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paracosmic-murdock · 5 months

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these colors fade for you only ; benedict bridgerton x reader (part i)

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: one thing worse than seeing your enemy often was living under the same roof, certainly, and you and benedict suffered from that unfortunate condition. not even the eleven years you've slept separated by a thin wall only helped you overcome that hatred, you would always hate each other. or not really, because it's too definite to say something as such when a few hours could change the meaning of until the end of time.

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, sexual tension, very inappropriate behavior for the 1810s, colin bridgerton being a little shit, two people who hate each other locked in a room, what could possibly go wrong?, nude paintings, implied smut, song: sunlight (hozier)

word count: 3.2K

❁ part ii

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

One thing about Benedict Bridgerton is how you could ruin even the best of days for him.

One thing about you is how much you loved to make him mad and see the frustration on his face.

Another thing about Benedict Bridgerton is how pathetically obsessed he was with insulting you in any chance he gets.

Another thing about you is how you were willing to do absolutely anything to bother him or tease him.

You acted like children: always arguing, always making fun of each other, always making everyone at Bridgerton House completely insane with your bickering the entire day.

One thing was having to see your enemy often. One way worse was living under the same roof.

Eleven years ago, your parents had an accident, and you have lived with the Bridgertons ever since, as your mother was Violet Bridgerton's best friend since childhood.

Devastated for years, you accompanied the Bridgertons in their grief for Edmund, which was what ultimately gave you strength to go on with your life. All of you.

But that was the very same thing that ignited your rivalry with the second Bridgerton: your enthusiasm would collide with his mourning and harsh words coming out of his mouth you had no will to tolerate.

It began with his insults to you, though you knew he didn't mean to be rude, and it was all his grief doing the talk. When you couldn't tolerate it anymore, you started insulting him back.

Then, Benedict would play pranks that went too far, and you would burn his sketches in the chimney.

Benedict started sabotaging any chance you could get to find a suitor and you would spread silly rumors about his performance in the bedroom with his friends from the Academy.

Thanks to his efforts, not even being named Diamond of the Season was enough for you to find a husband, which was already making you feel like a failure, not to mention a burden to the Bridgertons. Benedict's fault also.

“Anthony, has he come back?”

He gave you a pitiful look. “I am sorry, Y/N, but I spoke to Lord Raeken to ask him his intentions, and he said he was not interested in marrying you.”

“What?” You gasped. “But everything was going so well! He- he invited us for dinner last week! His mother and Aunt Violet befriended each other even!”

“You will not like what I am going to say.” Anthony anticipated, and you already knew whose fault it was.

“It was Benedict?! Again?!”

Anthony nodded. “I talked to him… It was a threat. He said he would fix it, and I promise you that Lord Raeken will propose to you. If not, he is not worthy of you, and that is all.”

“Nobody is worthy of me, then? He… ruined it with the Duke of Sussex, with Lord Leclerc, with the Count-, I… Why does he keep doing this, Anthony?” You whimpered. You didn't even notice when you started crying, but before anything happened, he hugged you tightly. “Has he not tormented me enough already?”

The eldest Bridgerton knew all too well of your inner motives to hate each other, but decided not to meddle in your war anymore unless it was a case as delicate as this.

“Promise me you will not ruin his latest painting, Y/N,” he begged. “I am trying to work on a peace accord between the two of you, so as long as you stop doing things to him, he will stop messing with you.”

You sighed. “If I do not marry this season, I will have no other choice but to find a job as a governess.”

“Why do you even say that?” He frowned.

“Because it has been eleven years of you sponsoring me, and I believe that it is too much time.”

“You think you are a burden for us?” Anthony asked, and your silence answered. “The day you leave us will be one of the saddest for us Bridgertons, Y/N. You are like our sister, and we love you and care about you as such. Perhaps it has not worked before, but do you really believe that a man that loves you will let none other than Benedict intimidate him?”

“Gregory is more threatening than him,” you noted. “And those dimples could melt the coldest of hearts!”

Anthony smiled. “Do not think too much of it. We shall find you a husband before the season ends.”

“Alright.”

“Now go, I believe Colin is expecting you, and I have many things to do.”

“Sure thing.” you replied.

Once you were out of his office, you gathered the baby blue skirt and ran to Benedict's studio. There, you saw the painting Anthony begged you not to ruin.

It was a woman's naked figure, quite a graceful one. And it was beautifully portrayed.

It would be a shame for it to be ruined. Thank God you did not promise Anthony a thing.

It was still wet, so it was not difficult to use other colors and mix them with the paint so it would look different. You also spilled droplets of red and signed your name on the painting where he had his.

Then, you cleaned your hands and ran to the door.

“Colin!” you exclaimed, and he turned around. “We are going to find Benedict right now.”

He frowned, annoyed. “What happened now?”

“Lord Raeken won't marry me for something Benedict did. Now I must speak to him.”

“It is getting late. We will not get to the tailor in time if we go to Benedict first.”

“Please?” You begged Colin. “I can get on my knees if you wish, but please…”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Alright, let's- oh, there he is!”

You looked in the same direction as him and noticed Benedict getting home. He seemed mad, and your face lost all its life when you thought of what could happen when he saw his painting ruined by you.

“Let's get out of here, Colin…” you muttered once Benedict passed you without even saying hello.

“Why? Benedict is here if you wish to talk to him.”

“It might not be a great time right now…”

“Why?”

“Y/N, I swear to God!”

“Because…” You gave Colin a sheepish look at Benedict's scream.

“What did you do?”

“He started it!”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Did you-”

“Come inside right now!” Benedict yelled once he reached the door. “I am dead serious.”

You sighed, walking next to Colin. “He is going to kill me, Colin.”

“You do not know that.”

“I did something bad.”

“So did he.”

You pursed your lips. “Tell Daphne that only Francesca is a good fit to replace me as Auggie's godmother once I die.”

“Do not say that.”

“What on Earth were you thinking?!”

“What on Earth were you thinking?!” You mimicked him, anger coming to surface again as you reached his studio.

“This was an assignment for tomorrow morning!”

“Well, Lord Raeken was my whole future, Benedict!” you yelled back.

“Look at it! It is ruined!”

Colin was annoyed enough of your fights, and seeing the keys was enough for him to know there was only one solution.

So he did it and thought that you would either kill each other or make amends.

The third Bridgerton exited the room quietly and thanked your bickering for being distracting enough so you did not notice when he closed the door and locked it from outside.

“What are you doing?” Anthony asked when he saw Colin lock the door.

“Forcing those two to reconcile.”

The eldest brother chuckled. “Best of luck with that.”

“I know they will get over it,” he said, sitting on the floor next to the door. “I shall stay here even if it takes me the whole night.”

Anthony joined him. “This should be fun.”

“I do not care if it is ruined, Benedict… you can ruin my future but you draw a line at ruined paintings?!”

“Do you not know how important my career is for me?! You can find another suitor anytime!”

You groaned. “This is my third season, and I have not found a husband! I was the Diamond of my first Season, Benedict! And you have been ruining all of them for me!”

“I have not ruined anything. They simply are not a good fit for the family!”

“I am done listening to you.” You walked away from him and tried, in vain, to open the door.

After looking around, you noticed Colin was supposed to be in the room with you but he wasn't.

“Colin Bridgerton, open this door right now!” You banged the door, making him flinch. “Someone, open the door! We are locked in here!”

Benedict believed you simply weren't strong enough to open it, so he joined you trying to open it but couldn't while his brothers hid their laughter. He looked for the keys but couldn't find them either.

“Colin must have taken the keys,” he noted.

You sighed tiredly. “Somebody open the door! Please, we are trapped!”

“Open the door! Colin!”

“They will not let us out.” you told him.

“Perhaps we should just say we made amends and they will open the door.”

“Do you think he is an idiot? Only a fool would believe you and I could reach an agreement overnight, let alone the ten minutes we have been here.”

He groaned, giving up on escaping the room and returning to the conflict. “How are you so blind, Y/N? How can you fail to see that they are not right for the family?”

“I beg your pardon?! You do not even know them!”

“Is that so?” he questioned, getting closer to you. “Lord Leclerc, a widower who had lovers left and right while his late wife was terribly ill, the Duke of Sussex is a dull rat, and the Count had three illegitimate children by the time he set foot on Mayfair. They are not good people for us.”

“If that is what worries you so, I can leave forever after I marry!”

“Do you truly think this family will survive a week without seeing you? Mother is devastated at Daphne's absence… yours would kill her.”

You rolled your eyes. “We are not even a real family, are we? I am not related to you, I am a mere burden, so why do you not take any of them as your chance to get rid of me?”

“I did not mean that. Stop bringing it to the table each time it suits your purpose to manipulate me.”

“I could seriously kill you with my bare hands right now, Benedict…” you spoke, outraged. “What is it that I did for you to hate me so much?!”

“It is not worth talking about that now.”

“Why are you like this with me, Benedict? At this point, I would marry just about any man who could take me away from you.”

His heart skipped a beat. “We can't just let you marry anyone, alright?”

“Why do you even care?!”

“Because I cannot let you go with someone I do not trust…”

“What will it even take for you to trust any of them?”

“I could never trust them, Y/N, because I can't trust in someone who does not love you devotedly and absolutely.”

Your lips formed a line of disdain at his words. “How would you even know they don't if you do not give them the chance to truly get to me?”

“Because no one does.”

“Wow,” you laughed bitterly. “Thanks for reminding me how unlovable I am.”

“You do not understand, Y/N.”

“Explain it to me, then!” You asked, you begged him.

“No one does it like I do, my goodness!” he screamed, and you were sure it echoed through the whole floor.

You choked on your own spit at his confession, and at the other side of the door, Colin and Anthony looked at each other completely flabbergasted.

“We should leave.” Anthony whispered. “Unlock the door.”

Colin nodded. “I agree, we should let them out.”

Anthony nodded and left, but Colin was determined.

He certainly did not unlock the door.

“What?” you asked in almost a whisper.

Benedict seemed surprised at his own words, as if he had spoken from ignorance because… it couldn't be real, could it? He couldn't be in love with you.

“I…”

“Benedict…”

“You are my family,” he ‘corrected’ himself. “Conflict in families is not uncommon. It is fine. I care about you, and I… we do not want you to be the wife of a man that does not deserve you, Y/N. You are sunlight, and they are nothing but a gray sky.”

You breathed out shakily, looking at his blue eyes deeply, feeling like you had never seen such blue in your entire life. “I am sorry about your painting.”

“It is alright, I will try to fix it; maybe if Colin lets us out, I can go back to the Academy before it is too late. Find a model-”

“Is that what you need? A model?”

Benedict cleared his throat, guessing where it was going, though scared of it. “Yes, but it should not be difficult to find one at the Academy.”

“We will not be let out,” you reminded him and gave it all a careful thought.

You were aware it wasn't right. He was a man, and you were a woman who was not married to him. He must not see you naked under any circumstances, but again… he saved you from those men who weren't worth it, and you paid him by ruining his artwork. It was not fair, so you owed him.

You could break the rules a little. After all, you were locked in a room for God only knows how long.

So you nodded and started undressing. “I could model for you if that is what you need.”

“What? Do not, I-”

“What is the difference between that woman and I?”

Benedict's brain told him to stop you. It was definitely not right for a lady like you to be seen naked before marriage. Worse than that, be painted.

“Y/N…”

“Am I not interesting enough to paint, Benedict?” you questioned as your dress reached the floor. “I just wish to make up for what I did.”

You started undoing your corset under his careful eyes.

“If what worries you is my identity, I believe you could use the other model's face,” you added once the corset was discarded and your bosom fully exposed to him. “It is intact in your painting.”

“I am afraid your grace cannot be compared.”

You exhaled nervously when your shaking hands reached the beginning of your underpants. “Then make justice to it.”

Finally, you stood completely naked before him and didn't dare to be modest about it.

“Paint me.”

You walked to the couch and laid in a similar position as the model in his painting.

“I cannot ask that of you.” He tried one last time, gathering all the strength in his body… You were a lady, and he was a gentleman; no matter how rare that would be of him to stop you. It was not right, but what a sight he had before him.

“Then it is good that I offered.” you refuted.

He doubted for longer than he is willing to admit, but ultimately approached you with hesitant steps.

“Allow me,” he whispered as he reached you. You nodded, and he accommodated your head so you would be looking up at the ceiling and your hands to cover what could be seen of your face to his art's convenience delicately. His touch, hot, caused goosebumps on your skin. A gasp left your lips. “You truly are beautiful.”

“Thank you.” you mumbled.

Benedict returned to the canvas, telling himself he could do this.

He shouldn't.

But if your face wouldn't be seen, it would do no harm. Only you and him would know it's you.

A few hours had passed and the night had fallen. It was difficult to paint with the growing darkness hiding your features, so he left his piece for a second to find some candles.

Before he returned to the canvas, you spoke. “Am I doing it well?”

“You certainly are,” he praised you. “A natural indeed.”

You had goosebumps once again.

What is wrong with me?, you asked yourself.

How could Benedict, of all people, make you feel like this? How could he control the speed of your heartbeat with mere words? How could he turn your skin into a burning mess that acted as if it was freezing? How could he make your hands sweat each time he got closer? How could he make you forget how much you despised him after he said he loved you?

How did he love you? He said you were family, but he did not dare to call you a sister like his siblings always do. No, this was a different kind of love: the kind of love you read about in the romance novels you have stolen from his library, because that is the way you were feeling near his presence, under his stare, at his touch.

“Come here,” you commanded long before you thought what you would say. He complied, flying to you like a moth to a flame, but you were sunlight: billions of times more powerful, and you could consume him long before he dared to reach you. He felt like a moth with wigs made of wax, melting with each step that brought him close to you. Gladly. “How do you love me, Benedict?”

“What?”

It was unbelievable that a man of words like him could act so clueless, but there he was. Oblivious to your passion, not to mention his.

“I have always been your Mama's daughter and your brothers and sisters' sister. But I have never been yours,” you mentioned. “Why, if you love me so?”

“Y/N…” His hand caressed your face, and you took the other to put it on your left breast where he could feel your heart beating.

“Kiss me if what my beating heart says about your love is true.” It was an order, and that heart of yours was certainly right.

And right then, he knew he was careless of his own insignificance. He would fly as high as the melting wax allowed him to and fall as deep into the ocean as his own weight imposed.

He could drown and disappear, live and die for this moment. For all the frustration that has haunted him all those years of loathing and yearning. For his sunlight, for you.

He kissed you, and you returned the kiss as if your lips had ever touched others before.

They haven't.

They shouldn't.

But they are now.

It was an angry kiss. Wet, carnal, breathless, hot, feral, everything.

His lips did not caress yours or danced with yours, no; they fought and devoured yours, and you gave in.

It was exquisite but depraved in a way you couldn't bring yourself to explain, and you absolutely loved it.

Once the kiss ended, you were the first to talk. “Take it all off.”

He breathed out, nerves he does not recall to have ever felt scared his determination away.

He felt as pathetic as those men he threatened to ruin if they were to set foot in the same room as you ever again, and he took off his clothes with the urgency of a task set by the scary educator of his childhood.

You looked at him, took it all in, and gave him space to lay beside you.

“It's just us, Benedict…” you let out, your breath blending with his. “You can love me now.”

His cue.

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matrixbearer2024 · 3 months

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I Hate Mondays

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: This interlude was probably WAAAAAY overdue- but here it is! I was thinking of how to continue though eventually decided to let Vox kind of just deal with the whiplash of his chill downtime with you and his chaotic somewhat unhealthy workplace. I didn't want to really include conflict, just him again dealing with things he has come to realize but not entirely accept- it's Vox, when will he actually genuinely accept that he'd fallen fast and fallen hard for someone because they treated him like a decent human being? Either way, it's mostly fluffy stuff for now before I add your interlude idea requests into the story soon :)

A/N: I've also seen people sometimes write Vox with a little bit of an impostor syndrome, so a lot of his doubts and anxieties will kind of be reflected in this interlude. It'll all be okay though I promise! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy and happy reading!

There's a saying that everyone hates Mondays.

Manic mondays, monday blues, monday's monster, etc.

And for Vox, after the weekend he's had with you?

That saying couldn't have been more true.

From a relaxed and chill two days, back into an insanely stressful and borderline chaotic work environment.

And as he stared at the stack of documents in front of him-

He didn't even want to begin.

The overlord would've repeatedly hit his head against the table if it didn't risk cracking his screen.

The last thing he needed was to worry you because of something stupid.

"VOX! I NEED YOUR HELP WITH THIS!"

"VOX! I NEED YOU TO DO THAT!"

"VOX! GIVE ME THIS THING!"

"VOX!"

Left, right and center-

His colleagues were definitely not short of any demands.

And it was slowly driving him insane from frustration.

They could be asking quite literally anybody else, but no.

They just had to bother him.

And the overlord was just in no mood to deal with the chaos right now.

With his packed schedule full of broadcasts and meetings-

Vox's patience was really running thin.

It got to the point where simply chose to ignore the other Vees after a while.

Not responding to their calls or texts as he holed himself up in his monitor room.

Was his daily life really this crazy?

It's such a jarring change from how he felt like during that weekend with you-

So much so that he was really having trouble believing it.

Still, he threw himself into work.

As the king of technology in pentagram city often would-

And he completely lost track of time.

So after a while just staring and tabulating some analytics on the many screens in front of him-

The last thing he expected to see was a notification from your chat to pop up.

"Hey, how you feeling? You seemed kinda off on your broadcast earlier."

Vox wasn't thinking of replying to you, he only noticed what he'd done after a reply was sent anyway.

"Color me surprised, I didn't think anyone would notice!"

He really had to stop reacting to you first and just think about it.

Still, his fingers were already flying across the keyboard before he could stop them.

"Vox, it's me. Of course I would notice. Did something happen?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary doll, just getting used to the grind again."

He cringed slightly reading that message over, did he really just send that to you?

You could be laughing at his poor attempt of using new slang for all he knew.

"That is how you use that word right?"

"Yeah it is lol. Can you drop by the hotel later when you're free? I know you're busy so it's okay whenever."

That made his heart skip a beat, something the overlord slightly berated himself for.

Sure, he'd come to the realization that he did in fact love you to some degree.

But it's not without clear hesitation.

He could very well be mistaken anyway.

You were just... friendly like that.

Yeah. Friendly.

"Why'd you ask? Miss me already dollface?"

"Don't be an idiot. I just wanna hang out with you."

Vox found himself needing to read your message over a few times after you sent that.

He still couldn't quite understand why you liked spending so much time with him.

Time was valuable and time was money.

At least in the literal sense when it came to his occupation.

And still you just wanted to spend yours with him.

Him.

No wonder Alastor made a jab at you having a bad taste in companions.

He was... not really the best in hindsight.

Not that he'd ever admit that fact, his pride wouldn't allow it.

But in regards to you?

You definitely deserved better than what you got.

"Besides, you need to take breaks from your work every now and then. Vel's been texting me nonstop that you already look like shit."

The overlord couldn't help but chuckle from the irony of that statement.

Velvette, though not as much as a certain moth, still contributed to his stressful day.

But it was still nowhere near as bad.

Vox dreaded having to go out and deal with the irate pimp again.

Another tantrum, maybe a screaming fest even?

His mood was souring even more just thinking about it.

"Actually, did you eat anything at all today? Or do you just skip your meals you workaholic TV demon?"

"That's pretty rude dollface."

"Am I wrong though? Anyway, answer the question Samsung."

Now how should he answer this?

It took one glance at his internal clock to confirm he'd actually skipped both breakfast and lunch.

Well, he didn't think you'd count just drinking coffee a good breakfast.

Would you really get upset enough to storm Vee tower if he replied honestly?

Actually you would- Vox wouldn't put it against your chaotic nature-

Hm... maybe he could lie to you just this once.

"I'm fine doll, seriously. Don't worry about it."

The overlord tiredly sighed.

He had another broadcast in a few minutes, whether or not he felt up to it.

It didn't help that there was this... heavy feeling in his gut that wasn't there earlier.

Was he feeling guilty...?

For lying to you?

And it wasn't even really a lie, just- an omission of some details.

A hand flew up to cover his screen, kind of like a facepalm.

You really have changed him, and he didn't catch it until too late.

"Vox, I worry about you regardless. When you throw your job into it as well, then all the more I'm concerned that you're not taking good care of yourself. I know what it's like to get lost in responsibilities, just... be more mindful of yourself okay?"

For someone who wasn't supposed to care, wasn't supposed to get close to anyone unless it had advantages-

The overlord couldn't help but feel genuinely touched reading your message.

Sure, you'd sent similar things before and even told him outright at times-

But it always had the same effect.

You cared about him, probably to the extent he unknowingly did for you.

Whether it was intentional or not, he found himself just a little bit happier because of it.

Most of the world he'd built up around himself was fake anyway, smiles and all.

So this little shot of genuine care...

Really struck him.

Though just as that train of thought went and left the station-

Vox just as quickly put a stop to it.

That fuzzy feeling in his chest had bloomed once again and he wanted none of it.

Well, more like he couldn't bring himself to continue entertaining it.

It was probably fine when the both of you were simply oblivious.

But now he felt like he needed to make a conscious effort to stop falling for you more.

Lest he risk wrecking everything just because he'd guessed wrong.

What would you see in a guy like him anyway?

"I will, thanks dollface. Anyway, I have a broadcast in a few minutes so I'm afraid I'll have to cut this short."

"It's fine go and do what you need to do, just drop by any time you need to okay? I'll be here."

Your flatscreen companion couldn't help but smile from your words.

Again, the way you treated him was just so... different from everything he was used to.

His tech empire, his company, his power and status-

It didn't matter to you.

Not at all when you were alive, and it clearly even carried over now that you were here.

How you could be so nonchalant about everything, Vox wouldn't ever understand.

Nor would he probably be able to comprehend.

But that wasn't really much of an issue compared to other things he felt towards you.

"I will. Thanks doll."

With that reply, the overlord went and got ready for his final broadcast of the day.

And it went as one would've expected.

Totally sideways off the rails and into a burning trash heap.

Fucking Mondays.

The broadcast itself would seem fine to the viewers, but behind the cameras?

It was practically a shitfest cranked up to eleven.

The cameras were rolling as usual and Vox was playing up his typical telecaster charm-

When Valentino decided to show up and throw a hissy fit then and there.

Sure, the viewers saw none of the chaos or madness-

But you knew something was up with your TV headed companion when his smile looked a little bit too strained on air.

It's not something everyone else would notice, but you would.

You always did.

And you were proven right when you heard some knocking on glass.

Ah.

There he was.

Vox was somehow sitting on one of the many ledges and railings that encompassed the hotel, it just so happens that this one was close to your room.

Didn't his broadcast just air?

You quickly shook off the surprise and confusion to open the window.

"Vox? What are you-"

"It's been a long day, wasn't in the mood to see the others. Just you."

"Then get in here, wanna talk about it?"

When your companion shook his head, that's when you knew his day was probably upside down when it came to anything going right.

Not to mention that for once, he actually dropped by and looked quite as bad as he felt.

His bow tie was undone, his shirt was untucked and messy-

Plus his coat and striped vest were nowhere to be seen.

Probably left at the tower you'd guess.

"Dude, you look like shit."

Vox rolled his eyes at you with a chuckle, moving to sit down on the floor while leaning back against the edge of your bed.

You would've told him to just sit on the mattress itself- but he probably wanted to lean on something so you just joined him.

"I've been told, almost nothing went right today."

"Guess that's why they call it a manic Monday huh?"

You both shared an odd look before laughing.

Of course it would be the stupid joke to lighten the mood.

But that was always how you both broke the ice, and if it works- it works.

"Perhaps, but I don't think it was ever this tiring before."

You simply shrugged, leaning your head on his shoulder and staring out in front of you.

Vox subconsciously moved an arm around you when he did.

He was way too tired to really care or stop himself though.

"Maybe it never was, or maybe you just got used to it. Vel did tell me that you never really took a break before you met me."

"Seriously? What else does she spill about me then?"

"Nothing too important, just that you're a whole lot different from how you were two years ago."

When your companion let out a thoughtful hum, that's when you knew he agreed.

Funnily enough, Vox wouldn't say much of anything when he was actually giving something a lot of thought.

So the fact he wasn't really talking as much as usual also spoke volumes to you about his state of mind.

Because as annoying as his comments and charming jokes could be sometimes-

It was fundamentally what made Vox well- Vox.

Which made him just shooting short replies and sentences a little bit more concerning.

"Hey, can I give you a hug?"

"What? Why would you need to ask that? You've already hugged me before."

"I know, but this time it genuinely looks like you really need a hug. This is different from the ones when we just joke around."

You almost wanted to smack your overlord companion when he just gave you a confused look.

Granted, this was hell so what the both of you shared was no short of peculiar.

But the point still stands-

Had no one ever given this idiot an actual hug before?

"Look, just tell me if something feels wrong okay?"

Vox didn't really know how to respond to any of your words.

What made your hugs from before so different from now?

Though when he'd suddenly found you straddling his lap, the overlord bit back a surprised noise.

What the fuck were you doing?!

He found himself tensing a little when you laid your head on his chest, your arms encircling behind him as well.

Oh what the hell was this-

"Just relax you weirdo, I don't bite."

You calmly laid there and listened to his pulse, it was a little faster than you'd hoped for but didn't mind.

The gentle hum of his circuits reminded you of a working desktop computer, which you found a little silly considering he was supposed to have a TV for a head.

Again with the bionic biology- you were getting more than curious-

Eventually though, Vox did calm down enough to actually live in the moment.

The smell of your shampoo, how warm and soft you were-

His arms moved of their own accord and reciprocated your hug.

His posture slackened and the overlord found himself properly relaxing with you.

It was just so... calm right now.

And he was so so tired.

What he would give to just be like this with you every day.

The next time you looked up to check on Vox, you saw his screen dimmed and a screensaver of his company logo just bouncing around the edges of his face.

Ah, so that's where he got it from.

You wondered what it was ever since he slapped it onto your laptop-

You couldn't help but smile when the reality finally hit that the tech overlord had fallen asleep during your cuddle session.

Sure, he was probably really tired-

But he trusted you enough to just let go and relax.

That made your heart swell with joy.

He didn't need to say anything about his day for you to know he needed comfort.

After all, he could tell you about it when he was ready to.

You did wonder why emotional comfort was such an odd concept to Vox-

But it was something you were more than willing to teach him.

Besides, you both had eternity down here in hell.

So you had all the time to spend giving your flatscreen companion the care he deserved.

Your pleasant thought bubble popped when you heard a weird noise from the overlord though.

When it happened again, you didn't take more than a second to connect the dots.

Especially given how late it was into the evening.

Did this idiot even eat anything today?!

No wonder he dodged your question earlier!

You'd let him sleep a little longer but you would wake him for dinner.

Seems like you were totally right to worry about this habits.

Stupid workaholic TV.

He was lucky you liked him.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel #vox #get off my screen series #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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hazybisou · 3 months

Text

❛ WHAT ONCE WAS ❜

🍊💌 and we both wanna say i’m sorry

pairing ; fem!reader x quinn hughes

summary ; it’s been 1 year and a half since the breakup. of course they’ve both changed since that night. quinn just never expected to see her doing the one thing that reminded him of her.

authors note ; hi. so uh long time no see. honestly idk what came over me but like i js completely abandoned you guys. aside from that i’ve been busy with school and mid terms were what took up most of my time. but i’m back👌(for now at least). hopefully you enjoy this. anyways this has been on my mind for a while now and like i had get it out: orange peel theory!!! idk if i would consider this angsty or not but you decide. enjoy! <3

it was extremely hot. the windows were open, letting in a slight breeze. he was laying on the couch in front of a fan. he laid there eyes closed. there was something about the heat that made him want to close his eyes and let the day get away from him.

slowly but surely his eyelids began to shut. all of a sudden he heard a pair of keys jingle, his head lifting off the couch as he watched her figure come into view. “hey, how was work?” he asked y/n who smiled at him. she toed off her shoes before making her way over to quinn.

he opened his arms as he felt her climb onto of him, head laying on his chest. she sighed, “it was good, surprisingly,” she closed her eyes, “how was you day?”

“it’s was fine. went out, ran some errands, bought some groceries.” he mumbled as he dug his face into her hair. “speaking of groceries, i got you what you’ve been asking for this whole week.”

her head lifted up from his chest. “oranges?” he nodded and she squealed. “oh, how i love you.” she began to pepper his face with kisses.

he chuckled and held her closer. “i love you too.” he pressed a peck to her lips.

he began to sit up with y/n in his arms as she climbed off of him and onto the couch. he stood up and she let out a yelp as she felt his arms wrap around her thighs and waist, picking her up bridal style. she tucked her head into his chest as he carried her towards the kitchen.

“where we goin’?” she whispered.

“kitchen.”

“why?” she lifted her head off of his chest.

he smiled at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “im a little hungry.”

he turned walked towards the counter and set her down, y/n going to sit on one of the barstool. her eyes were trained on quinn who began to heat up leftovers from the previous night. her eyes suddenly caught the sight of the color orange. she smiled and reached out to grab the fruit.

y/n held it in her hands trying to peel it. as much as she loved having oranges available, she hated the hassle of having to take the peel off, especially with her manicured nails.

“quinny..” she trailed off. he turned around and hummed. she held the orange up with a small smile on here face. “open it, please?”

he shook his head and smiled before grabbing it out of her hands, complaining her request. one the last bit of the orange peel was off, he grabbed a couple of pieces for himself.

“quinn!” she whined but nonetheless took the orange back as he handed off the fruit to her.

he chuckled. “you asked for something, you pay the price.” he held the slices up. “this the price.”

she rolled his eyes but smiled at him and he grinned before leaning across the counter, cupping her face in his hands. he leaned down slightly as his lips found hers. he pulled away for a second before going in once more, this one with a lot more passion.

he pulled away and looked at her. “i love you.”

“i love you too.”

he hated it.

he hated this feeling he felt in his chest. was he sad? no. was he happy? definitely not. it was complicated, he didn’t know what he was feeling. all he could do was watch.

quinn was angry. angry at himself, at her. no..he could never be angry with or at her—only himself. he let her slip away and didn’t make the effort to bring her back.

quinn sat there across the room, watching her. watching as her head was thrown back, laughter coming out of her lips. she didn’t even realize it. he wanted to laugh. yet he couldn’t.

he still loved her.

after almost 2 years, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. she was like a plague. stuck in his mind and heart forever. he never saw her after that day. not a single text was sent. not a peep.

she had completely vanished from his life.

or, at least he thought she had.

yet there she was right in front of his eyes, sitting at a table with two other girls.

he looked down towards her hands and watch as her nail dug into the piece of fruit. she slowly began to peel it off. she was so delicate with it. she always was. with everything.

he watched as she peeled it all off completely before taking the trash to the garbage can. she took a piece and put it into her mouth.

he laughed.

he. laughed.

she had done it.

he knew she didn’t need him anymore. she never did. she just needed to learn how. and she did.

i hate this. good night. isn’t 🙅‍♀️ proofread 🙅‍♀️why tf do i only write at night when ik i’m tired and running on 2 hours of sleep???

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #vancover canucks #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #hockey #isa’s works 🦭

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sugarnspice630 · 7 months

Text

Dark Room - Wooyoung

"Working these late shifts with you has only made that urge grow, and I can’t contain my thoughts about you anymore."

•pairing: photographer!wooyoung x fem!photographer!reader

•word count: 1.9k

•tags: mdni, nonidol, dark room sex, wooyoung and reader are photographers, sensory deprivation(?), praise, fingering, wooyoung and reader have secretly liked each other for a long time, dirty talk, slight choking, ...did I miss anything?

Summary: Wooyoung and you work late shift at a photography studio and things gets a little risque in the dark room.

A/N: Inspired by my job honestly. Had this fantasy while working late one day and thought..mm yes Wooyoung would do this. I would like to preface that the dark room where I work is NOT the traditional, red lit, dark room. It's literally pitch black when you shut the door. Please be sure to drop a like, reblog if you enjoyed it, and comment your favorite part! Happy reading!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆───

“Ah shit,” You curse out as you see the message on one of the printer computers. “Wooyoung, can you grab a Color Developer chemical for me? I need to change paper real quick, and my hands are kinda full!” Softly shouting from across the studio in hopes he could hear you from his desk.

“Yeah, I got it Y/N!”

“Awesome! Thank you!”

Both you and Wooyoung have been working the late shift at your photography job for a couple weeks now. You’ve been behind on processing orders because you were understaffed or everyone else had kids to take care of and had to be home by a certain time. This year has been crazy for school and sports pictures; taking on more schools and leagues, needing to train the new hires that only stay about a month and then leave, managing two printers that constantly need either paper changed or chemicals added to the bins, or the printer deciding to eat the photographs, causing you to have to reprint them—it was hell. You and Wooyoung however, were the perfect combination to take on night shifts! Naturally being night owls, not having kids to take care of, and working well together, you got more done than anyone else in the office could from their 7-3 shift. Hell, for the amount of work you do, you should be getting a raise or double pay, but alas, your boss doesn’t think that way.

Taking the empty paper cartridge back to the dark room, you snuck back out and browsed the shelf for the correct roll of paper, grabbing it before you turned around. You snuck a glance at Wooyoung grabbing the chemical off the shelf just down the hall. You shot him a quick smile before going into the room. Setting the paper down on the ground and moving the chair close to the wall so you could get a feel of your surroundings before entering complete darkness. The seal on the door wasn’t the best, so slamming it was the only way to ensure no light would get into the room. You flipped the lightswitch off and sat down in the chair.

While opening the paper case, you couldn’t help but think of the way Wooyoung’s long, black hair framed his face perfectly, when his bangs would occasionally get in his eyes, and the way he would tossle his head to move the pieces out of his way. Sometimes, when it was hot outside on a sports shoot, he would tie it up into a cute ponytail with such ease. The way he interacted with kids while on shoots, seeing his childlike nature come out and the kids getting along with him, was great. It absolutely melted your heart to see him so good with the kids. Always getting the best smiles out of them and staying on schedule while making the kids feel comfortable. On the opposite side of the spectrum, he really knew how to run the show. The way his voice commanded all the other employees on the job, telling them exactly what to do and making sure they were doing everything correctly. He hated to see people getting yelled at for taking “bad” photographs, but really it’s just the head photographer having a stick up his ass and being hard on everyone else while he does the same level of work, so he just wanted to make sure he appeased everyone.

Being in your own head, thinking about Wooyoung while changing the paper, you hear three knocks on the door.

“Helloooo? Y/N? You alright in there? Did you get swallowed by the dark abyss?” Wooyoung’s voice rang out from the other side.

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself. “N-No Wooyoung, I’m fine and perfectly alive! I just uh..had trouble closing the…lid.” You faked slamming the “lid” shut to make your statement seem believable.

“Oh gotcha, yeah, that thing is a bitch sometimes. Well, could you hurry up? I haven’t been able to finish the chemical cause I have to grab water and well uh…you’re in the room with the sink.”

“Oh right! Sorry!” You scrambled to clean the area up, almost forgetting there is a giant box in front of you and hitting your foot against the top of it, causing you to almost fall forward onto the door handle, but you caught your balance just in time. You pick up the cartridge and set it on the chair you were just sitting in to make room to open the door. You grabbed the handle, slowly turned it, and pulled the door towards you, hoping not to scare Wooyoung. You peaked your head around the side of the door and smiled.

“She’s all your’s~!” You stepped into the light and looked at Wooyoung to see his hands were empty and not carrying the water jugs. Your eyebrows contorted. “Uh.. your hands are empt-.” Your words were cut off by Wooyoung pushing you back into the room, grabbing the door from your hands, and slamming it behind him. The darkness of the room settled in, and you felt uneasy, not knowing where Wooyoung was. “W-Woo?”

“I’m right here~.” He said lowly and you felt his breath against the side of your neck. His hands softly trailing down your side and stopping right above your waist.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You protested and tried to squirm your way out of his grasp. His grasp on you only tightened as he had no intention of letting you go.

“Y/N I can’t help myself. Ever since the first time I saw you, I’ve had the biggest crush on you. Working these late shifts with you has only made that urge grow, and I can’t contain my thoughts about you anymore.” You felt your cheeks get hot and your thighs clench together. Did he really think about you this way?

“W-Wooyoung..” Your voice trailed off, not knowing how to feel about his confession.

“I think about you every night before I go to bed. Perhaps in ways that I…shouldn’t, but you’re just so beautiful.” Wooyoung brushes the stray hairs off your face and tucks them behind your ear. His breath feels warm against you and sends chills down your spine. You feel Wooyoung lean closer to you and his lips are right against your ear. “I touch myself to the thought of you. My name coming out of those precious lips of yours. I want you so bad Y/N. Please.”

“Fuck.” You mutter softly. His hands playfully sliding up and down your waist. You couldn’t help but feel excited at the thought of Wooyoung thinking about you this way.

“If I may have your permission, Y/N.” You softly nodded your head, allowing him to touch you in whatever way he wanted to. “I can’t see you love; I need you to use your words for me.”

“Y-yes Wooyoung…please.” You beg, and not a moment later, Wooyoung is kissing down your neck, occasionally nipping at your skin, causing you to groan. You tilt your head back so it is resting on his right shoulder. The feeling of his lips against your neck is intoxicating and you couldn’t get enough. He continues to kiss and suck at your neck, making sure to mark you up nice and pretty. A few kisses later, he grabs your hips, giving you a heads-up.

“Turn around baby.” His hands allow you to spin in place, not leaving your side and once you are fully turned around, he places them back onto your hips and you feel him lean into you again. Your lips search for his through the darkness, bumping into his cheek accidentally, and you let out a soft giggle. Soon your lips meet and you are passionately making out in the dark. His hands continue to feel up and down your body, one hand snaking its way to your ass and he grips it harshly. A soft moan leaves your mouth into the kiss. You feel Wooyoung’s lips form a smirk and he continues to grip onto your ass.

“You like that, huh?”

“Fuck, y-yes I do~.” You pant out, slightly out of breath. Wooyoung’s other hand, not playing with your ass, begins to toy its way down your waistband and slips through down to your underwear. His fingers tease the wet patch in your underwear that has been forming since he slammed the door, causing you to moan and tilt your head back against the door.

“So wet for me already babygirl~. You’ve wanted this to happen for a while, haven’t you?” You can only moan in response, his fingers pressing into you and you hear Wooyoung groan softly, his hips rutting against your thigh as he fingers you. “Making me so…fuck…fucking hard.”

“Woo..p-please stop teasing m-me. I need you.”

“As you wish~.” He wastes no time pushing your underwear to the side and slipping his fingers inside you.

“Fuck!” You cry out. His fingers stretching you more than your own or any toy ever has. You bite your lip and grind against his hand.

“H-Holy shit you do need me.” He chuckles at your body reacting this way to him. You’re absolutely driving him insane. “Wish I could see that pretty face of yours. Watch your face as I fuck you nice and good with my fingers.”

“W-Wooyoung~.” The dirty talk was getting you to your climax faster than you thought. His voice ringing through your ear like a melody you wanted to listen to on repeat forever.

“Fuck Y/N, you’re taking them so well.” You can’t see his face, but the way that sentence came out sounded like he was gritting his teeth together. You could feel your head spinning and you knew you were close to your release.

“Wooyoung, I-.” Your words are cut off by a moan slipping from your throat. “I need your hand on my neck.”

“Ho hoh~ kinky are we~? I always knew you were a whore.” Wooyoung quickly takes the hand that was playing with your ass and grabs your neck—not too hard, applying just enough pressure that you were seeing static.

“Y-Yes! Just like that.” You manage to choke out and feel the knot forming in your stomach. Your pussy clenches around Wooyoung’s fingers.

“Want you to cum on my fingers princess. I know you can do it.” Wooyoung’s demanding encouragement was all you needed to hear for the knot in your stomach to release. Wooyoung’s grip on your neck lessens, and a string of curses mixed with his name come out of your mouth. "Fuck, you sound so beautiful. Exactly how I pictured it.” Wooyoung pulls his hand out of your pants and kisses your lips gently.

“W-Wooyoung~.” Your voice is no louder than a whisper.

“Sshhh sh sh darling, I know~. Take your time recovering.” Wooyoung caresses the side of your face and wraps his other hand around your waist. He gently moves you out of the way and opens the door slowly, letting the light from the hallway come in, and you squint your eyes from being in the dark for so long. Wooyoung turns around and looks at you. "Fuck, you’re gorgeous even after your insides get rearranged by my hand.” You softly chuckle at his remark and lift your hand to swat at his shoulder.

“Not my fault; you know your way around~.”

“Guess working these late shifts together helped me get to know you better~.” A soft smile forms on his face. You feel yourself blush, and you shy away from looking at him. “Come on. Let’s get back to business.” He offers his hand for you to grab and you gladly take it. He walks you out of the room and down the hallway into the main area of the building.

“So…you working tomorrow~?” You ask playfully.

“I most definitely will be if you’re here.”

“Always.”

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souryoong · 1 year

Text

good for you | myg (18+)

Pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x f!reader

Genre: smut!! (18+ readers only pls), established relationship

Word Count: 2,278

Summary: you've been teasing your boyfriend over text while he's been away in paris for business, and he comes home early to teach you a lesson.

Warnings: mentions of sexting, cunnilingus, fingering, making out, clitoral stimulation, tongue kissing, praise kink, edging, reader gets teary, orgasm denial, hitting it from the back, creampie (god I still hate that word!!). also showering together is henced because after all, they are a couple.

Authors Note: hi guys!!! welcome to my own version of march madness (some watch basketball, I write smut. jk I do like basketball too.) I said it before, but just in case you didn't hear, I am celebrating yoongi's bday as well as my own this month by posting my favorite pisces 2 (or 3? its the aries in me to be a menace) times this month. enjoy the smut and happy birthday to my twin flame, yoongi!!

______________________________________________

Yoongi’s patience with you seemed to always be never ending. Nothing that you did ever seemed to cross the line, and when it did, you knew.

Well, today was one of those days.

Yoongi had been in Paris for work for a few days, and with the time difference, you got bored at night and stayed up late, sending him pictures and videos of yourself. They started off with sending him cute outfits that you bought, and then lingerie. However, he stopped responding when you sent him a video of yourself in the bathtub, making you wonder if you might have taken things a little too far. You didn’t want to interrupt him if he was dealing with important business.

Feeling kind of panicky and unsure what Yoongi was thinking, you eventually went to bed, hoping he would somehow not see it, or completely forget about it.

In the morning, you woke up to a text from Yoongi.

Yoongi: You like teasing me like that don’t you, distracting me from work?

You knew he wasn’t actually mad, he probably did enjoy what you were sending him, but maybe it was a bad time.

You thought for a second, and sent a quick text back to him.

You: Just thinking about you, baby.

Hoping that smoothed things over, you went on with your day. Since the time difference, you weren’t expecting to hear from Yoongi until later on in the night.

Later on, when you were winding down for the night, changing into your pajamas, your boss at work called a zoom meeting, discussing some business endeavors.

Since you were very much not modest — your pajamas were a pair of underwear and a big t shirt, your camera was turned off so no one could see you.

The meeting felt like it was going on for forever, you had one of your AirPods in even though sometimes you felt like you probably weren’t even paying attention. The good thing was is that you probably didn’t have to talk.

You pulled your knees in towards your chest in your chair at your desk, taking a drink from your glass that was next to your computer mouse. Suddenly, you heard a knock, but brushed it off as one of your coworkers making noise. You didn’t look away from your computer screen.

A few seconds later, there was another knock that was slightly louder than before; making you realize it was in the room and not coming from the computer. You looked around the room and was almost in disbelief when you saw Yoongi leaning against the doorway, one of his hands in his pocket of his tan colored suit.

“Yoongi?” You questioned him quickly. “I thought you wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.”

Yoongi stepped towards you. “My manager told me there was an earlier flight, so I left right after my event; hence why I’m so dressed up.”

“Yeah, you look so sexy.” You complimented him as he walked behind you. “What made you decide to leave early?”

That was a stupid question.

“Oh did someone suddenly forget what she did to me?” Yoongi’s large hands were on your shoulders.

You were silent, looking at your computer.

“Hey sweetheart. That was a question.” Yoongi leaned down, his low voice in your ear.

“I forgot about it.” You responded, reaching to rest one of your hands onto his.

“I’m not mad. You can send me whatever you want; you know that.” Yoongi brushed a piece of hair away from his face. “But to send me a video of you in the bathtub, while I’m sitting at a meeting? I had to cover my lap like I’m a goddamn teenager.”

You smirked to yourself at his reaction, not realizing he wasn’t done talking.

“Now I’m in the mood to edge you until you cry. Make you learn your lesson.”

You bit down on your bottom lip. Fuck. You knew Yoongi meant it when he said things like that.

“Yoongi, I —" You started to speak, but you were cut off.

“Hey, looks like someone has a meeting to listen to, right?” You wondered how long he was standing there earlier as he planted a few kisses along your neck, making you close your eyes. He was for sure pushing your buttons as you hummed in response.

“How was Paris?” You tried to distract your mind, at this point you weren’t even paying attention to your meeting.

“It was nice. I think you’d like it. Next time you should go with me.” One of his hands was now on your inner thigh, and you knew for sure that you were probably soaking your panties.

“I think —“ Your words were cut off when Yoongi’s fingers brushed against your clothed clit, making you swallow hard.

He moved one of your legs to rest on top of the desk, giving himself full view of your panties that were in fact soaked.

“Already worked up for me?” It was a stupid question to ask; you always were.

“Yoongi.” You spoke, a neediness in your voice.

He moved your chair back, somewhat startling you. Then he was hovering over you; his face close to yours. He gave you a quick kiss, making your heart flutter.

He slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties. “Lift your hips.” Yoongi suddenly spoke, and you did.

Yoongi pulled down your panties, swearing to himself when he saw how wet you were. Stuffing them in his suit pocket, he turned your chair and got on his knees in front of you.

“Fuck.” Yoongi muttered to himself, putting his hands on your thighs. You felt like you were holding your breath. Trying to focus on your computer screen, but also trying to brace yourself for Yoongi’s tongue or fingers.

Yoongi barely touched your clit with his thumb; making you jump. He pressed harder, moving in slow circles.

You let out a sigh, practically feeling your arousal dripping out of you at this point. Yoongi paused for a second, pulling your hips towards himself so that you were sort of laying back in your chair; and more comfortable. Just as you looked away from Yoongi, you felt him push his middle and ring finger inside of you, pressing against your front wall hard.

You cried out his name, leaning your head back.

“You’re so fucking wet.” Yoongi grunted. “Fuck.” He was right, you could hear the squelching noises from his fingers going in and out of you.

Yoongi didn’t say anything before leaning down and sucking your clit into his mouth; forming a rhythm with the way his fingers were moving in and out of you.

Your body shuddered when his fingers brushed against your sweet spot; and you knew you weren’t going to last long if he kept going like this.

One of your hands was in his long, dark hair; trying to hold him there. You could feel yourself getting close, hanging on the edge of your orgasm.

Until suddenly, Yoongi stopped.

“Yoongi!” You were so frustrated, panting. “What the fuck?”

“Baby.” Yoongi spoke lowly, kissing your inner thigh. “Did I say that you could cum?”

“No.” You sighed, looking towards your computer screen.

“Be good for me.” Yoongi glanced up at you, giving you a look that gave you chills and reminded you that you were practically naked in your home office, while he was still fully clothed.

He suddenly stood up in front of you, removing his tan suit jacket; and then throwing it off to the floor. Yoongi leaned in close, grabbing your jaw and giving you a deep kiss; making you taste your own arousal.

“Can you do that for me?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” You answered, even though it didn’t sound very promising. “But Yoongi, I think I might have to talk in this.”

“Then you can talk.” Yoongi pressed three of his fingers against your clit, then in a half of a second they were inside of you again.

Yoongi was going way harder than before; fucking you with his fingers. He stood up, trying to get better leverage. You felt his fingers bump your sweet spot, making you grab onto him; practically begging him not to stop.

“Yoongi, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Your voice was a whine as your walls were clenching his fingers.

On the brink of your second orgasm, you could hear the squelching noise coming from between your legs; realizing that you were probably gushing at this point.

“Yoongi.” You whined, pulling him in for a kiss.

You felt his fingers leave you again, making you let out a sob of a moan against his mouth. At this point you wanted to cry. You wished that your stupid meeting was over and Yoongi was pounding you into your mattress.

“Yoongi, I don’t know if I can take it anymore.” Your voice was shaky as you exhaled.

“I think you can handle more.” Yoongi answered you. He was right, you always liked to push yourself until you found your limit.

You let out a whine when you felt his fingers teasing your entrance again. “Yoongi, please.”

In what seemed like perfect timing; you heard everyone in your meeting saying their goodbyes and wrapping up.

“Alright have a good night everyone, see you Monday morning.”

You watched Yoongi in front of you undoing his belt, and throw it onto the floor with a thud. You quickly unmuted yourself in the meeting to say good bye, then left.

You took out the one AirPod you had in your right ear just in time for Yoongi to grab your chin with one of his hands, kissing you with such a force you thought he’d bruise you.

You grabbed onto his wrist when he simultaneously slipped his tongue into your mouth as his fingers started rubbing your now over sensitive clit.

Yoongi let out a moan into your mouth, making your core clench around nothing.

You broke away from the kiss, his face was still close to yours. Practically aching for him, you whined. “Yoongi, please.”

Swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, Yoongi stood back up, and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Go to the couch. With your back towards me.”

As Yoongi’s shirt was discarded onto the floor, you got up out of your chair; your legs feeling like they didn’t belong to yourself at first. The couch was only a few steps away from your chair at your desk.

You put your knees onto the seat of the couch, then leaned your upper body onto the back rest. Never thinking you’d be having sex in your office; you were glad that this couch was surprisingly roomy.

Hearing movement and fabric rustling, you could only assume that Yoongi’s pants were now off. He moved his hand along the small of your back, pushing your t shirt up to expose more of your body to him.

“Fuck.” Yoongi swore as you arched your back, getting ready for him. “Look at you.”

You let out a moan when you felt his cock head against your entrance, and you moved, trying to fuck yourself onto him.

Yoongi grabbed a hold of your hips, keeping you still he pushed himself inside of you; bottoming out in one thrust.

“Fuck!” You let out a moan, your mouth falling open.

Yoongi sucked in a harsh breath. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

You put your knees further apart on the couch in attempts to feel him a little deeper.

“Yoongi, fuck.” You slightly turned, grabbing onto his wrist as he held onto you. “Don’t stop.”

You felt him nudge your g-spot, making your walls abruptly clench around him. You could tell that your orgasm was somewhat close.

Suddenly Yoongi pulled you up so your back was against his chest; the new angle making you feel him so deep it was like he was in your stomach.

Your eyes were watering as you still clutch onto him. “Fuck, Yoongi I’m so close.” Leaning back into him, he planted a few kisses along your shoulder and neck.

Yoongi reached between hour legs with one hand and started to rub your clit, and your legs started to shake underneath you.

Your eyes were getting teary as Yoongi’s pace never faltered. “Yoongi, please.” Your voice was a whine. “Let me cum.”

“Yeah, you wanna cum?” Yoongi’s voice was breathy against your neck.

“Please.” You leaned into him, one of your hands making its way to his dark hair as you craned your neck to kiss him. “Tell me I’m a good girl.”

Yoongi grunted, starting to fuck into you so hard that you fell forwards back onto the couch. “My good girl.” It was almost as if he was enunciating the words with his thrusts.

“Oh god.” The words left your mouth like a sob as your orgasm crashed into you; this time Yoongi doing nothing to stop it. Your body nearly trembling as Yoongi continued fucking into you. “Fuck.”

“Shit.” Yoongi swore under his breath, his hips stuttering before releasing himself inside of you.

“Yoongi.” You whined at the feeling before it was apparent it was running down your inner thigh. You laughed slightly. “My couch.”

“What?” He was panting, then laughed with you. “Sorry, baby.”

You turned to face him. “God, what time is it? I’m exhausted.”

“You’re telling me. I’m jetlagged as fuck right now.”

You looked up at him, both of you were sweaty, fucked out, and exhausted.

“I’m happy you’re home.”

Yoongi smiled at you, pulling you up off of the couch. “Me too, now let’s take a shower and go the fuck to bed.”

______________________________________________

Tags: @dearlyjoonie @thepurpleghost @che-er-ful @thoughtfullysassysublime @yoongiscta @polyparkj

#bts smut #min yoongi smut #suga bts #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #min yoongi x reader #happy yoongi day!!!#souryoong march madness

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mikareo · 4 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?”

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

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

“What do you think?”

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

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

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

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

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

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

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

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

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that.

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

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

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

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

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

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

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

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’?

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

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

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

God, he’s so bad at flirting.

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

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

You’ve left your entire bag this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hello. You know me.’

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

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

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

He’s so bad at this.

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

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

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so.

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

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

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

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

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.”

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

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

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

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

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now.

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

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

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

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

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything.

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

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

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

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

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

Oh God, he made it worse.

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

How the hell are you so fast?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Grey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

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

Suguru hates him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s counting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

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

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

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

“You love your art, and I love you.”

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

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

…and then a tear falls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel.

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

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

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

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

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

…a kiss.

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

This is a fancy-ass venue.

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

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

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

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

“She’s talented isn’t she?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking.

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

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

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

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

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

You said the same thing when you first met.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sees himself.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

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

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much.

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

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

"I love you."

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junkdrawerfics · 11 months

Text

Broken Pieces Put Back Together

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Summary: You get turned by Maria a short time after Jasper. Life in the coven is not what you expect though, as Maria quickly realizes you have a useful ability and you end up outliving the other newborns. At least you have Jasper, though. Until you don't.

Word Count: 3361

Warning: Depression, a short bit of suicidal thoughts, canonical violence. It gets rough in the middle y'all.

Lots of hurt but it has a happy ending, I promise.

---

You and Jasper were close to fast friends when you were forced to join Maria’s army. At first, you were terrified of the blond and his scar-ridden skin. Word reached you quickly of all he’d done, the countless lives he’d taken. How could you not be scared?

But then one night you found him on his own, standing outside the abandoned barn you called home, looking up at the stars with such a broken expression. That night, something drew you to his side. The urge to comfort, the need to ease his pain, was the first feeling to overcome the overwhelming sense of bloodlust constantly burning in your throat.

Not a single word was spoken that night. You didn’t know what to say, not to this man who had lived through so much more than you, and he didn’t offer anything in return. You both just stood there, still as statues, looking up at the stars.

That night you learned that Jasper Whitlock is not all that he appears to be.

It’s also the night Maria learned of your ability, and decided you might be of more value than she originally thought. You hadn’t even realized you were doing anything. In that moment, all you wanted was to keep him safe, hide him for just a little bit so he could breathe. And apparently you had done just that. You both disappeared, from everyone’s perception at least.

And so you lived. Outlived.

Your new reality was much crueler than you thought it could be. You realized that when your friend, a young girl changed the day after you, was deemed no longer useful.

That night, Jasper was the one who came to you.

“(Y/n).”

You don’t look away from the sky, the bleeding colors of the sunset dull in comparison to the flashing colors of fire behind your eyes. You can smell the smoke clinging to his clothes as he gets closer. It burns your nose, makes your chest ache as a fresh wave of pain sweeps through you.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You ask quietly, voice like a broken set of bells.

Jasper sets his jaw, looking down at his hands. He nods slowly, an unfamiliar lump forming in his throat. He’s never felt guilty for following orders, he always thought it was for the best, that Maria knew better than the rest of them.

But then you look at him, your eyes swimming with tragedy, and it makes something inside of him ache. There’s no anger, no hatred, like he expected, just an ocean of grief.

It clogs your throat, burns behind your eyes, leaves you shaking. You rest on the edge of tears, suffocating in that horrible, sinking feeling, but always unable to cry. And you hate it. You hate it. You hate it. It’s like walking a tightrope, always off balance, yet never falling.

But you shatter when a hand rests gently on your shoulder.

A dry, ugly sob breaks past your lips as you turn into Jasper’s body. He curls his arms around you wordlessly, wishing he could hold all your pieces together. And even though his hands are the ones that did it, even though you know he’ll have to do it again and again and again, you can’t help but soak up every ounce of comfort from his rare embrace.

Slowly the sadness lifts, until it's bearable, not crushing you but not completely gone. His ability. Usually you’d scold him, tell him your emotions are yours for a reason, but right now all you can do is hold onto him tighter.

He’s all you have left, now.

Something changed after that night. You and Jasper got even closer. He protected you and was your rock when Maria turned your ability into a weapon. And on nights when she would go hunting alone, the two of you would perch on the roof of the barn and just look at the stars, talking about anything and everything.

You loved hearing stories of his human life. He would tell you about his time in the army, about the pressure he faced to join when he got old enough. His family didn’t have much, especially after the war started. You could tell he loved them, just by the soft smile he would get any time he talked about them.

You would take turns sharing stories. You told him about your siblings and their mischievous games. You were the oldest, so it often rested on you to watch over them, which usually ended with you covering up their shenanigans. You loved it though, taking care of them, teaching them.

That urge was still somewhere deep inside you, a motherly instinct you can’t quite shake. It made it all the more difficult to distance yourself from the fresh newborns in the coven. Before, you would take them in, calm them down, make sure they had something to drink to ease the pain of their thirst.

You couldn’t experience that again, though. That loss. So you kept your distance, spending most of your time with Jasper anyways. The man’s threatening aura kept most of them away.

Except one.

A newborn, a little too confident, a little too high on his new strength, decided he just couldn’t leave you alone. For the most part, you ignored him. In your human life, you dealt with more than enough unwanted attention, so you thought you were used to it. He was as stubborn as he was arrogant though.

Until Jasper nearly killed him for making a move on you (a little too aggressively).

Luckily Maria wasn’t there for that.

“Are you alright?” Jasper ushers you outside, red eyes frantically scanning over you, as if you could be battered and bruised.

“I’m fine, Jas,” you breathe, brushing the dust from your pants, “I’m more worried about that guy you just ripped the arm off of.”

“I should’ve killed him for touchin’ you.”

You glance at him, amusement quickly replacing the mild panic that filled you the moment that man laid his hands on you, “You know you wouldn’t. Maria would get angry if you did that.”

Jasper’s lips draw into a thin line. It shouldn’t matter. You’re the only one who treats him like he’s still human, his only friend. He wants to say that he will always protect you, even if he has to fight Maria herself. But the words don’t come. Deep down, a part of him knows they aren’t true, and that leaves behind a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Don’t look like that.” He blinks when you touch his cheek, your fingers soft and light, unlike Maria’s. You smile at him, just as gently, voice resigned, “I know how you think, Jasper Hale. You’re a loyal man, and that’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

As you say it, a sadness wraps around you, one that Jasper doesn’t understand. It doesn’t match your smile, or the soft creasing of your eyes as you look up at him. Why does it make you so sad?

You don’t let the feeling linger though, reigning it in the moment you notice the slight furrow of his brow he sometimes gets when he is trying to focus on your emotions. You don’t need him figuring out why. Why his loyalty to Maria makes your chest ache so painfully.

Falling in love with Jasper Hale was as easy as breathing, which says something considering you don’t even need to. Behind the tough, military face of his, was a man who was charismatic and gentle, who liked to laugh and remembered the name of every horse he’d ever ridden.

He was loyal to a fault.

That’s why he could not see Maria’s true nature for the longest time. It became clear to you rather quickly once you got closer with Jasper. Close enough that she took notice. Close enough that she decided to do something about it.

It started with small things.

Whenever you would go to talk to Jasper, she would call him over for something unimportant.

She started sending you on little tasks, just to keep you out of the barn.

Even on the days she would go hunting, the days you looked forward to most because you and Jasper could be completely alone, she started taking Jasper with her.

And each time, she would give you one of those vicious smiles. Like she won. It did not take long to realize it was all on purpose. In her own way, she was telling you loud and clear that she wanted you nowhere near Jasper and anytime you tried, she’d be there to show you just how little you mattered.

What hurt most, though, was how Jasper always listened to her. Every time, he would follow after her like a good soldier, casting you a guilty look over his shoulder. You didn’t blame him though. You couldn’t. Not when you knew the alternative.

So you got used to being alone for the first time in your life. The sadness, the one that Jasper kept at bay all that time, slowly crept back in, filling every nook and cranny of your being. Day after day, it got harder to stay, to listen to Maria’s direction. Even when you did listen, she treated you like a pest, contempt burning in her eyes.

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave though. The thought alone made your heart ache, because that would mean leaving Jasper. No amount of distance could dampen those feelings that came so quickly. They were branded in your heart, a part of you now and probably forever. A simple look from him and you would resign yourself all over again to stay.

Even if it got you killed.

Some days were too hard though, watching him follow on Maria’s heel, doing all she asked. It had been months since you talked, actually talked. Months since you heard him laugh or felt the comfort of his touch, no matter how small it was. And it hurt.

The pain made it hard to drink. You’d go weeks without blood, finding the burn of the hunger was better than the empty feeling in your chest. It made you weak, your skin turning almost translucent, the circles under your eyes growing darker and darker.

Jasper hated it. He had to watch as you fell into depression, your emotions like a dark cloud around you, so strong even the newborns walked on eggshells around you. He hated it, yet he could never do anything about it.

He wasn’t as oblivious as you thought him to be. He was aware of Maria’s resentment towards you. Jasper knew that if he showed his concern, even an inkling of it, she would lash out at you. At least by her side, he could temper her emotions and protect you.

His efforts could only go so far, though.

As you grew weaker, your ability weakened as well. And Maria noticed.

You wanted her to notice.

Leaving wasn’t an option, but the pain of staying was becoming too much for you to bear. Death seemed like the only way out of this eternally lonely existence. You just hoped Jasper wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.

Maria never liked the easy way, though. Loyalty must be proven.

You felt it as soon as you stepped foot outside the barn one night. The air was warm and dark clouds covered the sky, blocking out any light. Something sank in your gut and you just knew.

If you were going to die, you were at least going to die somewhere you could be surrounded by good memories. So you trekked to the hill where you first stood with Jasper, the one where you spent many nights watching the stars, and that’s exactly where he found you.

You perch yourself on a rock, watching as lightning flashes in the clouds. The air is heavy with static, but not a single drop of rain falls. It’s like the world can’t decide how it feels, a mess of storms not ready to break, but needing to, the tension rising and rising. Until something gives.

You hear Jasper before you see him. His steps are uncharacteristically heavy, the brush whispering as he walks through it. The air grows impossibly heavier when he comes to an abrupt stop just feet away from you.

It’ll be quick, you think. You hardly have the strength to keep yourself upright, the burning in your throat like hot coals. With what energy you have left, you keep your chin up and slowly turn your gaze away from the clouds to the man behind you.

And you smile. Because it’s Jasper. Your Jasper. Looking just as broken as the first night you stood by him.

Jasper’s knees practically buckle when you look at him, a wave of fondness warming the air around you. How can you still feel such a thing for him? After all he has done. You must know why he’s here. He doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve the trust in your eyes.

“Don’t look like that,” you murmur, smile going sad. You can’t stand the guilt twisting those features you love so much.

Jasper shakes his head, teeth gritting together so hard, his jaw creaks. He doesn’t want this. He can’t. Not with you looking at him like he’s hung the moon. No fear, no hatred. You should despise him.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, as if hearing his thoughts.

“Darlin’-”

He chokes on all the words he wants to say, everything he’s been waiting to say. How he wishes you could see the ocean, like you’ve always wanted. How he wants to be right there with you, just to see the way your eyes light up. How his eternal life finally seemed to have meaning when he met you.

“It’s okay, Jasper. I’m okay.” You reach for him, wanting nothing more than to just take his distress away. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. He gives in, allows you to take his hand, pull him closer. For you, he convinces himself, despite the selfish comfort he finds in your touch. “I know it’s not your decision. This has nothing to do with you,” you hesitate, squeezing his hands softly with a sad smile, “but I’m glad I got to talk to you one last time, at least. It’s not so scary if it’s you.”

“Stop.” His voice cracks like thunder, desperation bleeding into his eyes.

But there’s one last thing you need to say.

“I love you.”

Your eyes drift shut and you tilt your face back to the sky.

A drop of rain traces down your cheek.

Now you’re ready.

“I can’t.”

What?

You peek your eyes open, looking on in shock as Jasper kneels in front of you, face set in the most determined look you’ve ever seen. What’s happening?

“I can’t hurt you. I won’t,” he declares, red eyes set on you without a hint of hesitation.

You gape at him, head suddenly spinning, “But Maria-”

“I won’t let her hurt you either.”

“But Jasper- How- What-”

“Run away with me.”

You blink. And blink. And blink. If you had a working heart, it would be beating out of your chest at this point. Has he lost his mind?

“We’ll go to the States, to the ocean just like you want, leave all this behind.” The words spill out of him, the dam finally broken. Each word makes your eyes go wider, the sadness receding as hope sparks in your chest. “Please, darlin’. Give me a chance to make you happy.”

“Oh, Jasper.” You touch his face, drawing him just close enough to press a kiss to his forehead. Jasper’s eyes flicker shut, your love washing over him like the rain. Your next words seal the rest of your eternity, “You’ve always made me happy. We can go anywhere. As long as I’m with you, I’ll be the happiest woman in the world.”

And for the first time in forever, that smile slants over his lips, bright and warm and gorgeous.

You missed that smile so much.

That night, the two of you disappeared into the storm. You don’t know if Maria ever searched for you. If she did, she never found you.

Jasper kept his word. As soon as you crossed the border, you traveled to the west coast. You saw the ocean, which was more than you ever expected it to be, and that’s where you stayed for a while. Until you met the Cullens, at least.

You were nervous at first. Large covens were rare outside of the armies, so you didn’t trust them at first. There was no way you’d do that ever again. But you missed having a family, and looking at them, you couldn’t help but want for what they seemed to have.

“What do you think, Jas?” You ask your mate as you curl into his side.

He wraps an arm around you, lips pressing against your forehead softly, “Whatever you want, darlin’. They’re intentions seem honorable.”

“Would you be okay going vegetarian, though?” You love the idea. It’s always bothered you, having to kill innocent humans. Even feeding from the bad ones leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

“I’ll manage,” Jasper chuckles, eyes creasing.

“And the moving around?”

“We already do that, sugar.”

“Oh yah.” The Cullens move around far less than you, actually. You can’t believe they can stay in the same place for months, years even. The thought fills you with anticipation. Maybe you could finally settle down and have a normal life with Jasper.

“Maybe we could get a dog,” you hum, a slow smile spreading across your lips.

Jasper snorts, drawing you closer to press a kiss to your temple. You glance up at him, eyes bright with unrestrained excitement. And just like that, it’s decided.

“Let’s join them.”

“Alright! Oh! We could call him Cowboy! Can you imagine it? Cowboy the dog. It’d be perfect.”

“Anythin’ you want, darlin’.”

And that’s how you ended up with the Cullens.

---

“...wow.”

You grin at Bella, “I know, it’s a lot. But it all worked out for the best! I can’t imagine my life any different.”

“And I can’t imagine my life without you.” Your smile goes even wider when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.

You look over your shoulder at your mate, eyes practically lighting up with affection, “Good, cause you’d be hard pressed to get rid of me at this point.”

Bella watches the small interaction, surprised to see the blond vampire without his usual stoic facade. He’s like a completely different person, practically melting into your touch, and smiling. Actually smiling. And you look just as lovestruck.

“You guys make a cute couple,” she says, feeling a bit awkward when you turn your gaze back to her.

“Thanks Bells. You and Eddie make just as cute of one. I can’t wait to go to your wedding.”

The brunette flushes what must be the darkest shade of red possible, successfully mimicking a cherry. She shuffles away with some muttered excuse, and you can’t hold back a giggle.

“You’re evil, darlin’,” Jasper murmurs, shaking his head.

You flip around in his hold, arms wrapping around his neck, “What! You know it’s going to happen. Edward’s completely smitten with that girl.”

“Still doesn’t mean you have to torture the poor thing,” he chastises, though he can’t hide the mirth in his tone.

“Fine. I guess I can take it easy on her,” you sigh dramatically, earning another chuckle from your mate.

“That’s my girl.”

You tuck yourself into his chest, hiding a truly ecstatic smile in his jacket. To this day, you still can’t believe that this is your life.

You really wouldn’t change anything about it. Not the bad things, not the start, none of it. You like to think your love is stronger because of it. And it will only continue to grow stronger every day for the rest of your eternity together.

You can’t wait to see where the two of you go.

---

This was not meant to get so edgy, but here we are. I never really know what I'm writing until it's finished.

Anyways! I hope you guys enjoyed the angst, hurt and comfort! A really fluffy fic will be coming next, and I am SO excited about it.

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #twilight saga #jasper whitlock #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #hurt/comfort #angst #read with caution

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