, Sunghoon's heart sank as his mother called him over. He hoped against hope that he would be able to stay, praying for a positive outcome. Taking a seat in front of his parents, he braced himself for the verdict, hoping it would be in his favor.

"Sunghoon... I'm sorry, but you can't stay here anymore." His mother's voice trembled with sadness, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's just not possible. It’s not safe.”

“You can’t just throw me out like that!” Sunghoon's voice wavered with a mix of sadness and frustration, unable to comprehend how his own parents could abandon him. "I'm your child!"

"You're not our child—well, my child. You're just some wretched vampire who has no place in this household. Who knows what harm you could bring to your other siblings?" His father's words were laced with bitterness, his tone devoid of any remorse as he witnessed his son's disbelief and hurt.

He sat there, his mind filled with shock and a deep sense of loss, as he watched his mother pack up his belongings. After leaving his family home, Sunghoon's life took a drastic turn. He found himself in a state of constant turmoil, resorting to feeding off random animals he came across in a forest. If it hadn't been for Heeseung's intervention, he might still be wandering the streets, struggling to survive.

"But unlike my past parents, my siblings here embraced me wholeheartedly. They provided me with a sense of safety and acceptance that I had never experienced before," Sunghoon explained, his voice tinged with vulnerability and the hope that you would understand his deep-seated trauma.

"Oh my god, Sunghoon, I'm so sorry," you exclaimed, overcome with regret as the weight of your words and their impact on him sank in. "I had no idea about your past and what you went through."

Sunghoon's smile softened, touched by your genuine remorse. "It's alright. I never expected you to know or bring it up. We can leave it in the past now," he said, a sense of relief evident in his voice.

He reached out for your hand, his hands trembling slightly. “I forgive you. Do you forgive me?” You smiled, reaching out and taking his hands into yours. “I do.”

The weight of the tension that had been lingering between you lifted, replaced by a sense of relief and renewed hope. You and Sunghoon slowly embraced, holding each other tightly, letting the healing process begin.

Jake smiled, quietly slipping out of the room, leaving the two of you to mend the bonds that had been strained. As you and Sunghoon held each other, you knew that despite the challenges you had faced, your love for each other was stronger than ever, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Next time, there will be no more misunderstandings.

You were going to make sure of that.

TWELVE — secret revealed

"You know, your brothers are eventually going to figure out that you keep me here, right?" you remarked, laying on Sunghoon's lap. Despite the mixed signals between you, there was a sense of comfort in your connection, and you both secretly wished for more.

Sunghoon chuckled, his fingers tracing gentle patterns through your hair as he continued reading his book. "You think so?”

“It has been quite a while. You think they would be okay with the sudden news?" You asked.

"They better," he replied with a playful smirk.

"I hope they'll be comfortable with it." you said, still filled with worries.

"They should be. One of my brothers already knows you, so that's one less person to convince," Sunghoon said, his tone lightening the mood.

"Ah, Jake," you nodded, feeling a sense of relief. "And just to clarify, we are not offering blood to my brothers to win them over. Just putting it out there," he added, making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Blood is only yours.”

“That’s quite flattering coming from a human like you.”

"Oh, stop it—tell your brothers about us whenever you feel like it’s time.”

“Like right now?”

“Well, do you want to?”

“I’ll ask them to come upstairs.”

"Sure, go ahead," you replied, lifting your head from Sunghoon's lap and adjusting your position. You watched as he stood up and made his way towards the door, calling out to his brothers to join him upstairs.

As you waited for them to arrive, a mix of anticipation and nervousness filled the room. You couldn't help but wonder how they would react to your relationship with Sunghoon. Would they be accepting? Would they hate your guts? Only time will tell.

Soon, you heard footsteps approaching the room, and one by one, Sunghoon's brothers entered. They glanced at you in shock, stopping in their tracks besides Jake.

Jay furrowed his brows, puzzled by the presence of a human in Sunghoon's room. The sweet scent emanating from you intrigued him, adding to his curiosity. "Who is this?" he asked, his confusion evident.

"This is YN," Sunghoon replied, observing Jay's expression as he connected the dots. "She's the person you saw me carrying on my shoulder."

Recognition dawned on Jay's face. "Ah, so you're her!"

"Well, that's certainly surprising. A human living here with us." Sunoo chimed in, happy that his suspicions were correct after all.

Niki's eyes widened in astonishment. "Wait, she's been here for months? How is she not freaked out by all of us being vampires?"

"Right...you're human. Aren't you scared or uncomfortable being around vampires?" Heeseung asked, with a hint of confusion and amusement in his tone.

You remained calm, unaffected by their supernatural nature. "To be honest, it was a bit overwhelming at first. But, after a while, Sunghoon seemed chill, making me think you all would be the same.”

The room fell into a momentary silence as everyone but Sunghoon and Jake processed the unexpected situation. It was clear that your presence had caught them off guard.

Jungwon couldn't help but offer a lighthearted remark. "So that sweet scent was yours. Well, well, who would've thought a human would willingly enter our world?"

You chuckled, feeling at ease in their presence. "I guess I'm an exception."

Jake, who had been aware of your connection with Sunghoon, smiled warmly. "We're glad to have you here, YN. It's refreshing to see someone who embraces us for who we are."

Sunghoon placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I couldn't have asked for a better family, and I'm grateful that you all accept YN."

Niki shook his head in disbelief, still processing the revelation. "I can't believe I only found out about this now. Sunghoon, you really kept this secret well."

Jake, unable to resist adding some mischief, chimed in with a cheeky smile. "Well, I already knew about it."

His statement caused a range of reactions among the others. Some looked at Jake with astonishment, while others couldn't help but let out a shocked gasp.

"You knew too?!" Sunoo exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise.

Jake simply shrugged, enjoying the reaction he was getting. "Yeah, I've known for a while. I guess Sunghoon didn’t find out that I knew about YN until a week ago."

Jay shook his head, finding the situation amusing. "I can't believe you two managed to keep this from us. Secrets, secrets everywhere."

Sunghoon placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I couldn't have asked for a better family, and I'm grateful that you all accept YN."

As the initial shock subsided, the room filled with a mix of laughter and teasing remarks. It seemed that despite the surprise, they were all eager to accept the new dynamic and embrace you as part of their vampire family.

“Since our Sunghoon has taken an interest in you, we accept you here.” Heeseung smiled, noticing how Sunghoon would look at you with such loving eyes. It was amusing but weird to see his brother act in such a way, but it made him feel pleased.

Feeling a sense of warmth and acceptance, you realized that you had truly found a home with these vampires, a place where you wished to stay forever.

THIRTEEN — transforming

"Sunghoon, have you ever thought about turning YN into a vampire?" Heeseung's curiosity was piqued as he prepared a meal downstairs while you were sleeping. He couldn't help but wonder about the possibility of Sunghoon turning you into a vampire.

Sunghoon's response was immediate, with a hint of surprise in his voice. "No, why would I?"

Heeseung's expression turned serious as he voiced his concern. "But she's human. Are you prepared to watch someone you love age and eventually pass away?"

Sunghoon's features shifted, his realization dawning upon him. The idea that you couldn't remain with him forever settled heavily in his mind. "Oh, I hadn't truly considered that. But what are the chances of a successful transformation? And if I were to proceed, how would I even do it?"

Heeseung paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "The chances of a successful transformation can vary. It depends on factors such as blood compatibility and the individual's willingness to undergo the process. Turning someone into a vampire is a complex undertaking that should be approached with great care."

Sunghoon absorbed Heeseung's words, his mind racing with possibilities. "If there's a way to turn YN into a vampire, and if it's something she genuinely desires, I would be willing to explore that option. However, it's a decision that we would need to make together, considering all the risks and consequences involved."

Heeseung offered an encouraging smile, understanding the weight of Sunghoon's contemplation. "I have faith that you'll find a way, Sunghoon. Just remember to have open and honest communication with YN and support each other in whichever path you choose."

Sunghoon nodded gratefully, appreciating his brother's guidance. He knew he could rely on his brothers for wisdom and support as he navigated the complexities of your relationship.

“I’ll talk to her about it when she wakes up,” Sunghoon says, bringing the plate of food to his room.

Gently whispering your name, Sunghoon noticed you were still peacefully asleep. A smile graced his lips as he approached the table, carefully setting the prepared food down before settling himself beside you.

As he brushed away a few strands of hair from your face, he couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty. A stirring feeling fluttered in his stomach—an undeniable effect you had on him that he couldn't ignore.

His fingers continued to play with your hair as your eyes slowly opened, revealing a pair of curious and sleepy eyes that met his. A smile formed on your face as you took in the sight of him smiling back at you.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, his gaze never leaving you. You nod, snuggling in closer to the blanket, letting a small chuckle escape from his mouth.

“I need to tell you something, but eat and freshen up first, okay?” Curiousity took over, making you nod as you got out of bed.

As you finished your meal, you couldn't help but notice Sunghoon's slightly nervous demeanor. The anticipation grew within you, and you decided to break the silence.

"What do you want to say to me?" you asked, wiping your mouth with a napkin. Your eyes were fixated on him, searching for answers in his expression.

"Have you ever wanted to turn into a vampire?" Sunghoon finally brought up the question, hoping to gauge your thoughts on the matter.

You pondered his question for a moment, reflecting on your past perceptions and current feelings. "It seemed cool and everything when I was younger, like in the movies. But now, I'm not so sure about it," you admitted, voicing your uncertainties. "Why do you ask?"

Sunghoon took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before responding. "I've been thinking about it lately—about the possibility of turning you into a vampire," he confessed, his eyes searching yours for a reaction.

You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his thoughts. The idea had never crossed your mind before, and now it hung in the air between you, laden with implications and questions.

"Why would you consider that?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in your voice.

Sunghoon's gaze softened, and he reached out to gently hold your hand. "Because I can't imagine a future without you, YN. Turning you into a vampire would mean we could be together forever. I don't want to watch you grow old and leave this world while I remain the same."

A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you as you processed his words. The thought of eternal life was both alluring and daunting. You thought about the sacrifices and challenges that would come with such a transformation, but also the promise of everlasting love and companionship.

"I need time to think about this, Sunghoon," you replied honestly, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "It's a big decision, and there's so much to consider."

He nodded understandingly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Of course, YN. Take all the time you need. I just wanted to open up this conversation and let you know what's been on my mind."

Hours turned into days and weeks. After pondering about it for a while, you decided to talk about it with Sunghoon. "Sunghoon, I've made up my mind," you said, your voice steady. "I want to be with you, and if becoming a vampire means we can be together for eternity, then I'm willing to take that step."

A mixture of relief and joy washed over Sunghoon's face as he squeezed your hand. "Thank you, Y/N. I can't express how much this means to me," he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

"Okay, I don't want to scare you, but part of the transformation process would involve you drinking my blood regularly," Sunghoon explained, gesturing towards his sharp teeth. "It's how you'll develop your own fangs and embrace your vampire nature."

You couldn't help but feel a slight shiver of unease at the thought. Drinking blood was far from your comfort zone, as your experiences with blood were limited to minor accidents and dental procedures.

"It does sound a bit intimidating," you admitted, your voice tinged with apprehension. "I've never done anything like that before."

Sunghoon nodded understandingly, realizing the unfamiliarity of the concept to you. "I completely understand your concern. It's a significant step, but I assure you, I'll be there to guide you through it every step of the way."

He gently took your hand, his touch offering a sense of reassurance. "We'll start slowly, with small amounts. I'll make sure you're comfortable and safe throughout the process. You won't be alone in this."

His words, coupled with his caring demeanor, helped alleviate some of your worries. You began to consider the possibilities that lay ahead.

"I appreciate your support, Sunghoon," you replied, mustering up courage. "If this is what it takes to be with you and embark on this journey, I'm willing to give it a try."

Sunghoon's eyes lit up with gratitude and love. "Thank you, Y/N. Your trust means the world to me," he expressed, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

"Let's start, shall we?" Sunghoon smiled, gently taking your hands in his. You nodded, watching him get up and get a cup. "You can look away if you want."

Choosing to avert your gaze, you listened intently as the sound of blood pouring into the cup filled the air. It was a strange and surreal moment, knowing that soon you would be consuming that very substance. Your heart raced, but you trusted Sunghoon's guidance and the new love that you two were creating.

The clinking sound of the cup being placed on the table made you turn your head, catching a glimpse of Sunghoon as he healed his cut with his vampire abilities. It was a fascinating display, reminding you of the extraordinary world you were about to become a part of.

Your eyes shifted back to the cup, anxiety creeping in once more. Sensing your worries, Sunghoon reached out to reassure you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Just think of it as a cup of wine," he suggested, his voice soothing and comforting. "An expensive and rare kind that you can't get anywhere else."

His words brought a hint of lightheartedness to the situation, and a small smile formed on your lips. Sunghoon's ability to find humor even in unconventional circumstances was one of the things you admire about him.

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself for what lay ahead. As you lifted the cup to your lips, the scent of blood filled your senses, mixing with a hint of excitement and fear. You closed your eyes and took a small sip, feeling the warm liquid glide down your throat.

The taste was distinct and unlike anything you had experienced before. It carried a primal energy tinged with a hint of sweetness. As you swallowed, a surge of energy coursed through your body, awakening these random senses.

As you placed the cup back on the table, your eyes met Sunghoon’s. He smiled and was glad you didn’t back out. This was only the start, and Sunghoon would gladly walk that path with you.

FOURTEEN — always forever

Sunghoon's voice trembled with concern as he pleaded, "Please, Y/N, you need to drink this as well." You lay in his bed, eyes tightly shut, consumed by fear and doubt.

"I'm really scared, Sunghoon. I don’t know what’s happening to me," you confess, your voice quivering. Cold beads of sweat trickle down your forehead as the symptoms of the transformation continue to unsettle you. The thought of relying on blood for sustenance forever sends a chill down your spine. "I don't want to spend eternity feeding on blood."

"I understand your fears, Y/N," Sunghoon spoke softly, his voice filled with compassion. He grabs a cloth, wiping off the sweat on your forehead. “This feeling is only temporary. After this, you’ll be back to normal again, just with new abilities and drinking blood.”

He watches you open your eyes, looking at the cup of blood on the nightstand. The blood started to increase more and more daily, making you feel worried.

"Once the transformation is complete, you'll gain better control over your vampire instincts and abilities," he explained, his voice gentle yet reassuring. “You can’t just die on me here, just because you don’t want some blood. We made a promise.”

“I don’t know…” Fear was starting to eat you alive, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue this. You felt like dying; these new abilities were starting to take over your body. You felt your teeth shifting and your body stirring with random feelings—you had no control over your body.

It took a while for you to realize the process wasn’t pretty. The thought of relying on blood for sustenance sent shivers down your spine, and the mere idea of an eternal existence dependent on it felt overwhelming.

Sunghoon noticed you felt like giving up. He prays that you wouldn’t; he couldn’t bear seeing you leave, especially after trying out his idea. He found himself falling for you; it was impossible to get out now.

He reached for your hand, pouring out his true emotions. "But please remember that I love you. I have never felt this way before, and I can't imagine my life without you. This transformation is a means for us to be together and embrace our future. It won't define our entire existence."

His words reached the deepest corners of your soul, stirring emotions that intertwined with your fears. The intensity of his love and the profound connection you shared offered a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness of uncertainty.

"But Sunghoon," you whispered, your voice trembling with vulnerability, "what if I can't handle it? What if I can't adapt? I don't want to lose myself or hurt anyone."

Sunghoon's hand gently cupped your face; his touch was warm and reassuring. "Y/N, I have complete faith in you," he declared, his voice filled with unwavering belief. "You're strong, and together we'll navigate this journey. I'll be by your side every step of the way, guiding and supporting you."

His eyes locked with yours, their depth revealing his sincerity. "You're not alone in this, Y/N. I’ll be yours always and forever.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you absorbed his words, feeling the weight of his love and commitment. Though your fears still lingered, his unwavering support brought you solace and reminded you of the extraordinary bond you shared.

With a trembling hand, you reached for the cup, your gaze never leaving Sunghoon's. As you took a sip, his tender smile filled you with a sense of courage. It was the strength of your love that would carry you through the uncertainties, assuring you that together you could overcome any obstacle.

In that moment, you knew that your love for each other would be the guiding light amidst the darkness. As you embarked on this transformative journey, you held onto the belief that love could conquer all and that with Sunghoon by your side, there was nothing you couldn't face.

From that point forward, you mustered the strength to confront your fear of blood. There were moments when the metallic taste in your mouth became overwhelming, and you longed for a different existence. However, with Sunghoon's unwavering support and guidance, you persevered.

As time passed, you noticed the unmistakable signs of your transformation. Your once ordinary teeth have now sharpened into the iconic fangs of a vampire, marking your departure from humanity. It was a strange and exhilarating feeling, knowing that you were no longer the same as before. Sunghoon observed your progress with pride, a smile dancing on his lips as he witnessed your remarkable adaptation.

Under Sunghoon's patient instruction, you embarked on training sessions together. He taught you how to harness your newfound invisibility and leverage your enhanced speed to capture your future prey with precision. Although you made occasional missteps and errors, Sunghoon remained a pillar of calm and support, always offering gentle guidance, unlike his interactions with his own brothers.

Together, you honed your skills, learning the delicate balance between strength and restraint. Sunghoon's understanding and empathy fostered an environment of trust and growth. With each passing day, you grew more confident in your abilities, emboldened by the unwavering belief Sunghoon had in you.

"You're doing great," Sunghoon reassured you, his words instilling a surge of confidence within you.

"You think so?" you asked, seeking affirmation.

"Yes, absolutely," Sunghoon replied with a warm smile. "You're adapting to this new life with remarkable ease. It's truly impressive, even more than I could have imagined."

His genuine praise filled you with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Hearing such words of encouragement from Sunghoon, who had experienced the vampire transformation himself, meant the world to you. It reaffirmed that you were not alone in this journey and that your progress was real and significant.

Sunghoon's unwavering support gave you the strength to push beyond your limits and embrace the challenges that came with your newfound abilities. With each step forward, you grew more confident in your capacity to navigate the vampire world alongside him.

"Thank you for being so patient with me, Sunghoon," you said, a genuine smile gracing your lips.

"Of course, YN," Sunghoon replied, his own smile mirroring yours. "I'll always be here for you, ready to offer my support and guidance whenever you need it."

His words resonate deeply within you, reaffirming the strength of your bond. Sunghoon's unwavering patience and dedication have been instrumental in your transformation journey. He had never faltered in his commitment to helping you navigate this new world and discover the extent of your potential as a vampire.

With Sunghoon by your side, you felt an unspoken sense of security and assurance. He had become more than just a mentor or guide; he was a pillar of strength, a source of comfort, and a confidant who understood you in ways no one else could.

As you gazed into his eyes, you knew that this journey was not just about becoming a vampire. It was about the profound connection and trust that had blossomed between you. And with each passing day, your gratitude for Sunghoon's unwavering presence in your life only grew stronger.

ENHA PERM TAGLIST — @flwoie @ixomiyu @yenavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @starcubes @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @woon2u @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @tnyhees @teddywonss

TAGLIST FOR BITE ME — @soov @lunacrtk @differentchildwombat @amortenha @kyungssem @skinnyzlegendz

#k-labels #kflixnet #hyfenet #enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen headcanons #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen ff #enhypen x reader #enhypen oneshots #sunghoon headcanons #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon ff #sunghoon oneshots #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop headcanons #kpop ff #kpop oneshots #enhypen au #sunghoon au #kpop fluff #kpop angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #🍷 — bite me

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I'll crawl home to you

Next chapter

a/n okay this sat in my notes for so long. I wanted to delete first, then I thought hmm... let's indulge, right? Also, please be gentle, I've never written for Javi.

summary: having a fight with someone you care about right before the mission might be the worst idea ever especially when you don't know if you'll make it out alive.

warnings: fighting, guns, past trauma, injuries, blood, mentions of death...I think that's all.

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"Is Carillo in?", both males lifted their heads from their never-ending piles of documents right as you approached. Each step was laced with nothing but confidence. Only fools would stand in your way. You were nothing like the women Javi was used to. He had never seen you striding across the office in a skirt or a skimpy shirt that most secretarial women preferred here. But then you weren't a secretory ether.

"Yeah, he should be", Steve said, beating Javi to an answer and eyeing the files in your hand. Neatly put as always, followed by the colorful tabs that no one else used, and even if Javi had made fun of them in the past, it was something that constantly reminded him of you. "What's that?", Steve tried to reach for the reports, but you only slapped his hand away playfully. As if he was nothing but a curious kid, shoving his nose into something that wasn't for him. "You'll see. Meeting in five, watch", you stated before walking through Carillo's door, closing it with daring eyes and a wink.

Carillo was the one to command emergency meetings, so you calling the shots looked nothing but childish to an unknowing ear, but then, not even two minutes later, Carillo emerged from the door, "Meeting in five", his voice boomed through the office, and with the corner of his eyes, Javi could see you leaning against the table smiling to yourself.

You fascinated him. There was no other way to go around it. Back when you just joined the team, Javi did doubt you. Toxic masculinity and all that shit got him humbled real quickly alongside all the other sorry fucks who didn't know how to keep their mouths shut. There were not many females among the leading troops, but you were unbeatable. Many men were pissed beyond any mark when Carillo made you his second in command. Even Javi was pissed. Because most of the fuckers here had been here for years, some ten and counting, and it took you less than two to climb almost to the top. But then, no one was better fitted for that role, and with time passing, one thing got even clearer. The thing that pissed Pena off the most was that your position got you and Carillo way too close for Javi's liking. Not that you were his. Not that there was an us.

But you were like an illness clinging to him. Javi couldn't think clearly. Most of his brain was occupied with you. He fucked so many whores when he felt his heart starting to want to lean just to you. He had fucked them all by that time, he was sure that he liked you, but that only made him feel worse. Common Bogota whore. That's what he was. Equally as much, he sold himself both for information and because he needed someone to cling to him, even if it was for the money.

"Why an orphanage?", Steve was leaning against the table, looking down at the papers you had forbidden him to touch five minutes ago. "Would you look there?", you sassed back, making Steve shrug his shoulders in agreement as he continued to flip through all the other documents. "We don't need a full-blown mission. It would just be a check. If we find something to hold onto, we'll send more men", you continued, glancing to Carillo, needing his nods as validation now that the room was dead silent.

"Pena", Carillo called out, getting the agent's eyes to shoot up at him, "You haven't said anything". And it was true he hadn't. One thing that Javi loved was disagreeing. You two were the best at that. But he was never this silent. Regardless of whether he liked the idea or not, he would still share his thoughts, but now you got absolutely nothing.

"Send an armed force; do the thing. I don't understand why we are even discussing this", Javi carelessly threw the case with documents onto the table before crossing his arms over his chest. Your mouth thinned into a straight line. "No armed forces are walking into an orphanage. Those kids have enough trauma to last them a lifetime".

Javi scoffed, running his hand over his beard. "What do you suggest we roll up for a walk there with no guns, no nothing?", he said in an almost mocking manner as his lips curled upward. The room stayed silent. Your eyes met his, and you swallowed thickly. Something in Javi's face twisted. "You can't be serious…", he trailed off. "I'll just go and look; we only need access to the basement parts; hygiene security paper will do the job", you said firmly. The plan seemed simple enough. "You're not going to a potential hideout without a gun", Javi leaned closer to you over the table, fists starting to clench as he glared at you.

"It'll look suspicious", Carillo added, seeming so unphased by all of this and all the things that could go wrong that Javi had to pull the last string of self-control to not pinch him in the face. "Suspicious, my ass, she can be walking into a trap", Javi raised his voice as he shot daggers at the head of the national police unit.

"Since when do you care?", those words took a moment to sink in. And when Javi turned back to you, there was no resemblance to the man you saw a couple of minutes ago. They were dead empty, and there was only anger there. "Good luck dying there since you seem so eager", Javi spat out, not turning away from you because he wanted to see the way your face fell.

"Javi…", Steve muttered. Out of everyone in the office, he was the only one who truly knew just how much you cared for one another. Your eyes started to sting, but you didn't drop the stabbing gaze that Javi was hurling your way, "Don't worry, agent, no one will send you an invite to the funeral". With those words, you turn away from him. Snatching the papers from the table as you turn towards Carillo as if Javi was no longer around.

Did Javi regret his words instantly? No, but he regretted them the moment he watched you unbutton the dress you were going to wear so none other than Carillo would strap communication devices onto your body. He hated that his hands were on your body. Fingers tracing the soft, warm skin. Does Carillo know that Javi's fingers were there too? Does he know that Javi would give up everything, even his career, for the chance to feel that soft skin again on his body every morning? With a frown on his face, Javi put his cigarette out before snatching his jacket off the chair and heading out.

This seemed silly, but you had never gone on a mission with Javi upset with you, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth. Yes, you argued often. Agreeing on something with that man was a challenge, but you made it work most of the time. You would blow each other's brains out by shouting at the office, and then one would always join the other outside for a smoke or just a breath of fresh air.

You would bump Javi's shoulder, making the frown even worse, until your fingers would sneak to pull the cigarette away from his lips so you could take a drag yourself. You would rarely talk. Both stubborn and aware that it would most definitely lead to more fighting. So silence it was. You would lean on Javi's shoulder, and he would never miss an opportunity to bring you closer to him.

The embraces at times felt so intimate that fighting back tears was a challenge. But the smell of Javi's aftershave and the smoke lingering there brought you unimaginable levels of comfort. The same comfort that you felt laying in his bed, tangled in his sheets. It had only happened a couple of times, but those couple of times were enough to make you addicted. Because the Javi at the office was nothing like the Javi you got to see behind closed doors. And it wasn't because he fucked good. No, that anyone could tell. It was because his touch did linger, and behind the wall that he had built for protection was the man who was so capable of love - he had just forgotten it.

"How could I help you, ma'am?", a voice asked, bringing you out of the trance and causing you to flinch slightly. You needed to put your head in check. This. You couldn't allow yourself to think about this while doing your job. "Hygiene check", you said, unfolding the paper and showing it to the elderly lady. She looked you up and down. "Since when are they no longer sending creepy old men?", she asked you sarcastically, and you couldn't help but chuckle. "Since I told them that it's inappropriate, especially around the kids". The woman nodded her head, dropping the paper on the front desk before reaching for the keys. "I'll walk you through the upper floors; the basement is easy to navigate on your own", she stated, moving to walk in front of you.

"Ask her about the size of the lower levels", Carillo's voice rang in your ear, and you flinched again. God, what was going on today? How can you forget that you had a communication set on, with microphones and all? They could hear your surroundings just as much. Focus, you told yourself once more. "A small basement for such a place—surely that's an issue?", you asked her, bringing the fake criteria papers to your chest and reaching for the pen so you could pretend to mark stuff.

"We don't need it. Things like fresh food and other products come in almost daily", she stated. "You have a company you work with?", you asked, looking at the pictures that covered all of the hallways. "Yes, I can give you the information, and the truck that delivered today's packages is still downstairs", she said, yet her voice slowly died down as your eyes fell on the kids playing in the colorfully painted rooms. The big windows allowed you to take a full look at them.

"Why is he alone?", the lady twisted to look back, stopping mid-sentence about the new vegetable stock, catching and following your gaze, now focused on the boy, seated in the furthest corner of the room. Knees up to his chest as he scarcely looked at the other kids. The lady sighed, "He got here not long ago. Hard to adapt. Both of his parents died, as did his sister. He's alone", bile rose in your throat as you swallowed thickly. Suddenly, you wish you had somewhere to lean on.

Javi's muscles tensed as those words rang through the car they all sat in. Carillo was about to speak into the headset, but Javi snatched it out of his hands. He doubted that Carillo knew. Maybe. He would like to believe that no one else did it besides him. That you had only trusted Javi with the story from your past that night. That you had cried because you hadn't told anyone else beforehand, and reliving it was too painful. Javi waited some more, pointing a warning finger at Carillo, who was cursing Javi in Spanish. Javi wanted to give you a moment to try and pull yourself out on your own. You were a big girl, and he knew that you could handle yourself. But everyone had their demons who possessed them at times; this just happened to be yours. Yet another reason why Javi didn't approve of this in the first place.

"You're in Bogota, not back in D.C., carino", Javi's voice filled your ears, and you had to blink a couple of times, feeling the shiver run down your back. Shiver that was followed by a wave of warmth, because if you could hear him, it meant that he came along after all. "Is he looked after?", the question seemed stupid, but you just had to know, even if it had nothing to do with why you were here, "All kids are looked after here, ma'am".

Javi cursed under his breath. You were slipping, and he could feel it. This was just too convenient. Too out of the blue. This had to be set up. To throw you off the hook so they could take you out. Javi could just feel it, and the worry only grew stronger. "Y/N, if you don't feel well, back down", Javi said again. His voice was firm. It was an order, and you knew that it was the correct one as well, but… "I'll look through the basement today", you said softly as you turned to the old lady. "Of course", she said with a nod, rushing to give you the keys.

"Y/n", Javi spoke again as a warning, but you didn't say anything. You closed your eyes for a moment to collect yourself, right as the lady showed you to the back door. Javi moved to get up instead once the line fell silent, but Carillo stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, "You don't have the order to interfere". That made Javi's blood boil, "You, out of all people, should feel that she's not in the right mindset to be there", Carillo said nothing, only locking the car doors, his eyes now fully fixed on Javi.

The hour you spent inside there was a nightmare. You took a couple of pictures. Sneaked in some papers that seemed off. Now all you needed to do was walk out of the building, and then it would all be over. A breath that Javi didn't know he was holding slipped past his lips as he watched you walk out of the building, turning back to wave to the elderly lady before you moved closer to the street that separated you from the rest of the team. Even from back there, Javi could tell that your eyes looked hazy. A new worry sparked. What if you misread the speed of the car? What if you get hit? Javi reached for the door handle, his eyes not leaving you for a moment.

You looked around a couple more times before stepping forward; your eyes met Javi's desperate ones. And even if he knew that you were beyond pissed at him, you still shot him a slight smile. A little something that would keep his nerves at bay for now. Until you crossed the street and Javi could once again sense your perfume lingering in the car.

And then a blink of an eye changes everything. A bullet suddenly pierces your shoulder, sending you staggering back onto the street. It feels like the world had stopped as Javi watched the red stain get bigger and bigger. "Get down", Carillo shouted at the top of his lungs, making a handful of men drop to their knees, but Javi didn't move. He pushed off the car and rushed forward, "Pena, that's an order", but he was done with following orders for today. Another shot rang out. This time it sounded a lot stronger, and you suddenly gripped your lower stomach. That made Javi lose all sense; he took off running, and suddenly the distance seemed way too long. Pushing panicked people to the side as he scratches his way to you.

You didn't register the first bullet; it was like your mind blanked, and only the feeling of something wet dripping down your shoulder made you frown at the situation. It's the second bullet that pierced your left side that made you let out a scream. One that kept ringing in your ears. You could see people moving, but no one was stopping to look at you. Your mind was running so fast yet so slowly at the same time. Blinking started to get harder, your breaths were painful and shallow now.

"Carino", you heard before you could even see the face, and for a second, it felt like you were imagining it all. "Keep your eyes open", said Javi, who was now leaning over you, palm cradling your cheek as he pats it a couple of times to keep you conscious for as long as possible. Another shot rang out, and Javi turned around to fire his gun before his attention was back on you. "Not safe", you mutter, your weak fingers now wrapped around Javi's wrist. "I'll be fine", he stated blankly, drawing his gaze up for just one moment, catching a glimpse of Steve tackling a male to the ground before he's looking down at your paling face, "Can you press your palms to your shoulder, baby?"

When you don't move, Javi is the one moving his palm over the second wound, pressing as hard as he possibly can. "Let me", you mutter, and God or whatever that people believe in knows Javi was glad you don't finish that sentence because he can't and won't think of that outcome. "Don't you dare? You're walking out of here, you hear me?", Javi said letting go of your shoulder. He patted your cheek again as your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment. Anger only rushed faster as Javi shouted once again for an ambulance or a medic.

"He had Michael's eyes", you muttered, breathing now even, though Javi knew what that meant - your body was crashing. "Did he, carino?", he knows this is not a conversation he should be having with you, but he's desperate to keep you awake for as long as possible. Javi's hands were soaked with your blood by now, and so was your flowery dress. You nodded your head weakly and said, "I saw Mikey". Javi clenched his jaw, trying to keep his emotions at bay. "I hope you said hi from me as well", but your head lulled to the side. Javi's blood went ice cold because, for a split second, he thought that was it—you were dead. You bled out in his arms. Letting go of your wounds, Javi pulled you closer to his chest, your limp body looking nothing like a rag doll in his arms. The sirens rang somewhere in the air, but now all Javi could think of was how he would never be the same if you never opened your eyes again.

#javier pena x reader #javier pena imagine #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #javi pena x you #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #narcos imagine #narcos x reader #narcos fanfiction

[bromelads]

I am not playing the “you're racist if you say Ed is abusive" game with y’all 😒

This shit is not new or helpful to POC in the fandom. I wrote about it earlier this year (too little, too late), so I've built this post up from that.

I encourage folks to read this analysis and call to action by uselessheretic from back in JANUARY since it addresses key aspects of the harassment campaign that was par of the course for the fandom in 2022. This discourse plays into that harassment.

Listen, for all of its widely-held progressive values, the ofmd fandom is still a hobby space filled with mostly white, first world, LGBTQ+ ppl. Most ofmd fans fashion themselves leftists and generally agree that structural racism exists and is a problem. Overall, there's worse fandoms to be in.

That said, this particular wave of hand-wringing about fans calling Ed abusive is not at all about the ways indigenous people are stereotyped in media.

The most telling giveaway is the timing: fans expressing frustration towards Ed following the sneak peek that shows Fang, Archie, Jim, and Frenchie all but having an intervention for Izzy because they think he is "in an unhealthy relationship with Blackbeard" since Ed "cut two more of his toes...[which] seems pretty toxic to me."

I am not emotionally prepared to deconstruct the dark humor of holding a spontaneous intervention for your asshole white assistant manager who's on his last fucking wit because your brown and beautiful rockstar boss is too high to function and keeps cutting the guy's toes off. You either get the joke or you don't.

For the purpose of this post, all I care to extract from it is what it tells us about who is exercising the most control over the ship. Despite his physical absence, Ed’s ghost is all over this beautifully crafted scene. The tone of their wardrobe is dictated by Ed’s. They are carrying out Ed’s orders. Frenchie and Jim’s exclusive presence as former members of Stede’s crew was decided by Ed. Izzy’s authority as first mate is sanctioned by Ed. And it is Ed’s fitness to lead that Frenchie, Fang, Jim,and Archie are questioning ultimately.

I’m not particularly worried about Ed’s integrity as a charismatic lead being hurt by a storyline that paints him as someone who abuses power--the flow and exchange of power is a running theme for ofmd. Stede and Izzy themselves abuse their power in season 1 for their vanity. What I am worried about is this cute cultural feature of the wider ofmd fandom:

the chronic unwillingness to grapple with interpersonal power dynamics amongst peers, not only in the show, but in the fandom itself. 

So here we are again, ofmd fandom, working ourselves up into a moral outrage so that you, in your leftist white glory, can publicly police yourself because apparently you only know how to experience People of Color in fiction through these two lenses:

white guilt (am I racist for thinking this? are people around me racist for thinking this?) and

the white imagination (stories about characters of color are valuable because they inform my politics)

This push against reading Ed as abusive is not about calling out the problematics of depicting an indigenous man as mentally ill, violent, lonely, and rageful, it is about trying to sound self-righteous to mask anxiety about accidentally doing a racism on the indigenous, brown lead. 

This is even more obvious now with the season 2 premiere days away and audiences being primed to question whether the severity of Izzy's punishment was appropriate.

Now, here's the hard-to-swallow pill the ofmd fandom's been avoiding cuz we don't wanna point out the inevitable problems of representation within canon:

We are being served a storyline where a complex protagonist (who happens to be a brown, queer, indigenous man in a position of power) harms people who are close to him and we are meant to recognize this as a problem that he must come to terms with. I don't like it either, but I'd rather have this than no Ed story at all.

Other people have written far more intelligently about this than I could, but it bears repeating: what's happening here is fans projecting their own insecurities about racism and power onto a white character ("izzy exotifies ed!" "he wants to control ed!" "izzy is an incompetent pirate actually!") while at the same time applying a shiny veneer of respectability and perfect rationality to a nonwhite character ("ed had every right to hurt izzy!" "maiming is fair game as retribution for racism, it's in-world rules!" "ed can't be abusive because he's been abused!") in order to mask white leftist fandom's discomfort about a morally ambiguous brown protagonist.

Anyway, take a breath.

Ed is a character whose impact in "the real world" does indeed go beyond how he makes us feel. Taika Waititi's Edward Teach represents a watershed moment in indigenous representation—not only for his position as protagonist, not even for his queerness, but because of his depth, charisma, complexity, and connection to a community that cares about him. These things have been rarely afforded to the very few indigenous leads in the global film canon--no matter how his story is handled in season 2 and 3, Ed's impact has already been cemented.

Okay I'm done, here's some actionable advice to wash this all down with.

If your goal is to foster a welcoming environment for fans of color and elevate engagement with characters of color, then immediately remove shaming people's headcanons from your toolbox and read this article. Take stock of who is in your fandom social circle and take stock of what you do in order to at least see more fanworks featuring characters of color.

If your goal is to promote or participate in productive race-conscious conversations with other fans, get real about your relationship with power, your positionality in life (and in fandom) and the channels through which you want to have these conversations. Some questions to start with: Can you describe your relationship with your race? What is your experience talking about race in mixed-race spaces? What avenues do you use to participate in fandom? How do you participate? Where do you have influence? How do you manage unwanted feelings that spark from disagreements about racism?

If your goal is to interact in fandom with integrity, get explicit about your values. Engage in dialogue, treat others with the respect you want. Be curious and ask questions. Avoid becoming someone's useful idiot and learn to think critically.

Finally, if your goal is to enjoy your blorbos without having to think about the problematics of representation for QTBIPOC (Queer, Trans, Black, Indigenous, People of Color), then save us all the grief and just join a different fandom.

Good luck!

#phew anyway #ofmd meta #cuz i actually had to explain the sneak peak scene oh my god #the izcourse #ofmd fandom #ofmd #our flag means death #fandom discourse #ofmd fandom discourse #fandom racism #long post #edward teach #ed teach meta #ofmd season 2 #ofmd spoilers #ofmd fandom meta #thank u everyone who marinated on some of these thoughts with me in the circle <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 #and thank you everyone who proofread and gave feedback on this <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 #anyway ofmd fandom oh my god #please educate yourself #I hate to be like this but if you want to say meaningful shit about racism in this show #u need to do some actual fucking research and exercise your interpersonal skills lol #EDIT: fixed a couple links thanks anon! #la meta de mi meta

[doublekanble]

Ghost in your home.

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 8.5k

or, ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand or to fix you only ever serves to widen the distance. (have you ever love someone who died and came back so much you try to forced them into the mold of who they used to be without considering the fact they're no longer the same person? instead of learning to love them again? well have i got good news for you.) tw: toxic relationship (what's new). 2-4 have a progression of injuries and gorish talk. semi unreliable narrator alastor

1. His house is always at a pleasant 20 degree Celsius, but it always feels like 0.

“Now, I’m sure this is a bit upsetting, yes. But I assured you it’s for the better— “

Sharp yellow teeth grinded against each other, Alastor do his best to keep his own temper in check when another pillow hit his chest. The sounds of radio dials going haywire blares out for a second before evening itself out and turn to a low frequency hum. He picked these because he knows you would’ve love them, seems your tantrum triumph your love for the colors, after all. Standing a respectable distance away from you, at the door, he simply tries to focus on the positive.

“Shut the fuck up!” you roared, whipping your head around to stare into his eyes from where you’re hunching over, he would try chiding you for your nasty mouth, but that can wait until he’s sure you won’t rip the carpet apart. “What are you even trying to do?! Was killing me before not enough for you? You just have to hunt me down and make me lose my job— “

“—An extremely unnecessary and useless job that you’ll never have to bother with ever again!” when he starts to walk towards you, arms open and still trying to put you above himself, your snarled at him and lowered yourself, as if ready to lung at any minute. It wasn’t until you bring your hands up that he realized what you were doing, your fingers clutching the duvet below you tightly. Almost like a wounded animal retreating into its hiding spot before choosing to fight, you sat on your knee with sharp fingers, and in a single tug, you tear it into two.

“I wanted that job, Alastor! That was my job!” bellowing out at him with a fury he have never seen in you while bunching however much of the useless cotton that can fit in your hand, you tried to throw it at him again. It fell just below his feet and bloom open instead. Alastor doesn’t bother kicking it off to the side, opting to step over it and the other mess you made in your room. “You go and get yourself one that can guarantee you decent rooming and livable wage in this hellhole without selling your soul you dog!”

His shadow covers your figure as he look down at you with what he hoped is a more than amicable smile. That duvet and the torn books, the lamp and the drawers, everything, was picked out just for you. Now it’s all on the floor, even before he got to your room. He laughs.

“That’s absurd, love! Are you really trying to justify working in that pigsty for nickels and dimes? And even so,” Judging from the way you cowered and the interference in his voice, Alastor made a wild guess that he failed, but there’s no need to dwell on the specific. Light escaped to the corners when statics runs through the air before cutting off completely and red stares back at him from the bottom of your irises, you grow just a tad smaller in his eyes. “There is absolutely no need throwing such fits over minor disagreements. We’re both decent folks raised right, aren’t we?” you winced visibly when he cranks his neck to a sharp ninety-degree, he almost feels bad for you.

“It’s not ‘minor’, everything I worked for is gone. You scorched them like they’re nothing…” You grumble out and break the eye contact, tone spiteful but small. There’s a tinge of cautions in it now, like a dog with tail in between it legs, still growling from it belly but caution of the fight.

“I wouldn’t have burn anything that meant something to you, love,” Cooing at you, he can feel his bones shifting back into place as Alastor reaches out a hand to smooth out your hair, finally able to frets over your messy and unkept state from the morning outburst. You keep absolutely still under his hold. “All those frivolous rubbish you kept in that tiny living quarter of yours combine won’t worth half as much as a single item in this room! And look at where they all ended up…”

“They meant something to me, Alastor.” He glances down at his hand, your sudden grip on it was tight, with the nail on your thumb pressing right at his vein as a warning. He can tell when someone’s doing something to scared him, this isn’t that at all. You seem to almost be unaware of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alastor finds the notion of you needing to know how to do this —or the fact you’re even doing it out of habit— wholly annoying and unpleasant. “I like them, and I worked to buy them with my own means.”

At that, he smiles, such a messy little thing, you always are. Awfully sentimental and always get caught up on the wrong thing. Alastor gets it, he really does. He gets sentimental over stupid, silly little objects and items too. The rock he picked up somewhere when he was five, placed in the corner of the drawer that he threw out once he found it again as an adult. His first tailored suit that he worked day and night for, collecting dust in his closet by the time he looked back. That letter of acceptance kept in a box, the one he burns the day that lousy owner of the radio station was discovered at a bottom of a creek and got replaced with someone much more pleasant.

Alastor has things he treasured too, and unlike you, he knows when to let something go and when to take a hold of it. That’s why your old place stand as nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind. You always have a knack for frantically holding onto your romanticism and the nonsensical. He honestly would rather be giving you more time to adapt, but not only are you horribly fussy about it, Alastor now has his good grace thrown in his face.

“Well then, if you’re so hung up on them, then you’ll feel more than at home to work for everything you’ve wrecked today, yes? Afterwards, we can get talking about getting you something else.”

You’re a terribly lucky thing, still able to even breathe where Alastor maimed so many for much less. He thinks you know you are, that’s only why you’re so insistent on being so difficult, glaring up at him with hate in your eyes and a such a rotten attitude.

“Get out,” your voice was small, but far from scared. With fingers curling around his wrist uselessly, you all but snarled, “Get. Out.”

“They’re awfully expensive, as you already know. They’ll do good to motivate you too. One stone two bird, as they’d say~” ignoring your silly attempt to provoke him into losing his temper again, Alastor wrapped his free hand around yours, and with what he thought was a gentle tug, pulls it from his wrist. He releases it when you winced, almost caught surprise by the change in the way you sit. Slightly hunching over, you held your hand close to you. His index nicked your wrist, and a bead of red ran from it.

Although it was no more than an accident, he knows you’re more than familiar with the ensembles of screams and cries running from the radio he placed in your room. You don’t need to know he will never let you join in with the harmony, but it’s nice to keep you on your toes sometimes.

“Stay good for me. Will you, darling?”

2. He gives you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more than you could ever need. He remembers your rapidly cooling body underneath him.

“Dearest,” sweetly, he calls out for you, gripping onto your shoulder, “Why are all the books in your bathtub?” he can tell it’s hurting you, but you keep your gaze far beyond the window and into the cityscape.

It wasn’t only the books, all of your lovely stationaries and art supplies and music sheets and what-else swims in that damned bathtub like a bloated corpse. Your room, although not as clean as it was before your little fit, it’s still a substantial improvement. It also gives you little to nothing in terms of fun aside from the lonely cacti sitting silently on a table with scratch marks, you’d refuses to step foot outside unless he needs you at the dinner table. Say whatever you want, Alastor is everything but heartless when it came to you, so he starts coming up with ways to give you some fun in your life.

He thought it’ll be the right thing to do, gifting you something for you to spent your times on and make a home out of your room. Which, in turns, might be the first push he needs for his home to become yours, too. He couldn’t really give himself too much credit, though. If anyone were to pay attention, they would all come to the same conclusion about you. Terribly restless and honest little thing, always on the move, always doing something. That’s what he loves so much about you, you can’t hide a single thought from him with how you can barely keep yourself together at times. Anything you feel always came up to your face. And if you were to dislike someone, he will know.

Even by the end, where you eventually grew quieter and more muted, looking behind your shoulders and fretful over invisible shadows hiding in the dark; your heart still stays so comically beautiful and kind. So lovingly, you still use the same fountain pen he gifted you. You were still you. So when he got you those things, Alastor was somewhat hoping to see just what you can come up with to further antagonized him. He’s not delusional as to hot-blooded and petty you are. You can hate him in this moment, but he knows you well enough to know you’ll never be like him. Always the kinder of the pair; you were never one for outright belligerent.

“I don’t know,” your voice was airy and light, then, “I don’t like any of them.”

But now, without him noticing, your eyes somehow carried the same glint as he does.

Down here in Hell, the day always been just a little bit brighter than the night. Obnoxious red always painted the sky, it’s really the furthest thing from the scenery back on Earth. Even then, the evening shade reflected in your eyes almost reminded him of the lovely days of being alive. With his red thumb practically piercing your collarbone with how hard he’s pressing down on you, sitting on the only chair in the room that’s still intact, by your half clawed-up desk, face sitting all neatly in the palm of one hand; you can almost be considered graceful like this, body lax and a wistful gaze. Alastor can almost be taken by the sight. Almost.

Although Alastor was only trying to turn you towards him for yet another scolding, for a second, he’d forgotten just how easy it is for his claws to tear. One moment, you were on the only chair left in the room, staring out a window and paying no mind to his growing ire. Another, you crumbled on the floor, hand replaced his. Slightly dazed from what just happened, he stands and watches on while you clutch at the bits of tendon and bones showing through skin, trying to squeeze the opening together with shaking hands. Red streams through between your fingers without a care as the familiar smell of metallic fills the room. You now faced towards the floor, frozen stiff like a scared little fawn. Alastor couldn’t bring himself from the sight. Right, you’re made of flesh, too.

He clenched the hand that touched you once to get rid of the ache soaking itself in his bone marrow, opens it, then twice, as if testing out the way your blood settles on his blackened palm. Shaking himself awake, he can almost feel the hunger clawing through his throat and molding itself into the will to bite. You really are lucky, if you were any old Joe, you wouldn’t even have a shoulder to rest that stupidly stubborn head of yours on.

“Darling,” a knee touching the floor, he kneels at his spot and reach a bloody hand out, moving the tip-over chair out of the way with another. An apology on the tip of his tongue, he bites and swallowed it when you inched yourself back just a bit with eyes still glued to the stained carpet. You wouldn’t really deserve one anyway. Long, heavy breath seeps through your bared teeth, your hold on that obnoxious gash tightened while the floor beneath you catches the blood that fell in droves. He sighs. “Come now, I’ll help clean you up.”

He can hear the sound of your heart, still frantically beating as you refused to answer or take his hand. Through the curtains of your bangs, he spots wild eyes darting to the door, before settling on his patiently waiting red claws. The moment you looked as if ready to bolt away, Alastor decides that he have been more than patient with you – seizing you by the elbow and dragging you up, he took you to his room for the day. You made a weak attempt at fighting out of his grip before giving up entirely. When your footstep slowly catches up to him, he thanked Lucifer.

In his well-decorated and tidy bathroom, over your humiliated protest and pitiful whine, Alastor forced a proper apology from your mouth while he scrubbed away the urge to sink his teeth into something and the crusted brown clinging to your flesh with a sponge and a grip too tight. You couldn’t complaint, too focused on what must be one of the worst pain you’ve felt since the day you were reborn. There’s nothing he can do for you, he thought to himself – you can handle a little more pain, you were so insisted about being so unfairly difficult despite his multiple humbling attempts at a peace offering or at least a truce. A brat until the end of time, no matter the length he’d go through for you.

Alastor would’ve wondered over and over to himself about just what was it that makes you so incredibly indispensable to him, but he knows why already. Standing by his window after patching you up and sending you back to your room with a “gentle” warning, leaving the bathtub ordeal to be dealt with tomorrow and having nothing else to do, he let a familiar tune plays from the neglected microphone leaning on his bed.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. Everything he does since the day he buried his bastard of a father below the soil of the earth have been mark and marred with several distinct goals in mind. So that his mother can finally live the life God owed her, so that he can live the life he deserves, Alastor cheated and lied his way through life and climb up the social rank. With bloody hands and a silver tongue, he bought a house in a nice neighborhood and became well known amongst the community for his charm. And somewhere along the way, with dirt caked under his nails, he finds you in his life and you stayed until the day you died.

Life in New Orleans was always colorful, even when he was surfing through the night alone. But with you, it’s like getting to live through the good part twice. The day you died, a part of him died with you on the forest floor. Blooming under rotting leaves and buried below the rocks is the one other person that Alastor dare entrusted with his heart. It rots too, along with you, but he never really minded it all. Alastor knows you; he knows why you’re utterly indispensable to him.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. But as Alastor, he finds that thoughts and daydreams can never talk and laugh like you do. In your absence, his thoroughly decayed heart only grows fonder of the you he remembers. When he came down here, he wasn’t able to bring a single thing of you with him. When he finds his way back up there, everything of yours was burnt and destroyed. So for the longest time, Alastor lives on with the thought of you in his mind and your warmth in his heart.

It's awfully painful, he quietly admitted to himself, it’s awfully painful how, even though you’re just a walk away now, room set right next to his, divided by thick wood; Alastor has never felt so much further away from the life he envisioned. His claws, clean of your blood, dance on the windowsill as he hummed along to a tune from the older days, the better days. He’s willing to wait, however. You surely will come around, you have to, and when you do, you’ll laugh about your stubborn streaks and poke fun at his willingness to let you trampled all over his ego like this. Surely.

For now, for the rest of the night, Alastor sat and stare out the window with nothing in mind. He hopes this feeling of fulfilled emptiness can leave before it takes roots in his heart.

3. The AM radio frequency only read white noise. He can’t hear your voice.

Your miserable sobs don’t get any quieter, even when he slammed the door closed.

Leaning against it with a huff, Alastor brushes off the familiar and unwelcome fatigue settling in his mind and adjusted the collar of his vest with one hand. There’s no use in going in there again for the night. If there’s one thing he can ever be sure of, it’s that you would throw yourself out the window the moment you see him again and made an even bigger mess for him to clean up. It’s shameful to admit he ever lose control over himself like that. In a perfect world, nobody should know the exact buttons to push like you do, no word should ever get to him like yours does. But Alastor long since accepted that if you were to ask for his heart, you’ll have it on a silver platter. You’re very firm on taking the stand of martyrdom before you ever ask him for anything, but he likes to think that he’s working towards that.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alastor started towards the kitchen. He hasn’t cook anything for the day yet, and he’s sure that the first-aid kit was still in there from your last tantrum. All this trouble, and he can’t even make a roast out of this. He knows you’re not too fond of meatloaf – or anything he made for you nowadays – but it’ll have to do, since you’re so keen on wrecking his schedule with your childish attempt at a spat and your nonsensical sentimental for that useless life you kept insisting you want back. Despite all of it, he does feel just a tad bit of pity for you. You, and your right arm, the one sitting silently in his left, bleeding all over his carpet floor. Hopefully this will teach you to stop moving around so much next time, you’re not unfamiliar with a broken wrist, but you just kept writhing and clawing at his hands, and his slipped.

Quite frankly, this is still a much better life than for you to be in the same room and so close to those revolting roughnecks and floors stained with Satan-knows-what. He can’t even fathom just why you’re still clinging onto it so tightly when there’s so much for you here. When he’s here.

He stills remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he makes his way to a figure quickly retreating behind the counter, under the dim lights and the rowdiness of a dingy café that barely qualifies as one. He wasn’t sure at first – Hell has a way of masking one’s appearance with a roulette game, and despite his growing contracts and connections, information might just be wrong. You could’ve been exorcised, or even worse, managed to wrangled your way into Heaven somehow and left him down here alone. But he placed his confident in a good friend, who promised him that if this isn’t you, then nobody else can be.

Bless the Christian God himself for his mercy, the moment he let that familiar name fell from his lips again after so many years of living without it, Alastor find himself staring into the same gaze that haunted his waking days and sleepless night. Holding onto you with a bruising grip, when you finally bring yourself to stare back at him like a deer in front of head light, his rotting heart comes alive with a fervor and he knew you’ll never be separated from him ever again. Back in his arms and under his wings.

Despite the time it took and your less-than-ideal reunion, he was more than thrilled to show you he finally made good of himself down here, just like he said he would. As Alastor lead you back with a smile splitting his face open, he tells you all about what he’s been doing. In his house is a room prepared just for you with everything you’ve ever love that he can get his claws on. It used to sit there and taunt him in the night where the silence stretches on and on and nothing in the underworld can distract him from the idea of your separation lasting until the end of time and the end of his life, that for all his preparations to make sure you two will never parted, he managed to miss the one chance he had with you in life. His halls echoed a voice that he barely able to recalled while he chased a shadow he desperately tries to remembers in whatever he can remember of you. The passage of time and his work might take your lovely voice and visage from him, but it will never let him forget how you feel about dark coffee or your favorite composer.

The time he lost being far away from you, the time you both lost being away from each other, Alastor was ready to make up for all of it. With good food, good wine, a good home and a good life. Finally, nobody will ever be able to turn their nose up at you both. If they do, he has more than enough means to fix it. His broadcast station no longer stays dependent on some white hotshot he needs to keep in a good mood at all time, it now plays only the things Alastor wants it to, forever. And now that you’re back, it’ll plays whatever it is you want too. All of it, just for yours and his sake alone. And then you turn your nose up at him, demanding for your old pathetic life back.

Ever since Alastor found you and took you home, you’ve been nothing but ungrateful, unpredictable, and downright hazardous to yourself and his furniture. Nothing like the darling he cared for from way back then. All bites and no barks, that’s what your silly threats and your mischief used to be in life. It’s nothing here, too, but he can only get so far restraining you to your bed until you learn how to break your own hands and slip it through the cuffs. You were always a lot of things, but this vindictive side of you still are so incredibly off-putting to him.

And yet, even with all of this, Alastor’s eroding heart breaks for you. Recently, he discovered an old book, one he took with him from the burning pile of your apartment and kept in his overcoat for a long time. It was a book that you shared with him when you both were alive, he was more than elated once reminded of the fact. Stained with black on the cover and slightly misshapen, the book must’ve gone through so much, considering your occupation at the time. Alastor remembers just how hard it is to get used to the disrespectful crowd down here, even for someone like him who can simply waved his hand and turn them into red paste on the filthy streets. You must’ve been so confused and scared, having to re-familiarized yourself to a new and much more unwelcoming world, making your way through an utterly horrific landscape without him there to help you with.

Naive, kind hearted and gentle you, even when you’ve killed before, you’re an easy prey in an awful, awful world. Mother always reminded him that wounded animal takes time to trust and they bite and clawed their way out of hands that moves too fast, so he need to make good by her words and keep on giving you just that, time. No matter the fact you barely improve, no matter how much time he gave you, or the fact it was him who clawed off your arm in the first place.

So, with a bright attitude, Alastor strides to your shut door with the sounds of your hysteria long gone. He knocks three times and calls out to you, then leave you alone with the first-aid kit. He’ll give you until midnight to do it yourself.

4. Love and hate are a hair away, he realized he hates loving you at times.

You’ve been improving, day by day. You stop biting back so much and starts to listen more, you sit when he asked you to and learned not to talk so brazenly while you’re at it, too. You don’t ever smile, yes, and his hallways still feel so cold at times. You walked as if you’re on eggshells, and you sleep with your body huddled under the blanket, as if there’s something hiding in the dark that will take you away if you dare peak out from it. You stacked books and boxes underneath your bed, too.

At times, Alastor felt like he’s having a guest staying over, maybe it’s because you’re acting more and more like one. Someone whom he knows well enough to accommodate their every need, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity, of the fact they’re not a close enough friend to stay over for so long, and their every decision needed checking. The thought itself is beyond ridiculous, he knew you for years before you died. He’s the closest friend you have, alive or death. He knows how you like your eggs; he memorized your voice; he knows when you need to sleep and when you like to wake up. But he digressed. Progress is progress, you’re getting better day by day, and he only ever have to threatened you a bit at times.

Which must’ve been why it felt so wrong, holding you like this.

He can only hope you won’t be able to discern his heavy panting over your own growing panic. Alastor could’ve sworn that he’s a better man than this, that he has more patience and more tact, already lived through a childhood with his head down and a smile stitched neatly on his lips. But he rationalized the way his pointer and thumb pinch together with the same compassion he have for a stray dog, separate only by your tongue, slowed and unmoving only by his own desire to give you another chance to explain yourself and take back your word and let him returns to his days of thinking you’re getting better, never minded the fact he’s not hearing anything out of his good ear right now. It’s not that he’s drawn to the way your pupils dilating and turned pinprick as your near incoherent pleading slowly cut itself off, realizing this might not end well. It’s not that he’s intently observing the trickle of blood running into the back of your throat, or the way your hot breath hit his hand, unable to close your jaw from the grip he has on you.

From the first dawn of this day until mere minutes ago, things were just lovely. Alastor managed to hold a ten-minute conversation with you in the morning, and by noon, able to coaxed you out of your hiding spot and onto your seat at the table with the promises of getting you whatever else you requested, as long as you keep your manner in check. You raised an eyebrow at the unusual and grand display of dishes for what you must’ve thought was a normal meal, but you stay silent. The four walls in your room had to be decorated by his own hands, and anything you refuses to keep, you throw into the toilet or buried under your growing number of plants out in the garden he’s not allowed to step foot in; thusly, there’s no longer a calendar in your room for you to keep tracks on dates.

When he pulls out a bottle of wine – full bodied, his favorite from when he was alive, it feels like blood sliding down his throats at times – you look at him, your eyes tells a world of distrust as he smile at you and pour it into two glass and hand you one. Alastor could’ve cried true tears of joy when you accepted it without making a fuss and simply placed it by your left, picking up a fork with your dominant hand. You waited for him to say something, before quietly thank him for the food and starts to eat.

For most of the meal, you work away at your own plate while he talks for the both of you. Alastor doesn’t mind, the fact you bothered to pay attention is good enough, occasionally nodding along or giving him a small huff or two. You’ve been doing a great job at staying in line ever since a year ago, especially once you learned you’re also made of flesh, just like the rest of the voices stuck in his broadcast. Alastor would’ve gladly taken this, if not for how you’re glancing off every now and then, contemplating something.

Particularly, you’ve been holding onto your glass for an awfully long time now, drifting off in the middle of him relaying an encounter he had the day before. Alastor pauses when you take it near your face and cleared your throat.

“…It’s not your birthday today.” You said, nonchalantly staring into the bottom of the glass, spinning it to and fro between the middle of your pointer and thumb.

“I’m glad you still remember my birthday, dear. But yes, it’s not! It’s surprising you can even tell what day it is!” he laughs.

You only glance up, before letting out a deep sigh, “You’re way more eager on your birthday.”

“Well then love, would you care to enlighten me on how I am today?” Alastor leans over the table with a smile, mood light and hoping you stop with the implications. You look angsty, however, gently lifting the glass up to your lips and take a small gulp. When you finally look at him again, Alastor felt his smile strains, he knows what that look means.

“What day is it?” with a clink, the glass landed on the table and stay there, “It’s not my birthday, nor is it yours. It’s not a holiday, too, far as I know. “

The corner of his lips pulls taut, his half-lidded eyes stare straight into yours. The sounds of something sharp pulls through the radio, but you refuse to back down. Alastor caved and took his own glass into his right hand.

“I was going to keep it a secret until we finished with our meal, but if you’re so insistent on spoiling the surprise—“ taking a long sip before continuing, if this goes south, he might need something stronger, “—It’s been a year since the day we reunited, right on the dot. I figured we should do something to celebrate, but you’ve always been such a stick in the mud about your past. So, I was going to have us finishing the meal first— “

The clanking of silverwares being drop onto porcelain plate was the first thing he catch, the ear-grating sound of your chair scrapping harshly against the kitchen floor’s the second. With both hand bracing against the table, you look half ready to launch yourself over it and kill him with your bare hands, but you breathe in, back straight, and simply look at him.

“Your mother would be livid if this is the you she knows.”

You looked as if you still have something else to say, but in a second, he have your face in his hand, grinning down at you while the base of his horns itch and creaks.

“Apologies, dear. I think I’ve heard something wrong,” the lights in the room flickered, in between the burning bright and the cold dark, he can only see red, “Do you want to try and repeat that for me?”

“Your fucking mother would’ve hated you.” Over the radio static bursting his own eardrums and your lovely voice spewing utter putrid, he tucked a thumb in before you can properly close your mouth, you clamped down onto it and grinded your teeth. He laughs.

“Oh~ you think you’re so incredibly brave, aren’t you?” sticking in another thumb, Alastor slowly pried your mouth open, the more he does, the quicker your attitude change, “So strong and so special. You can handle yourself just fine without me, can’t you? nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”

“Al—waih—“ you choked out, desperate. But he’s not having it today.

His pointer and thumb pull on your tongue.

Alastor swore up and down, he was raised a tactful and patient man. He followed his mother‘s word very carefully and tries his best to be charitable with you.

With eyes glued onto the trail of his blood, quickly drying on your chin, then to your tongue, with increasing pressure, he can feel his smile splitting open his own face, but there’s no joy to be found in his woeful, heavy heart.

It feels so wrong, holding you like this. He feels so wrong, looking into your eyes. You almost certainly accepted your fate by now, he feels a bit bad for you. So utterly helpless in his hold, realizing just how little power you truly have without his generous love, giving into you and letting you plays out your fantasy, even after everything you did. He knows you’re still getting used to this, he knows you needed more time. Alastor would almost consider this a lesson learned, but the statics blinds him to your pain, and for a moment, all he knew was that he wanted you to feel the same pain as he does.

So, because he loves you so much, because you want to hate him so badly, he ignored your hysterical cries as he pinches down on your tongue, then in one motion, he rips it from your nasty, bitter mouth.

5. Before he realized it, you weighted 21 grams.

It’s almost like he’s haunted, at times. The thought would’ve been amusing.

Humming a tune and walking up the three steps leading to the front door, Alastor eyed the Ficus sitting on either side of him, a brown leaf fell from the lulling branch while he fetching the keys from his pocket with one hand. They’re wilting faster than he can water them. What a shame it really is, not only have you lost your will for everything, you also lost the mood to take care of tacky house plant decor. Maybe he should try for some Begonia next?

“I’m home, love!”

Alastor is greeted with an empty corridor and a faint melody dancing through the air. He can only sigh and step further into his home, heading for the kitchen. Every day he hoped something would magically change, and every day Lucifer laughed at him from the top of his luxurious throne.

You can hear him, he knows you do. You managed to crawl all the way into the studies just to put on a song the moment he steps foot outside the house, after all. It’s a blessing, how you haven’t bolt right back into your room the moment you hear the door opened, you must’ve been in a good mood. He hopes you can stay that way until tomorrow, but it’s fine if you don’t, as long as you’re willing to eat whatever he puts in front of you. He peaked into the spotless kitchen, and with nothing out of place, he stepped inside.

Setting the groceries down, he pulled out everything he needs for dinner. Already with a dish in mind, Alastor whisked out an iron cast pot and set it on the stove. He shooed his shadows off and away, he can prepare for this recipe himself, and he want to be alone for a while anyway. He prepares all the ingredients before getting to the rice. The music flows from upstairs as he works in silence, mindful of his own microphone and keeping it off.

He doesn’t remember this song, it must’ve been one of the newer ones Rosie gave him to give back to you, assuring him you “just need more fun things in your life, then you’ll get to talking again”. Alastor wasn’t sure if you would’ve like it enough for him to keep it, but he wasn’t going to bother fighting with Rosie.

Turning the fire down, he closed the lid and set the kitchen timer to twenty-two on the dot. It should be enough time for him to make the roux, but he can check the rice early. Pouring oil into a pot to his right, he turned the fire up to max and began whisking the flour into it, when it turned brown, he drops the onion in and lower the heat to medium.

If not for him constantly reminding you, you would’ve ignored the needle-like pain in your stomach. Granted, you ignore it even when he did remind you, so he took to just make things and leave it in your room until you’re in the mood to eat. It’s been going on for two years now, enough time for him to regret playing into your hands and losing his temper. Alastor had hope that if he were to deprived you of everything he’s willing to give you for some times, you would finally get it through your thick skull that he only ever wanted good for you. Only, the you that greeted him after three long month was silent and still, lying on your bed with close eyes. The only sign you’re still alive in the first place was your breathing, almost invisible to the common eye.

He remembers hovering over you, a finger set on your chin and pulls it down. With an odd lump in his throat and a heaviness he rarely knows of, Alastor let out a weak chuckled, watching as a reformed lump of meat pulsates and weakly twitching in place of your tongue. Turns out, without the correct nutrients, the citizen of hell could only pray that whatever injury they obtained will kill them faster than they can heal it. And just as fate would have it, you’ve been holding onto such a thing ever since he locked you in.

Maybe that’s why your eyes haven’t change since, maybe that’s why you refuse to talk, maybe it still hurts, and maybe you afraid of getting used to the comfort he provides you. Or maybe you hated him for it, he wouldn’t know, you never really made yourself clear since that day. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without anything that he gave you, and he’s trying his best now to make sure it’ll stay the longest you will ever go without anything ever again.

The roux turned a dark, shiny brown. He added almost everything else and stirs it for five minutes sharp. Quickly checking the rice once the timer calls for his attention, Alastor turned off the fire and reaches for the tomatoes and stocks. The music from upstairs come to a halt.

It’s became synonymous with you now, silent and stillness. Somewhere in the middle of an evening, Alastor came to the oddly upsetting realization that you just as well never return to the same you that he was trying so hard to recover.

Throwing in the two ingredients, he raises the heat back to high. When it began to boils, he puts it to medium and let it simmers for six minutes. A shadow came by and whispered winds and chimes into his flickering left ear, you’re back in your room with the gramophone.

When he was alive, every moment spent with you was bright and different. You were a wild spark of fire in the cold city, silently chasing after dreams with a caring and delicate heart. Your shared mirth used to fill the room as you talk over jazz and the constant chattering from loudmouth patrons. Those days became the only thing he held onto in the midst of his busy life down here.

Then one day, within his first few years of working his way up the ladder, still without your shadow haunting the empty room in his house; Alastor looked back on those days, the better days, and realized he can’t remember the exact note of your voice, he can only recall that you were happy. So he hunts down every corner of hell in a rush, afraid that the rest of you will slip away again. He laughs silently to himself; a meaningless thought crosses his mind. Is there even any of you left to fall through his fingers?

Putting the heat to low and adding in butter, he stirs until it blends and throws the shrimps and scallions in and something else hit him. He hasn’t been able to pin down the exact note and tone you tend to laugh in yet, nor have he able to watch any of your painting comes to life. He kept on stirring, after three minutes, he added seasoning. He catches a faraway song, barely making out the notes, he thinks that’s your favorite.

For weeks now, he kept going over everything he could’ve done wrong. Although he tries to ignore it, the animosity you shown since the second you saw him in Hell, maybe even before you’re dead, it might’ve stemmed from before he chased you down in the woods. But you know what he can do even in life, and you should’ve known Alastor would never hunt you down just to lock you inside the cacophonies he broadcasts on the daily. Alastor can at least understand that he struggled between giving into you and maintaining control. Perhaps that’s where your path diverts, perhaps you’re not meant to be by his side after all, ever since the day you die. Maybe you died before he even got to buried you, but Alastor can no longer pinpoint since when you died because he doesn’t know since when you started to play along with him. All he knows is that if he were to stops your breathing today, you’ll wake up tomorrow with no faith lost in him. The thought sits in his stomach and made itself home. But that’s alright.

Alastor rather stomached the idea of breaking you, the alternative was worse. If a life time of chasing your shadow only resulted in endless hate, that’s alright to him. As long as you’re still breathing and by his side, there’s surely a place for him in your heart. Surely.

His microphone sudden sparks up to life and died again. Right, the food, dinner. He gets to setting up your plate.

Having lived for this long, Alastor’s used to playing along and getting along with the oddest of crooks. He’s unsure of how to ever get along with you, though. You have been nothing but nasty and callous before, but at least you talk and react. Now, you walk at a slowed pace, no longer making any sort of distinguishable noise as you do. Less of a guest, and more of a transparent image of someone he barely able to call himself an acquaintance to.

Or more precisely, it’s as if he’s fostering a ghost in his own home, and now he’s going through all the troubles that came with one. At first, the ghost thrashed and trashed everything, confused and in pain and determined to hurt. Then, the ghost calmed and it starts making compromises to try and look for a way out. What he have now, Alastor muses as he plated your meal and ready his heart, is the melancholy of the ghost. When the grieving and the anger and the bargaining and the hurt passes on and left the shell behind, there’s only ever the emptiness lingering.

The stairs creaks under his shoes, shadows hanging around the corner and slowly melts back under Alastor as he walks by. One in particular waits on your door and chirps when he stepped towards it, seemingly in a good mood, its laughter akin to windchime as it reconnects itself to him. He ignores it and knock three times to give you time and hide away whatever it was you’re working on. The music kept on playing, a vulgar but joyous song burst through the door the instant he opens it, Alastor swallowed his disdain and step inside with a smile.

“Lovely tune, dear. Is it one of Rosie’s discs?” facing out the window, you sit at your desk, long void of the marks from your first tantrum. From here, he can see your index finger tapping gently to the beat, you must’ve memorized it. “Certainly interesting taste you both shared…but I’ll make sure to ask her for more.”

Living with the melancholy of the ghost means you know there’s something there, behind the peeling wallpaper and below the hollowed floorboards. You talk to it every day. You tell it about the dreams you abandoned on the sidewalk since you were a child in favor of carving out a path for yourself, you tell it about your day. You whispered words heavy with affection in the morning and practice your apology to it in the night. You do all of it, knowing it doesn’t have the vocal cord to formulate words, knowing even if it does, it won’t talk to you anymore. But you have hope.

Akin to whispering into an empty seashell, he supposed, there’s always the sounds of the waves hiding deep inside, but there’s no voice. He should get you some seashells, maybe that can give you some joy.

“I figured you’d like something a bit more filling, so shrimp étouffée it is! I met sir Vox on the way to the grocer, and we have a rather pleasant chat. He mentioned some talkies I think you’d quite enjoy, too.” he laugh, standing behind you. Alastor catches the charcoal line on white paper, knitting together to create a familiar figure that he just can’t quite put together yet, more taken aback by the fact you haven’t bothered to cover it up at all. He divert his eyes and place the plate down, right by your left hand. “But you wouldn’t ever be in the mood for it, and it sounds far from my taste, so I turn down the offer to go with him.”

Living with a ghost means you see shadows in the corners of your eyes and hear your familiar home echoes a thousand scream at night, but living with its melancholy means plunging deep under the ocean floor and hearing nothing but the silent of the water. Where there’s supposed to be sound, there’s only the slight echoes of one, barely reaching your ears under the blue. You learn to embrace the silence and linger in its weightlessness.

His ears flickered twice when a sigh escaped your lips, barely audible under the belting of a jazz singer. Alastor let his right hand lingered by your shoulder, you shrink a bit under his touch, he doesn’t move.

“The Ficus died. I was hoping they last longer than the roses would, but you were right,” Leaning in just a bit closer, Alastor laugh, “I never really have a talent for cultivating plants, it seems.”

And then one day, you look back, and maybe you’ll finally see that there was no ghost. And you’re all alone in a house that used to be a home, with dirt under your fingernails and blood leaking under your door. And while you drag a corpse to its final resting place, you hear dogs barking and feel rows of sharp teeth bit into your arms, there’s a familiar clicking sound. When you look up, the world embraces you in a white and burning pain for a single tick of a second. And then you came back to life, just as new. In a new house, in a new world, you do it all over again, you go and look for the ghost.

But a ghost is see-through and rigid cold and it held onto regrets it can never fulfill with cold hands and misty eyes. You’re warm and tangible and alive under his hands even after everything but he’s not sure if you still have any regrets you haven’t given up on, other than meeting him. Having a ghost haunts him would’ve bring less heartache, too.

Ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand you, to bring back the old you, the you he adores, the you he longed for, only ever serves to buried that you six more feet under the ground. He hates to admit defeat, but he thinks you won’t ever be the same anymore.

“I’ll think I’ll get some Gardenia and Begonia tomorrow for the front porch, but you should keep some in here. It must be boring only seeing the same five things a day, love.” With that, he slinks back out the hallway. Taking a final look of you, he closed the door without a goodbye, he never felt well saying such a thing to you anymore. As Alastor walks back down to the kitchen, another song plays out from your room.

Like the rest of the plants Alastor inevitably rots but refusing to stop holding onto, you also rot. His dinner table is set for two, and one of them is for a corpse. For the rest of the night, like every night, he drowned out the sound from your room with a bottle of whiskey and the thought of a you he can barely recalled. Without knowing what he’s holding onto, Alastor came to an oddly hallowing realization that he might've never know you at all.

He hoped you won't know, but maybe that's why you let him see your sketchbook.

(if he’s a ghost, will you let him hold you again)

#alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel oneshot #hazbin hotel oneshots

[abouttofillhisshoes]

You said some day we might - M.H x Reader // pt.3

A/N: This one's a bit NSFW (minors please don't interact), also angsty and sad at parts. TW for hard drugs, take care of yourselves! This is loosely based off of my own experience, and I am not trying to glamorize it. Ily my dearest @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff for making sure it isnt shit xx

wc: 4k

part four

Picture a scene: flashing lights all around you, colors blinding as they move through the room, seemingly liquid. Music pounding in your head, almost as if it was trying to force its way into your body. People sweating, dancing up against strangers. You feel alive. 

Matty dances next to you, throwing his hands up into the air. You can hear screams as the music changes, now playing Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’. He wouldn't admit it if you held a gun to his head, but he loves this song. Your hips sway to the beat, and you can feel arms on your waist. It's not Matty. The fuck? 

You didn't know this guy, but his hands were grabbing at you roughly like you were supposed to. His grin disgusted you. (Not so) politely shoving him off, you dance toward Matty, tapping his shoulder three separate times. That was code for ‘bathroom, now’. He nods, taking your hand and leading you towards the edge of the crowd. The sea of people thins out as you finally spot the glowing sign for the loo. 

“You alright?” He asks as you enter the bathroom. The walls were covered in graffiti, stickers, and the occasional phone number. There wasn't the classic smell of piss and sweat, which is why you liked Sound. It was fairly clean. The sinks were made of metal, and so was everything else. The lights were dim, and the mirrors dirty, lipstick stains adorning the edges. You can hear the faint noise of toilets flushing in the background. 

“I'm fine, I s’pose, just that guy was rubbing up against me all weird.” You fix your hair in the mirror, refreshing your eyeliner before passing it to Matty so he could do the same. You had taught him how to do it himself, saving you a load of time and effort whenever you were getting ready together. Tonight's color was red, both of you were wearing the same shade. 

The stall door flings open as a girl stumbles out, almost falling before she caught herself on the hand dryer. Fixing her bra strap, she wiped the edges of her mouth clean before reaching into her small blue handbag. Out comes a small baggie with white powder in it. You immediately recognise it. Blow. 

While you and Matty smoked copious amounts of weed, neither of you had ever tried anything harder. An exception was the occasional acid trip, and even that was a one off on Ross’ 18th birthday.  

Both you and Matty watch her intently as she starts cutting up lines on the edge of the sink, not caring that both your eyes were on her. She takes out a £5 note, rolling it before snorting the line. Her hair is wild as she lifts her head back up, turning to the mirror to fix it. 

“D’you fancy some, love? I have plenty for you,” she looks over to Matty, flashing him a smile  “and your friend, as well.” 

It takes you a split second to realize her statement was directed at you. Matty turns to make eye contact, before doing something you didn't expect. 

He nods, taking a step towards the girl. You do the same. ‘If you're going to try it’, you thought, trying to rationalize, ‘who better than with Matty?’

She shakes more of the powder onto the sink, cutting two lines for the both of you, and one more for herself. You notice the card she uses is a school I.D. A high school I.D.

She hands you the rolled up note first, and for some reason, you feel calm. ‘This is fine’ you repeat in your head, before opening your mouth to speak. 

“This is blow, yeah?” you ask, looking up at her from your position, which was currently hunched over the sink. It's cold, colder than it was. 

“Yeah, clean shit too, don't worry,” she offers a genuine smile, stroking your hair with her long, black nails. You steal a glance at Matty, who was now sitting on the sink next to you, watching closely. You nod, turning back to the line of white powder in front of you

You take a deep breath before snorting the line. It burns as it travels through your nostrils, and you don't feel anything for a second.

And then, it hits you. 

It hits you fast. Everything feels amplified, and you barely register as Matty snorts his. You feel good, euphoric even. Matty feels the same way, letting out a shout when he does lift his head from the sink. 

The girl was long gone when you exited the bathroom and reentered the crowd. You danced with Matty, the music controlling your movements. Deciding to get a drink, you drag him to the bar. The bartender looks you up and down, before shaking his head. He knew you were on something, but that wasn't a rarity in clubs like Sound. Everyone was on something, so, fuck it! Why couldn't you do the same?

Matty orders for you. A french martini and a glass of Malbec for him. The bartender raised his eyebrows at his drink order. “Who orders wine at a club?” he shouts over the music. Matty rolls his eyes before responding “I do! Why, d’you fancy buying me a drink when you get off?” he winks at him provocatively before taking the drinks from the counter. 

He hands you your drink, bringing his hand up to your face, wiping off the smudged makeup underneath your eyes. That's when you realize how hot it was. ‘Fucking hell’ you thought. ‘When did it get so hot? Jesus Christ, it's like I'm in a sauna’.

Matty had downed his glass of wine in two large gulps, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his your wine red jumper. You rake your eyes over his body, a thin layer of sweat shone on his forehead. His eyeliner was somehow still perfect. 

He was perfect. 

March, 2008 // two months earlier

The mid afternoon sun was beating down onto your skin. The blanket beneath you molding to the ridges of the earth, digging into your back. You were lying in a field, surrounded by daisies and dandelions blowing softly in the breeze, a half-empty packet of crisps on your left. Your arms were sprawled out to the side, with Matty lying peacefully on top of you.

Adam had situated himself on a flimsy fold up chair. He hated sitting on the ground with a burning passion. You had promptly forgiven him for leaving you to fend for yourselves that past weekend, seeing as he promised to pay club covers for a month as an apology. Just you though, seeing as Matty would have abused the ever living hell out of Hann’s wallet if given the chance. 

George and Ross were in the lake located a few dozen meters from where you were sitting, having a swim. The weather was uncharacteristically nice given that you were in Great Britain, land of miserable weather, so the five of you had set out for a makeshift picnic at the last minute. 

It wasnt aesthetically pleasing by any means, with fag packets litering the dirty old blanket Ross had found in an old closet. Ross’ beer bottles were lined up at the edge of the blanket. You grab a pack, presumably Georges, and light up. Marlboro golds, not your favorite, but they’ll do. Breathing in the smoke, you turn your head to get a better look at Matty, who was draped over you, using your chest as a pillow.  

You wore Mattys sunflower shirt, unbuttoned, revealing a black sports bra underneath. He, in turn, wore one of your tops. Specifically, a lavender baby tee with the words ‘dump him’ scrawled across the chest in white glitter. Adam was dressed like a divorced dad, beige linen trousers paired with a Metallica band shirt. You laughed when you saw him, knowing he’d be sweating in under an hour wearing that.

Soft music played in the background, the speaker having been lost underneath the pile of Ross and George's clothes. The air smelled of summer, even if it was only March. You spot the wine bottle in Mattys hand as he tilted his head up, taking a drink. You tap him on the arm, and he hands you the bottle. 

White wine? Matty rarely drank white wine. You brushed it off, it was probably just the cheapest thing at the store. Matty loved expensive red wine, but did not have the money to pay for it, always settling for the bottle with the lowest price tag. Your attention is drawn to George screaming incoherent curses at Ross for throwing a rock at him. Absolute knobheads. 

“D’you reckon we need sunscreen? I don't wanna age my skin anymore than it already has.” he asked, his fingers lingering on his face. His skin was perfect, not a single blemish tarnishing it. “I dunno, I don't think we need to. It's not that hot.” you answer, looking around you. “It's not looking like we have any anyway” you add. 

You could feel Mattys' breath on you, ghosting over your chest. His legs moved, brushing against yours. You were suddenly very aware of the fact he was laying on top of you. It made you feel hot, and not because of the sun. 

He rolled on top of you, now straddling your legs. He was clearly drunk, slurring his words. His eyes stared into yours with such an intensity, you would've thought he was trying to read your mind. His face was bare, but the glitter from last night's adventures still stained his face, giving him a slight shine.

A smile crept onto his face as he brushed his hair out of his face. The blonde highlights had slightly grown out by now, and you made a mental note to ask him if he wanted you to do his roots. 

“Didnt you want to cut my hair?” He asked, and you recognised that look in his eye. Excitement. He jumps up, crawling to get his bag.

“I brought a pair of scissors, d’you wanna cut it now?” He held up pink kitchen scissors, handing them to you as you moved to a sitting position.  

“Are you sure? These are not meant for ha-” “I don't careee, just do it!” he slurred, cutting you off and settling between your crossed legs. He turns and looks at you expectantly, and you sigh in defeat. 

You try your best, snipping away at his hair randomly. Cutting layers into his hair, you try to make the strands around his face shorter. He giggles as it tickles his face, brushing it off his skin. The sun made him appear as if he were glowing, painting him in an orange hue. Trying not to cut it too short, you tug at it to get a good idea of the length. 

A soft groan escapes Mattys mouth, and he tries to pass it off as a cough, avoiding your gaze. A few minutes later, you tug at it again. A little experiment , if you will. This time, the noise is slightly clearer, and his whole body twitches. He busies himself with the bottle of wine in his hands, inspecting the label.  

He admires your work in a little compact mirror you had found in your bag. “So.. do you like it? Or have I completely fucked your hair?” you ask, watching his reflection. Matty grins, slamming the mirror shut. 

“I love it! The layers make me look hot, so you did your job right!” He pulled you in for a hug, kissing all over your face: He was obviously drunker than you thought.

You lay back on your elbows, closing your eyes, letting the sun shine onto your skin. This was nice. You felt truly alive.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Skin against skin, soft moans filled the room. You didn't even know who they belonged to. Desire took over your bodies like a foreign force. The room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp just outside, illuminating the space. 

“Fuck- can I?” hands trailed down your chest, toying with the buttons of your shirt. You nod frantically, smashing his lips back against yours. You find his hair, pulling slightly as he lets out a pathetic whimper. You drink in the noise as if it was the very essence of life, tugging even harder at the curls. Curls. Matty.

“Mmh- ah, fuck-” You can feel him against your thigh. You can feel Matty grinding against you. The thought makes your head spin, and you throw your head back, your hair splayed over the baby blue pillows. Mattys pillows.   

“You're so- you’re so beautiful, just let me- i’ll-” he cuts himself off, trailing his lips down your jaw, leaving searing, hot kisses in his wake. His mouth makes contact with your collarbone, biting down. You hiss, your nails digging into his scalp. He groans. Matty

His rough hands rub the tattoo on your hip, you feel his rough calluses. You pull his hair, making him look at you. Your eyes rake over his face, the glitter around his eyes shimmering in the faint light. His hand comes up to push your shirt up, the material bunching up where his mouth had just been. You make eye contact again. 

He grins before licking one long stripe along the expanse of your ribcage, letting out an obscene moan as he did. He was putting on a show, for you. The noise goes straight to your core. 

His fingers snap the elastic of your black underwear, making you jump. A laugh. Teeth graze your hip bone, tracing the tattoo. You can feel him slipping the lace down your thighs, licking and sucking lower, lower, lower…

You jolt awake suddenly, hot sweat running down your back. You turn to look at the time. 2:53am. 

What the fuck was that?

You close your eyes, the dream replaying in your head. Lips, your lips and his. Teeth, kisses down your neck, Matty, Matty, Matty-

You stop yourself, shoving your face into a pillow. This can't be happening. This wasn't real. This was all hallucination and you didn't just have a wet dream involving your best mate. 

Letting out a groan, you lay back down facing the wall. You desperately, desperately needed a good lay. If it had come to you having fucking dreams about Matty of all people, you knew it was time to find a guy and just shag him. That would solve your little predicament, you were sure of it. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Admiring yourself in the mirror, you hike the ruched material of your dress up even further. Jewelry covered you from head to toe, complimenting the details of your bag perfectly. Hair done up in curls, you knew you were ready. 

You were going out. Alone.

The heel of your shoe clicked nervously against the pavement as you queued, giving the bouncer, James, a nod as he waved you through. “No Matty today?” he questioned, referring to the fact that you were alone.  

“Yeah, I'm out alone tonight. Matty is… sick. The flu.” you lie through your teeth, not wanting to disclose the real reason behind your solo-mission. The plan was to find a guy, any guy, and forget about that godforsaken dream.  

The music was loud, even louder than usual, and you were stone cold sober. Not good. 

Making your way to the bar, you order your usual, a french martini. Tobias, the bartender, handed your drink, and you close out. You didn't want to get hammered tonight. 

Your fingers drum along to the beat as you sip your drink, scanning the crowd. There weren't many people dancing, seeing as it was a Sunday night. Most had work in the morning, so going out wasn't an option. He had asked you if you really didn't want anything else, even offering you a drink in the house. You politely decline with a shake of your head, assuring him it was alright.

Suddenly, a tall man appeared in your peripheral vision. You had seen him a few times before, wandering about, flirting with the female waitresses. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The complete opposite of Matty. His arm rested against the bar, and you could see him flexing his muscles. On purpose. Jesus.  

He strolled up to you with an air of confidence. Turning to Tobias, he asked him what your drink was. “A french martini,” he answered, looking you up and down “and she's only had one the entire night.” The man laughs, “Well that wont do! Let me buy you a drink sweetheart, on me.” 

You nod, turning to face him. A smile makes its way onto your lips. Perfect . 

He introduces himself as David. He works an office job down the road, something something marketing. You didn't really listen to him, only laughing when he paused, expecting it

He seemed solid, and he was 19, so not too old. You really didn't want to deal with another Phillip situation. He had bought you three, quite pricey, drinks, and you knew he wanted more. 

He eventually asked if you wanted to come back to his place for some wine. You agreed, letting yourself be led out of the club by your wrist. James winked at you knowingly as you left.

He had a silver Toyota, the interior a cream leather. It was a big difference to Hann’s beaten up red Kia, but you weren't complaining. He was nice enough, opening the car door for you. 

The inside of his flat reeked of sickly sweet vanilla and cheap cologne. He opened a bottle of wine for the both of you, pouring two glasses. The conversion was mundane, but he was nice enough. You had switched your phone off, not wanting anything to distract you from your mission. He had made a move to sit next to you, his hand trailing up your thigh, inching higher with every word he uttered.

His mouth was against your ear, whispering sweet nothings into it, his other hand finding your chest, pushing you down onto the sofa. You let him move you, twist you as he pleased. It didn't mean anything to you, you just needed to get Matty out of your head. Matty.

His hands were soft, like he moisturized them regularly. You could feel his lips on your chest, leaving bite marks and kisses, but you didn't feel anything. Closing your eyes, you decide to let him do all of the work. You had even worn your only pair of lace underwear, a black number with a little bow on the front of the matching bra. The same pair you had worn in the dream. 

You mentally curse yourself, kissing David deeper, harder than you did before. Forget, forget, forget. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wasn't the worst, but at least he tried. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Laying on his (quite expensive looking) leather couch, you watch him as he gets dressed. He asks you if you need anything, and you answer with a shake of your head. You just wanted to leave. 

A phone buzzes, and you quickly realize it's yours. You pick it up, the screen lighting up. 3 missed calls from Matty, and 4 texts from him as well. 

// Where r you? I’m at your window. 

// Are you well? 

// Answer me for fucks sake, dont do this.

// I hope you’ve died or smth, you’re well fucking me off. 

You sigh, clicking the call button. It rings for a split second before Matty picks up. 

“Now you decide to ring me back? I thought you’d been picked up by a sex trafficker or something. Fuck you, honest,” his voice sounded worried, even tired, if you ignored the nature of his words. 

“Sorry mate, I was out.” You answer curtly, trying to keep your voice steady. Your fingers tap against the glass of the coffee table, and you hear Matty inhale sharply. 

“Out where? And why did it take me three calls and four messages to get a ring back?” he sounded more aggressive this time, and you could tell he had gotten up from wherever he was sitting. This pissed you off. Why does he have the right to know where you are, it didn’t concern him in the slightest, and he wasn't your father. You told him as much. 

“I was out, alright? I'm at David's place right now, and I'll be at yours in an hour, cool?” A moment of silence passes between you two before Matty spits out. “Whos the fuck is David?” The way he said his name made it sound like you had shagged his worst enemy, not some random guy. 

“He's just a bloke I met at Sound, I went to his place. D’you want me over or should I fuck off home?” The second option was just a courtesy, you were sure he’d want you over. You hadn’t seen each other since Friday. 

“Nah, it's alright, go home.” His voice sounded cold, unfeeling. A shudder made its way up your spine. He didn't sound like himself at all. What the fuck? “I have erm.. work to catch up on. You understand.” No you didnt fucking understand. 

You open your mouth to protest, but are rudely interrupted by a faint noise. The dial tone. Matty had hung up on you. Your mouth let out a gasp in disbelief. Fuck him. Fuck him all the way. 

You gather your things. While trying to find your shoes, David comes back into the room. You tell him you need to leave, and he tries to kiss you goodbye. It feels wrong. 

Deciding to walk barefoot, you do the walk of shame at 1 in the morning. Heels in one hand, your purse in the other, you trudge down the pavement. You feel dirty, like you did something inherently wrong.

Cars whizz by you, and you hear sirens in the background. It's cold, and you can feel goosebumps forming on your skin in the soft breeze. Feeling around for your cigarettes, you come across something small towards the bottom of your purse. You pull it out, your eyes widening at the sight. The lighter. Mattys lighter. 

The white letters on the side point and laugh at you. You can hear it. It was even more chipped than it was that night, how did it still work? M.H. Matty. 

In a fit of rage you chucked the lighter onto the ground in front of you. It splinters off, the metal top flying off onto the road. A car drives over it. You were angry. Angry at yourself for even going out alone. For going home with fucking David. You were angry at Matty for being angry at you. You didn't even understand why, but the mere fact he had hung up on you made your blood boil.

The lighter was now in pieces beneath your feet. The white letters, illegible. Feeling powerful, you decide to kick the rest of the plastic off onto the road, hoping a giant truck would run it over. You wanted Matty at your feet like this, pathetic and powerless. You needed him like this, to show him he can't just hang up on you like you're nothing. 

The mental image of Matty at your feet made warmth spread throughout your body. On his knees, looking up at you with glassy, glitter framed eyes. You wanted to take his beautiful hair and weave it between your fingers, forcing him to look up at you. You wanted to hear the pathetic whimpers escape his mouth, just like they did in your dream. 

You feel breathless, staring at the wet pavement where the lighter once was. You keep walking.   

#i like this one alot #angst #smut?? #smut #the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel #matty the 1975 #drive like i do #matty healy x you #matty healy angst #matty healy smut #fluff? #sort of i guess

[thewriterg]

𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

pairing(s); peter parker x fem!reader, nerd!peter x player!reader

summary; There was nothing personal you thought the guy was adorable him hence why you keep him around but at the end you had a reputation to keep —angstober day; 17–

word count; 700+

warning(s); toxic reader, naiveish peter, college AU, mention of sex, and language

playlist; maneater by nelly furtado

A/n:—GIFs; @mcufam & @marvelgifs—

I’m ready. delivered 8:47

Okay! On my way read 8:48

Peter grabbed his keys from off the key hook leaving his dorm in a silent rush his roommate having been absent at the time he was leaving the reminder to shoot him a text disingestes in the back of his mind as he flys down the stairs of his dorm building ignoring the questioning stare he gets from one of the campus security officers as he speeds through the lobby out of the doors and into the parking lot resisting the urge to get to his car with a web from his wrist it’s slightly sprinkling a little cloudy making it cooler with the fall breeze roaming the streets stray leaves that had fallen off the trees drag along the streets when the wind blows on them he starts up his Lexus crossover truck payed in the full by Tony Stark as a graduation gift before pulling out of his parking spot and out of the lot the drive not long to your Sorority house

Before the brunette could pick up his phone to alert you he was there you were already coming out the door after one of your sisters yelled into the house from their position on the swinging seat from the front porch and when you stepped foot out the door he watched you two hug the dirty blonde girl whispering something in your ear before slipping through the door shutting it closed behind her before you trot down the stairs making a way to his car

“Hey you look, you look…” The pale skinned boy couldn’t seem to find words up fitting enough to describe your appearance his chocolate colored eyes raking over your figure as you took a seat next to him your face holding a smirk as you playfully flipped your hair over your shoulder

“You should close your mouth you’ll catch flies” You hummed pulling your perfume from your purse spraying it all over your body as Peter began to drive off from the front of your house after swallowing the thick nothingness in his throat is Adams’s apple bobbing

“Make sure to keep it like that” You demanded turning on your side to watch the brunette lying a hand on his arm that he let you take control of his opposite sat against the steering wheel driving you through traffic

“Keep what?” Your perfume was clouding his senses you skin cells transferring onto his while he occasionally glanced at your features taking them all in one at a time

“Your hair I like the curls stop gelling it down” You spoke softly probably the most soft he’s heard you speak in the time knowing you Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t hear or get told things about you, you were someone he should’ve stayed far away from, should’ve had his guard up around, yet he let you collect his heart and put it in your collection for you to toy with anytime you wanted and he let you do so without any protest

“Yeah, yeah okay” He whispered a small smile on his face as you pulled up to the restaurant you were dining at you unbuckled your seatbelt opening the truck door a slamming it shut while Peter rolled down the window the once genuine beam on his face now dimmed and a lie

“You swear this is your last one?” The brunette mumbled his doe chestnut eyes sad and puppy dog like

“See you later bug boy” You hummed before stepping up on the curb your heeled boots clicking against the pavement as you entered the winery restaurant Peter knew he should’ve drove off prevent his own feeling from being hurt and not invade your privacy but he couldn’t help himself especially when he viewed you hugging Brad Davis out of all people

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

#🦇𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑;𝐆 #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x fem!reader #mcu peter parker #peter parker imagine #college au #the avengers #avengers x reader #the avengers imagine #spooktober #flufftober #angstober #kinktober #fem!reader #romance #angst #marvel angst #peter parker angst #i love you #thewriterg #2023

[scourgeblooms]

wanted to do a physical timeline for my commander and highlight how he’s changed through the years. this is mostly for my own entertainment BUT I do enjoy seeing the same thing from other folks so I’m posting it here in the hopes that other people share my sentiment. 

(I was ALSO totally inspired by @/manasurge’s hair timeline. it kicks ass. go look at it.) 

elaboration/rambling below the cut!

Personal Story, LW1-2: Popped out of the pod blunt, solicitous, and already maybe a little too paranoid for someone who was born yesterday, but all those traits made him uniquely qualified for a position in military leadership.  Healthy and floral, soft aspen-bark-like skin, delicate petals. black anthers produce pollen. undergoes more fashion changes than physical transformations during this time. gets a little banged up here and there (and maybe has some lasting respiratory effects from the toxic alliance era) but overall feelin a-okay. 

Heart of Thorns: it’s all gone to shit. took a spectacular headdive in both a physical and mental sense with breakneck speed. never “officially” answered mordremoth’s call, but anyone who spent time around him would notice a distinct lack of self control and logical thinking. took on a more sickly pallor, stress caused leaves to shrivel, rot, and decay. lost his lil flower top notch and ability to produce pollen. pupils narrowed to take on a more animalistic look, and enamel growth resulted in sharper, larger teeth. fingers also elongated into claws. never fully physically and mentally recovered from the hell jungle. 

LW3: chopped off most of his leaves to encourage fresh growth. lots of physical healing during this time, though it takes quite a while for his complexion to fully recover. takes on the role of aurene’s champion with gusto. relatively unaffected by bloodstone, but feels the effects of mordremoth’s loose/uncontrolled magic deeply. continues to hear mordremoth’s “voice” and is diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. 

Path of Fire: still healing from HoT. continues to grow out his leaves. glow returns, as well as some of his eye color. likes the crystal desert, but finds the harsh, dry climate to be particularly challenging; he’s definitely more of a ‘temperate’ sylvari. does not handle dying well. death only adds to his paranoia and psychosis. has an increasingly hard time picking apart what is real and what is…. not. 

LW4: let’s get ready to kill an undead lich!!!! absorbs even more magic after the death of joko and kralkatorrik, and it starts to show in a there-and-gone shimmery aura that takes on a similar appearance to ley lines. starts to suffer from migraine auras. flower top notch grows back, but stays closed and dormant. picks up a few nifty necromancy tricks from the elonians, and the tips of his fingers start to show signs of necrotic decay; all that death magic can’t be good for the complexion, can it? 

Icebrood Saga: having another dragon in his head does not help his mental health in the slightest. braided leaves (courtesy of braham <3) to protect against frostbite. his ley “aura” gets more intense, hard to miss, and is a near constant. flower topnotch remains closed due to the cold weather conditions. after being shot by bangar, his wound is covered/healed by aurene’s brand. migraines increase in frequency, makes it difficult for him to focus. a bone deep exhaustion starts to set in, and more often than not, he catches himself thinking that a nice long nap underneath a blanket of snow doesn’t sound so terrible….

End of Dragons: back in a more agreeable climate, his topnotch finally blooms, but does not grow anthers or produce pollen. easily physically corrupted by void magic, and he feels soo-won’s pain and struggle deeply. the void corruption eventually shows up in the form of darkening leaves, and seeping out of his eyes/tearducts (it’s fine. don’t worry about it.). starts to incorporate chaos magic into his own necromancy practices. has a fucking terrible time in gyala delve. has a fucking terrible time saying goodbye to aurene. 

Secrets of the Obscure: nothing feels entirely real to him anymore. still willing to help, to fight, but it’s done on autopilot at this point. this magical, floating palace in the sky looks and feels like a dream, with the kryptis acting as the encroaching, inevitable turn to a real, living nightmare. still uses a bit of leftover void in his magical practices, but most of the corruption has left his system. that respiratory illness he picked up back in kessex hills comes back to bite him in nayos. finally grows back his anthers, but instead of producing pollen, it's an outlet for void/magic energy.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #sylvari #mine #scourgescribbles #hey tumblr compression please. please tumblr compression go easy on me. tumblr compression ple- #anyway enjoy my special son I think about a normal amount #art #also just know that I'm going to edit this at least 47 times before I'm one hundred percent happy with it #gw2 spoilers #gw2 soto spoilers #gw2 icebrood saga spoilers #gw2 heart of thorns spoilers #gw2 path of fire spoilers #gw2 end of dragons spoilers #gw2 eod spoilers #azilab

[mikareo]

⌗ RATIONALISM ₊ ˖ ་. rin itoshi x fem reader (6.6k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, rin'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!rin, painter!reader, rin's mom is reader’s art mentor, rin hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn (like a nice simmering 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!!, rin sucks at flirting (very canon of him...) author's note; there'll be a part two titled "romanticism" eventually. idk when tho asjkl (i’m a slow writer XD)

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Rin 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 Rin, 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. Rin 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. Rin 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.” Rin 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?”

Rin’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 Rin 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 Itoshi'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? Rin 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—”

Rin 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 Rin 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,” Rin 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 Rin can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Itoshi!” 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, Rin! 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 Sae 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 Rin 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 Rin, 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. “Rin’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 Itoshi. I apologize if I overstepped.”

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Rin 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 Rin 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. Ring 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 Sae 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, Rin. 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. Rin 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 Rin’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!” Rin 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 Rin 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. 

Rin 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 Rin 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. 

Rin 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 Rin 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 Rin despite this. 

“Really?” Rin 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, Rin - 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?” Rin 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? Rin, 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?” Rin 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. Rin 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 Rin 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? Rin, 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?” Rin 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. Rin 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. “Rin, 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?”

part two is ready!!!!! read romanticism here

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

#pls don't flop #GIVE IT A CHANCE PLSSS #୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅ my writing #i.e. rationalism #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi fic #rin itoshi ff #rin itoshi angst #rin itoshi fanfiction #rin itoshi x you #rin itoshi x y/n #rin itoshi hc #rin itoshi fluff #rin itoshi fanfic #rin itoshi blurb #rin itoshi writing #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock #blue lock ff #blue lock hcs #blue lock hc #blue lock fanfic #rin x reader #rin x yo #rin ff #rin fanfiction #sae itoshi

[atrwriting]

the bee, the the bird, the bear -- uncle!carmy x babysitter!you

as always, warnings: major character death, past child neglect and abuse situations, swearing, tooth-rotting fluff, and eventual smut

one

“mallory... what’s your favorite color?” you asked the young girl next to you, lightly gripping her hand. 

“pink,” the young girl said, keeping her eyes straight ahead at the aisle before her. 

you stared down at her and fought back the urge to sigh. you tried not to hold it against her, but mallory berzatto was a tough cookie to crack. in the few days she had been around, barely anyone reported on her asking for anything she needed or wanted. you knew it wasn't going to be easy, but it was growing difficult to continue to remind yourself of that. you didn’t have any experience in how to console a child as they’re experiencing grief, and you weren’t exactly sure how to do that in a target. 

“i love pink,” you stated. “maybe when you get older, i’ll show you my favorite pink makeup.” 

the girl only nodded. you glanced back down at her… almost wishing you hadn't. you didn't know if it was because it was the sight you were most worried for, but looking down at that girl made your heart hurt. all you saw in her eyes was vacant space. dark, blank, vacant space. it was like ghosts casted a haze over her brown irises… and you had no idea what to do. toxic positivity? offer to get her ice cream? you knew you shouldn't push as you couldn’t exactly blame her. 

so you brought out the big guns. 

“so, mallory…” you began. “do you like... starbucks?” 

mallory’s head immediately turned on a swivel up towards your face, where you stood a foot or two above her. a small twinkle appeared in her eye, and you knew you couldn’t let it pass. 

“have you heard of…” you began, wiggling your eyebrows. “a pink drink?” 

——————

a little while after you had gotten home from target, mallory said she was feeling sleepy. she left you to go fall asleep on the couch in the living room. your next task was to do up her new room. 

carmy had made sure to deliver a bed for his niece before you arrived. a quick vacuum and washing of the walls had been done before you were hired. you sighed, satisfied, before pulling out your phone. 

you: i hope you don’t mind… but i bought pink wallpaper. 

carmy: she like pink? 

you: her favorite color 

carmy: that’s fine then. 

that was all you needed before you set right to work. 

it took much longer than expected to perfectly set up the light pink wallpaper — but once it was finished, you immediately started on your other tasks. you found white bed sheets and a comforter with pastel floral designs that complimented the color of the walls. it was soft and airy and you hoped it would make the young girl feel better in her new home. it would be some time before carmen would be able to get furniture, so you bought a few of those cubicles with cute cloth drawers. they were trendy at the moment, but above all else: they were sturdy, cheap, and easy to put together. 

you started folding the young girl’s clothes; tops, pants, dresses, skirts — the works. you weren’t sure of the girl’s situation before her mother had passed away… but the girl did not have many belongings after her mother passed. you were tasked with restocking the girl’s bedroom, including wardrobe, and that you did. 

….while adding one princess costume. she said she liked tianna. so you bought it as a surprise. 

he could take it out of your pay — if he really gave that much of a shit. 

you had stacked a few books that you had grabbed from your younger years that your family had been saving — the books deserved more than just collecting dust. they deserved to be used by a young girl like mallory. 

you grabbed what else you could, too — extra sheets, extra clothes, and a winter jacket on the smaller side that your mother had vacuumed sealed many years ago. winter wasn’t for another few months, but you didn’t want to see her without any of the things she needed. 

it was growing late, but not close to the time that carmy usually came back to the apartment. mallory had slept through dinner — so for when she woke up, you made sure to prepare her one of your favorites from when you were a little girl: pastina. sure, it was good — but it was also quick, cheap, and easy to make. 

you spied the little girl’s awakening state from peaking around the kitchen threshold. 

“hungry?” you asked, trying to appear cheery. 

“not really,” she whispered. 

you clenched your teeth, not really knowing what to do. you didn’t want to force her… but she barely ate anything at breakfast, and hadn’t eaten anything at lunch. “what if… you tried to eat as much as you could, and then i could show you your new room?” 

she tilted her head in curiosity. “my… room?” 

you nodded, smiling. 

“i shared one with my mommy before.” 

you swallowed hard. you didn’t know what to say — so you pretended she didn’t say it. shitty, sure, but what else could you do? instead, you responded, “i hope you like the color of your room.” 

her eyes widened as her mouth fell open. “what color!?” 

you grinned, stirring the pot. “i’ll tell you after dinner! you think you want to try?” 

she hesitated for a second, appearing yo consider her options. you raised your eyebrows at her, hoping to influence her in the right direction. 

“okay,” she stated. “it better be pink!” 

——————

carmen came home a few hours later. you were on the couch, flipping through one of your textbooks, when you heard the lock click and a man’s voice sigh and enter the apartment. 

“hey,” he called, setting bags down on the counter. 

“hey,” you responded. “i made mallory some pastina earlier — i made extra in case you wanted some.” 

“thanks,” he responded, heading into the kitchen. “how was she today?” 

“she was good.” you smiled. “seemed a little sad… but i think her new room made her feel better.” 

“you already put it together?” he asked. carmen was spooning the leftover pastina you had made into a bowl for himself. the thought made you smile — an award winning chef eating your, in comparison, lame food. 

you nodded. “yeah, shit, sorry — should’ve asked you before. i just figured because you were busy — that it would, um... it would help you out.” 

he nodded, averting his eyes to the ground. he placed his hands on his hips as he considered your words. “no, yeah, yeah — you’re right.” 

you shrugged, stuffing your books in your bag. “at least now you have time to do — other things with here. bonding, and stuff.” 

he laughed slightly at that. “that… is proving to be difficult.” 

you nodded. “movies are a good start. disney plus.” 

he threw up a few lazy pointer fingers, quite literally pointing out that you had a good idea. “yeah, yeah, right… actually… would you mind setting that account up tomorrow for me? i’ll leave you the credit card.” 

you nodded, and laughed a bit. “that’ll make her really happy. can i… be intrusive, for a second?” 

he didn’t even get it a second thought as he shoveled food into his mouth. “shoot.” 

“i know that you’ve got a lot on your plate,” you began, swallowing. “did you have a chance yet to… look into doctors, or dentists for her?” 

his jaw tightened. “the social worker left a brochure, but, um — no, i haven’t.” 

you nodded. “if you want… i could call around tomorrow. i know you’re busy.” 

“fuck,” he groaned, his eyes averting aimlessly towards the countertop. his tongue poked out through his lips, and slid over the cracked skin as he appeared to be consumed by his worries. “i have to put her on my insurance.” 

you swallowed again. “…leave me that number, too?… or, if that’s too invasive, uh—“

“no,” he interrupted, staring at you. he shook his head thoughtfully, as if to silently dismiss you worry. “that would actually be… really helpful. thank you.” 

you shook off the praise, not wanting a blush to rise to your cheeks. “she’s super sweet. i just — want to help her is all. can i ask… what happened, to her mom?” 

“drug overdose,” he answered plainly, nodding almost. 

your eyebrows rose as your mouth fell slightly agape. that poor, fucking girl. you fidgeted with your fingers before you spoke once more. “she said that… she used to share a bedroom with her mom today. it’s not my business, but — i figured — you should know —“ 

“her mom stayed at the places she would score from,” he responded. 

your jaw dropped. you couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out: “that poor baby girl.” 

he nodded then, placing his hands on his hips. you hadn’t known him for long, but it seemed like he did that when he was uncomfortable and/or didn’t know what to do. you figured he was also probably tired, and wanted to eat in peace, so you began packing your things to head out. 

“hey, uh... carm?” you called, almost at the door. 

“yeah?” he answered from the kitchen, as he unloaded the dishwasher. 

“she’s lucky to have you.” you smiled at him as he was completely frozen in place, staring back at you. you closed the door behind you and left for home. 

carmen didn’t know what to do with your words. he hasn’t really considered that, frankly, the girl, his niece, was lucky to be out of the situation she was — even if the berzatto family was a bunch of fuck ups who didn’t know how to control their emotions. carmen didn’t like to keep thinking about it, though — it had been hard to think about his niece, because then he usually thought of mikey — and that was too painful. 

building the bear was… almost like closure. closing a chapter, but being able to look back at it fondly. however, when he was first introduced to his niece, who was the spitting image of his late brother… all of those thoughts crept back into him then. 

staring at the little girl, mallory, was like the bear had never happened. the beef was still in existence; a flaming pile of shit, kicking and screaming. order was gone through the window, as was carmy’s small shred of sanity he had worked so hard to build and hold onto. 

but she had smiled up at him, the first day they met — and he almost bawled his eyes out like a baby. a pathetic, fucking baby. 

much like he had learned from construction of the bear, feeling collected and confident — bare minimum feeling okay — took time. a lot of time, money, and effort — but also time, and carmy could do time. he was barely at thirty, and some days he felt like he had no time — but he would make time. for mikey’s daughter — his niece, mallory. 

he walked into mallory’s room after he had finished unloading the dishwasher. mallory insisted on keeping the door open with a super bright night light as she slept — so he only felt kind of bad walking into her room as she slept. he peeked around and his eyes widened. 

it was like he had hired barbie instead of the girl next door studying for a law degree. the wallpaper was set perfect, faux dressers — he really had to get real ones, but that could wait — were set up and filled with clothes, there were books, toys, and it was decorated very nicely. 

you had spoiled mallory.

you had spoiled mallory where carmy couldn’t find the time. 

you had said before you had left that mallory was lucky to have him… but all carmy could think about, staring at his niece, sleeping peacefully despite all she had been through, surrounded by items and colors that looked like it was out of a magazine, was how lucky he was to have you to come into his life. 

carmy was lucky to have you, and he would prove to his niece that he was lucky to have her around, too. 

#carmy berzatto #carmy smut #carmy #carmen #carmen berzatto #carmy au #carmy fic #carmy fluff #sugar #richie #sydney #the bear

[venuslcver]

JUST FRIENDS ⋆

pairing: bestfriend!sarah x kook!reader

synopsis: sarah cameron is your best friend.

tw: alcohol use, pining trope, fluff, toxic relationship, kissing, feminine described character (no use of y/n)

any type of interaction including likes, comments, and reblogs is appreciated! but ultimately not necessary. let me know if im missing any warnings!

your friendship with the champagne-colored locks, indigo scattered irises, sarah cameron, began in the first grade. your dad had done some business with ward, sarah's dad. both, your dad and ward, had got stuck with you and sarah, meeting at their house instead of the usual— country club.

you were less outspoken than sarah. making your way through the entrance of their house, into the foyer, you were met by her practically smothering you with a hug. before you could comprehend what was occurring, she grabbed your hand yanking you up the stairs of her house. pulling you into her room, without saying a word, she grabbed her newly released american girl, handing it to you.

and from that day on, you guys were inseparable. see, you didn't have any siblings, so it became lonely most of the time. but with how much you and sarah hung out, wheezie and rafe became family. god, how you loved each other. hanging out every day of the week. after spending all day together in your private school, sarah and you would spend all afternoons together— either pissing rafe off or hanging out at the beach with your boyfriends, which also included pissing off rafe.

rafe's friends, topper and kelce were like douchebag one, douchebag two, and douchebag three. 3 douchebags in a pod. sarah was dating topper thornton, and you were dating kelce. you knew from day one that kelce was a tool, and well, sarah was more native to that fact, also, being true about topper.

"you just don't get it! h-he's different around me!"

"is he really that different? he was pressuring you to have sex!"

the amount of distain that you felt towards thornton was unmeasurable. your jaw seemed to simultaneously lock and anger coursed through your veins when you saw his stupid face. no one was worthy of sarah, especially that dick face.

though, there was great reason for you not to like him, from the time that he insisted on driving a jet ski instead of sarah, even though he was too drunk to drive, and crashed. giving sarah a concussion. rather than taking care of her, he left a day after to vacation. leaving you to tend to her every need. though you would have done that either way.

or another time, again, he was too busy messing around with his friends and being drunk to notice that they had left sarah at a party. the same party that he practically begged, or guilt-tripped, her into going to. yet, again, you had to console her as you took her back to her house.

"i swear he doesn't even love me"

your legs began to ache at the lack of movement you had provided them with. standing, slightly swaying back and forth, you were becoming increasingly irritated.

the party, you and sarah were attending had started two hours previously, yet you stood in the same position for the past forty-five minutes. watching your ex-boyfriend— kelce attempt to win against sarah in a game of beer pong. he had been convinced that he could win if they played just another round. they had already played two, now on their third. they both had won one game each.

the whole game had caught the eye of many people that were previously partying, now surrounding the table. standing closer to sarah's side of the patio furniture, your eyes darted between their moves. sarah had 2 cups left, kelce had 1. a window had opened for kelce to tease sarah. and, again, him being the douchebag he is, he took it. though it didn't faze sarah in the slightest.

his offputting behavior was the whole reason that you had broken things off in the first place. sarah had come to the same abrupt realization not long after finally noticing her worth. both guys dumped within a week of each other. kelce was proving your entire point of breaking up with him, at that current second.

now, having one cup each, it was a matter of time before kelce was either being obnoxious out of excitement or acting like a total crybaby.

kelce missed.

alright, it's now sarah's turn, etching near her, you watched. actively hoping she won. looking intently towards her, she sent a giddy smile towards you before guiding the ping pong towards the last remaining alcohol-filled cup.

with the sight of her making the ping pong in, you began jumping up and down with her in unity. wrapping your arms around her, you both hugged.

the scoff that left kelce's mouth interrupted the hug, "i-it's not that serious. you won by chance sarah, let's play 'another game."

looking at each other, you and sarah simultaneously roll your eyes, leaving it to sarah to speak, "getting a little desperate aren't we kelce?"

getting a laugh from the crowd that had formed, not leaving a millisecond of a moment for kelce to spew some of his bullshit, sarah grabs ahold of your hand, pulling you towards a more secluded area of the host's house. an unoccupied hammock that overlooked a small portion of the beach.

laying across from each other in the cream-colored hammock, sarah let out a laugh before speaking a word, "i don't know why you even dated that asshole"

lift your head, you sent a glare towards her, "i know you're not talkin"

letting out a cough, sarah began to seek out a change of subject. pulling you by your hand, both of you, now, are straddling the hammock.

"alright! enough about stupid boys, lemme read your palm"

"what?!"

"you heard me!"

letting sarah lay your palm flat— her nimble finger slid tracing the lines of your palm.

"no no no, this is bad", sarah said shaking her head in disbelief.

it seemed that you began to overindulge for the sake of sarah, though you would always do that.

"s-sarah w-what is it?"

genuinely concerned by her own made-up delusions, sarah spoke, "when i read your palm lines, it says that you're gonna have what seems to be like six kids, with a lousy douchebag"

letting out an obnoxious scoff, you began to giggle, "i would die a painful death before i would let that happen"

"and i would kill that lousy husband of yours before he could marry you"

your face dangerously close to hers, "oh really, is that so?"

before sarah could come up with a witty response, her breath began to hitch when she began to feel your breath against her pale complexion cheeks— now pink in color.

connecting your line of sight from directly in her eyes, gradually moving to her rose, plump lips. sarah doing the same. once more, looking back into her eyes, you slowly moved your face, a mere inch away, now very close in proximity.

just like always, sarah had to be confident. slowly leaning forward, she captured your lips. naturally, you froze for a moment before you started to lead the kiss.

ding

the kiss only lasted a moment, only to be interrupted by a message from your mom. breaking the kiss, you looked down at your phone.

"ah shit i didn't realize what time it is"

although sarah was sad you had to leave, she knew your mom worried a lot. jumping up off the hammock, you began to walk away with haste.

"j-just let me know when you get home"

#sarah cameron obx #rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #topper thornton #topper obx #kelce obx #sarah cameron x reader #sarah cameron smut #sarah cameron x female reader #sarah cameron icons #⋆ sarah cameron fic ⋆ #bestfriend!sarah