#may you shine bright in the sky | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

3K notes · View notes

hanafubukki · 20 days

Text

Imagine having soulmates in Twisted Wonderland. Soulmates could be platonic or romantic.

Soulmates were connected in various ways. Some had the red string of fate, some the other’s eye color, some had words on the body, and others could hear voices.

For Lilia Vanrouge, it was colors.

He couldn’t see certain colors until he met his soulmates.

The first time he saw the color silver was when he was introduced to Meleanor Draconia. Her clothing and jewelry gave way to her status but also her fierce nature.

The first time he saw the color blue was when he met Levan. What a fitting color for somone so kind and calm. The perfect complimentary color to silver.

The years pass on, and yet, Lilia still couldn’t see certain colors.

What was green, purple, and red to him? When he had never known them? Who knew it would change his life so drastically when he first saw them?

The first time Lilia sees green; it appeared at the time of Malleus’ birth. The sharp acid color stood out to him as he hold onto the little fae. So feisty and rebellious just like his mother with fire spitting out of his mouth. As kind as his father as the baby fae then licked at his cheek in regret of any injury he may have given. A son born out of his love.

The first time Lilia sees purple; it came about on a whim. Visiting an old castle with years of memories. Holding a babe close as the little one cried. Purple eyes emphasized by tears. The little one calming as Lilia hummed him a loving lullaby, blessing the babe right after. A son he learned to love.

Lilia saw the world in an almost complete picture. He was content with that. Not many can say they had met their soulmates. Especially someone like him, who was graced with five.

Not to say he wasn’t curious about his missing one at times. Who was it that bore the color red?

The color known for passion, desire, and happiess?

A color symbolizing destined fate?

Imagine his surprise, when he met with you one day, and he suddenly saw the color red.

What a beautiful color it was.

He understood, then, the significance of the color red and its’ tie to you.

Your passionate nature.

Your desire to live life the way you wanted.

Your desire for happiness for yourself and for others.

You who would somehow end up bringing a smile to everyone’s face, be it fond or exasperated. The way you brought one to his just by being you.

You certainly charmed him, had him falling for you.

Was it the way you smiled at him? Maybe it was when you helped with his pranks?

The way you stood up to him when it came to his family? Maybe even how you would help him cook meals despite other’s warnings.

Or maybe it was the way he allowed himself to be vulnerable to you as he gradually let you into his heart? A place he rarely let anyone in.

How he looked forward to seeing you every day? Making him look forward to the future and not run from it.

The kisses you both would share in the hallways or in your rooms? The gentle and sometimes teasing touches. Your eyes shining bright as the stars in the sky as if he was your world as you had surely become his.

Lilia knew.

It was everything about you that ensnared him so irrevocably.

Red.

It also has another meaning, didn’t it?

It was the color of love.

His world complete.

It was filled with love.

It was truly beautiful.

625 notes · View notes

straykeedz · 2 months

Note

Thinking about Chan taking you on the backseat on your weekly night drive after you confess some dirty thoughts you have about him

(May I be 🎀 anon??)

𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ; 𝐛𝐜

thank you so much for your request, hope you like it! ♡ 🎀 is not free, but you can claim another emoji! check out which emojis are already taken! ♡

𝐭𝐰: female anatomy ; fingering (f receiving) ; handjob (kinda) ; protected sex (shocking, i know) ; clit play ; dirty talking ; they're in love your honour ; ♡

𝐰𝐜: 2,7k ♡

The parking lot is empty - Chan stops the car and turns the engine off.

“We’re here, baby.”

It’s your favorite time of the week, when you can finally spend some time together and be yourselves - catching up with what’s going on in your life, updating each other about work and other boring, mundane stuff, and also gossiping. You don’t need fancy dinners or eye-catching acts or ridiculously expensive gifts - having milkshakes and donuts in his car, with some music softly playing in the background and his hand on your thigh is more than enough.

“You didn’t have to pay for all this, you know?” You tell him, pointing at the paper bag in your hands with a nod.

He chuckles, tonguing his cheek. “It’s just milkshakes and a couple of donuts. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t spoil my girl?”

You roll your eyes at him. “As if you don’t spoil me enough already,” you shake your head. “But really, you don’t have to. You know I feel bad when you pay for my stuff.”

Chan works a part-time job and is also a college grad, which means his finances are a bit… tight, at the moment, and you do feel guilty when he buys you stuff - even if it’s just donuts and a milkshake. It’s not like you don’t try to pay for your things, because you do - he’s just incredibly fast at pulling out his credit card.

“I love spoiling you, though. Honestly, I’d pay for more of your stuff if I had the money,” he chuckles. “Now let’s drink the milkshakes before the cream melts.”

The moon shines bright up in the sky, lighting up your surroundings delicately. Chan drives you always to the same place and parks the car in the same spot - it’s quiet and intimate, and no one’s ever around. Most of the nights, you’d just chill in his car and just talk about everything and nothing at the same time - other nights, he’d lower your seat and make sweet love to you in his old car, way too small to fit the both of you but hey, at least it’s an excuse to be even closer. Like that time he was all over you, inside of you, with his body pressed tightly on yours - only a soft blanket covering both of your naked bodies as whimpers and moans filled the cramped up space of the small vehicle.

“Earth to y/n?” Chan giggles, waving his hand in front of your face. You rapidly blink a couple of times and shake your head, finally turning to look at him. “Whatcha thinking of, baby?”

“Oh…” you blush a little, “nothing in particular.”

“Oh, really?” He teases you, placing his hand on your thigh, stroking it with his thumb. “Because I know you, I know there’s something on your mind.” He comes closer, brushing your nose with his, and you feel his hot breath on your skin. You shiver.

“There’s nothing on my mind,” you place your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and smiling at him. “‘M just happy to be here, with you.”

“Hm, is that why your face is so red?” He looks into your eyes as he speaks - he always does this when he wants to tease you, and it’s working. “Is it because you’re happy to be here with me?”

His fingers on your thigh, his hot breath on your skin - and he’s so, so close. Just an inch or two away from your lips. You bet he tastes of his strawberry milkshake - you can’t wait to find out if you’re right.

“I… I was thinking about…” your mouth falls open and your eyes flutter when his lips find your jaw - he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your skin, sometimes running his hot, wet tongue all over it. He chuckles when a tiny yelp leaves your mouth after he sucks on a precise spot on your neck.

“You were saying?” He breathes against your neck, rubbing circles on your thigh with his thumb. “‘M sorry, I distracted you, baby,” he teases you, but won’t stop kissing you, “you were thinking about…?”

“About what… what happened the last time we were here,” you breathe out at the feeling of Chan’s hand moving up your thigh, closer and closer to the spot between your thighs he knows very well.

His heart skips a beat, and he feels himself growing harder inside his boxers. “Oh, yeah? And what are you thinking of, exactly? I’m curious now.”

You entangle your fingers in his curly, dark hair, pulling him closer as you finally feel his thumb brush the center of your thigh, right on your clothed clit, just teasing you with the tip of his finger. He brushes your hair from your shoulder, guaranteeing himself more access to your now exposed neck, moaning against your skin. A Chase Atlantic’s song is still playing in the background, and the car windows are slowly fogging up due to yours and Chan’s heavy breathing.

“I was thinking of your fingers. Of when… of when you touched me,” you mumble, relaxing completely under his touch, “I was thinking that maybe it’d be nice if you…” you tug at his hair, and he grunts against your skin, sucking on your clavicle.

“If I?” He presses a little bit harder on your clit.

“If you did it again?” It comes out as a question, and Chan can’t help but smirk at that.

“Yeah? You want me to touch you here?” Chan mumbles, his fingers moving up to toy with the button of your jeans. You nod, and he undoes it. “What else were you thinking about?” He unzips your fly, revealing a small portion of the fabric of your panties.

And then, his fingers slip under the waistband of your lace panties, and you gasp.

“Just-just that…” you try to sound convincing, but your red cheeks and your stuttering are exactly what give you away.

“Ah, just that… Are you sure?” you hiss when his fingers brush your clit with a delicacy he’s always had towards you - then, he touches your wet entrance, and licks his lips. If the space weren’t so little, he’d already be on his knees eating you out like a starved man until you’re creaming on his tongue. “You’re so wet, oh baby…” you whine when he pushes his middle finger inside.

“I… there’s other things I think of, sometimes,” you confess, and Chan finally pulls away from your neck to look you in the eye. His lips are swollen, and his pupils are blown. You run your hand up and down his arm, feeling him up and squeezing his muscles.

“Yeah?” His lips finally brush yours, but he doesn’t kiss you yet, “will you tell me about these things?” Chan asks, and you nod.

When he finally kisses you, you inevitably smile against his lips because yes, his lips truly taste like his strawberry milkshake. He kisses you and kisses you, running his tongue along your lower lip, whimpering when you do the same. Chan adds another finger inside of you, and slowly begins to pump them in and out of you. He nearly jumps in his seatwhen, all of a sudden, he feels your hand on his crotch, palming his erection.

“I… I think about giving you head. About… wrapping my lips around you,” you mumble on his lips, and Chan’s eyes flutter shut as he rests his forehead on yours - his heart is beating fast inside his chest.

“Oh, God,” Chan kicks his head slightly back as you start kissing his neck. “What… what else?”

“You…” you slip your hand under the waistband of his dark grey sweats, squeezing him though his boxers, “you fucking me in the backseats. I’m talking - hot, desperate, needy sex. Right here, where e-everyone could see.”

“Fuck, you want me dead,” he hisses, fucking you a bit faster with his fingers, curling them inside of you and toying with your clit at the same time. “When… when do you think about these things?”

“When- when I’m getting off,” you admit, and Chan lets out a guttural moan.

“Yeah?” He squeezes his eyes when your fingers brush the tip of his clothed cock. “You think about me when you touch yourself?”

“Always,” you whimper on his lips. “I always think of you.”

“Me too,” he blurts out in a huff, completely lost in what you two are doing now, “I a-always think of you when ‘m gettin’ off. Always cum so hard, too.”

Chan is losing his mind, he literally can’t think straight - mostly because there’s no blood left in his brain, but also because you’re so hot and you’re telling him all these filthy things and he’s weak. He wants nothing more than to lift your hoodie and free your pretty tits and take them in his mouth. It’s when you finally touch him properly, freeing him from his boxers and wrapping your fingers around his thickness, that he pulls away abruptly after you’ve stroked him a couple of times.

“‘M not- ‘m gonna cum if you do that, I swear,” he mumbles, blushing out of embarrassment as he pulls your hand out of his sweats, “I wanna- wanna make love. D’you want to?”

He’s always so romantic, your Chan. Even if he’s rearranging your guts, he always calls it making love.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I want to,” you kiss him once again, pecking his lips a couple of times. You wrap your hand around his wrist and pull his hand out of your panties. Then, you begin to pull your jeans down your thighs and undress yourself.

It doesn’t take long before the both of you find yourselves in the backseats - Chan on top of you still fully dressed while you only have your hoodie and your soaked panties on, and he’s palming himself over his boxers.

“Lemme see your tits, please,” he’s almost begging, and he bites his lip when you slowly lift your hoodie and top, revealing your boobs to his eyes. “Oh. Oh, baby. You’re so damn perfect, oh.”

You pull him in for a kiss, but you still feel him fidgeting with his sweats. He slides down the curve of his ass rather quickly, pulling them down enough to free his cock and balls. The car windows are completely fogged up by now, “Moonlight” by Chase Atlantic starts playing.

“Do you have a condom?” You mumble on his lips, wrapping your fingers around the tip of his cock and stroking him gently, slowly. He shivers under your touch, but still nods at you.

“Yeah, of course,” he pecks your lips, then stretches his arm to grab his jeans jacket, pulling out a small foil wrapper from one of the pockets. “Don’t wanna put any risk on you,” he kisses the tip of your nose.

He tears the wrapper open and carefully positions the rubber on his cock, rolling it onto his length in a matter of seconds. Is it weird that you’re turned on by watching him performing such a mundane action? You don’t know, but you can’t tear your eyes off of his hands and, consequently, his hard cock, licking and then biting your lip. He’s between your legs in a matter of seconds, pulling your lace panties to the side and positioning himself at your entrance.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice these,” he mumbles, toying with the hem of your underwear - his favorite. “You’re so hot, baby. Makin’ yourself pretty for me all the time, ‘m so lucky. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, and then he’s pushing himself inside of you.

A choked moan leaves your lips as you feel him filling you up with his length slowly. He grips your hip as he does, intertwining his fingers with yours as he bottoms out inside of you, letting out a desperate whine because God, he missed this. Not just the sex, he missed feeling you so close. He lifts his own t-shirt too, and then he presses his now bare chest on yours, feeling your skin on his in a way that has his head spinning. When you latch your lips on his neck and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer, he shudders as he starts to move inside of you.

“Chan…” you mumble on his skin, running your fingers up and down his back.

“Baby,” he moans as well, thrusting at an excruciatingly slow pace, just to feel you around him - your hole gripping him tight as he fucks into you, hips rocking back and forth ever so gently, but it doesn’t stop the car from rocking as well.

If anyone were to pass by right now, they’d surely figure out what’s going on - neither of you care. You only care about Chan, and he only cares about you.

“You feel so- so amazing, baby,” he pulls a couple of strands of hair from your face, looking into your eyes as he continues to fuck you - his eyes are sparkling, there’s a light in them you only see whenever he’s looking at you. “’m so… so lucky you’re mine. My baby.”

“And you’re mine,” you whimper on his mouth, rocking your hips as well to meet his movements. You love him, you love him so much.

The pace of Chan’s thrusts becomes quicker and quicker - he places the palm of his hand on the fogged up car window, leaving his print there as he angles his hips so that he’s hitting your g-spot with every thrust. “Yeah, yeah, I’m… ‘m yours, baby. Yours. No one else’s, promise you. Yours. ”

His mouth falls open, choked grunts and desperate whimpers are the only thing that fall from it as he feels himself getting closer and closer. He hides his face in your neck, squeezing his eyes and leaving a series of wet kisses on your collarbone.

“O-open up, baby,” Chan whimpers, bringing two of his hands to your lips. You accept them into your mouth, coating them in your own spit, and after Chan makes sure they’re moisturized enough, he pulls them out and slides his hand between your legs, touching your clit. “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you think of when you pleasure yourself. I wanna know everything.”

“I think of- of you fucking me raw,” you blush like crazy, and Chan gulps as his eyes widen. “I think about… about letting you cum inside. About you filling me up, Channie.”

“Oh, fuck, you- you… you drive me crazy, you know that? Love you so fuckin’ much.”

His thrusts turn sloppy as he rubs your clit the way you like it - his touch is delicate and intense at the same time, not too light and not too rough. Your legs begin to shake in mere seconds, and you can feel the familiar feeling burning in your stomach - you whine and take deep breaths as he keeps rubbing you in circular motions, faster and faster.

“Chan- Channie, I’m- oh, Channie,” you squeeze your eyes shut, scratching his back with your fingernails.

“Yeah, like that, baby,” Chan sucks on your neck, “cum for me. Prove me you’re really mine.”

When you finally find your release - it’s with an obscene moan of his name and your teeth in his shoulder. You clench so tight around him that Chan feels suddenly on the verge of his own orgasm.

“‘M close, baby, ‘m so close,” Chan breathes heavily, his thrusts turning frantic and erratic. He needs to let go. “Tell me- fuck, baby, tell me you’re mine. N-need to hear it,” he begs.

“‘M yours. ‘M yours, Chan. Love you so much, baby,” you whine and he eventually teaches his own orgasm, that washes all over his body and has him shaking on top of you as he fills up the condom with his hot release.

“My- my baby. ‘M so fucking in love with you,” he mumbles on your skin, pecking your neck, and then your jaw, and then your lips.

“I’m in love with you, too, baby.” You run your hand through his hair, kissing his temple as you both catch your breaths. “Let’s eat the donuts now, yeah? ‘M kinda hungry,” you giggle, and he does, too.

-> 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.

-> 𝐦𝐲 ☕️

806 notes · View notes

letorip · 2 months

Text

somethin' stupid [ii]

"and though it's just a line to you, for me it's true and never felt so right before"

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: it's all her fault, and wednesday can't help but feel it in her bones.

warnings: mentions of blood, the police (gross), hospitalisation, crying

word count: 4.8k

A/N: thank you all for the love and support you have given to this silly little story of mine. it is absolutely insane. red font denotes the thoughts of those around you. kind of worried i may have rushed the ending, but i hope you like it anyhow. right, anyways...

===+++===

It took an additional thirty four minutes and twenty eight seconds after the beast sunk its claws into your chest, for Wednesday to come wandering out of the line of trees stretching to the cloudy sky and onto the nearby mountain street, still wearing your bright yellow raincoat bunched around her wrists.

Finding the cave had not turned out to be entirely as difficult as she had expected, and she managed to find its charred remains just as Eugene had said. There was no evidence to gather, really, and there never had been to begin with.

In the far away distance, only lightly covered by the rain, it sounded as if a flock of birds were screaming at each other and fighting, and the noise rang throughout the forest before settling in Wednesday’s ears. She had already been annoyed and frustrated enough tonight. The extra noise just set her even more on edge than before.

It took another sixteen seconds and a few steps closer then, for Wednesday to realise the noise bleeding from around the bend in the road wasn’t in fact, a group of birds. Instead, it was the worst sound Wednesday could ever want to hear.

Within an instant, Wednesday took off running, every sickening realisation clicking at once. The vision that had been plaguing her nightmares and every interaction with you came back in full force. Her stomach began to churn as she went, heart burning and ears ringing. She knew.

When Wednesday rounded the curve, she saw the cars and their sirens.

The red and blue lights bounced off of the dirt and pavement even from far away, reflecting in the rain water as it pummelled to the ground. Five police cruisers sat strewn every which way along the shoulder of the road, headlights on and pointed into the underbrush. Officers wandered the clearing, pointing their flashlights into the dark and yelling loudly to each other in an attempt to overcome the rain.

As Wednesday rushed towards the vehicles, a man stepped out of the closest car to her, wearing a plastic blue poncho that did mostly nothing to stop the merciless pounding of the furious rain. He spoke into a little radio on his shoulder, staring out into woods at his men while they searched.

Wednesday’s loud steps from her thick shoes warned him of her nearing, and the man turned, hand dropping from his radio. She was immediately displeased, greatly so; the man was Sheriff Galpin. He looked just as unhappy to see her, frown drooping into a wry glower.

“Addams what are you doing out here??!” He shouted at her over the storm, hands placing themselves on his hips. “It’s sure as hell past your curfew, now go back to Nevermore, dammit!“

Wednesday walked right up to him then, tugging him roughly by the poncho and his collar, which she balled up dangerously in her fist. It was a warning, and she meant it. Potentially, she meant it more than any threat she had previously given. “Who did you find.”

Sheriff Galpin’s eyebrows lowered, a line appearing in his forehead as he stared her down. “That’s official Jericho Police Department business, missy. You need to-“

Her grip on his clothing tightened. “Now.” Her voice shook a little. “Who did you find.”

He looked at her for a moment in the flickering blue and red of the dark, examining the look on her face. Her eyes were shining, though she would never admit to it. The old sheriff sighed. “Some kid from Nevermore was attacked. You might have known ‘em. Name was like, (Y/n) or something.”

Wednesday’s hand went slack, dropping back down to her side. “Were…,” she swallowed, attempting to cool the heat rushing to her face. It felt as if the Earth had just broken away from its orbit, to float off directionless into space. “Were they killed?”

For the first time, Sheriff Galpin seemed almost soft. He bent down to her a bit, patting her on the shoulder awkwardly as if to say ‘there, there.’ He had never liked the Addams girl much, though that seemed highly irrelevant in the moment.

“Uh, luckily no, though the camper who found them said they were awful close. The EMTs got here just in time. They’re headed to the hospital.”

Wednesday pulled back, tensing at his hand. “Give me a ride to the hospital,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. The sheriff shook his head.

“Nuh uh, no way. You’re going back to school, kid. It’s too late for you to be out here anyways, and I’m sure Weems would like to know why the hell you were out past curfew in the first place.”

She glared. “I need to be at that hospital.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes at her, any moment of softness gone upon remembering why he disliked her and her family so much. “Like hell I’m going to take you there.”

Wednesday blinked at him.

===+++===

The night was still dark but no longer raining, when Sheriff Galpin speedily dropped Wednesday off with her bloody fist at the front step of the hospital.

Punching the tree again and again had hurt, the sharp bark slicing through the skin of her knuckles, but it also meant she needed a nurse and potentially stitches, and there was only one place capable of offering such services. Suffice to say, the sheriff wouldn’t become her fan any time soon.

The clock had slowly crawled to four in the morning, and though Wednesday was exhausted, and Enid and Thing were potentially freaking out back at the school as to where the hell either of you were, Wednesday was a bit more concerned with figuring out where in the hospital your room was. Oh, and maybe aiding her fist, which was now dripping blood onto the patterned green carpeting as she went.

Upon entering and striding right up to the front counter, Wednesday had gotten straight to business. She held up her bloody fist, placing it with a 'thud' on top of an infographic that sat on the reception desk. The previously sleepy-looking teenage receptionist stared at Wednesday with a look of wide awake, abject horror. “Tell me where the ER is,” she said.

"Uh...over there?” said the girl, raising a weak finger towards the doors in the far left and unable to pry her eyes away from Wednesday’s hand.

Wednesday nodded a single time before walking off, leaving the receptionist to lean over the counter and watch her go. The sign over the door was marked 'ER,' and Wednesday followed down the brightly lit hall until she arrived at a new waiting area. The people in there looked much worse for wear than the empty entrance at the front.

Nervous parents sat cradling their obviously sick children, a construction worker was repeatedly coughing in the corner with his head propped up, trying to stay awake, and a woman in a pantsuit was cradling her foot in a cast and wincing. If this was an omen to who was in your company, it was certainly a bad one.

Wednesday did just as she had before, walking right up to the desk with her hand and showing it to the nurse at the front. Only this time, the woman gave her a worried look, picking up the black phone to her right immediately and dialling a few numbers into the keypad.

“Uh, stay right there, ma’am,” the woman said. Wednesday nodded. She didn’t intend to go anywhere anyways.

The nurse who had come to find her was an older woman, with smile lines crinkling around her mouth and winging off the corners of her eyes. She looked almost like a grandmother, except the electric pink afro she had curled off of her head in coils that spoke of youth and vitality and fun. Enid would have liked her, and Wednesday knew you would have too, but she hated the colour pink just as she (mostly) disliked fun people.

The woman had gotten straight down to business, pulling Wednesday into a room with a metal tray of supplies already picked out and holding up her hand.

Even being someone who enjoyed pain as she did, the antiseptic stung when it was placed over the scratches on her fingers. She hissed a bit, and the nurse glanced up at her with pitying eyes, grabbing the supplies for her stitches off of a metal tray.

"You said you punched a tree?"

Wednesday was suspicious of the woman's sudden interest, but nodded. The nurse could probably tell her where you were anyhow. She didn't like making friends, but she could at least make allies. She had called you one of her allies when you had asked. Remembering that hurt now.

"Yes,” she replied, a bit annoyed with the question.

"Why'd you do that, then?"

"I needed to come here. It's important." The nurse began to stitch her up, and Wednesday flinched at the sudden contact.

"What’s important about here?"

Wednesday glanced down at her soaked, dirty shoes. "There's someone staying here I need to see." The nurse looked up at her then, studying her carefully.

"You're here for that kid that came in after being attacked." Wednesday swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. The nurse sighed, wrinkles filling her forehead as she finished up Wednesday's middle finger and moving to her ring finger, holding up the pad to the light. "They were rushed into emergency surgery about twenty minutes ago. You'll have to wait here a while, and just to warn you: it isn’t pretty." Wednesday sent a small glance to her, one that spoke of a timidness the situation had drawn out of her that wasn't previously there.

“Why don't you go home for the night? Get yourself cleaned off and dry."

She shook her head at the woman, frown deep and telling. "I need to be here when they wake up. They don't have anyone else. Both of their parents are deceased, and I need to be there for them."

"I'm sure they would appreciate you coming this far, honey. They're very lucky to have someone who cares for them as much as you do. I've been a nurse for a loooong time, and trust me when I say you've done plenty."

She certainly had not. Wednesday was not immune to the morbid irony of the situation at hand. In reality, she had cared all too much, pretended that she cared not at all, and tricked you for the longest time into thinking she cared too little. Caring had gotten her nowhere- worse, it had gotten you into an ambulance.

"I'm...worried," she struggled to spit the word out at the nurse, who looked at her with soft eyes of encouragement. "I've said some things, that I don’t think I’ll be able to apologise for."

"Shhh," the nurse hummed, finishing Wednesday's final knuckle and taking out some bandages to wrap around the raw skin. "You'll get the chance."

“I’m not sure I will,” Wednesday's frowned deepened. Her lip threatened to quiver a bit, but it was true. She had been so foolish to bring you along- so selfish to allow you to push the bounds of your own safety. It sat lodged in her stomach like a tumour, growing and growing.

If this is what it meant to love you, Wednesday wasn't sure she was ready.

The older woman gave her a sad smile. "Look, there's no shame in making mistakes. The shame is in being too proud to ask for forgiveness for them," she said, standing up from her chair. "They'll be in room 304, I think. Should be out of surgery in a couple hours, in case you want to…”

“I’m not leaving,” Wednesday insisted. And she didn’t, for a while.

Very little could spook an Addams, especially one such as Wednesday, but she had decided it was all too much, seeing you after surgery. It was an utterly horrific sight. Had it been anyone else, Wednesday would be staring at the intricacies of the scars waiting patiently to form, marvelling at the magic of twisted skin and scabs. But no, it was you in that bed, wheeled right in, and she felt the rare urge to vomit.

You were hooked up to so many machines. Buzzing, whirring, and beeping were the only things keeping you alive, and it served as a painful reminder for everything that could have been lost.

A ventilator sat over your mouth, covering your soft lips and strapped to your jaw. Live, it said, as did the several needles and monitors that were hooked into the skin of your hands and arms. There was too much surface area covered. Wednesday, even if she had wanted to, couldn't have held your hand.

Blood was still very much crusted to the planes of your skin in parts, or at least what was visible of it behind your bandages. The white cotton sat in squares and rectangles, taped to your chest and along the stretch of your cheeks and face. You would never be the same, and Wednesday knew it then.

Always, you would bear the evidence of the attack when someone saw you for the first time and winced a bit, and Wednesday held herself as partially responsible. Her love was too thick to sit in. Wednesday Addams swallowed the tears she would deny crying.

She sat with you an hour, then she walked down to the payphone on the corner and called Enid as the sun finally settled for the morning sky.

===+++===

In the three weeks since your attack, you had yet to wake up. The doctors said it was a coma, and that they had no idea when you would wake, if at all, and that only made Wednesday feel worse. She had gone to visit you before, after, and sometimes even during class. Her own hand had healed nicely, though there would be a permanent scar over the knuckle of her index finger from a particularly nasty cut,

On one visit, Enid had said it was as if you "were sleeping," but Wednesday couldn't disagree more. When you slept, it was on your side with your mouth, open, snoring softly. No, instead, you looked like a dead body. Even after acquainted with the room, Wednesday still felt a great pain in her chest upon seeing you every day like that.

Principal Weems had been more than angry, discovering another student had been hospitalised as a result of Wednesday's actions. She was also worried, and annoyingly tried to sign Wednesday up for more sessions with Kinbott.

That wasn't what Wednesday needed, and she shrugged it off as such, every time Kinbott tried to bring up what happened to you, like she was waiting for her to burst into tears. An Addams didn’t cry. Instead Wednesday let the guilt eat her alive.

She also hungered for vengeance. Strewn across her floor was a giant mental map of everything involved in the case, from photos of the bodies (Enid had fainted twice) to crime scenes, and even potential suspects, all laid out accordingly.

As soon as visiting hours were over, she bid you adieu and threw on your yellow raincoat that still smelled like you, before heading out into the dark to solve the mystery. Maybe it was a way to say she was sorry, maybe it was a manifestation of you potentially never waking up- Wednesday didn't know.

What was even more frustrating was how she knew you held the final puzzle piece. She wasn't a fool- your ability to see into the thoughts of those around you was probably what had caused the attempt on your life in the first place. You had intentionally placed yourself in harms way, then, turning off your abilities for her.

You were incredibly powerful for one so laissez-faire about life- a fact that only offended Wednesday more, as you had been the target and not her, or someone else. You, who had just worn your heart on your sleeve to her, listened to her throw it away, and then immediately gotten attacked. You didn't deserve that, just as much as Wednesday didn't deserve you.

Then came the question of what you did deserve to hear when you awoke. If she was such an excellent writer, why couldn't she think of what to say to you if that ever happened? It still didn't feel good enough, no matter how many times she rewrote the letters or changed the order of the sentences. Nothing seemed to feel good enough.

===+++===

Around the fourth week, Wednesday began to leave you long thoughts, like diary entries. She didn't even know if you could hear her, from in there. You had been taken off a ventilator and it looked as if you were finally starting to level out a bit. Wednesday didn't know why, but she suspected you could hear her thoughts.

So she started thinking to you.

It had started small, at first. 'Today is the twenty-sixth day of you being asleep, you know. If you don't wake up, I swear I'll kill you.' She didn't even know if you could actually hear her, or if you'd want to, considering your last interaction. Wednesday itched to talk to you again, and her recounts grew longer and longer.

'Today is the twenty-eighth day of you still not waking up. Mayor Walker passed, yesterday. I have my suspicions of Xavier. He seems to meet with Dr. Kinbott frequently, and it's possible she's Laurel Gates. I'm not sure if I told you about this yesterday, but I summoned my ancestor a few days ago, Goody Addams, and she warned me of the Gates Mansion.'

'Today marks an official month, 31 days, of you not being awake yet. My Uncle Fester is in town. He sends his regards, by the way. He's the bald one I spoke of before, and he was eager to meet you... Enid and I visited the Gates' Mansion with Tyler. We were attacked and Tyler was injured. I know that may alarm you, but I assure you, I'm fine... If you don't wake up... I'll curse you forever.'

She didn't mean it.

‘Today is day thirty six and you’re still not awake. Enid will be waiting with you while I go confront Xavier and have him arrested. You must forget this when you wake, but I miss you… I’m not proud of it but I do. I said I wouldn’t care for you this way but look at me now. You didn’t spoil anything, (Y/n). If you said you loved me now, I would say it back. Give me the chance to say it then, or else.’

Wednesday waited patiently for another minute, hoping even a little bit that her mind would spark you to life. When nothing happened she sighed just as she had every previous day. Enid gave her a sad smile.

“Go get him, Wends. We’ll both be here when you get back,” she said. Wednesday glared at the use of the nickname, but grabbed your yellow raincoat off the back of her chair, shrugging the oversized jacket on and heading out the door. If there was one thing she thought would make amends, it would be catching your attacker and achieving revenge all on her own.

Of course, thirty seconds later, when Wednesday was long gone, you shot up right like a rocket, and Enid let out a scream.

===+++===

You were climbing, it felt like. You weren’t sure what, but you were pulling yourself up and out of something, pads of your fingers gripping the surface and lifting. It was one clutch after the other, and you had no idea how long or where you could possibly be climbing to.

Were you dead? That was entirely possible. You had blacked out with Tyler’s claws ripping and tearing at your chest and come-to in the back of the ambulance as it sped towards the hospital. A nervous-looking paramedic stood over you, casting a shadow over your eyes, and from there you had passed out again. Maybe you had died then.

Of course, it was a possibility. Not a welcome one, but it was still a possibility. Either way, you had to figure out a way to warn Wednesday about Tyler. Maybe if you just kept climbing. Time seemed to slow down, and it was one hand after another.

There was definitely sound coming from the outside world, and it wrapped around your head in mumbly nonsensical jargon. You recognised the voice, that was definitely Wednesday, and she was definitely close. Every now and again small words like 'Xavier,' or 'Kinbott,' would peek through the mist and you were left to wonder as to why they were relevant.

You climbed a bit harder. The voice would come in and then out again, and you were left wondering if days were passing or maybe it had just been an hour. All you knew was to keep climbing. Your fingers felt raw, your arms ached to stop, but you kept going to keep Wednesday safe, wether she wanted you to or not.

Before you knew it, a hand came forward for the last time, and it was like a button had been pressed. Suddenly, you weren't in any void, or any back of an ambulance, you were in a bland hospital room, sitting straight up and looking right at a mortified Enid.

"Oh my god!" She yelled out, pointing at you in surprise. "OH MY GOD!!!" 'WHAT THE FUCK!!!!'

"TYLER!" You yelled back.

"WHAT?!" Enid yelled.

"IT'S TYLER! And hi!"

Enid fainted again, just in time for a nurse to rush in upon noticing you were awake.

===+++===

One thing you had missed dearly whilst in a coma were fruit cups. You sat rather contentedly, eating a mango fruit cup in your soft hospital bedsheets and leaning back against a checkered pillow. From around you in the hospital, noise buzzed in your mind. It felt good to have your blinders off for once, even if it meant you had to focus in on Enid and the noise directly in the room with you.

"Thirty six days???" you asked. Enid nodded.

"Wednesday- I mean all of us 'But mostly Wednesday', were worried sick that you wouldn't wake up. Are you okay? What was it like in there?" 'How the hell are you still alive???'

You shrugged. "Not really sure. I just remember my arms hurt and I was in this void-thing, trying to pull myself out..." You grew serious. "I need to speak to Wednesday."

Enid leaned forward. "And you're sure it was Tyler? He doesn't seem like he could hurt a fly."

"I saw him, Enid. He was covered in blood and he was in his own head thinking about the attack and how pleased Laurel would be for him to succeed. It's him."

"Wednesday thinks it's Xavier," she said. You shook your head.

"She's wrong. I know she's sweet on Tyler, but-"

"-She's not sweet on Tyler, (Y/n). 'You CANNOT still believe that after all of this...though I guess you were comatose' I've said this since the beginning of the year, you bozo. She's sweet on you, and you two are such idiots running around and pretending like you don't know."

The painful memory of your final interaction before the attack came back in waves, pulling you under and tugging you into the deep. You cleared your scratchy throat, still sore from its lack of use. "Enid, Wednesday made it perfectly clear how she felt about me."

Enid rolled her eyes. "You two, I swear you're going give me grey hair. Oh! Speaking of appearances," she sat up. "You haven't seen how you look yet!"

You frowned, not entirely sure you wanted to. You knew you had facial scars- the sharp slashes to your nose and cheeks were enough to know that now, but you weren't sure how much you wanted to see them. Enid pulled out her phone camera, flipping it around to selfie mode.

It wasn't as bad as you thought- a giant twist of a scar curved around the apple of your cheek before reaching up through the lateral third of your eyebrow and stopping shortly after. Another crisscrossed over the bridge of your nose. Still bad, though. They were noticeable, and those were only the ones on your face. You frowned, and Enid seemed to regret asking to show you them. 'I just messed up, didn't I.'

'Oh my, cara mia' said someone's noise in the doorway. You looked up, hearing her arrive, and there she was. Wednesday stood looking almost nervous, hands crossed over her chest awkwardly, like she was uncertain if she was welcome. You tensed. "You're awake," she said.

You nodded. Then you did Wednesday a favour and turned your own noise off to give her the privacy she coveted. Wednesday sent a look over at Enid who just stared. When the werewolf didn't take the hint, Wednesday cleared her throat.

"Oh! Sorry, sorry," said Enid, standing sheepishly. "I guess I'll just go get some food from the cantina...even though I already ate and want to see how this happens," she muttered. Wednesday sent her a much sharper glare, and Enid scurried out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Wednesday spun to you. "If you died, I would have killed you."

"I know," you nodded. "Enid told me you were here all the time." She frowned.

"Never speak of that again," Wednesday said, seeming almost embarrassed. "Enid wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"She's not really good at keeping secrets. You probably shouldn't have told her anything if-"

"-Did you hear them, when you were in there?" She asked, cutting you off mid-sentence with what she had really been wondering the entire time, but too nervous to ask. You blinked.

"Hear what?" If she had been saying important things to you whilst you were under, you didn't know what she was referring to. The look on Wednesday's face was unintelligible.

"I said some important things, (Y/n)," she said, fidgeting with her fingers. "I sent them through my thoughts."

"You also said some important things before I was attacked, Wednesday. You called me a lost puppy."

"I know," she replied. "I was worried this very thing would happen if I didn't."

You snorted cynically. "Looks like it happened when you did, actually." She looked wounded by that, and now you felt bad. "I didn't mean it that way, Wends, I'm just trying to warn you-"

"I love you too," she said.

Any thoughts or words you potentially could have come back with were lost, slipping through your fingers and tumbling to the floor. Wednesday took a step closer, placing her hand on the bed next to you, flipping it over to show you her knuckles. A few small pink scars littered the skin there. You picked it up in your own, brushing over them with your thumb.

"I meant it. I love you too. Even with your scars- which are magnificent." Wednesday thought for a moment, then looked you dead in the eyes. "I love you with a love that is more than love."

"That's Edgar Allan Poe," you whispered. She nodded, then she swallowed, forcing the words out.

"I see now, that I was...wrong. I have been deceitful, and I have been unkind. I pushed you away when you deserve much more than that- likely much more than me. I cannot express how earnest my regret is, and just how much I want your forgiveness-"

"Yeah yeah, stop talking like an old English guy," you said with a laugh, pulling her scarred hand to your lips. You sat up a little bit more, and though it hurt, you pressed your lips to her palm. When you pulled away a moment later, she kissed you full-force. Her hand moved to your neck, playing with the hair there and delivering the perfect amount of gentle longing that made you fall back against the pillow.

She pulled away all too soon again, but the small smile that teased the corner of her mouth spoke of future ones to come. "You said you were going to warn me of something?" She said in between attempts to catch your breath. You raised your eyebrows, remembering the dire information at hand.

"Oh, yeah, Tyler attacked me," you said, leaning your neck back against the pillow.

"What?!" Wednesday said, pulling away with her eyes as angry as ever. "Why didn't you lead with that??" She didn't want to believe it, but she knew you wouldn't lie.

"I got there eventually, and you needed to apologise!"

Wednesday sighed, shaking her head. Though she would never admit it, she did truly miss your ridiculousness. "Anything else?"

"The master of the creature-"

"-It's called a Hyde," Wednesday corrected you.

"Yeah, that. The master of the creature wears red boots. I saw it in Tyler's vision."

The girl in black stood up, heading for the door. "Thank you, cara mia. I'll be back when this is over."

"Go get 'em tiger." She turned to you, unimpressed.

"Shut up."

"Yeah yeah, love you."

After a moment she sighed. "I love you too."

thank you all so much for your support on this story! i absolutely will be writing again, and am here to stay. i cannot thank you all enough, and as always, PLEASE tell me or message me about any typos as i will fix them ASAP. i'll definitely come back and change this later if i feel like it. i tried not to rush the ending but was also majorly conflicted as to where i should leave it off. so if it bugs me later down the line, i'll change it.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine

698 notes · View notes

i-drop-level-one-loot · 4 months

Note

May I request a yandere naga x gn reader, [smut can be optional]

I love monster men! Sorry this took so long

Yandere!Naga x GN!Reader

CW: Death, blood, abduction, short drabble

A virgin sacrifice?

1974

The friend group of incredibly drunk college kids stood near the edge of a forest, headed by Nathan who was wielding a ridiculously goofy dagger he had found in a thrift shop, reading an incantation from equally goofy book.

"Oh Fentoo, deity of the Earth, hear our cries!" Nathan waved his dagger. "Behold, our virgin sacrifice!"

(Reader) snorted. "Who's the virgin?"

Nathan glared down at them from the stump he was standing on. "You are, now shoosh."

"But.. I'm not a virgin?" (Reader) rolled their eyes, exhausted from their friend's antics. "Why not use Gayle; he's a virgin."

The awkward nerd beneath Nathan looked up at his leader with wide eyes. "Please don't sacrifice me, Nathan."

Nathan dropped his arms to his sides, sighing, clearly upset over the amount of times his ritual was being interrupted. "Gayle's a virgin because, well.. look at him, no offense Gayle. But you're.. decent looking? Fentoo will be more likely to come if he thinks you're a virgin, right?"

(Reader) rubbed their eyes, exhausted after the amount of beer they had been chugging all night. "Right, and what happens to me when he finds out that I'm not a virgin?"

"I don't know..? He doesn't eat you?" Nathan shrugged. (Reader) couldn't tell if he truly believed in the nonsense he was spewing, but allowed him to continue regardless, ignoring him in favor for another beer.

Gayle shook, unstable on his feet. "So what do you get if Fentoo accepts the sacrifice- (Reader)?"

"Uh.." Nathan flipped through the worn out book. "Fine metals of the earth, which is his domain."

"Damn, you're going to kill me for some gold?" (Reader) playfully asked in an offended tone.

Nathan opened his mouth in a wide smile, ready to respond, but suddenly fell slack jawed, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

A dark shadow rose behind (Reader), engulfing them in an unnaturally coldness.

"No.. you shall receive nothing, but death."

A voice deep and gravely growled so lowly that it rumbled in the drunk adult's chest and made their knees knock together. Very slowly, (Reader) turned, alcohol failing to give them any liquid courage.

Blocking out the light of the moon, a being emerged from the trees and extended up, rising to his full height. With ink black, scaly skin that elongated beyond his waist, a half human half snake monster that was like a living shadow smiled down at the humans beneath him, the only visible feature being his bright white fangs.

His movements were faster than a lion's, launching past (Reader) and striking the two drunk men before they could run.

(Reader) was powerless as they watched their best friends get ripped apart in from of them, torn open by the monster's bare hands. Blood splattered everywhere, even hitting (Reader's) face with splashes of red.

And they could do nothing.

As he moved under the night sky, the moon now illuminated his body, revealing the blue shine to his scales and skin, the strong features of his mostly human, noseless face, and his long locks of black hair cascading freely down his muscular back. His black eyes appeared to be staring at everything and nothing, unblinking as he murdered two innocent humans.

(Reader) was ready to die. Frozen with fear, their drunken mind accepted their fate. Even after watching the god's jaw unhinge to consume the pieces that used the be their friends, (Reader) was still.

But their death never came.

They watched the monster eat until there was nothing left but blood stains, however, when he turned to (Reader), he was nothing but smiles.

"The debt has been paid." He stated while grabbing the ceremonial dagger off the grass.

(Reader's) face must have conveyed their bafflement, because the creature chuckled before explaining; "The sacrifice has been accepted. Now you shall be rewarded."

Liquid gold poured up through the dirt around the horrified young adult's feet, solidifying as it came into contact with the air.

A single tear cleaned away blood from (Reader's) cheek. "I don't want gold."

His smile grew, revealing the inhuman split in his cheeks. "Oh? And what is it that you want?"

He reached out a cold hand, caressing their stained face.

"Jewels?"

".. no."

"Iron? Copper?"

Each time they nervously shook their head 'no' it seemed to please the deity more.

"Would you perhaps.. wish for a long life? One full of joy, and free from pain?" His voice softened as he rubbed his thumb against their trembling bottom lip. They could see the round of Nathan and Gayle as they moved through his body to be digested.

More cries escaped them. "Yes, please."

As soon as the words left their lips, (Reader) was scooped into the creature's strong arms, cradling them to his chest.

"Good."

He carried his newly claimed partner towards his domain, the land of the immortal.

"I am Fe Ntu. And I'd be honored to give you joy and love, for the rest of eternity."

#sorry it took so long #yandere #yandere monster #yandere naga #yandere x reader #gn reader #yandere monster x reader #short drabble #cw death

532 notes · View notes

caxde · 1 year

Text

unlovable | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary you are Dustin’s older sister, you and Eddie used to be boyfriend and girlfriend, but haven't spoke to each other, until your little brother messes things up. (5.3k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, exes! in love, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn exes to lovers, idiots in love!!!, panic attack tw!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!

“I told you I don’t wanna hear anything more about it!” You whined once again, as he was still babbling away.

“Oh, get over it!” He finally snapped. “It’s been more than a year!” He screamed at you, not with anger, but with resignation in his voice.

“Don’t…”

“I… Look… You only have to drive me there, you can go later, I’ll call you when I need to come back and I’ll make sure you don’t even cross paths with him… Please?” His eyes looked through his eyebrows, begging, needing a yes.

“Dust…” You try to change his mind once again, knowing damn well that he had won, once again. “Okay…” As your hands rested on your side in full resignation, his went up in celebration, smiling and screaming thank you, thank you.

How could you say no to him? It wasn’t your fault that he had grown so fond of him while you two were dating, and it’s not his fault that you broke things off… Well, you didn’t actually. How could you?

That thought crossed your mind often, how could you? or, in other words how could he? You had loved him like you never had anyone else, and he still couldn’t fight for you two to stay together. When he decided to stay quiet, and grow distant when you needed him close and by your side, it had been his choice.

It’s not like it was your fault, or his. It’s just that sometimes, loving someone is not enough.

And it wasn’t enough, even if it killed you, you needed space to grow, he needed his space anyway. And it was hard, knowing that your brother hung out with him regularly, crossing looks with him when he dropped Dustin off, sadness in his eyes, remorse in yours. It was hard, but it was getting bearable.

You had agreed to be on good terms for Dustin’s sake, so that’s what you did.

The sound of the door closing snapped you back into reality, making you sit up once again, back straighter. Your mirror propped up in front of your bed, you looked at yourself, remembering his touch anywhere the sun kissed your skin.

You took a deep breath, and muttered to yourself okey, let’s do this then. So you did. You stood up, opened your wardrobe and thought what to wear exactly, deciding that if he had to see you, you might as well look good and take yourself out on a date later, perhaps to that new coffee shop that had opened down the street.

Be as it may, you had dressed yourself comfortably enough to not be cold in autumn weather, and you looked at your face once more.

Lipstick, that’s what you needed, it always made you feel good on days you were down, and a little boost is what you needed now.

Dustin was waiting for you downstairs, smile big and bright, with your car keys in his hand.

“You're not driving.” You said to him, coldly, almost mocking him.

“Yeah, I know. Soon enough though!” He screamed back cheerfully. You nodded in response as you unlocked the car.

You didn’t have to ask him where to, you had memorized long ago how to get to his home, even some shortcuts, for when you were a little bit tipsy and didn’t want Hopper to stop you and give you the talk. You smiled at the thought of that, and Dustin seemed to notice, as your right hand left the wheel for just a second to mess with your hair a bit, leaving your face free of cover.

The sun was setting once you parked your car, and the sky shined bright with a beautiful sunset, soft oranges mixing with pink clouds. You had to step out and take a good look at it.

Dustin opened your door for you, he always did, with a big smile he waited for your shy thank you, which you gave accompanied by a little ruffle of his hair. He nudged you with his head, making you both smile as you looked up.

“Hey, thanks for bringing me here.” He said, you could tell that he was being extremely honest.

“Anything for you, kid.” You replayed back, your hands fidgeting with an unlit cigarette. “When do I pick you up?” You asked him, your head lowering to look at him.

“I can bring him back.” Eddie’s voice had appeared, and with it, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

“Hi” You muttered shyly, as you spun around to look at him.

His hair was as wild as ever, shade so dark it contrasted with his pale skin. Old Iron Maiden shirt with holes in the neck laid perfectly on top of his chest, hugging him in all the right places. Your eyes looked down, checking him out. His jeans still hugged his thighs just as good as you remember. But what you didn’t notice was that he was doing the exact same thing.

He had to take a moment to look at you, the whole you. Your legs crossed over one another, accentuating even more your figure, your arms across your chest, making it a center of his attention, worsened by the fact that your breath had sped up, and your breathing made you move your chest up and down fast. Your exposed neck had made him remember how much he enjoyed biting you, so he ended up biting his own lip when his eyes met yours.

It was the first time you were talking. And so much time had passed.

“Hi” He said back, softly, a smile forming in his lips.

Dustin excused himself to get inside, clumsy, and admiring the fact that you two were actually talking again, he was mesmerized and he obviously spied on you two from the crack of Eddie’s entrance door.

His hand reached in his pocket, lighter coming out, he offered it to you. So you nod as you let your cigarette linger in between your lips, feeling the warmth of the flame as you are at a loss for words.

Not too sure what to say, or do.

“You don’t have to bring him back, I can come and get him…” You say, as your eyes leave the floor and look back up at him, nodding at Dustin’s way. He shrugs in response.

“I don’t mind. And I know you don’t like driving at night.” He answers, with his hands buried in his back pockets.

And maybe it’s the fact that he remembered such a stupid detail, but a soft smile forms on your lips.

“Okay then, thanks.” You answer back. Looking at how much you had left to smoke, knowing that once you finish, so did this conversation. He seemed to understand as much.

“Henderson?” He begged, his eyebrows raised as he looked deep into your eyes.

“Munson?” You answer back, cooly, calmly. Smoke escaping from your lips.

“It really is good to see you.” He admits, smug in his face.

You smile in response, a short nod to him as you inhale again, speaking to him as smoke comes out and he’s lost in you again.

“Yeah, it is.” You smile in response. “I’m a sight to be seen.” You mock, as you make you both chuckle softly, a distance still visible between both of you.

“You've been taking care of yourself?” He asks, a bit of worry could be heard.

“Yeah, I always am, Munson.” You take your final drag as you smile at him, closing your eyes so smoke won’t get inside of them.

“Continue to do so then. You look good.” He whispers the last part, but you always had a good ear, so you nod as you smile and open the door to your car.

“Yeah, so do you.” You say as the engine starts to roar.

“So… You just talked?” Steve laid on your couch, Red-vine in his mouth, pulling it to pieces with his teeth.

“Small talk.” You said, no thoughts behind your eyes, you walked up to him “Move” You told him as you signaled moving your hand side to side. His legs reached the floor.

“Ouch.” He said in response, giving you some of the candy. “Small talk… That hurt?” He asked, eyebrow raised, eyes meeting your calm gaze.

“Not as much as I thought it might.” You admit to him. Your head is finally resting on the couch. Eyes closed as you remember him, and his stupid smile. “Fucker told me “it was good to see me” and that “I looked good.” “ You explain to Steve as you air-quote your way through. The sweet taste of the Red-Vines hitting your tongue.

“Shit.” He said in response. You felt him standing up. “Wanna talk about it?” You opened your eyes, seeing him reach over to the water.

“Noisy.” You tease as you accept the cup. “Not really” You add as an answer to his question.

“O-kay” He said, extending the first syllable. Giving you his blanket as he pulled another one from his side. “So, what’s it gonna be today?”

“Labyrinth?”

“I’m not feeding into your Bowie obsession.”

“M’kay. Goonies?”

“Don’t wanna babysit now.”

“Rude. Okay. You choose then, I don’t wanna think.” You finally let out, the heels of your hands covering your eyes in frustration.

A beat. Steve could be heard messing around the VCR, his jeans ruffling as he moved, until his body laid beside you, his arm cuddling you into his chest, as you finally rested.

Breakfast Club started, and you muttered a thank you.

Steve kissed your forehead.

Steve had always been there for you, thick and thin. Just like you were there when he had a crush on Robin, or even now, when he was falling for Nancy again. Funny enough, you both seemed to be in the same sinking boat. As you usually were.

Your eyelids were starting to feel heavier by the minute, and you were determined to not fall asleep for once, even if you were really, truely, deeply comfortable under the warm blankets.

The movie was about to end, and your eyelids feel heavy. Still, your eyes opened wide as a noisy van parked outside, with blaring loud music as it screeched.

“Munson?” Steve asked, rubbing his eyes while still half asleep.

“Guess so.” You muttered, looking out the window, stretching your arms under the blanket that you were now sharing with Steve.

Sure enough, the long haired boy popped out, helping your brother to jump out of the passenger’s seat, and for what felt for a moment, looked straight at you, a frown appearing in his face. Your eyes left him, as your mouth closed, and minted, you followed Dustin until you heard the door rattling.

“Hey Dust.” You said, your voice raspy from falling half asleep.

“Hey Henderson.” Steve said after you, a hand raised so he could high five.

“Hey” He said back, tiredness coming from his voice. “Going to bed, is that okay?” He asked as he reached the first step of the stairs.

“Yeah, of course.” You smiled at him. He nodded and started to go up. “Good night!” You screamed at him.

“Night!” He yelled back.

“I should go too. It’s late.” Steve said, looking at his wrist watch, you nodded in response as he tore the blanket away from your body.

“I’ll walk you out.” You say, your voice is still raspy. Yawning as you lazily stretch.

He offers you his hand, so he can pull you up, laughing as he does, your feet reach the cold, and you smile. You open the door, and to your surprise, Eddie is still there.

Though you pay him no mind, your eyes meet before hugging Steve goodbye.

“You’ll bring the tape back?” He asks, nodding to the living room, and trying to stall as he sees how nervous you are all of a sudden.

“Yeah, drop it off before work.” You smile.

He winks at you as he hugs you once again, and you both say goodnight.

You’re left there, on your porch, arms crossed on your chest, looking at a speechless Eddie, who just shakes his head in shock at the image of you two together.

“What are you-” He cuts you off, in his voice you notice, he is just as hurt as he is angry.

“You and Harrington?”

“What?”

“Are you serious?” His face flinched as he looked deeper into your eyes, not mad, that might not be the right word, but hurt didn’t make it justice to the way he felt either.

“Eddie, what are you doing here?” You mutter, your arms falling to your side in exhaustion, not really following the reason of his outburst.

“I… Dustin…”

“Yeah, Dustin. Sure.” You were growing cold now. He was doing what he usually did, burying everything that he actually needed or wanted to say, and you resorted to your all ways, though your voice growing tired, you agreed with what he was saying even if you didn’t, avoiding a major fight.

You locked eyes once again. Your arms wrapped with one another, sitting on top of your chest, looking down at him from your porch, as you bite your lower lip. His hands deep in his pockets, shoulders raised, looking up at you, his eyes glistening as he contemplated you, not really sure what he had to say.

“Good Night then, Eddie.” You said, your voice coming out thinner than you had wished.

“Yeah, good night…” He replayed as he stepped back, looking at you as you shutted the door and went back inside. Speechless once again.

Infuriated might be a good word to describe the way you were still feeling weeks later.

You did doubt yourself, and replayed the moment a million times over and over in your head, but everytime you did, you are left with the same thoughts.

Why the Hell did Eddie care if you hung out with Steve?

Steve had always been your friend, and he knew that, shit, even when you used to go out with him, Steve would tag along and eventually became friends with him, Eddie even invited him to some D&D sessions he did. Eddie never had had a problem, or had been jealous, but then again, why do you care so much? You two were nothing. You had been friends. You had been lovers. Now you were just somebody you had once loved.

And if you were honest with yourself, which you tried, you really didn’t feel like it could be spoken out loud, a fear of it being said, making all of this feeling you had materialize into something real, something you weren’t too sure you could be able to live with or act on.

And again, being in a room getting ready with Nancy and Robin just made it all worse.

Not because you disliked them, or didn’t enjoy their company, but because a tiny little voice inside your head was screaming to be heard, and you were only getting quieter, and quieter.

And the fact that Robin was trying to make Nancy speak about her love life in an interest to help Steve was only driving you completely more mad. As if you had no other option but to scream. So ever so subtly you walked over the stereo and made it louder, so some of the noise could be drowned out.

It seemed to work.

At least it did long enough to finish getting ready. Hair was teased where it needed to be, your eyes were decorated with eyeliner and eyeshadow, and your lips, as always, were in blood red.

You were still quiet when you got on the backseat of the car, as you looked through the window, waiting to see which house it was this weekend. Hawkins had little to choose from anyways, and teen parties were an open invitation for everyone.

Downtown, in god-knows-who’s house, you got lost as you usually did when too many things were going on. Overwhelmed didn’t come close to explaining it.

The music felt too loud. The people were too close to one another and to you. They were yelling too. Smoke filled the air enough so the colours were dimmed. You could hardly breath without feeling as your chest was closing. And none of your friends seemed to be there with you.

You needed to get out. As if air was escaping your lungs, your chest felt heavier with every breath you exhaled, a shaking hand grasped your chest, and it took you a while to realize it was your own. You were disoriented, so you ran until you found a safe exit. A backdoor that nobody seemed to be close to.

The cold air hitted you slowly, as your body collapsed on the floor, sitting down the dirty stairs. Your hands searched for your neck, scratching it as you realized, the one who you heard crying was you. The information seemed to come to you backwards.

So maybe that’s why you don’t really register it as it happens.

You do hear a familiar voice, soft and calm, and you feel hands wrapping your wrist, and as your eyes look at them, you see his rings. So when your head travels up to meet his eyes, a soft smiling Eddie is there, whispering something you can’t quite figure out yet.

In this instance, the only thing that you can actually feel is his touch, the contradiction of his rough hands being so soft, the coldness of his rings tracing a pattern on the back of your hands. As soon as one of them leaves yours to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, your attention is now back at him, a soft smile on his lips as he looks deep into your eyes, you feel his fingers slowly find their way on the back of your neck as he begins to whisper.

“Five things you can see.” He tells you slowly, softly, with no evident worry in his voice, even if he’s screaming on the inside.

“Wh- What?” You manage to let out as your breathing is still fast and tears still come out. He just nods and gives you a reassuring smile. You nod in return as you start looking around. “The tree.”

“That’s one.”

“Leaf.”

“That’s two.”

“Trash”

“Okay, three.” He says in between a soft chuckle.

“My…my shoe.”

“One more?” He begs.

“You.” You say as you look at him.

“Four things you can touch.” He says once again, his hand that was on your neck travelling down again to go with his left hand, holding yours tightly and softly at the same time.

“Uh…” You try to not get stressed as you look around, and can’t seem to find anything, until you look down and see his knee touching your leg, and you begin to feel the pressure it leaves back into your body. “Your knee.”

“Mmh.” He nods, as he bites his lower lip. “Go on.”

“My jeans.”

“That’s two.”

“Your hands.” He nods as his fingers stroke your skin. “And your rings.”

“Good.” He says reassuringly. “You’re doing great. Now, three things you can hear.”

“The music.” You spat out, still feeling like it’s loud.

“Yeah..”

“My voice.” He nods again as you blink slowly, regaining a sort of control of your own body, and where you were and what was going on. “And your voice.”

“Two things you can smell? Please?” Your eyes dart back to the ground, an unfinished cigarette still burning.

“The smoke.” You say as you point it. “And you.” You say as your head moves back to him, realizing again, how close he actually was, close enough to remember the way he always smells of sandalwood because he always burns it.

He smiles at you. A true smile, one that lets you know he remembers how you always complained about his room being too smoky because of his fixation with incense, and how you always begged him to open the window just three inches.

“One thing you can taste.” He says now, with his voice sounding as he always did, happy, relaxed, playful.

“Um..” You could say what you wanted to, you wanted to say you, but didn’t dare to do so, so you just looked around, until you saw Eddie reach down on his front pocket and grab two more cigarettes as he offered it to you with a peace-making smile. “That”

“Good.” He mutters as he lights it for you, before his own. You look down as you accept it, taking in the smoke to slowly release it, your shoulders finally relaxing. You feel his arm behind your back, a familiarity in the way he rests invades you again.

“Thank you Edds…” You say, as you look back into his maroon eyes. They shine as they look back at you.

“Anything you need…” He says in response softly. “I didn’t know you still got them.”

“I don’t… Well, it’s been a while since I had one.” You say as you both look at each other. Your eyes looking down at his lips involuntarily. So does he.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sorry you had to see it.” He shakes his head no. “But I’m glad you were here.” You confess, a soft smile forming in your lips before you can avoid it. A moment of true sincerity and vulnerability shared with him.

“D’you wanna go home?” He asks, as he nudges your leg with his knee.

“Nancy’s car so… I’ll just wait out here.” You replay as you nudge his back with your shoulder, his curly hair bouncing as you hit him playfully.

“Nah, I’ll drive you, come on.” He said as he stood up, offering his hand to you so you could stand up.

You know that taking it is a promise, a truce, a trip to the past in a way.

And you don’t care, you don’t care at all.

It was impressive in a way, how it stayed as it always had. It smelt the same, it was in the same neatly organized mess, even the stains seemed to be formed in the same patterns as it did when you came last time.

It was embarrassing to have to be here, but thank god he told you to come over. And you swear you grabbed your keys, and you tried to climb the windows, but your mom had the brillant idea to actually lock them down today, and she was out of town, and you had no idea where Dustin actually was so… In the end, and as he putted, it was better if you slept in his couch than on your porch.

But it did feel weird, or funny. Seeing Wayne’s mugs again, smelling the sandalwood that came from his room, and the little bit of dust that the sofa let out every time the cushions were used or moved.

A year had passed yet time seemed to not affect the Munson household.

“I um… I kept some of your things so…” He said as he emerged back from his room. A smile appeared on your face before you could help it.

“You did?” You asked, looking down at what he was carrying.

“Um, yeah, couldn’t let…” He didn’t finish the sentence, thought he didn’t have to, you couldn’t seem to let go either. In his hands, the shirt you always borrowed, some of your presumed lost underwear, and your backup toilet bag.

“Thank you Edds…” You said for what felt like the millionth time this evening. He shook his head as he gave it to you, and headed to the kitchen.

“You can uh, take a shower or anything you need, I’ll make you some tea yeah?” You nodded, as you saw him smile. “You still like it without milk?” He asked loudly from the kitchen as you passed through.

“Yeah…” You tell him, and as you close the door behind you, you can’t help but whisper. “You remember.”

And the memories keep hitting you as you let the hot water run down your body.

Eddie brushing your hair while he sang under his breath and you followed along. You washing his hair everytime the two of you happen to share the space where you where standing, and how often he would pull you closer when you had to rinse so he would be cold -and how it always ended in moaning and laughter-. You were blushing at the memory, even when you were putting the comfy clothes back on, you remember losing the little thong, and how he threw it away across the room before going down on you.

Hair still wet and slightly knotted, you stepped out to the living room, comfy and warm clothes on.

“Hey Moon..” You say before you realized you called him by his old pet name you used to use. He smiles fondly at that, so your only reaction is to blush as you look back at him. “I um… I couldn’t find the hair brush…”

“Shit yeah, it’s in my room, I’ll get it.” He says as he rushes to find it, you follow him this time, and are shocked to find that he still has a picture of the two of you on his wall. It had always been where your eyes looked first, maybe it was muscle memory at this point. But next to his Corroded Coffin sprayed-old bed sheet, close by his bed, there you were, you were kissing his cheek as he had his arm wrapped around your waist, and he was smiling at the ground.

When Eddie looked back at you, he looked at it too and gave you a coy smile, you smiled big showing your teeth, pink invading your face, just like he had in his.

“You still keep it?” You ask, as you point at it and look back at him, noticing how he anxiously plays with the hairbrush now.

“I yeah… I mean… forget it.” He begins to walk back to the sofa, and he sits down, clearly embarrassed now.

So you did what you always did, you followed him and sat next to him. And maybe it really was muscle memory for him, or just the fact that it all felt like it did before, the tension, the electricity, the care for one another, but he started brushing your hair before you could say anything else, or before he even realized what he was really was doing, but once he did, since he didn’t hear any complaints from you, he just kept going.

“Why do you still have it, Edds?” You ask in a whisper of a voice, because honestly, it felt absurd to talk at a normal volume in such an intimate moment.

“Why do you wanna know that, my love?” my love. It rings in your ears for a second longer. He hasn’t called you that since you left, and hearing his voice say it again, in such a warm tone, only made your skin tingle and fill with soft goosebumps, as wet hair hitted it. You had your back turned to him, and his fingers were cautious to not pull the hair in any way that would hurt you, leaving it softly once that section was brushed.

“I just… please?” You said as you moved a bit to quickly glance at him, a soft smile appearing in his face, his brown eyes looking black since his pupils were bigger than before.

“What do you want me to say…”

You waited in silence, knowing that once he was finished with the last strand of hair you could turn to actually face him, to actually look him in the eyes, to for once, talk things out.

So when you felt the coldness of your wet hair hit the shirt and the back of your neck, and his fingers playfully shaking it a bit, as he used to do it every time he did this for you, you rotated your body slowly, your leg completely touching his, you were both dangerously close to one another, though it didn’t feel like a problem, much to different, in felt good, in felt like it was natural.

With just a little move of your head, he knew you wanted an answer, an honest one at that, so he nodded before he opened his mouth again, looking at you before doing so. His eyes stopping for a second too long on your lips, losing themselves in them for more time than it was allowed.

“I can’t seem to let you go.” He declared, honestly, with his voice shaking. “I regret what I did, I regret not saying anything when I could, I regret not being with you. I regret not loving you as much as you truly deserved to be loved, but I could never, ever regret being with you. You have been the best thing that has ever happened to me, even if you don’t feel the same way about me I…” His eyes were glossy with held-back tears, though he was smiling as he said it all.

Your hand grabbed his, and both of your eyes looked down for a second. Yours stayed there as you began to talk, while he had only had eyes for you.

“I never could regret you Eddie.” You say sincerely. Your voice breaks as you feel everything come up again, trying not to actually cry. “You were… You are everything I’ve ever wanted…” You confess looking back up at him, smiling just as much as you do. “You did love me, I know that, but, by the end, I didn’t feel loved, you made me feel like I was unlovable… And that… That hurt so much.” You declare, breaking down, a few tears escaping, as you meet his sight again.

“I’m sorry, I really am my love. But please, please…” He begged as he squeezed your hand ever so slightly. “Believe me, you are the most lovable person I know, and you deserve everything you want and need, and I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you… I… I wish I could, I don’t know… I just…”

“What?” You asked as his left thumb whipped a tear out of your cheek, and you buried your face in his palm.

“I wish I could prove it to you now.”

It takes a moment to understand what he is actually saying. And once you do, for once in your life, you take initiative.

Your hand leaves his touch, and travels up his arm until it reaches the back of his neck, his eyes open a bit at that, and you take that as an invitation. You move your body closer to him, so much so that you sit in his lap, pulling him closer, finally, after what felt like an eternity, you kiss him. And even if your heart is beating so fast it feels like it could escape your body, you feel how he is just has nervous as you actually are, not because he hesitates on kissing you back, but because you can actually hear his rapid heartbeat, and you can feel the way his hand grip your body, a long kiss that says I missed you. His arms wrap your waist tightly, yours grab his neck, while your body pushes his back to the couch, grinding as the kiss deepens.

You can feel him smiling as he kisses you just as intensely as you are. And you are smiling just as big.

You need to stop for a second, to actually get your breath back. But you don’t pull back, your forehead touching his, your nails screeching his skin in loving strokes, his fingers rubbing your back in true disbelief.

“Don’t fuck this up again. Please.” You tell him, with your eyes still closed.

“I won’t, I’m not losing you again.”

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference <3

5K notes · View notes

imtryingbuck · 5 months

Text

Vows

~ gif not mine credit goes to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky and you are married- that is all.

Word count: 1,165

Warnings: fluff. that is all.

A/N: I’ve never been to a wedding before so if anything’s wrong take it up with my lawyer.

Masterlist

You remember the day when Bucky proposed like it was yesterday.

The bright fluffy clouds littering the clear blue sky, birds flying freely. Your hand was in Bucky’s as he leads you further into the clearing of the field, you were about to say something when he stopped.

“Y/n I love you, I love everything about you. You save me every day, and every day of being with you is like a dream coming true. And I know we’ve only been dating for a year but when you know you know right?”

Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight of him dropping to one knee-

“Y/n L/n will you make me the happiest man in the universe by marrying me?”

You didn’t even answer. You launched yourself at him making both of you fall to the ground. Placing as many kisses as you possibly could all over his beautiful face, you nodded.

The cheers and applauses sounded from somewhere and when you looked you saw the whole team together with huge smiles on their faces.

You celebrated all throughout the night - at Tony’s expense - with your friends making speeches.

Your wedding day was perfect. Just like the day he proposed the sky was blue and the sun was shining, and just like that day, you got married on that field.

You were nervous and excited. You were marrying the man of your dreams and everything was running smoothly. Your dress fit perfectly and was gorgeous, Pepper told you that you looked like a princess and you had to admit, you kind of did.

Pepper was your maid of honour. Nat, Wanda, Maria and Carol were your bridesmaids- who all looked so beautiful in their dresses.

Steve was Bucky’s best man (obviously) Sam, Bruce, Thor and Vision were his groomsmen - all looking very handsome and dapper in their suits.

Clint was the one to give you away, it was a no brainier as he was like the father you never had.

Morgan bless her heart was the flower girl who was walked down by Peter.

And Tony was the one to marry you two. He was way to smug about that - you later found out that every time you two disagreed with him he would always say “don’t forget who married you two”.

Slowly walking down the makeshift isle, Clint clinging on to you like a lifeline your heart broke at seeing Bucky standing there with tears rolling down his cheeks. Clint hands you over to Bucky with a kiss to your cheek and whispered ‘I love you and I’m so proud of you’ in your ear, you whispered ‘I love you’ back. As Bucky was about to take both hands you wiped away the tears and smiled.

“First, I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this most happy of days. We are here to celebrate the perfect couple - other than myself and Pepper- that we all know and love, James and Y/n.” Everyone laughs at Tony’s comment and how serious his voice sounds.

“Sorry you two but I’m going off script. My sweet darling Y/n I have never seen you more happier since you’ve been with Bucky, and to you Bucky I have to say thank you, you’ve shown her what true love is.” Leaning closer towards Bucky he tries to whisper “You break her heart I won’t hesitate to kill you” Of course Bucky would get threaten on his wedding day, and of course everyone hears what Tony says as he’s holding a microphone. “Anyways, Y/n you helped get Bucky out of his shell and even though we didn’t get along at first it’s been nice seeing him find his footing, a pleasure to meet the man Steve knew a trillion years ago” Again, Tony makes everyone laugh including you and Bucky.

“Bucky you may read your vows”

“Y/n you’re my happiness, my best friend, my love. You’ve been by my side since day one, not once did you leave my side when I was in Wakanda, you help me sleep through the night just because you’re by my side. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I promise in front of everyone here today, to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us”

Tony tries and subtly wipe his tears, clearing his throat he looks to you “Y-Yn you may read your vows now”

“Bucky you’re my happiness, my best friend, my love. I admire your courage, your strength and your determination. I have never felt alone when you’re not by my side because you’re in my heart always. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I promise in front of everyone here today, to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us.”

This time Tony doesn’t bother to wipe the stream of tears away. “No one best try and object to this marriage or I’ll set the big guy on you” Nodding towards to Bruce who waves at everyone “Pepper and Steve please hand over the rings, James repeat after me- With this ring I, James, take you, Y/n, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.” Watching his lips repeat the words back your heart stills.

“Y/n repeat after me- With this ring I, Y/n, take you, James, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.”

“Do you James take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?

“I do”

“Do you Y/n take James to be your lawfully wedded husband?

“I do”

“By the authority vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss th-“ Bucky’s already pulling you in and kissing you before Tony’s even finished his sentence.

Everyone cheers and there’s not a dry eye around.

The rest of the night was beautiful, everyone taking it in turns to make speech’s. The first dance you two shared as husband and wife was to Stand By Me by Ben E. King.

Now two years later after that magical day your sat on the bathroom floor with Bucky by your side, staring down at the white pregnancy test.

“T-that says…”

“I’m pregnant Buck”.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

453 notes · View notes

emissaire · 1 year

Text

weak - jake x reader x neytiri

꒰꒰. WARNINGS/INCLUDES: fem. metkayina! reader, light angst, fluff ig, mutual pining, (assumed) unrequited feelings, hints of infidelity but not really lol, complicated relationships, idk but tension xD (lmk if i missed anything!!)

꒰꒰. SYNOPSIS: jake is weak when it comes to pretty girls. you're a pretty girl and neytiri thinks so too.

Jake Sully is many things: a husband, a father, a leader, a warrior— but most of all, he's a man. He's still just a man weak to pretty girls with pretty eyes and pretty smiles. Just a man who is so very weak when it comes to you. Sometimes, no matter how self-deprecating his thoughts are, shame fills his mind and corrodes his heart when the people proudly call him Toruk Makto, when his wife, his beautiful, beautiful Neytiri, looks at him like he decorated the sky with stars to shine upon the people. He's weak and he knows he doesn't deserve all of it.

The guilt always eats at him, of course it does. He's supposed to be a respectable man, a loyal husband, a good father to guide his children on the path towards Eywa's heart, but when it comes to you, he forgets who he is supposed to be. He loses all inhibitions when you flash him that mesmerizing smile, looking at him like he's on top of everything.

Yet he can't find it in himself to act upon his urges, at least fully, not when Neytiri's smile reflects your own: beautiful and so full of hope for what may come in the future. It doesn't help that you and Neytiri have become good friends after months of them seeking uturu within the Metkayina clan. You were among the first few people who accepted them wholeheartedly, the Olo'eyktan's younger sister who is as gentle as the waves in the ocean under a calm, soothing breeze.

"Staring off into the distance again, I see." Your voice cuts through the jumbled thoughts in his head, occupying the empty space next to him on the sand like you had occupied his mind.

"Would you rather have me stare at you instead?" Jake tilts his head to the side, a playful smirk sitting upon his lush lips, something he does unconsciously out of habit. Something you've noticed from the many times you've admired him from afar.

You don't say anything, flustered from his straightforward response, but you don't get to bask in the flirty nature of his words when Neytiri's figure comes into view, her long legs striding across the sandy beach with confidence and the allure only she has.

"Neytiri!" You giggle excitedly, moving to sit on your haunches to welcome the beauty in yours and Jake's lonely company of two.

Neytiri returns your eagerness by chuckling, deciding to sit in front of you and her husband. Her hand tucks a stray hair behind your ear before addressing the bright aura illuminating your face. "You seem awfully happy today, syulang."

"Just in a really good mood! Are the kids settling in well?" You ask the couple, eyes not knowing where to look— who to look at. Their demanding presence and piercing gazes make it hard to sit completely still under their watchful eyes. It's like they're looking at you through your skin… like they know what's currently running on your mind… like they know something you don't.

"They're doing great. I just hope the boys would run less into trouble." Jake clicks his tongue to show his disapproval but the way he speaks of them sounds so fatherly, it makes you laugh.

"They take after you, Ma'Jake." Neytiri comments, playfully kicking her husband's leg that somehow made its way in between her crossed legs, ending up in a chaste tangle of limbs.

There's a slight tingle within your belly, a little ache in your chest when you look at them— so domestic and close and in love. And the more you stare, the more the selfish part of you wishes you were with them both, a presence in between them to share their love with. Not wanting to be caught, you quickly avert your eyes somewhere, faraway into the ocean sky.

"I think it's because of Ao'nung constantly riling them up, but I swear, he's a good kid. Sometimes he just can't help but be a skxawng," you smile at them apologetically before continuing, "He's so much like my brother before he became Olo'eyktan."

Neytiri quickly shakes her head, not wanting you to feel guilty for something as shallow as children squabble. Her gentle palm runs along your arm before taking hold of your hand, the feeling so foreign but not unwelcome— something you've always longed for. It makes your heart flutter and for warmth to gush through your lovesick system. The light squeeze you give Neytiri's hand makes her smile at you almost adoringly, and you say almost because how could you assume something like that especially in the presence of her mate? It's mere wishful thinking that she'd return your pining.

Only if you knew how her heart thrums against her ribcage as if it wanted to be laid out and present itself to you. Neytiri had to force herself to let go of your hand because if she didn't, she would forget why you can only be admired from afar. It feels so wrong but so good to indulge in her yearning thoughts of you, let you see glimpses of her deepest feelings through the cracks of her facade.

To her, it doesn't matter if you're aware. As long as she gets to see you, really see you like how she does Jake, it's enough to satiate the constant need of being with you.

And as the water rise and fall along the shore, the sullied thoughts swarming your heads are washed away deep deep into the endless chasm of blue.

#livre: daisy #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader #jake x reader x neytiri #neytiri sully x reader #atwow angst #jake sully angst #neytiri angst #jake sully fluff #neytiri fluff

3K notes · View notes

alexisomnias · 1 year

Text

— HIS GAZE SOFTENED. . . | twst

⤷ his gaze softened trend with them!

characters | DORM LEADERs

✎ RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

his gaze softened, in a way that's such as a sweet dessert batter melting under an oven. hot heat spreading all over, looking at you as if your the sun he's left to dry in. no one could ever make him feel the way you make him feel, and perhaps for that he is thankful. a relax of the face only you could make him feel safe enough to do, all sides of himself on display for those with eyes who can see the invisible, and for you. a courageous notion it is to let such fondness slip.

✎ LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

his gaze softened, in a way that is indecipherable. to common folk, or any passerby it would be unnoticeable. Like a speck of dust the same color of the sky flying past the eye. but to those with the privilege of a microscope, its more seen then the sky itself. which in itself may be a silly phrase, but its nothing but true. for something that covers your complete vision, like the sky, you cannot see past it. and when you catch the soft gaze of a lion in your horizon, you should never look away.

✎ AZUL ASHENGROTTO

his gaze softened, or did it? it went by like a blink of an eye, a fish swimming by in a series of bubbles of all the same colors. a flurry of emotion, yet not counted or captured by your mind. and he, the man before you wishes to keep it that way. he will hold his affections down like a sunken ship until he wishes for you to find it. now, he feels as if these soft gazes from behind, watching your radiation from afar, unreachable like a sunset. he's content, more then content. he's not ready to break that.

✎ KALIM AL ASIM

his gaze softened, his eyes upturning in a way of fondness separate from his usual looks of radiance and sunshine. beauty and curiosity, joy. all of it common traits associated with the boy. but for now, his eyes didn't hold any of it, for now it shined like a bright ruby. shines like its his first time seeing the sun, glimmering brightly in the hands of someone who can take him far and wide, someone he would be willing to love, and for that a fond smile, much lighter then usual arises on his face.

✎ VIL SCHOENHEIT

his gaze softened, the hard jeweled eyes melting into a gooey shimmering oil of which you can see swirl, a whirlpool of emotions of which all mix into one. the professional actor he is, he's learned effortlessly on how to get that look of pure tenderness in his eyes as he looks at someone, but for those who have seen him with you. all those movies look photoshopped, as nothing can replace the genuinely in his eyes when they're glued to you.

✎ IDIA SHROUD

his gaze softened in a way he'd never imagine himself doing. idia knows the terminology from his own... content. and he never thought the gestures could be real, until he found himself looking upon you. oh so perfect you, someone he can't help but to adore ever so. and his eyes must be the window to his heart and soul, as every emotion he doesn't let out in fear of a stutter or mess is said concise and clearly through his golden yellow eyes.

✎ MALLEUS DRACONIA

his gaze softened, as if he was staring at the moonlight, or as if it was love at first sight. his usual stiff gaze ceased to exist when faced with you, his love. he held no shame as he stared at you as if you were the only one in the world, as if you were a birthday present for him. his gaze softened so, as his brows creased and a soft smile reached his face. nothing could replace the sight of your smile, and that in itself causes his body to relax and mind to slow. you make him so much happier, you are his stars on an empty night.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #malleus draconia x reader #idia shroud x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar character study #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #malleus draconia #idia shroud

2K notes · View notes

cookiepie111 · 6 months

Text

࿐Drink from the leche of sirens࿐

Synopsis - An injury könig comes across a lake and pretty nymph. Greek au könig x black nymph reader. No minors. Smut

Part 2 here

A/N-

An alternate to the fountain girl fic I wrote.

Think this might be the longest thing I've written. There is a Pinterest mood board here. Shout out to @cinnamonbunboii cause their comment inspired this fic. Please like and reblog!

Tags: @terra-713 @cinnamonbunboii @kneelingshadowsalome @bucca2

𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼

Deities are petty beings, twisting the hearts of humans when things don't go their way. König and his army may have won the battle but the casualties were high, he himself was beat and bruised. Its just a game to them and what do you do when you're losing and angry, you flip out, over turn the board and scatter the pieces. Think of a new way to win while your opponent garthers up their fallen pieces.

Scattered by the wind, what a cliche but it works, in all the commotion the soldiers were separated, placed in every which direction, on land, and both above and below the heavens. How petty all this because you lost. Somehow this wasn't the worst part of könig's day just the final cherry on top the shitty Sunday the gods gave him. His lover betrayed him, separated from his allies, battered and bruised and now there's nothing around him but trees. If not for the situation and burning rage in his heart he'd find the place quite peaceful, beautiful even, a nice place to die.

The deeper könig went into the forest the more the atmosphere changed, trees bend and shift, covering the sky above. The slow dance of leaves and bright glow of the fireflies. All of it leading up to a lake in the clearing. It all felt too to unnatural to be real, like sweet honey leading him a trap. Pressing into the wound at his side, the sharp pain brought him back to his senses, this isn't the place to lose one's mind he'd need to keep his wits about him if he wanted to live.

Even if he doesn't want to accept it there's no denying this would be a beautiful place to die. Even now he hates himself for still thinking of her, even at the moment of his death she still has place in his mind. she'd love this place, a backdrop like this would only accentuate her beauty more.

He walked close to the lake feeling the trees shift around him again. Laying back on the trees bark sword placed on the ground.

The waters surface ripples altering könig to the figure in the lake, its shape he couldn't quite make out. A head, a person maybe. This place could be cursed, it wouldn't surprise him. He stares back never removing his eyes from them watching as they stay just below the water.

If he's intruded on some beings land they'll just have to put up with him or force him out. He's got enough strength for one last fight. It is after all the way of the warrior to go out fighting he thinks, unsteady as he pushes off the tree bark.

You can't remember the last time you saw another human here, they often end up with your older sister although you doubt they've all been this large and imposing. Even injured he carries himself very well. The cut in his stomach only causing him to hunch over, you doubt the blood covering him is his own.

Once at the water's edge the thoughts of battle quickly die down. It a woman in the water, human she is not but a woman still. The skin of human women doesn't glow or shine. Their skin isn't adorned with scales of greans and blue hues around their eyes nor does their hair shift and swirl like small currents atop the waters surface like yours. No those features that were that of nymph. Women of nature blessed with great beauty. And unfortunately for könig drowners of men.

His odds are about 50/50 he wouldn't drown so easily but that wasn't a risk he wanted to take, with his body is failing him now, heavy breaths as he falls back to the ground. Eyes still on the nymph at his front, she makes no move, just watching.

It takes a few moments for her to move a few more heavy breaths and groans from könig for her to lift from the water.

When she comes out to meet him she bare. Thin pieces of fabric dropping over her waist and chest slipping under her right breast, past her womanhood, more like an accessory one would add cause they thought it looked nice than a piece of clothing. Thick curly hair swirling around her body

To think he could still get hard at a time like this.

Drowning doesn't seem so bad now if it is by her hand.Maybe a kiss from them would send him peaceful into the afterlife.

She stood over him head tilling side from side,trying to figure the man out. He hasn't said anything, he doesn't shout or draw his sword like the other men she's seen. He's also taller, bigger, more.... solid than other men, gracing a hand down his arm. Kneeling beside him, the injury is worse than she thought. did one of the gods bring him here? Or did he just wonder here himself? You held your chin swaying on your heels deep in thought

König felt delirious, he's injured, lost and now there's a pretty nymph circling round, staring, pocking and prodding at him. If this was any other situation he'd take her in the moment. Hull her over his shoulder and fuck her till scream or blesses him, gives him heavenly children. But he's tired and weak, he can do nothing but watch as she frees his egear cock from his tunic.

He's never felt like this before, grunting and wincing under her touch. He's sure she's sucking the energy out of him. Maybe its the bloodloss maybe it the fire at the groin the licking and kissing along his shaft causing the dizziness in him, eyes shut tight and panting as he comes closer to the edge but the release never comes. feeling her tongue stroke the entire length of him as she comes up.

The next moment for könig were pure bliss, something straight out of dream. To have her now Straddling him bouncing so eagerly on his cock, was a feeling he could never forget. The sweet stretch as she sank. It was frustrating not being able to touch her, She didn't move fast enough not for könig liking. He was too weak to set the pace, his hand only able to rest on the plush of her hip. Even if she used him like a toy könig couldn't help but throw his head back in pleasure at the squeeze of her soft walls.

Her hands explored the body under her, digging into the wounds, ignoring his hisses and complaints, pushing him back down before he finds the strength to push her off. It felt hot then numb, as she dug into his wounds.

With new found strength he bucked his hips, against her. The sound of their love making filling the forest air, his hands firmly at her hips to move her at a pace he found fit, fast and messy before emptying himself inside her.

When he finally came back down from the high he finds her form shake and ripple above him. The words die on his tongue, as her form melts down, and fades away into the water

He gets up able without stumbling this time walking straight finding himself back at the army base. König's honestly not sure if that really happened or if he was just crazy. He has nothing to show for the whole ordeal to prove it was real. He knows on the brink of the death the mind can conger all sorts of things to keep one alive but nothing could explain sleeping with a water nymph. he'd like to think he wasn't deranged...To imagine sleeping with being that would normally drown you but...

The only evidence he had was his body. The open wound in his stomach gone, his whole body intact even stronger than before. He'll think about this alot after wondering if you were really real. It would be best to get you out of his mind. Yet he sees you in the lakes and bodies of water and in the faces of women passing him by

You on the other hand couldn't believe your luck! Showing off the keepsake you'd got from the soldiers.

Red bracelet shining under the sun as you turned it on your wrist to show off to your sisters. Giggling and splashing round the waters edge. You're so lucky such a strong and handsome man!

"Wow what's his name".... "You did get his name right???" ... you didn't get his name. You didn't get his name! And honestly you're not sure which army he's with you can't tell the difference between the armours

500 notes · View notes

montereybayaquarium · 1 year

Text

🎵 Twinkle, twinkle small bat star. Those tiny feet help you walk far! 🎵

Tube feet are noodle-like appendages with tiny suction cup ends that are characteristic of the critters in the phylum Echinodermata—sea stars, urchins, sand dollars, and sea cucumbers. Those delightfully dainty feet are responsible for helping stars cruise along the seafloor, prying open shelled prey, and assisting in respiration.

Sea stars pull water into their bodies through a hole on the top (the side opposite of the tube feet). By changing the water pressure in their bodies via this hole, called the madreporite, they can move their dozens of nifty noodle limbs.

While our shooting stars may not be as swift as those in the sky, we shore think they shine bright!

#monterey bay aquarium #wednesday's got us seaing stars #toetally tubular feet #nanananananana bat star

1K notes · View notes

cypressmoons · 7 months

Text

neuvillette thinks he is losing his mind.

he was perpetually alone, his figure an aquamarine blur that fades into the hustle and bustle of the city, his face only visible when he is perched upon the throne during a trial.

the chief justice didn’t think there is a need for the people of fontaine to know anything else to him besides his title and the law he has sworn to uphold. he isn’t even sure himself if there is anything else to know about him, really. the only time people have seen him outside the courtroom and not making a beeline to his residence was when he hosted a water-tasting party, to which people lauded his sharp perception of water’s different tastes but few words were uttered beyond that.

he didn’t think there is a need for personal connections, either. making any sort of acquaintance will only sway his judgement, taint his pristine reputation, and risk the absolute supremacy of law and justice. not a single soul in fontaine - no, in all of teyvat, has even heard of his first name. what is a name, if not something to make a personal connection with? just chief justice neuvillette will do, please.

he didn’t have much understanding of the concept of “the self”. he may as well be synonymous to the law itself, not merely a person chosen to uphold it, a “phase in his career”, as he says. what is the point of self awareness, when all is eventually doomed to be buried by their own sins?

the undisturbed water is most peaceful as a mirror, a tapestry of liquid silk that one finds their own reflections in. but one ripple will soon turn into more, and before he knows it, his figure blurs and fades into oblivion, justice and equity long buried beneath the surface. humans, to him, are like droplets of water that disturb that serene, almost surreal peace.

but with you, he feels the claws of want, desperation, desire, jealousy, and possessiveness scratching at his very core. he has never felt such strong emotions, let alone so many of them all at once, that he briefly considered the possibility that he has been disintegrated by the primordial sea water and reduced to a puddle.

because how could someone so selfless, so equitable, so unfalteringly composed be in love?

he does not try to understand humans. he didn’t find the necessity in it, but now he is dying to know more. he wants to memorize the way you talk, the way you move, the way you so effortlessly light up the entire room and the way you so perfectly fit against him. he’s mesmerized. he wants to know every last thing about your entire existence, the highs and lows and everything in between, he wants to engrave them into his mind lest the infinity of time washes it away.

the itchiness in his heart does not fade with every passing moment. if anything, they grow stronger, like an invisible string pulling him towards you and he finds his feet leading him to your door once more. gloved knuckles tapping at the wood, the hollow sound quickly replaced by the excited shuffle of your footsteps and before he knows it, you’ve appeared before him, basked in glorious sunlight and neuvillette feels as if all his sins have been washed away.

no, he doesn’t just want you in his life. he needs you like a fish needs water, like a bird needs the sky, like the people of fontaine need their impartial iudex.

from then on, his shadow blurs a little slower on the crowded streets, aquamarine accompanied by bright shades of pinks, purples, and yellows, the sparkling stone hanging on your necklace matching the tie pin on his cravat. but if it were up to him, he’d dress you in the finest shades of blue, just so the entire world knows you’re his, and he’s yours.

to you, he’s not monsieur neuvillette, chief justice and iudex of fontaine. though the trials continue as normal and verdicts continue to be delivered impartially, any sharp-eyed person would soon notice the sun shining brighter and rainy days shorter.

he has lived thousands of years sealed inside a bubble that no one dared breaking, in its crystalline confinement even as winter turned into spring, as pages of the calendar are flipped and flipped again. human emotions are nothing but a distraction, he told himself, the law did not need such distractions and biases.

perhaps he found human emotion superfluous because he hadn’t known you yet.

under the sheets after the night falls, when his fingers are intertwined with yours, when your skin is bathing in the ivory moonlight, his name tumbles past your lips in a soft whisper, and he catches it with his own. the name that not a single soul has uttered in millennia, now a living proof of his devotion to you.

if humans are ripples to the water's surface, then let you be an entire storm that turns his world upside down.

masterlist

#moon’s writings 🔖#favoniuslibrary #i just finished the archon quest and i am in LOVE with this man #literally step on me pls (respectfully)#genshin impact #genshin x reader #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvilette genshin

439 notes · View notes

clouds-by-me · 7 months

Text

ok but what if sagau but the creator!reader actually acts like how they expect the creator to act. Like imagine…

You open your eyes, and blink. The brightness of the world being something you hadn’t seen in a long, after who knows how long of your eyes being closed, glued shut, the opening of your eyes again hurt ever so slightly.

You looked around, you stood on a large platform, seemingly in the sky. A star shape with circles surrounding it, was engraved in the ground, and you stood in the center. You stood in a glowing purple goo puddle, it covered the bottom of your shoes, and slowly moved towards you with every passing second. You looked up, now seeing every body before you, all bowed at your feet.

You smiled, pleasantly at them. Your creations.

“You may now stand.” Though not loud, you were heard. Your archons all stood, now looking at your figure in awe. It was you, their grace, their creator. “What has happened while i was away? Teyvat does not look the same…”

Before anyone else, Zhongli spoke. “The land has changed, your grace. You’ve been asleep for eons. There’s been wars and-“ you cut him off.

“War? War over what? What have you to fight over? Have I not given you all of what you want and need?” You look away, looking at the land, the way everything looked, it was so beautiful…

“Your grace, people are power hungry, and greedy, awfully so in fact.” You hummed in acknowledgement, looking at them. By now the glowing goo was gone, and you walked to to the group, standing in front of Venti first. You wrapped your arms around him, your hands finding his back. Your fingers gazed his back as if looking for something. Not before long, when you reached the spot between his shoulder blades, you’d found what you were looking for. Venti smiled, and giggled blissfully, when you touched the anemo sigil.

A gust of wind blew at the contact.

Then you continued to repeat this process with each of the archons. On zhongli’s chest, on the back of Ei’s neck, nahida’s right wrist, behind furina left ear, the pyro archons left shoulder, and the Coro archons cheek just next to her eye.

You take a step back, to look at all of them. You smiled at them, at that moment the sun that was setting in the background shined a little brighter. The orange and pinks of the sky reflected off the clouds, and the wind flowed. Various of kinds of flowers floated on the wind gracefully.

The group started at you, hearts beating in their chest, as they watched you seemingly glow in the setting sun’s raise.

As you look at them, you see a flicker to someone they used to be, a version of themselves that you haven’t seen in a long time. For a second they were something, a group from long ago, your archons that you knew. The ones you made. When they go back to their present form, you see what they’ve become.

They’re different. New. Not what you expected, but the change was nice, and they changed in such different ways. The change was welcomed, and warm.

“My archons, oh how I’ve missed you so.”

#x reader #gn reader #reader insert #genshin impact #genshin #genshin sagau #sagau x reader #creator! reader #genshin venti #genshin impact venti #zhongli #hydro archon #genshin archon #furina #anemo archon #geo archon

507 notes · View notes

mikareo · 2 months

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?”

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

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

“What do you think?”

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

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

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

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

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

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

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

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

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that.

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

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

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

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

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

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

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

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’?

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

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

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

God, he’s so bad at flirting.

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

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

You’ve left your entire bag this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hello. You know me.’

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

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

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

He’s so bad at this.

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

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

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so.

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

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

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

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

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.”

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

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

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

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

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now.

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

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

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

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

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything.

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

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

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

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

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

Oh God, he made it worse.

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

How the hell are you so fast?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Grey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

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

Suguru hates him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s counting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

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

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

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

“You love your art, and I love you.”

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

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

…and then a tear falls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel.

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

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

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

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

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

…a kiss.

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

This is a fancy-ass venue.

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

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

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

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

“She’s talented isn’t she?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking.

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

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

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

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

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

You said the same thing when you first met.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sees himself.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

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

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much.

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

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

"I love you."

380 notes · View notes