#splotch summer

[pandakong]

Week 6 splotch drop! Add on to them and draw whatever you see :)

Official Splotch Summer 2025 post!

Hey all, it's back! It's the season where I share a couple random paint marks/splotches and offer it up for anyone to use them as a base to create something new! It's a good exercise in creativity and design, or can just be a little warm up!

The first two splotches for the year are here:

You can either reblog this post and share you creations, or make your own post and @ me. Please use the hashtag "#Splotch Summer" and/or #SplotchSummer2025. I will see it! Thanks for drawings with me!

[sophiasartandgaming]

Splotch Summer #3 and #4

Lae’zel and Wyll Ravengard from Baldur’s Gate 3

Splotch Templates by @pandakong

[bookwyrminspiration]

I don't know whether its tumblr glitching or you are regularly in the habit of reblogging something fifteen-odd times, but I love when it happens cause i'm always like "wow you're really passionate about misplacing that bug, (which is a completely valid fear)"

I am, in fact, regularly in the habit of spam reblogging things I'm passionate about or feel strongly on. Though I usually limit it to 10-15.

For the past 5 hours, I have been taunted, tormented, played with, by a ninja mosquito. I swear I have hit this fucker dead on like 5 times, and yet still it lives. Ninja evading me

It appears for 5 seconds, then disappears despite the fact I'm staring right at it to try and track it. It might also be a wizard.

i'm going to lose my mind

[amandassketchblog]

Yay!!! Thanks for taking part :) so good

I had to materialize my vision !! Thanks for hosting this #ArtChallenge @amandassketchblog !!

[amaranthinespirit]

husband!simon riley who backs his wife's rights and wrongs cw: murder next

you fucked up. majorly, as you stared at the bloody body on your living room floor, red seaping into the grooves of the floorboards. you were frozen, perhaps it was shock as you watched the carnage seep into your nice rug that simon had bought you.

you ran your hands through your hair, only spreading the blood across your soft skin and threads of hair. how would you explain this to your husband? how would you hide this from your husband? how would you explain to him the rug, that you begged for, was suddenly not to your liking, because it had a massive splotch of someone's else's blood? no mistaking that for a period stain.

you were royally fucked, pacing back and forth, avoiding splatters of blood as you thought millions of plans in your head.

what if you dumped the body in the dumpster? no, the body would decompose far too quickly, and not to mention the smell. it's the middle of the fucking summer and hot as balls outside! okay, well, what if you stuffed the body in a suitcase and buried it? no, no, it was too big to fit in even your largest. oh, what if you cut him up? back up, that's even more blood that you'd have to deal with. plus, digging was never your thing.

all this time panicking left time wasted, and soon enough, your lovely, unsuspecting husband had pulled into the driveway. you shrieked to yourself as you peaked out the blinds, scrambling back to the body, but yet again, what the fuck could you do?

the front door opened and closed quickly after, the sounds of boots being kicked off and disposed as panic rose in your body. fuck, this was it. you were definitely going to jail, your husband will never trust you again, wouldn't even pay a visit. you could hear his voice calling, increasingly becoming more concerned without a response.

footsteps followed, and he appeared around the corner. his eyes landed on you, then the body, and then you, and then the body, and then—you get it. his eyes scanned your smooth skin for injury, narrowing at the blood before confirming it wasn't yours.

"wot have i told ya about makin' messes near yer precious rug, swee'eart?" he grunted, shrugging off his coat and tossing it to the couch, pulling you in by your hips, pressed against his front as a thumb swiped away a blood splat on your cheek, "y'okay?"

you looked at him dumbfounded, lips parted in shock as you stuttered, "y...yeah," you swallowed thickly, immediately moving to explain yourself, "but simon, i-"

"shhhh, don't say a word, pretty thin', I've got't." he coos lowly, petting your hair, rubbing the strands between the pads of his gloved fingers as he eyed the blood, "go take a shower 'n look all pretty f'me, yeah? can ya do'tha?"

your eyes darted around, but a firm grasp on your chin kept your attention to him. you swallowed thickly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he walked in, and nodded again. detaching from his side, you skidded down the hall to rid yourself of the dead man's blood.

after you disappeared into the bathroom, simon let out a deep sigh, "who the fuck is this?" he muttered gruffly to himself, shaking his head as he crouched near the body, tilting his head multiple ways as he examined further before shrugging it off, "wot'vr the missus wants."

yeah, he wouldn't question you. you wanted someone dead? had to be for a good reason, and he'll buy you a new rug after tossing that one. but he wouldn't tell you when the police dropped by about the disappearance of the man. don't wanna stress out the missus.

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

fucking blue collar! simon riley at his work place, he was always covered in oil and grease whilst fixing cars, and it was probably the most mouthwatering sight to ever exist. strong muscles straining against his thin work shirt that was slightly stained, with black splotches, his biceps flexing with each move, every little ridge of muscle visible. his prominent veins running long his forearm as he fixed the engine, his large biceps flexing. sometimes, he would work shirtless in the summer heat, his muscular and toned body exposed as it glistened with sweat due to the lack of aircon. his body was slightly softer near his stomach after he met you, dusts of dark hair around his chest and a happy trial leading down his pants.

sometimes you could come and visit him, a small lunch box in your hand with a handwritten letter. simon would ask for you to stay, making you sit in the corner that was probably the only clean part of the garage. occasionally he would talk, telling you about what he was doing and what was wrong with the cars, though usually it was filled with a comfortable silence allowing you to check him out. his cargos hugged his thick things snuggly, tight around his ass and bunching around his bulge. simon was by far not a small man, and the cargos showed it. he couldn’t resist have a pretty little thing like you perched up on the table, your small pink dress contrasting with the state of the garage, all dark and dirty. it was a matter of seconds before his rough hands were on you, staining your unblemished skin as he pulled your small dress up hastily, his large hands exploring your soft body as he grabbed your tits, squeezing them in his hands. “so pretty in this dress luvie.”

simon would have no shame and take you then and there, you bent over the workshop table as he fucked you from behind. his pelvis slamming against your ass, making you kick your legs from the sensation. “feel how deep i’m in you?” he groaned as your gummy walks clenched around him, your small cunt squeezing around him, almost milking him dry. he never held back during sex, tugging on your hair roughly as he called you the most lewd names, making you a drooling mess. the way you two fucked in the garage was dirty, utterly filthy and animalistic as simon rutted against you. sometimes the two of you fucked in missionary, him snuggled into the crook of your neck mumbling about how much he loves you. simon loved making you his little mess, coming in your cunt where if he pulled out it would leak, before spurting all over your stomach and tits, painting them.

[dykeriver]

⠀ heavenly. ⟨ ellie w. ⟩

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ❝ feeling it slow, over this dream,

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ touch me with a kiss, feel me on your lips. ❞

or ;; having a downright lazy morning and smoking a joint with your girlfriend, ellie, leads to a thing or two.

wc: 1.5k

⠀cw + oneshot under the cut . . . !

⠀cw: recreational drug use (marijuana), sub-bottom!ellie, intimacy, fingering (e!receiving)

quiet music thrums through the small, dated radio in the corner. smoke hangs in the air, draping the room in a foggy heat. the sun shines through your open bedroom window, rays of light laying bright, rectangular splotches against your bed sheet. you inhale a deep pull of smoke into your lungs, holding it there for a long moment before blowing it out. your girlfriend takes the joint from between your fingers, breathing in her own sizable hit and sighing it out in an earnest yawn.

god, do you fucking love lazy noons like this; ones where you can just lay in bed with ellie smoking and basking in the warm, summer morning heat. kissing lazily, soft touches and content sighs. there’s nothing better than waking your girlfriend up on a saturday with a joint, watching her sleep swollen eyes open and a tired smile immediately making its way onto her freckled, sunkissed face.

ellie passes you the joint, and before you hit it again you lean in to kiss her, slow and lazy. she’s got sleep breath but you truthfully don’t give a fuck, deepening it a little before ultimately pulling away to breathe in the herbal smoke. you can feel the high hitting, relaxation rolling through your body like a gentle, persistent wave. you hand the joint back to your girlfriend and lay down, sagging against the plush pillow. your eyelids feel heavy, and you just simply bask in the warmth of the sunlight.

your girlfriend takes a long drag of the blunt before leaving it to sit on the nightstand. she holds it in for a bit too long though and just about hacks up her lung, pulling a pillow into her face the cover the sound. you can’t help but giggle at her, rubbing ellie’s back as she wheezes.

“god,” she groans, leaning into you and whining into your neck. ellie starts giggling too after a moment, this downright endearing sound that makes butterflies erupt in your chest. “oh, shit. man, that just fucked me up.” she professes.

“i’m flying a little too,” you agree, bringing a hand to her short, messy auburn hair and stroking it. ellie leans into your touch with a quiet, pleased sigh, reaching her hand up to your shirt and taking a small fistful of it. she swings a leg over yours and hides in your neck once again.

“sweet girl,” you croon. you pull her closer, resting a hand on ellie’s hip — right between where the top of her boxers and the bottom of her shirt fall apart from each other. your thumb strokes over the area, and ellie breathes this hum of something. comfort? something else, perhaps?

your suspicions are confirmed when she lets out this pathetic little squeak of a sound, her grip in your shirt tightening. and like — you’re high. you don’t feel like beating around the bush, and so you simply say “you’re needy,” tracing your fingertips along the hem of her loose t-shirt. she huffs, and you slip your hand underneath the worn material. ellie’s warm skin feels soft, like home. you take a deep, pleasant breath and smile at her. she’s starting to fidget a bit, adjusting her position sporadically, and you know why but you want her to verbally ask you for what she needs.

this shifting lasts for a few minutes, until finally ellie huffs again. “babe,” she mumbles into you. you stroke against her bare skin softly, so softly, and she whimpers. “i need something…”

“what do you need, honey?” you ask quietly, fully aware already of what she’s craving. still, you wait, fingertips tracing gentle patterns against her. you feel yourself growing wet, but you’re not really interested in focusing on your own pleasure right then.

“takecareofme,” ellie pleads, the words all slurred together. “please, anything, i- i need you.” she looks up at you, puppy eyes hooded and pupils dilated, nose softly blushed.

you can’t leave her hanging, can’t resist the girl curled up against you, and so you lean in and kiss her. deeply, deliberately your lips move together. a groan escapes your throat involuntarily, and ellie whimpers again in return. you push her sleep shirt further up her chest, skimming the tip of your thumb against her small breast. she gasps, and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

“baby, please,” ellie’s voice is growing a little frantic now, and if she’s desperate enough to start begging, you don’t want to make her wait any longer. you reach down, slipping past the hem of her boxers. she lays on her back against the pillow to help you get a better angle. you press a bruising kiss onto her lips, slipping your fingers into the folds of her wet pussy. ellie shudders out this trembling breath and your stomach genuinely churns with desire.

you easily find her bud, rubbing soft circles around it. she grabs at your wrist and you don’t even think she realizes it, green eyes jammed shut in rapture. “oh god,” ellie spills out, breath hitching as you move your fingers to tease over her entrance. “pleasepleasepl-”

“don’t worry, i’ve got you,” you shush her, dipping two fingers inside of ellie to soothe her. her jaw drops slightly open, bottom lip trembling with need. “that’s it, sweetheart…” you coo, rubbing against her wet, velvet walls. she’s tight and so goddamn hot inside and you feel like you could pass out in sheer fucking pleasure, right then. you build up a steady pace, sliding your fingers in and out of her. ellie clenches against them like she’s trying to keep you in forever.

“t-talk to me,” she pleads, needy and eyes opening. they’re hazy, clouded and foggy with lust and pure, unadulterated carnality. “need… need your v-voice.”

“that’s my good girl,” you sing immediately, “did so well using your words for me.” and ellie chokes out this raw, feral little noise. it makes your chest ache with want, and you kiss her again. she whimpers into your mouth and you speed up the thrusting of your hand. “you’re taking my fingers so fuckin’ good.” you pull away to say into her sweat damp skin.

“fuck, fuck-” ellie sputters, grinding against your hand. you quicken the slide of your thumb around her clit and she clenches around you again. you can feel the lust radiating off of her so much that it’s palpable, reaching out and warming every part of you like a ray of sun.

“you’re so wet around my fingers, honey,” you purr into her ear. “and the fact that this is all for me… isn’t that right, my ellie?” her clit twitches against your thumb.

“yes, yes!” she wails, nodding frantically. “all for you…” she’s borderline hysterical now, breaths coming out frenzied and unsteady. she’s unmitigatedly sinful like this. her grip on your wrist transfers to the front of your shirt, clawing at the thin material. you can feel her legs squeezing around your wrist, attempting to close in all her pleasure.

“yeah,” you agree, voice heavy and thick with arousal. you’re ready to lay the final nail in the coffin, now, and you press against that sweet spot inside of her accordingly. “cause this is my pussy, isn’t it baby?”

all at once, ellie full body tenses, this pathetic, squeaked mewl of a sound coming out of her. your fingers are drenched in a gush of her nectar and it drips down your wrist. she’s so fucking breathtaking like this, at the pinnacle of pleasure, absolutely coming undone. it’s just as good as having an orgasm yourself, hell — better. by a goddamn long shot. nothing competes with this: ellie williams, unbound and raw, falling apart with you crammed deep inside of her.

she twitches as her climax rages through her, all these broken sounds escaping those pretty pink lips, and sobs when you keep rubbing at her clit. “don’t stop, don’t- don’t stop…” ellie gasps out. her voice is saturated with prurience.

and really, you’ve never been able to say no to her — so of course, you keep going. of course you continue to thumb over that sensitive nub. your fingers slide wetly, in and out, in and out, pulling nearly all the way out before pushing back in with a soaked slap. “love how messy you get, ‘n you sound so pretty when you come apart. ” you rasp. “love how you look with me inside that sweet little cunt. my perfect girl…”

you can feel it when she cums again, tightening around your fingers and wailing. a tear escapes the corner of ellie’s eye, and her breath hitches as she comes down. you slow your movements, deciding to let her relax now. “that’s it…” you coo, your fingers and thumb coming to a complete halt. leaning in, you press gentle kisses against the corners of her eyes. “open those pretty eyes, baby.”

slowly, she does. they’re swollen and foggy — usually alert, bright green, now soft and sated. you wipe your hand on the sheet and pull ellie’s body into yours, holding her close and whispering hushed praise into her ear. “think… that you might have fucked me stupid,” she admits groggily.

you laugh and pull her closer, kissing the soft skin of her freckled forehead. content, at home.

thank you anon for the request!

[haechwrites]

cindy lou, who? - L.HC

lee haechan x fem reader

wc: ~9.1k

warnings: mentions of drinking, angst, fluff, i never know what to put here sorry, miscommunication if that bugs you, unrequited love sort of

A/N: guys i hate writing.. why do i do it LMFAO anyways this is inspired by "cindy lou who" by sabrina carpenter.. love her downnn that song is so angsty its perfect. i started writing this when it was actually holiday season and im just like so sick of writing it and editing it i just need to publish it so merry christmas in summer i guess!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“have you seen her before?” 

the phone screen flipped towards me and my eyes caught the familiar username displayed on top.

haechanahceah

it was an instagram story of haechan at a house party with a girl under his arm. her red lipstick prominent from the flash of the camera, and if my eyes aren’t mistaken, i see a smear of the same shade on his lips. i ignore the familiar pinch in my chest and sudden warmth traveling across my cheeks. that sucks to see.

“huh,” is all i can mutter. “i didn’t know he was going out.” 

minjeong turns her phone back to her and studies the photo closer. i can see her newly painted nails zooming in.

“i think i heard about johnny hosting a last minute thing… haechan didn’t tell you?” she doesn’t look at me, still focused on the picture, head tilted in confusion. 

i shrug, trying to act like not knowing of his whereabouts is a normal thing. it’s not, by the way.

“he knew i was hanging out with you, maybe that’s why.”

minjeong immediately scoffs, locking her phone and putting it away. “fuck off. you know he doesn’t give a shit that you’re with me. you’re his go to drinking buddy. he whines like a puppy when you take shots without him.” 

she laughs, but it’s half out of disgust. 

“well, it looks like he has a new one, so…” i intend for that to pass as a lighthearted joke, but there’s a snappiness that escapes my mouth. i wince and she looks at me with a softness in her eyes.

“oh babe…” she scoots closer to me on her rug, putting her arms out in an obnoxious gesture to comfort me.

“donnnn’tttt…,” i groan. “it was a joke. i’m not hurt. put those things away.” i slap at her hands and she pouts, arms still up, not backing down.

“haechan is so…” minjeong sighs, resting her head on my shoulder. 

“yeah. yeah, i know.” 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

haechan and i are eating breakfast at our designated corner booth in the cafe between our two apartments. i can see the hungover drowsiness on his face. purple eye bags to match the purple splotches growing on his neck.

he’s chewing on his pancakes when i decide to ask, “so how was your night?” i flick at one of the hickeys on his neck and he flinches.

“heyyy!” he says through a mouthful of food, cheeks puffed out. 

“what was i supposed to do?” i shrug, innocently. “it’s like this huge, ginormous, gigantic, red target that i just have to-“ i aim for my next flick and he grabs my wrist swiftly.

“okay, cool it.” he drops my hand and it plops into my lap. 

i snicker at his nippy attitude, pinching his cheek to instigate further. “pouty boy was at johnny’s last night?”

haechan turns to look at me, throwing a lazy smirk. “you stalking me?” he says, earning me a groan.

i unlock my phone to show him my new prized lockscreen, an overexposed picture of two very drunk men smiling goofily. “you two idiots sent me a selfie last night.”

he hisses, nose scrunched up in distaste at the ridiculous picture of him and johnny. “not my best angle.���

“not sure if you have any,” i tease and haechan gives me a lopsided grin. “so who’s the lucky girl?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” he counters, going in for another bite of my bacon. i let him take it.

“yeah, that’s why i asked,” i say with as much nonchalance as i could muster. i take my bacon strip back from his hands, even though there’s already not much left of it.

feeling bad, he cuts pieces of his pancake and puts them on my plate. i smile giddily, reaching for the syrup.

“her name’s lulu.” i pause mid syrup pour, not expecting him to have remembered her name. i clear my throat, recollecting myself, and continued to drench my food. 

it’s not that haechan is this dumb boy who gets around a lot. he totally could be with the amount of attention he used to get in college. but he was always careful about how far he’d flirt with someone, which is impressive considering his naturally charming personality. most words that came out of his mouth sounded like a pick up line.

i could only recall one serious relationship from our college years, and that in itself only lasted three months. of course, i remember him dating, but that’s all it was- super casual attempts to form a lasting relationship that never really pulled through. he’d go on a couple dates every so often, but never bothered me with the details because the details never seemed to matter. it was actually kind of cold, how he had approached dating.

but now i have a name. he has a name.

“oh wow,” i respond. “is this lulu… the one?” i joke, but the question leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, even with all the sugar from his pancakes.

“god, i forgot i’m talking to you.” haechan winces.

“hey, what’s that supposed to mean!” i elbow him in the side.

“it means i’m talking to a delusional hopeless romantic.” and weirdly that puts me at ease, that must mean he’s not too serious about her right? but then again, why should i care? right?

“you say that like it’s a bad thing,” i roll my eyes.

he just shakes his head, chuckling. “i’ll probably see her again this week.”

“oh?” i look at his side profile, watching him casually tap his phone screen to check for notifications. 

his lockscreen lights up and i’m reminded of our annual joint birthday party from earlier this year. it’s a picture of us with our shared cake, candles all lit, with our arms drunkenly wrapped tightly around the other. i remember our group of friends huddled around us, singing loudly and off tune. i’m looking at him as he’s looking at the camera and-

lulu texts.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“there are my girls!”

a very intoxicated johnny starts running towards minjeong and i, beer can sloshing around his hand and onto the dirt lot. following behind him are the rest of the group, matching his lack of sobriety.

“aww, you started without us,” minjeong pouts, taking the drink from him. johnny doesn’t fight it, smiling down at her.

“you guys got here so late, you missed the first couple sets!” jaehyun appears next to me, giving me a side hug and hovers there. he’s definitely buzzed already. he offers me a sip of his drink, which i gladly take.

“couldn’t get an uber, we were fighting for our lives. oh my god, it was so bad.” i groaned, throwing back the can so i can quickly get on their level.

“should’ve just left work early and met up with us,” johnny tsks.

“i just had one more work call! i didn’t know it’d go for that long,” minjeong explains, her slumped figure showing how exhausted she was. regardless, her last minute festival outfit looked amazing.

i scan the group and my brain notices the missing brunette.

“where’s haechan?” i look to jaehyun. he juts his head out aimlessly to the crowd of festival people.

“getting another drink,” he says, head bobbing to the surrounding sounds.

“he better have gotten me one,” i start, looking for him, expecting two drinks to be in his hands.

and there he is, jogging towards us, with a cup and… a girl.

i tense up and jaehyun takes it as a cue to relax into me further, heavy arm around my shoulders. i’m about to tell his drunk ass to get off, when he gives me a knowing look. confused, i let him lean on me.

“took you guys long enough,” haechan quips, and the girl remains standing slightly behind him.

“tell me about it,” minjeong rolls her eyes. then she looks at the girl and then back at haechan and then back at the girl. the rest of the group is quiet waiting for haechan to introduce her to minjeong and i, but his lips stay shut, completely unaware.

“hi, i’m minjeong,” she abruptly breaks the silence. her hand is extended and the girl takes hers out of haechan’s to shake it.

“lulu, so nice to meet you,” she smiles so sweetly i can tell she means it.

“i'm y/n,” i cut in, just waving at her, not really able to move any closer. there’s no glimpse of recognition on her face. she just gives me a “hi” and a smile like i’m just another girl a part of the friend group. no big deal.

jaehyun hums, “so should we go see the next stage?”

“let’s,” i say, desperate to get going and out of this weird air. jaehyun leads the way, and i follow suit, trying to limit my haechan interactions. something in my chest just tells me i don’t want to be speaking to him right now. 

unfortunately, he doesn’t know that so he’s catching up to me with lulu in tow.

“nice outfit, very 2024 of you,” haechan teases, flicking the seam of my reused skirt.

“kinda creepy that you remember i wore this to last year’s fest too…” i glare judgingly.

“you were complaining about how cold you were the entire time. how could i not?” he smirks. “ride was okay?”

“expensive, but okay,” i nodded, trying to act casual. “i’m sorry, lulu, right?”

said girl perks up from behind haechan and catches up to our pace. “yes, hi! sorry for crashing your guys’ plans. my friends bailed so… and then chanie asked and yeah!”

“oh chanie’s sweet like that,” i peer at haechan and his cheeks are pink at the sound of that nickname leaving my mouth. 

“how do you guys know each other?” i ask innocently. haechan throws me a knowing look and lets lulu talk.

“we started seeing each other after johnny’s party,” lulu smiles, glancing at haechan. he matches her look, pulling her closer to his side.

wow.

“you guys are…,” i swallow the lump in my throat. “you look- really cute together!” i try to mimic their smiles, but nothing comes close to the lovesick grins on their faces. 

“y/n.” 

i follow the sound of my name, and jaehyun’s hand is extended towards me. i stare at it, confused, but also weirdly filled with relief for the distraction. 

“there’s a gap in the crowd, i think we can squeeze to the front.”

without even checking in with haechan and lulu, i quickly grab his escape offer and he’s dragging me through the audience. i can suddenly smell the sweat and dirt of the desert, the sweet alcohol on people’s breaths. i feel myself getting queasy and i make the mistake of looking back as jaehyun moves me forward.

i get the perfect view of haechan and lulu kissing, swaying to the intro of the song. my feet finally stop and i run into jaehyun’s chest, his head is naturally far above mine and his eyes follow where i once looked. 

“i’m sorry,” he sort of yells over the artist on stage.

“what for?” i yell back. he playfully pinches the redness on my cheeks (not from the sun) and rolls his eyes as if saying: you know what.

he just shakes his head and holds mine in his hands, almost cradling it.

“i-,” i try to turn back to look at them again and his hands cage me.

“don’t,” jaehyun stands firm. “you’ll just hurt yourself more.”

with my stomach churning a pain i’ve never experienced before, i nod. i’m so still, scared that that awful feeling will make its way up to my chest.

jaehyun pulls me into a brief hug, and turns his attention back to the stage, holding me from behind. i watch the people from my peripheral, lightly dancing to the music and i try so hard to do the same.

“just have fun,” jaehyun reminds me.

but everytime i blink, i see them kissing and it makes me want to puke. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

what r u doing tomorrowww?

i stare at my text from yesterday, as i sit on the couch in the dark, with an episode of “Love Island USA” luminating my face. minjeong had already called it a night, and was asleep in her room. i cringe whenever i let my eyes linger up to all the one sided messages above it and his scarce one word responses. 

it’s been a couple months since i’d last hung out with haechan one on one. of course, i still saw him in group outings but he was always preoccupied with that one long haired girl and her signature red lip. 

even then, he was never really present. at last week’s bowling night, he showed up halfway and played for two rounds before pleading defeat. haechan was never one to not be competitive, and yet he took lulu to the arcade area where they stayed — just the two of them — the rest of the night. when we all ordered ubers at the end of the night, the backseat was crammed with me, her, and all her newly won stuffed animals. there was also a suffocating thickness in those seats with us too, and i don’t think it was from the human sized teddy bear that weighed on my shoulder. 

to torture myself even more, i let myself open my calls and it was embarrassing how many times his name showed up in unreturned calls. i went to delete all recent calls when a notification filled my screen: an incoming call from mama lee.

“hi honey, sorry to call so late! just wanted to check in on you!” my heart instantly warmed at the familiar twang in her voice that her and haechan seemed to share. i can hear her TV in the background playing the same show as me.

“hi mama lee! i’m great, tired, all of the above. how are you?” i finally let myself settle into the couch, realizing i had been tense this whole time waiting for a certain someone.

“i’m good, glad to hear you are too. what’s this about you not coming next month?” haechan’s mom asked, straight to the point, and suddenly i’m sat up again.

“next month…,” i mutter to myself, trying to recall what she could be referring to.

next month… next month… is december. their annual christmas party. 

“oh! the christmas par-“ i start, excitement filling my body. it had become my favorite time of the year, thanks to him and his family. 

“sweetie, haechan told me you aren’t coming. which i find unfair because how am i supposed to meet this new girl in his life without you there? i don’t know this girl!”

static fills my ear and i check the TV to see if the connection had gone off. but it was still on. nausea immediately fills my stomach as the combination of his months long lack of contact and this sudden news makes me feel dizzy. it’s like i can finally and physically feel the distance haechan forced between us that i was trying so hard to ignore.

i’m at a crossroads of whether to be honest or play along, because what does she mean haechan said i’m not going to a party i’ve gone to every year? to a party that never required an invitation? to a party i often skip my own family’s to go to? 

“oh i… my mom, she, um,” i fumble over my words and i can feel water splat onto my thighs. i’m distraught trying to protect her peace as i can feel mine rapidly falling apart. 

“sorry,” i softly laugh, trying to compose myself. i tilt my head up, hoping it’ll stop the sudden tears. “my mom really wants me home this season, so i can’t go this year.”

“aw honey, you don’t understand how sad i was to hear from him. why didn’t you tell me? i bought your favorite ham a month in advance like the crazy woman i am.” we laugh, but it does nothing to lighten the weight in my chest. 

“ah. maybe haechan will save me some leftovers,” i say, but now doubt he will. 

“okay, well, i’m glad your mom’s reaching out.” she says, and i can tell she means it. sucks knowing it’s not even true.

mama lee continues, “it’s getting late for me. i gotta sleep, but i wanna hear more from you soon, okay? you owe me.” her sweet voice pierced my heart, and i feel myself hiccupping again.

“yes, ma’am,” i manage to get out, and we say our good night’s and i love you’s.

then my screen goes back to those cursed text messages and i delete our entire chat.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“he said what?” jaehyun’s eyes are as wide as i’ve ever seen them, fork suspended mid air. the egg falls from it, and comically splats onto the plate. 

we’re at the same cafe i often frequent with haechan, but because i’m here with jaehyun, we’re eating at an ungodly early hour of the day. i had never seen this place at this time, but jaehyun is an extreme morning bird. 

“i literally got uninvited from his family’s christmas party and i had to hear it from his mom.” i confess, surprised at how composed i sounded despite it being the most devastating news of my life. shockingly worse than finding out my parents were getting divorced back in high school. i saw it coming, but this? never in a million years.

“but you… you’ve always gone. his family is literally yours.” jaehyun’s confusion takes over his mouth, and i don’t think he realizes how much his obvious statement stung.

“i bought his siblings their gifts already too. i never thought i wouldn’t get the chance to exchange them?” i swirl the lukewarm coffee mug in my hands, not having the stomach to take a sip.

“this is fucked up. has he talked to you about it yet?” 

“nope,” i pop my lips. “what makes you think he even has the time to?” i sneer, referring to a certain woman occupying all his time. i feel disgusting having these ill feelings towards her, despite her literally not being at fault. 

jaehyun grimaces, and he instinctively gives my arm a squeeze. “doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole. he should’ve told you. but also, he shouldn’t have uninvited you in the first place? you’ve never not gone.”

i shrug, “maybe it was wrong of me to assume…”

“when you’ve gone every year since i’ve known you? you’ve gone more times than me and haechan and i are childhood neighbors. come on…” jaehyun plants the hard facts i’m unwilling to face, and i squirm in my seat. i take a sip of my coffee and feel it run down the sides of the knot in my throat, sickeningly bitter. 

“it’s whatever. anyways, since you’re going home, do you mind giving his siblings their gifts for me? minjeong invited me to her home for the holidays instead.”

“sure, but-“

“oh hey, guys?”

jaehyun and i look up from our table, stunned to hear the voice of our drama calling us. 

“haechan,” i only say, feeling awkward that we were just talking about him but also weird that this is the first i’ve seen him in weeks. 

he’s carrying a takeout bag in his hand, dressed in clothes he definitely picked up off the floor. i could see the side of his head where his pillow messed up his brown, fluffy hair and the bags under his eyes that always signal late night gaming. he’s wearing a confused look on his face as he scans jaehyun and i.

we’re sitting in our designated booth and before i could let myself feel like i’m cheating on him, the sour reminder of our conversation takes over.

“take out?” jaehyun wonders.

haechan clears his throat, shaking him out of the weird daze he was in. “yeah, lu is waiting at home.”

at home. the air leaves my lungs just hearing that come out of him, and i realize that this is a feeling i really need to dissect. this cannot be just platonic jealousy, right? losing my best friend these past few months isn’t supposed to hurt this bad.

“got plans for next month? when are you heading home?” jaehyun goes straight for the kill, and i kick the side of his foot to stop him from prying. i don’t know if i want to hear his answers.

haechan’s eyes widen and he immediately looks at me. his hands tighten around the white plastic takeout bag. i can see his mind struggle to tell me something and the pained look on his face makes me want to save him the trouble. he begins to start and i just can’t bear it.

“minjeong’s taking me to hers this christmas,” i cut him off, filling him in on my newfound plans, that i really didn’t have a choice in making if i wanted to not spend the holidays alone. it hurts seeing the way his body relaxes, i can visibly see him fill with the relief of knowing i’m not going. my eyes naturally water, and i quickly dab them away. 

“can you let your mom know i can’t come this year? i don’t know if i could tell her myself,” i shrug, mustering a close lipped smile. i can feel jaehyun’s disappointing glare burn into my face, or maybe it’s the sharp sting of his hand that just punched my thigh under the table. 

“oh. oh! yeah, yeah, of course,” haechan forces sadness onto his facial features. “sorry to hear you can’t go, but holidays at minjeong’s sounds fun! we’ll miss you,” he starts to fidget with the bag now and his feet shift. he scratches the back of his left ear, a tell-tale sign that he’s uncomfortable… or feeling guilty.

“ah, but you always go to the lee holiday party?” jaehyun turns towards me, boldness flashing in his eyes as he dares me to address it. 

“next time!” haechan quickly interjects. “don’t worry about it!”

“i’m not.” i state, point blank, and a new expression paints his face that i can’t decipher.

“we-well, lulu’s probably starving by now, so. i’ll see you guys later?” haechan rambles out, already taking steps away from us.

“maybe,” i shrug, feeling the iciness take over my body and make its way into my words. 

“right,” haechan nods, stumbling as he leaves the cafe. i don’t bother watching him leave, starting to stab my food aggressively with my fork. 

“i can’t believe he just did that,” jaehyun says in disbelief, but i’m so consumed with rage i can barely hear him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i get voicemails from haechan’s siblings on the morning of christmas, thanking me for the gifts, wondering why i’m not there, and most importantly, asking me who this lulu is and why she’s taken my spot. i make a mental note to call them back when i’m not downing mugs of minjeong’s dad’s strangely strong eggnog.

somehow the classical christmas music that had been playing on loop for the past two hours in minjeong’s living room had shifted to karaoke, and i can feel the alcohol hitting everyone all at once. the matching pajamas that her family forced me to wear started to feel too warm on my skin like it didn’t belong on me. i sat and watched her drunk uncle sing to a random Justin Bieber song and i catch myself thinking singing must not run in their family the way it does for haechan’s.

i itch to call him, but i know i shouldn’t. but the guilt of not even wishing him a merry christmas eats me up despite him having yet to do the same. i avoided mentioning him all day because i knew minjeong would say something, but now that she’s too preoccupied with her solo, i slip into her childhood room. 

it feels like i’m walking on a moving boat as i cross her room to crash onto her bed. her popcorn ceiling spins in my vision and i groan at how out of body i feel. 

my thumb is already clicking his contact before i could register it and my phone blinks, indicating he’s picked up.

“hello?” i hear him faintly on the other side, chatter quieting in the background. i put him on speaker and i hear him shut a door. the party sounds on his side are now muffled.

“hi haechan. merry christmas,” i don’t notice how sweet my voice sounds till a second later and my whole body cringes.  

i hear him sigh, and i turn to my side, cradling my phone. “merry christmas.”

“how’sss… the party?” i ask, just trying to keep him on the line for as long as possible. 

“crazy per usual. the kids say thank you for the gifts, i made sure they called you too. did you get them?” his voice is so clear and sober, i feel like a groggy mess talking to him. i want him to sound as messy as me. his words sting like ice with how composed he sounds. 

“mhmmm,” i hum. “i’m glad, so so so glad.” i play with the frays of minjeong’s blanket between my fingers, starting to sing my words. 

“sounds like you’re having fun,” haechan laughs under his breath. “we miss you here.”

that statement alone felt like an ice cold bucket of water dunked over my head. my vision suddenly cleared, the room stilled, and i felt like i could hear even a pin drop. how could he say that when he fought so hard to isolate me like this?

“is that so?” i test him. 

“yeah, of course,” haechan starts. “you know it’s not the same without you.” i hear his bed creak and i know he’s sitting on the left corner where one of his bed slats has cracked. haechan used to volunteer to sleep on that side on the holiday weekends when i was over. he’d start on that side and in the middle of the night, i’d hear it creak as he rolled over to cuddle me. he’d apologize every time in the morning despite it never being an issue for me. 

thinking of that memory being lost and forgotten hurt more than the fact that it could be replaced by another person right now. 

i sit up, ignoring the spinning of my head. “is that what you told your mom?” my voice sounded sterner than i thought it could at this level of toxicity. 

he’s silent on his end. i give him a couple seconds to see if he’d confess. 

“you know she actually called me a month ago. said you told her i wasn’t coming.” i continued. he’s still quiet and it’s so pathetic.

“i had to lie to her, haechan,” i hiccup, tasting salt in my mouth that wasn’t there before. “i told her that my mom reached out to me which was probably such a bad lie since we both know she’d never do that.” 

haechan hissed, and it’s like i can see him in his childhood room, trying to rub the stress out from the creases between  his eyes. 

“i had to lie and say that, instead of the truth. the truth being that my best friend doesn’t want me at his family party, in his life even, and he didn’t have the fucking guts to tell me.” i spit out these words like venom, and i can hear them hitting him through the phone, not knowing if they’re doing the damage i want them to.

“look, i… i didn’t know what to do. please, just-“ suddenly i feel the balance shift, and i can feel how small he sounds on the other end. hiding in his room like a coward.

“your mom texted me pictures, said she wishes i was there. it hurt so bad, haechan,” i start crying and i thank god that the karaoke is still blasting because i can’t control how loud my sobs are. “it hurt so bad seeing you two laughing and looking happy in those pictures.”

i didn’t have to specify who; he knows. i know he knows with the way he falls silent. i almost think he hung up.

“i’m sorry,” is all he can say. it could’ve been a fly buzzing by my ear with how insignificant his lackluster apology sounded right now.

“i thought it would be me,” i confess, surprising him and myself. and it feels better than i expected, or maybe it’s the alcohol suppressing my anxieties. i wonder how good it must feel to be lulu, knowing that the boy that i love is now in love with her. 

“i know,” he says. i hang up so fast, tossing my phone away, because i almost think i hallucinate him saying “me too.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

when the plane landed, i had 4 missed calls from haechan, 2 from his mom, and 1 from his sister. i didn’t end up telling minjeong what transpired because she was already so upset leaving her family the following morning; her eyes were all puffy. a day has passed and i still haven’t said anything, not sure if it’s because i’m over it or if it’s out of embarrassment. 

it wasn’t till later today where i was forced to confront what happened when jaehyun calls, desperately asking to be picked up from the airport. 

“i don’t see you, are you sure you’re at terminal 1? i’m literally at the end of it.” i practically scream through the call connected to my old 2008 lexus. 

“what? no, terminal 2. we’re at terminal 2,” jaehyun repeats, just as loudly.

“wait. we?” i ask, before spotting the two boys with their luggages at the curb of terminal 2, and a girl beside them.

i pull in, trying my best not to stare, cursing under my breath and hoping whatever bad karma i’ve collected throughout my twenty plus years of life gets passed onto jaehyun for omitting this important detail. i put the car in park and hop out to open the trunk. 

“you owe me,” i say at the exact same time as jaehyun’s, “i owe you.” 

he puts his luggage in and picks me up into a spinning hug. i smack his solid shoulder, not falling for his buttering tactics. 

“you smell like the plane,” i scowl. jaehyun just laughs and taps the trunk of my car, still open and waiting for the others standing awkwardly to the side. 

“haechan, you okay? you know we’ve landed, right?” he jokes in response to his friend’s stillness.

i don’t even bother giving haechan a glance despite feeling his eyes try their best to make contact with mine. i simply get back into the driver’s seat, waiting for them to finish loading the car. 

eventually, i hear the passenger door open and i turn, ready to talk to jaehyun, but it’s not him. 

“why are you—“ 

“feeling sick from the plane, i don’t think i can sit in the back.” haechan says, matter of factly. 

i narrow my eyes at him, shocked at the way i can look at him now and ignore the sound of my heart breaking.

his brown hair has gotten longer, it curls around the nape of his neck. its messy all on top like he’s ran his hands through it multiple times. the wind from outside makes it flop everywhere. on top of that, his eyes are tired and his cheeks i liked to pinch so much sag a little. 

his lips are rolled in and chapped as he waits for me to challenge him and i don’t have the energy to. so i just redirect my attention to the two in the back.

“lulu, am i dropping you off with haechan?” she’s sitting neatly in my car and we both can feel how weird this is.

“ummm, my house is fine, if it’s not too out of the way,” she smiles at me. “thanks for picking us up.”

i decide not to shoot haechan a questioning look and i just let her punch in her address. 

during the whole twenty minute ride, i’m asking jaehyun as many questions as possible, sounding like someone really invested in his christmas plans. i eventually got a detailed breakdown of his entire weekend itinerary. haechan wasn’t able to get a single word in, but it also didn’t seem like he wanted to — which was odd for him. 

i dropped lulu off and i begin mapping to haechan’s, when he stops me. 

“jaehyun’s closer.” 

“no i’m not.” “no he’s not.” jaehyun and i say simultaneously. 

“yes, he is,” haechan says sternly, already having the GPS set. 

i don’t have the energy to fight him so i drive to jaehyun’s, not needing the directions. i can see him twiddling his thumbs in the back and i make glances through the rearview mirror. he just shrugs and i chew my lip nervously. 

“thanks again for the ride. breakfast on me tomorrow?��� jaehyun offers once we reach his place, head sticking through my driver side window, duffel strapped onto his shoulder. 

haechan’s head pokes out from my peripheral, “she’s got plans.” 

my eyebrows shoot up at the same time jaehyun’s eyes go wide. he simply nods and gives me a shoulder squeeze good bye. 

i pull out of his apartment complex, and start heading towards haechan’s, praying the silence isn’t disturbed during this short five minute drive. 

“i can’t believe you got my brother that new ps5 game,” haechan starts. “mom’s already using it as leverage to get his grades up.”

i simply hum in response, not letting my eyes drift off the road. 

“she really liked the necklace you got her. she practically screamed when she opened the box.” i can’t see it, but i can feel him smiling fondly. his family’s happiness always meant the most to him.

i can’t help the warm relief i feel in my chest knowing his mom liked my gift. unfortunately, my thoughts turn sour as i wonder if she liked it more than the gift lulu got her. my hands grip the wheel tighter.

“she grilled me pretty bad this morning… i told her the truth.” now it feels like the air’s been sucked out of the car.

“and what is ‘the truth’?” i manage to say. 

he goes quiet again and i see his apartment up ahead. i pull over and park the car, not caring how far we actually were, and turned the engine off. the car is still humming as it settles down, and i take my seatbelt off, hoping it’ll take the weird weight off my chest. 

“what’d you tell her, haechan?” 

he sat still and didn’t move a muscle. i can see his brain churning as he refuses to look at me now. but i’m staring at him dead on, unrelenting. 

“i told her that i didn’t want you there.”

wow. 

i blinked. and i blinked. and i blinked, hoping my eyes would deceive me into seeing some sort of sign that he was lying. a flinch. an ear scratch. anything.

i open my mouth to say something (im not sure what) and i hope he beats me to it, ready to deny his claim, but he doesn’t. 

after all these years in each other’s lives, this is how he truly feels? a huge chunk of me wants to convince myself he must be lying, but how could i when he’s saying it straight to my face like this. so many questions run through my head and each one left unanswered feels like another stab to the chest.

when did he start feeling this way? was our friendship just a charity for him? were my feelings for him never reciprocated in the slightest? was it all a lie?

“and… and that’s your truth?” i whisper, but it felt like a desperate cry, begging him to say no. 

“yes. and what’s even more true is that i broke your heart.” 

he peaks at me, between the cracks of his fingers that are now cradling his face. i can tell he’s not being fully honest about what’s going on between us, and i’m not sure if he can right now, but he wasn’t wrong about what he said about the state of my heart. 

“hm. ‘tis the season.” 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

while shutting my laptop screen, i say bye to my coworkers as we leave the conference room. despite usually getting winter break off, my boss had called in an emergency meeting to settle things before people start truly ignoring their work emails. my coworkers had every right to complain about coming in on a saturday during the holidays while they badged into the building, but i didn’t mind. no meeting could be worse than the week i’ve had. 

i was last to leave the floor since i had a couple things at my desk to grab. getting onto the elevator alone, i watched the numbers descend until it halted at the 21st floor. i awkwardly side stepped to make room for the oncoming person as the doors parted. 

“oh.” i could only gape because right in front of me was lulu.

“oh!” she returned, before giving me a wave and getting in. “they got you working the holidays too?”

i try to look at her from my peripheral, but it feels too awkward. like any movement on my part would be weird. 

“not really, my boss just stresses and so she called a quick meeting.” i roll my lips in, teetering on the balls of my feet. could this elevator be any slower?

“oh wow. mine doesn’t believe in holiday breaks, hence why i’m here. i didn’t know you worked in this building.” she eyes my laptop, looking for a company name.

“it was my first job out of college, but they had me working remote for my first year.” i explain.

“oh, that makes sense. i feel like i’m always here and yet i only saw you for the first time with hae-” lulu cuts herself off, and clears her throat.

my face grows hot, immediately thinking that she must’ve heard from him about my drunk christmas breakdown. i’d be furious if i weren’t so embarrassed right now. i turn to finally look at her, in an attempt to take control of this situation. 

“too many floors, lots of people,” i smile half-heartedly, giving her a shrug. finally, the elevator stops at the lobby and i let out a breath that i don’t mean to.

“anyways, happy holidays! maybe i’ll see you at johnny’s,” i wave my white flag, coming to terms with this being my reality if her and haechan continue dating. i'm done fighting it.

lulu doesn’t get off the elevator, and she tilts her head, puzzlement painting her face. she shakes it off quickly and just nods, reaching her hand out to keep the door from shutting on her.

i hurry out the building, muttering curses under my breath because of course, not only did i have to run into lulu, but i forgot my coat at my desk as well. wrapping my cardigan tighter around my body, i trudge through the city streets to get to my car because of course, our parking garage is closed.

i hear someone calling my name behind me, and i turn around to see lulu chasing after me. her cheeks look pink like they were whipped by the recent cold winds. and yes, she looks perfect.

“i wanted- i wanted to clarify something.” she catches her breath, holding onto my shoulder. i try not to knock it off like a bitch, so i glare at her hand, waiting for her to get a hint. but she doesn’t, or pretends she doesn't, as she continues.

“we broke up,” she starts. “and yeah, it has to do with us as individuals, but it was mainly… it was mainly to do with you.” 

while rooted in shock, i search her to face to find any ounce of rage or bitterness towards me. my guards are up looking for a sign that she was going to slap me across the face, but i sensed nothing. i’m about to ask her why when she starts again.

“he hurt me pretty bad, but i should’ve seen it coming. i’m not you,” she shrugs, as if she’s already come to terms with her feelings. she says it as if it was a true and proven fact. but none of what she said makes sense to me. also, i know we’re not talking, but why didn’t he tell me? why didn’t he tell any of us?

“i don’t understand…” i say.

“i’ve said too much. you don’t need to understand right now, just promise you’ll hear him out. i know you don’t think you owe me anything, but you technically cost me my boyfriend so… do me this favor.”

before i could agree to anything, she finally lets go of my shoulder and laughs with relief. she tosses her hair over her shoulder and takes a breath, recollecting herself. she never looked like she was in shambles – as she is portraying – to begin with. 

“that felt good. anyway, happy holidays to you too.” and lulu walked away. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

johnny’s new year’s extravaganza is on full blast — the biggest turn out he’s ever had. a lot of people ditched their work parties and their family events to gather in his house for a better time. it was so busy that there was barely any open space and he ran out of ice.

before he could instacart some with his drunk trembling fingers, i’m taking the phone from him.

“i’ll get it!” i yelled over the DJ — the DJ is him. “i didn’t drink, i’ll go pick some up!” 

he takes one side of his headphones off, tilting his head asking, are you sure? but the puppy dog look in his eyes shows how much he prefers this over those hiked up delivery fees.

i give him his phone back and tell him i’ll be back in a few. on my way out, i catch a stumbling minjeong and she says she’s gonna stay the night. 

right before i reach the door, jaehyun and our friends come down the stairs, smoke wafting around them. my eyes automatically count the number of them and of course, i notice one missing.

“hey where’s-“ i stop myself, rolling my lips in. unfortunately, they’re not high enough to mishear me or maybe it’s expected of me to want to know his whereabouts. maybe it’s obvious to everyone how i feel about him. what do i know?

“he never showed up,” mark says. “guess he’s not feeling well? did johnny get new floors?” 

mark cautiously steps around like the floor is made of fragile glass and i grab onto his arm, afraid he’s going to fall. he starts giggling like crazy and it’s so cute. 

jaehyun quickly steps in and catches mark’s weight before it crushes me. i give him a thanks and tell him i’m going to get ice. 

“you sure? it’s so late. fuck johnny, we can drink lukewarm drinks.”

i shake my head, “i think i need the air anyways.”

he offers me his car after checking that i’m sober, but i turn him down, already making my way out.

the air is lightly crisp and chilly, no clouds in the sky. it’s the perfect new year weather for fireworks. i’m already two blocks down and there’s still people from his party scattered on the streets. 

while deep in my thoughts about a certain missing someone, i realize i missed the turn to the gas station and am now walking home. as suffocating as it was in that packed house, it felt worse choking on my persistent thoughts in the middle of the night. 

i can feel the deepening crack in my heart that only made this new loneliness of the holiday more apparent. i just finished sending johnny an apology text and i start digging in my purse for my keys. 

the steps to my apartment complex’s front door is occupied by a pair of shoes, connected to a pair of legs, holding up a tired looking haechan. my toes meet his in my haggard search to find my keys and i almost fall back in surprise. he quickly stands to catch my wrist and i’m yanked into his chest, keys falling to the ground.

“what are you- what are you doing here?” i twist my arm out of his grip and take a step back onto flat ground. a small part of me (a big one) fills with relief knowing he was here the whole time and is okay and i feel betrayed by that side of me. 

he looks at me incredulously like he’s not the one camped outside my house. then he looks around to see if anyone is with me, growing concerned.

“what the hell are you doing walking home alone at this time? those assholes couldn’t take you?” standing two steps above me, haechan lectures me like a parent and i’m in no position to be scolded. like a child, the irritation easily blooms in my chest.

“stop acting like you care. it’s pissing me off.” i groan, suddenly feeling all the tiredness from the day in my bones. “you made it clear how you feel about me so just… stop.” you’re confusing me, i think.

i stand here challenging him, quirking an eyebrow waiting for him to move. 

he grabs my lanyard off the ground instead.

“look i…can i?” he gestures to the door, wanting to go inside, looking defeated. his shoulders have fallen from their tense position and haechan just looks so worn out. with how disheveled his appearance is, it looks like he had been waiting outside for hours.

“i… don’t know if that’s a good idea.” i bite my lip, trying to fight the annoying guilt i feel like i’m leaving a stray puppy out in the cold. but i knew that if i let him into my circle again, i’d just end up even more hurt. 

haechan just nods, handing me my keys back. “if you want the whole neighborhood to know how badly i fucked up and how awfully sorry i am, i don’t mind doing this outside.” 

“doing what exactly?” i ask, crossing my arms in front of me. for someone standing so tall above me, he now looked so vulnerable from where i stood below him. 

“apologizing.” haechan states, taking a step down. “confessing.” another step down. perfectly level.

my lips are holding back so many questions, so many exclamations. he can see it in my eyes how quickly my mind runs and how hard i’m trying to not blurt all my thoughts out. i want him to continue, he needs to.

“lulu and i broke up, first of all. that awkward airport car ride was not just awkward because of… us.” he laughs, reliving the scene. i can hear lulu’s words repeating in my head, but i refuse to make sense of them right now. 

“i think… i realize… i was just playing house with her. forcing myself to keep this seemingly easy girlfriend because… because the one i truly wanted scared me so badly.” haechan looks at me with his soft, round brown eyes, making it so obvious who he was referring to. it made me hopeful enough to ask. 

“i scare you?” i say quietly, still so confused and processing the millions of emotions coarsing through my chest. you want me?

“you terrify me.” 

“i don’t un-“

“the way you love me terrifies me. the thought of losing you terrifies me. the way i feel for you terrifies me. the thought of not being enough for you terrifies me!” as he lists, his voice gets louder and i have to grip his forearm to get him to quiet down. 

“haechan…”

“no, i’ve spent years with this fear, fighting my fucking feelings for you just to feel safe. but this… what i’ve done? it feels a million times worse than whatever this stupid fear may manifest. and i should’ve known from all those romcoms you make me watch where the male lead makes the same fucking mistake!” his eyes are ground in by the palms of his hands, pushing back on the tension i can see brewing in his head. 

“i messed up so bad thinking i was doing both of us a favor. but i hurt you more than i ever thought i could. i’m an asshole.” he cries, sniffling hard. with his hands now at his sides, fists clenched, i can clearly see the tears he tried so hard to hold back. 

“i’m sorry… but i love you.” haechan confesses with a pained smile on his tear-stained face, shrugging like it’s truly something to be apologizing for. 

it makes my heart spur with something along the lines of anger, but not quite.

“you’re an idiot for thinking you should ever be sorry for that.” 

i finally speak up. “you’re so stupid!” i shove him, feeling my bag fall off my shoulder.

“you’re so, so stupid!” i punch at his chest, bag smacking onto the floor. 

“i know, i know i-“ he stammers.

“no! you don’t know! how could you decide all of this for us? that not having me in your life would be easier than taking a chance on-on losing me? or loving me?! do you understand how selfish you sound? how selfish you’ve been?” i’m enraged. my fingers are curled around the fabric of the bottom of his shirt because i still can’t quite reach his collar. i’m desperate for him to genuinely hear me for what feels like the first time in months. 

his jaw is locked, eyes watery to match mine, as he files through what he could say in response. 

“what’s even shittier is that you knew this whole time how much i loved you,” my voice cracks, a hiccup escaping my mouth. 

“loved?” he asks, sounding wounded by the past tense. and it drives me nuts that that’s what he latched onto. 

“love, you idiot,” i clarify without hesitation. “i love you so much…”

and despite how clear that confession was, haechan searches my eyes like he’s looking for more to be said. like he can easily palpate the true feelings i’ve been holding back, begging me to continue. 

“…enough to maybe overlook this.” i let go, knowing i can’t hold back any longer. 

haechan’s face shifts almost instantly, not shying away from laughing out of pure relief. “oh my god,” he gasps, taking my hands from his shirt and weaving them with his own to clutch tight to his chest. “thank god.” 

i can feel his heart racing between our hands intertwined. it feels like the same one drumming in my chest. i look at his face against the night sky and it feels both strange and comforting that he’s so freely staring at me with that lovesick look in his eyes. they sparkle like they’re mimicking the stars above him. 

“have i told you i’m sorry? i need you to know i’m sorry and that i’m going to fix everything. i promise.” he kisses my knuckles lightly, scared to push it. 

before i can respond, we both faintly hear the muffled yells of the neighborhood counting in sync. 

5!

our eyes widen simultaneously, suddenly realizing where we were and what time it was. we start laughing as the bubble around us pops.

4!

haechan shakes his head at the timing of it all, eyes bright and sparkly at the prospects. he already looks so much lighter and he looks at me like i’m a new beginning.

3!

despite all the anger i had felt for him, my body knows better and my arms make their way around his neck, lifting me up a little higher to meet his face. 

2!

his mouth parts, head cocked slightly to the side as if to ask if this was truly okay. i shyly nod and he instantly brings his hands to my waist to pull me impossibly closer. i laugh at his eagerness and i can feel the joy rumbling in his chest against mine. 

1! 

… happy new year!

a startling crack erupts above us, sending a flurry of colors into the sky. i tilt my chin to look up, but he takes this new angle to capture my lips with his instead. the new and exciting feeling of his mouth against mine sends a surge of electricity coursing through my body at a rate that matches the fireworks above. his fingers curve into my hips as if i could disappear at any moment and i cradle the nape of his neck to let him know i’m still here. 

we hear hooting and hollering, poppers going off, and champagne bottles bursting open. it feels like the whole world is celebrating us, as ridiculous as it sounds. 

my body is consumed with how much i just love kissing haechan; i can’t help the smile that makes its way onto my face, and our teeth awkwardly clink. he laughs under his breath, letting me know he feels the same, and it feels good to just rejoice in this mutual buzz. he gives me a peck on the lips, then another on my cheek, and another on my forehead. he goes for the other cheek but i meet him with my lips instead. 

“hey,” i get his attention.

his eyebrows perk and he gives me a sly look, “heyyy…”

i scoff, but it doesn’t match the giddy smile on my face. “no, dumbass. hey, don’t think this one kiss solves everything, okay?” i take him by his shoulders to put some distance between us so he knows i mean business.

“so like… 500 more kisses will do the trick or…?” he starts leaning in and i shove my hand over his mouth.

“haechan!” 

“okay, okay! i’m joking! trust,” he tears my palm off his face. “my mom already warned me that it’d take way more than this to win you back.” 

“she said that?” i snicker. 

“i told you she ripped me a new one. she didn’t need to, i knew how badly i fucked up. but she loves you almosttt as much as i do, so i don’t blame her.” he smiles, looking at me in a way i had only imagined in my dreams. 

“and you’re not… scared anymore?” 

“i am.” he says confidently, but there’s no doubt riddled on his face. “but i want this more than whatever insecurities i may have. i want you way more.” 

haechan rests his head onto mine, taking in a deep breath, “so will you have me?”

i pretend to think about it to tease him and he pokes at my side. “forgiving a cute brunette boy was actually one of my new years’ resolutions so yeah.”

“oh how gracious of you,” he jokes, hand over his heart, shaken by my generosity. “can we kiss again?”

“that’s actually another one of my-“

“oh shut up.” and i do. or really, he shuts me up.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A/N: ahhh thank god. reblog, like, or reply plsss if u want

[marcuspikegf]

harry castillo x single mom! reader

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

wordcount: 3.4k | requests are open | about me+ masterlist

reblogs and comments are appreciated!!! comment if you want to be tagged! send me asks about this! asks/ideas/anything! inbox is always open :)

summary: it's a rainy day in nyc, a couple of months after the breakup and harry castillo accidentally trips over into the cutest 3 year old and and meets her mother too.

warnings: warning this is so cute your teeth will ROT (no warnings just fluff fluff fluff). in my head there was an age gap of 20 something years reader is a single mother but really it can be any age u want, not rlly specified, reader just knows airdrop better than this old man HAH. i think i used like y/n once like. thrice. afab reader, you have a daughter. your ex husband died like 3 years ago.

authors note: i was stuck in the rain today and this idea POSESSED ME. and i had to write it plz cut me some slack it's 5am when i'm posting this i havent slept a wink just i've been writing this. no capitals, its just a lot of yapping this fic, it's a new style of writing. pls let me know if this is shit so i can go back to my old style, this is much more like. idk. stream of thought. pls let me know if anyone wants a sequel, if not this is just a oneshot. so not my ancient rome posessed ass usual...but thats OK. HARRY IS SUCH A GIRLDAD. reblogs and likes and follows are actually just love. ok brb im going to bed now...! (edit, i just woke up) OMG i am so glad u guys like this. i hope u guys like maya she is so cute and teeny and will be using harry has her new climbing frame. reader is just a frazzled single mom who loves her daughter very much. harry realises that a family is something he can still have. i fear i am in the baby fever trenches.

new york in the rain is always…something else entirely. after the break up with lucy, after everything, the summer comes with patchy spells of rain, like clockwork. manhattan’s large buildings cover him from most of the rain, but the road halfway to his office has been blocked since yesterday night, due to emergency works in the pipeline, and he has to walk the last half a mile. and anyway, he’s given this morning off to his driver. the cab driver’s dropped him off here, and now it’s just him and this stretch of road that he has to walk through, and flag another cab on the other side. 

he would obviously rather not do such a thing, because. well — his suit is silk and well tailored, and he wears freshly polished oxfords on his feet he’d rather not get scuffed. it’s almost 9, and he is so ridiculously far away from the financial district, it’s embarrassing. this was not a good time to be late for work, especially not late for work in drenched clothes and no umbrella. he had a reputation to uphold, in the office at least. 

the rain falls harder, and he starts walking faster, head hunched over his phone on the pavement, he needs to call his assistant, let her know that no he will not be showing up today, and yes he will be there for the meeting by 12. should be anyway. 

a splash, and he feels water coat his trousers. they’re grey, and anyone  can see the damn water stains on them now. it’s muddy water too, splotches against his calves and his ankles. he looks up from his screen, to see the offending person who’s splashed his $700 suit. 

to his surprise, it’s a child in a yellow raincoat. excited as she jumps up and down, her brown hair in plaits as she runs into puddles, a jump, a dart, and then she’s out again, stomping her feet onto every single divot where water has gathered.

he smiles at that, anger being washed away as the rain falls. 

and then his eyes land on you, running behind what could only be your daughter. you share the same eyes, the same face shape, you’ re basically mirroring every movement of hers, haphazardly. long hair tied into a bun, you look frazzled, exhausted. 

“maya!” you shout, chasing after your daughter with the umbrella in one hand; attempting to not have it blow away by the wind. the other hand reaches out for her, but not before she trips over his oxfords, scuffing them, tumbling into a puddle.

it’s right in front of him, and a child’s just fallen down, he doesn’t have any children, but he isn’t heartless. 

he stops his speed walking, and holds out his pointer finger for her to grab, and she does so with her tiny hands, wrapping around his finger, tugging at it. she stands up with a little “oof”, and he can see the scrape on her cheek from when she hit the floor, the muddy water on her face, leaving behind a grubby stain. suddenly, something overwhelms him, and he crouches down to her level, to wipe away a little of the grit that’s pressed against her cheek. 

“oh my god, i am so sorry about that!” you say, out of breath, as you catch up to the two of them. he looks at you, and then your daughter. it’s almost as if you’ve managed to copy and paste yourself, a smaller version of you with the same bright eyes, even if yours have been dulled by…well. he doesn’t know. life? 

“it’s no worries.” he smiles back, still not standing up, his hands linger over the child’s cheek, the scrape bleeding a little, “hey, is she okay?”

you scrub your face with your hands, and crouch down to your daughter, and he realises that you’re short, quite a bit shorter than him, anyway.

“maya, angel, are you okay?” you wipe the blood away off her skin, the red staining your thumb as your eyes mist up. you hate to see her in pain, that much is obvious. 

“otay.” she holds up her thumb in agreement, and nods. harry’s a little surprised kids can be like that, all soft one moment, all solid the next. she scrunches up her nose, and her fringe sticks to her forehead, she can’t be any more than three, a toddler running loose in new york on a wednesday morning. sure, that might as well happen, he think. 

“mumma’s still going to check, okay?” you kiss her cheek, and then straighten up, lifting her up in one swoop. he takes it as a cue to stand up too, shaking his arm, and picking up the umbrella you’ve dropped to pick your daughter up.

“your umbrella..?” is literally all he can manage, because his stomach is doing flip flops right now, looking at you. you, with the pretty eyes, fogged up glasses perched on your head. you’re wearing formal wear, a blouse and a floral skirt, and your daughter smiles looking at him holding out the umbrella.

“umbella.” her small hands try and grab it, but there’s no way she’ll be able to hold it, and so he keeps a grip on it, steady.

“i don’t think i have any room for it.” you huff, “you keep it mister!” you wave at him, with your left hand, “seems like you need it.”

no ring.

so why did he notice that?

you smile at him, and he smiles back, before you start walking towards the nearest open coffee shop.

and then he jogs up to them, “hey! miss!” what’s possessing him to do this? he’s fifty for god’s sake, and he sounds like a nineteen year old with a crush.

you turn back, and see him holding out the umbrella for you, “yeah..?”

“your daughter tripped over my shoes,” he sounds sheepish, “let me buy you a coffee, it’s the least i can do ma’am.”

you frown for a second, and then hear the thunderclap, look at the downpour. “okay…yeah, sure. okay, why not.”

maya curls around your neck at the sound of the thunderclap, and the sight squeezes something in his heart. you soothe her with a kiss to her forehead and a stroke on her hair.

“she can’t stand thunderstorms.” you say, nodding at her, “i’m trying to get her to nursery, but the subway wasn’t working? they’re saying the tracks got flooded?”

“they need to fix that, sooner or later.” but he hasn’t used the subway in years, his driver takes him everywhere. 

“mhm.” you agree, and the two of you step into the coffee shop, it’s upscale, the ones that sell the bags of their own brand, artisanal coffee in store too. 

your daughter — maya — with her brown plaits, blinks up when she smells coffee. and then snuggles back into you again. she’s so tiny, with her little hands playing with the loose strands of hair around your neck. is this what he’s missing out on?

“so, what do you want, anything, it’s on me.” he says, putting the umbrella back in it’s case, and putting it in the empty water bottle holder of your bag. 

you frown, and then look down at your daughter. “what do you want baby?” 

he didn’t expect you to ask her what she wanted, he just thought you’d get something expensive and leave, what with him inconveniencing you. instead you ask maya, and she murmurs something in your ear.

“have you been here before?” you ask, frowning as he reads the menu. 

“this is a chain, there’s one near my work place in the financial district.” he says, noncommittally, there’s no reason to tell her what he does, not yet. 

“oh okay,” you say, and then you whisper back to your daughter, “i think if you ask the nice man, he’ll know more than me, okay baby?”

she nods, and then peeks her head out of the crook of her mother’s neck. 

“hi.” she says, her voice oh so delicate.

“hi.” he says, a little awkwardly, he’s not great with kids. never has been, probably never will be. 

“what’s ‘our name.” she asks it so confidently, it throws him off. in the middle of the line for the counter. you laugh at that, and harry thinks he quite likes the sound of your laugh. 

“i’m harry castillo, but you can call me harry.” he holds out his finger again, and she shakes it with her little hand.

“go on, ask mr castillo the question.” you prompt her, gently.

“otay.” she frowns, like she’s remembering. “what’s really sweet here? mumma says i can’t have sweets at home. your teeth get holes. but what’s super sweet here?”

he laughs at that, and you shake your head, “maya! you don’t have to tell mr castillo about home baby.” but he wants to hear about home, he wants to hear about how silly it is raising a child, what your home is like, what maya is like, what you are like.

“it’s harry, and it’s fine, really.” home for him is a huge penthouse with nobody inside. so really, anything is interesting to him.

“otay. can ou tell me what’s sweet here?” she asks, more seriously.

he hums, looking at the menu. “maybe the caramel hot chocolate it’s caramel and chocolate.”

you smile at that and so does maya, matching smiles on your faces, why does it light up the room, why does that light up his morning.

you get to the counter quickly, and he tells the barista what to order, putting his card to the machine before you can even see that he’s picked out two pastries for you two too. is the total $28? yes, but that’s a small price to pay, for everything.

you sit at the couch with your daughter beside you, and the barista calls out “maya!” 

you watch as he picks up the plates and cup from the counter, and brings it to you. your daughters eyes widen, and she starts drinking from the cup with the straw.

“you don’t have to do this!” you push the cinnamon bun towards him, your daughter has unfortunately already got her hands on the glazed cherries, and has them in her fist right now, “please, let me pay you back.”

“no, it’s fine, really.” he still has that awkward smile, “i did trip your daughter up.”

“by accident, and it’s fine, kids fall over all the time.”

“but are you sure she seems okay?” he frowns, and he notices your eyes catch his hands. 

“she’s fine, i promise, it’s nothing more than a little graze, see?” you point to her cheek, and the scrape has scabbed over already. 

“and her head and everything…?” he says, and you smile again, more reassuringly.

“yes,” you take a sharp breath, “kids are meant to survive, i promise, she’s okay.”

“oh.” he says, quietly, “okay.”

“no worries mr castillo, thank you so much, maya will be raving about this for days now.” you smile at him, genuine gratitude, and it’s at this moment where he realises that he would spoil you and maya forever. if he could.

“i didn’t catch your name..?” he asks, gentle smile on his face.

“oh yeah, of course, it’s (y/n).” your focus is on your daughter now, who asks if you can cut up the cherry turnover into smaller pieces for her. it’s clear you have no idea who the hell he is, and he’d rather it stay the way.

it’s cute, how quickly maya smiles at him, how you smile at him. he walks up to the counter to get another paper straw as the one in maya’s cup starts to disintegrate, and the barista there smiles at him.

“lovely family you’ve got there.” she says, handing the straw over, “your daughter looks just like your wife, except she’s got your smile.”

those words make him freeze. daughter, wife. you just met them half an hour ago, and suddenly you do look like you and maya would suit his apartment better, suddenly it looks like maya’s little smile looks a little like his own. 

“oh that’s…” he trails off, just take the win man, you aren’t going to get a wife and child. not at your age, his mind thinks. “thank you.”

“no worries, have a nice day!”

and he walks back to the couch where the two of you sit, sitting across you again. 

“here’s the straw.” he hands it over, and you swap out the straw that’s broken for the other one. 

“thanks.” you smile, and nudge your daughter.

“tanks mr catillo.” she sniffles, and then sips the hot chocolate again.

“it’s harry, and it’s fine, really.”

is it? his heart is melting. 

“do you have anywhere to be later?” he asks, and your smile turns into a frown quickly. that was a silly question.

“yeah, work. maya can’t stay without me too long in weather like this, so i’m just taking her to work with me.” you sigh, “i mostly work from home, but the office says you need to come in on wednesdays.”

“oh, which way are you going?” he asks, and you shrug.

“midtown, i work at a tech company, but i doubt i’ll be anywhere at this time of day.”

he laughs at that, all rich like butter and biscuits. “yeah, fair enough, i’m trying to get to the financial district without looking like a wet rat.”

you smile at him, and he can feel your eyes ghost over his curls. “no, i don’t think you look like a wet rat mr castillo.”

“it’s harry.” he sighs, and leans over the table, maya mimicks him and does the same. they’re content in making silly faces at each other for a bit as you scroll through your inbox. 

“i’ve never seen her take to someone so quick.” there’s a smile on your face, proud. “she’s always very shy, but she loves jumping up in the rain.”

he hasn’t thought of lucy, or matchmaking, or anything right now. just the woman in front of him, with the child currently blowing a raspberry at him. 

“maybe i just have a trustworthy aura.” he smiles, all charm.

“or maybe it’s because you gave her three sources of sugar.” but there’s no bite to your words, not really, “thanks, i can’t wait for the sugar crash that’s going to come next.”

maya has a fringe that sticks to her face with the rain, and your glasses that are fogged up sit on your hair, and you smile at him like he’s the only man alive.

oh god. he’s sunk in so deep, it’s ridiculous.

and he doesn’t even know if you’re single, available, whatever. no ring doesn’t mean, no father.

“can’t you give her to her father?” he blurts out, and your vision darkens.

“no, um, maya’s dad died two months after she was born.” you shake your head. “daddy’s with the stars now, isn’t he?” you say, in hushed tones to your daughter, but it’s like you’re saying it for yourself.

“oh.” he gets quiet again, “sorry about that.” 

“no it’s fine, really.” you say, with some resolution in your voice. the sun is finally peeking out of the clouds, and this magical moment has to come to an end, soon anyway. 

maya burrows into your chest again as you coax her to stand up, she doesn’t want to walk any longer, and harry doesn’t know how long you’ve been walking for anyway. without a single thought, he picks up your daughter like she weighs nothing.

maya shrieks with laughter, this is higher up than she’s used to.

you just stare at him with narrowed eyes, but he just sort of stands there, six feet tall with a child perched in his arms, waiting for you to say something.

you huff, and then close your eyes, as if to say “i’m trusting you with this.” and then your eyes harden, “if you hurt her..”

his face blanches, but he still holds onto her like she’s precious, and she is precious, with freckles on her face and bright eyes like she’s the sun incarnate. 

she sits on his shoulders once you leave the coffee shop, the water is drying quickly and there aren’t too many people on the streets. your eyes still linger on your daughter, but also trail over his broad shoulders and broad back. 

tugging at his hair with her small hands, squishing his face, “don’t pull mr castillo’s hair.” you scold.

“it’s fine really.” 

“are you sure?” you ask, worried.

“i’m sure.” he nods, and maya is folding over his face now, dangling her face against his. 

“do ‘ou like cheese? stars make noises? can ‘ou read?” rapid fire questions that come out of her mouth. you smile as he painstakingly answers them “yes i like cheese, i don’t know about stars sorry, and yes i can read.”

she hums thoughtfully, and then sits back up, playing with his hair. the blocked off road is coming to an end now, and you reach at her feet, in little wellington booties. 

“cmon now, time to say goodbye to mr castillo.” he’s given up correcting you.

“arry.” she says, sadly, hand still in his hair.

“careful now maya-bear, mumma has to go to office, you need to come with me okay?” you reach out for her? and harry tries to pass her down, but her hands pull at his shirt.

“come on now.” you coax her again, “you can see mr castillo later on, okay?” and she clambers off him, and onto you. 

“thank you for that.” you whisper, gratefully. 

“no worries miss.” he smiles, a blush on his cheeks. god what he wouldn’t do to have a family like this, a wife and his own child, running around. then he wouldn’t even have to tell them to go. 

“it’s (y/n),” you clear your throat, “it’s fine, call me that and i’ll call you harry.”

“(y/n) it is then.”

“right—“ you put maya down, and let her walk beside you, holding onto your hand. “this is where we say goodbye, right?”

a feeling in his chest. would this be his last chance?

“are you free tomorrow evening?” he asks, far too quickly. 

“tomorrow..evening..?” you stutter, “um, maybe? i dunno, i’ll have to check, probably not though, mayasitting .”

“oh, i was just wondering if you wanted to get some dinner.”

“oh, OH.” you blush, “right, like. that. and this is dinner dinner, and not just, dinner.”

“…what?” he knits his brows.

“no, i mean, never mind.” you shake your head, maya pulling at your hand to turn right. “like, dinner as in. like feeling bad for a single mom sort of dinner or-“

“no, date dinner.” he likes when you stumble over your words, it’s cute.

“ah, date dinner.” you hum, “yeah okay, if you’re okay with maya coming.” a protective hand on her head. “i’m not going anywhere without her, or your house.”

“no, of course.” he glances down at maya, “of course she can come. there’s a nice pizza joint in downtown manhattan that you should come visit. it’s near my office.”

your lips quirk upwards, a ghost of a smile, “okay, yeah, sure, i’d like that. would you like it maya?”

maya grabs onto his trouser clad leg with her grabby little hands (sticky with sugar from the pastries) “PIZZA!”

“okay, so that’s decided then.” your mouth is dry as you watch him smile down at her and shake her hand again. he’s so good with your girl, it makes your heart thud, “can i get your number?”

he nods, and then passes over a business card, and you laugh as you read over it. “i meant maybe airdropping my contact over? but this works fine too.”

greying hair, wrinkles around his eyes, sure he’s not your usual type, a a bit older, but you haven’t dated since your husband died anyway. 

you ring the number you’ve just inputted, and his phone rings. “save me right now, so you can find me faster.”

“okay, okay.” he puts your name down, “see you six pm? i’ll send the location over?”

( maya doesn’t let go of his leg until she’s promised she’ll see him tomorrow, 200%, and somewhere in his shattered broken heart, a seed of hope grows. )

thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! any comments are very appreciates. lots of loveeee angie

[pandakong]

Hey all, it's almost summer, you know what that means? It's the third annual Splotch Summer! Splotch Summer is an art challenge in which I release paint spots/splotches, and then all people are welcome to draw/paint/edit in whatever they see or imagine from the shape!

The challenge announcement image this year is paint I turned into an octopus. I added the arms in with Clip Studio Paint!

Be prepared for first day of summer for another splotch drop! This year I'll be adding the base images on to this post in reblogs.

[sophiasartandgaming]

Splotch Summer #1

Shadowheart from Baldur’s Gate 3

Splotch templates by @pandakong

[say-al0e]

What Are Friends For

Rating: M | This is smut, no one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: A conversation with friends reminds you that you're about to begin college as a virgin. It bothers you more than you care to admit so you consult your best friend, Eddie; is virginity really that much of a turn off? (Or, best friend!Eddie takes your virginity) Warnings: virgin!reader, PinV, some nerves about virginity and first times. Pairing: Eddie x fem!Reader Word Count: 7.2k

Eddie sat on his bedroom floor, one knee bent with an elbow resting atop it, in a rare display of quiet contemplation. With his back pressed to the dresser, cigarette in one hand and a pen in the other, he scribbled in the notebook he used to write lyrics and, occasionally, plan campaigns. 

Rain pattered against the roof of the trailer, heavy and loud and easily drowning out the tape Eddie had playing to fill the quiet. From your perch on his bed, yellowed paperback held open in your hands, you could see it falling in sheets outside the window. With the weather so dreary, there was little you could do other than sit inside - bored, miserable, rereading a book borrowed from Eddie’s shelf that you could practically recite in your sleep - and with him otherwise occupied, you were left alone with thoughts you preferred not to dwell on.

Though you’d read the book in hand a dozen times, could recite the notes Eddie’d scribbled in the margins by heart, if he asked, it would be impossible to relay where in the plot you’d stopped. The words that usually captivated you blurred into one, a mess of nonsensical characters in fading ink, so you dropped it into the sheets with a quiet sigh and rolled onto your side to glance at Eddie in hopes of finding a distraction.

The dark curls you loved were tamed into a low bun, hair swept away from his neck to provide some sort of relief from the oppressive summer heat, with a few strands framing his face. The plush of his lips were swollen, bitten in concentration over the course of the day as he stared intently at the paper. Those dark eyes were narrowed in concentration as he scribbled relentlessly and you could see the tip of his tongue as he pressed it between his lips.

Eddie’s leather jacket and battle vest were replaced by a cutoff Metallica shirt, cropped at the bottom to expose his lower stomach - the band of his shorts, the missing band of his underwear, the dark smattering of hair just beneath his navel between splotches of ink trailing into the band of his shorts - every time he shifted. Most of his tattoos were on display, save for the ones near his collarbones, and you wondered if he realized you could draw most of them from memory.

It would’ve been nice to be able to say that you were struck, just in that moment, by how attractive Eddie was. To confess that you’d never noticed how achingly beautiful your best friend was would’ve been a lie as his beauty was something you’d always seen.

Few things baffled you more than how people - closed-minded classmates, shallow girls who sought out pigheaded jocks - saw Eddie as anything other than breathtakingly beautiful. His personality was enough, a kind heart and a brilliant mind, but personality aside, you always thought he looked like someone out of a magazine. He was a rockstar stuck in tiny little Hawkins, a figure from your wildest fantasies brought to life.

The wild curl of his hair, the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the bright glimmer of his eyes; it all made you giddy, a little lovesick in a way only Nikki Sixx had so far managed. With every glimpse of Eddie that you stole, you grew a little more enamored and as a conversation you’d had earlier that morning simmered at the forefront of your mind, you wondered if that was part of the problem.

A conversation with friends, the majority of whom rarely pressed about your love life - mostly because they knew there was nothing to share, in part due to your feelings for Eddie - that began as excited chatter about college, classes, and, ultimately, boys, sent you spiraling.

Somehow, the conversation went from playful fun to pressing for details about your lack of dates and, finally, a shared certainty that college would change things for you. However, an off-handed comment about inexperience being a turn-off made you question whether college would change anything at all.

Pulling yourself back to reality, reminding yourself that the only opinion that mattered was your own, proved impossible. Every thought that crossed your mind centered on your inexperience, a trait your friends acknowledged and giggled at, and you couldn’t stop yourself from calling out.

“Eddie?”

If he noticed the tremor in your voice - and, this time, he likely didn’t - he said nothing. Instead, he hummed his acknowledgement. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

The pet name was casual, something that slipped off his tongue easily, just as it had done a thousand times before without a second thought, but it never failed to set fire to your skin. There was something about the way his voice wrapped around the word, a little rough around the edges but dripping honey - a little darker, a little deeper - in a tone you’d never been privy to, that had your heart hammering in your chest. The thud of it was loud, drowned out the music and the rain, and you wondered if Eddie could hear it, too, as he glanced up at you for the first time in an hour.

Whatever expression you thought you’d hidden, however careful you imagined you’d been, Eddie saw right through you. With only a tentative glance at your face, his lips pulled into a frown as he dropped his composition book into a pile of laundry before shuffling closer to you. When he sat with his back pressed to the bed, arm lifting to rest on the mattress as his hand sought yours, you could see the concern clouding his eyes. “You alright?”

A brief thought of brushing him off, of pretending that you were fine - bored, or maybe tired, just for an excuse to have sought his attention - but Eddie knew you well. He’d seen your face, caught the glimpse of upset in your eyes, and wouldn’t settle for anything less than a real answer.

With a sigh, you wrapped your arms around your knees and spared him a sideways glance. “I… You know how I’ve never…”

An annoyed huff, bothered by how difficult it seemed to be just to say the words, escaped as you shook your head. Eddie tipped his to get a better look at your face and the weight of his gaze burning into your skin made it difficult to concentrate. Regardless of the knowledge that this was Eddie - someone who loved you, someone who wouldn’t judge you or laugh at you, despite how objectively stupid you imagined you were being - it was still difficult to string together a coherent sentence.

“Can you not look at me, please? I can’t think with you looking at me.”

Eddie was unfazed by your request. It was one he’d grown used to over the years, one you threw at him every time you wanted to discuss something serious - or embarrassing or simply vulnerable - and couldn’t find the nerve. So, instead of questioning you, he simply pushed himself up and climbed onto the bed to join you. He shifted his body to press his back to the wall, stretched his legs across the mattress, and held out a hand.

“Alright, c’mere.”

When you placed your hand in his, shifted onto your knees to shuffle a little closer, Eddie twined his fingers with yours and tugged. With little effort, he hauled you onto his lap. A soft hand pressed to the back of your head and guided your face to hide in the crook of his neck - a position you’d been in a thousand times before, a position that made you feel safe to bare your soul.

This time, however, you felt your heart begin to hammer against your ribcage as you grew overwhelmingly aware of the heat of Eddie’s body pressed to yours. Everything seemed too clear, too loud, too real; the green apple scent of his shampoo, the herbal hint of weed that always seemed to linger, the softness of his skin as your hand rested against his bicep, the firm press of his body as he held you in place, the callous of his fingers as his hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt to brush at the bare skin of your back.

It was almost too much.

Rather than comforting, you felt Eddie’s touch set your skin alight. It needled at your nerve endings, hastened the pace of your already spiraling thoughts, and you nearly lost your train of thought as he hummed to regain your attention.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

The rasp of his voice in your ear, warm and soft and concerned in a way he only ever seemed to be for you, cut clear through the hammering of your heart. It filled your chest with a sticky warmth and you inhaled as deep as you could in an effort to steel yourself for the conversation you weren’t certain you wanted to have.

“You know how I had breakfast with my friends this morning?” Eddie hummed, acknowledging the plans you’d had before the day devolved into rain and quiet. “We were talking and I know it’s stupid, but I just… I started thinking about it and I couldn’t stop.”

Eddie hummed, acknowledging and encouraging you to continue, as he waited patiently. “I’ve never really been on a date and guys don’t really like me. That’s fine, I guess. I mean, it’s not,” you amended, huffing slightly as you traced his tattoo idly. “But there’s not a lot I can do to change it. Anyway, they were kind of laughing about it. They were talking about college changing things and then Amanda said it would be a major turnoff and I… Well, she’s right. I don’t want to go to college a virgin who’s never even held hands with someone romantically. It’s not a major deal but I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and I really don’t want to have some cute college guy ask me to make out and have to tell him that I’ve never done that and him think I’m a total loser and lose interest in me.”

The entire confession spilled past your lips in a rushed whisper, mumbled against Eddie’s skin in a hurried huff as you wasted no time thinking. Thinking about it, agonizing over how to express your concern, would only make it harder and you knew that getting it all out in the open would be the easiest option.

Still, that did little to calm your racing heart as Eddie’s hands stilled against your skin.

“Sweetheart.” He sighed, understanding and just a little gentler than you were accustomed to, as he lifted one hand to cup your cheek. “Look at me, please.” With great effort, you allowed him to tip your head so that he could search your face. After a beat of silence, he assured you. “There’s nothing wrong with still being a virgin and it’s not a turnoff. If some asshole college guy thinks any different of you, that’s his loss. Just means he’s not the one for you.”

Rationally, you knew that.

That was something you’d told yourself a thousand times over, a reminder repeated every time the topic arose. But rationality had little place in the whirlwind of emotion the conversation drudged up.

“I know,” you promised him, dipping your head to focus on the fading letters of his t-shirt. Tracing the nearly destroyed ink, you hummed. “I just… I don’t want to be pressured into it and I don’t want it to be a bad memory. I know it’s not going to be perfect but I just want it to be good. I want it to be like something from a movie.” Though you didn’t really want to know, though you knew it would only curdle the already sour thoughts in the pit of your stomach, you allowed yourself to ask. “How was yours?”

Eddie laughed quietly as he resumed his soft stroking of your skin. “Nothing is like the movies,” he declared, pausing only when you huffed. “Not to rain on your parade or anything,” he teased. “But all of my firsts were pretty shitty. My first kiss was under the bleachers in junior high and she laughed at me after because it was just a dare. And my first time was over in, like, three seconds. I was high and horny and came the second she let me inside. I’m just glad she never told anyone. But shit happens, sweetheart. It gets better, easier. Just find someone you trust.”

Without thinking, you said, “I trust you.” For a split second, it felt as if the world stopped spinning. You willed a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole as you immediately lifted your hand to cover your mouth. “I don’t… I don’t know why I just said that. Fuck, I’m sorry, Eddie. I-“

Instead of allowing you to pull away, to put a considerable amount of space between you both, Eddie held you tight to his chest as he tipped your head once more. “It’s okay,” he assured you, dipping his head to meet your eyes. There was no hint of anger - no disgust or annoyance, no amusement; none of the negativity you imagined you’d see - and you swallowed your rising panic as he urged, “Calm down, sweetheart. Take a breath.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” you repeated.

“For what?” Eddie’s question was honest, uncertain as to why you were apologizing, and you could only shrug as you withered beneath the weight of his gaze.

“I don’t know. I just… felt like I needed to?”

A beat of silence passed as Eddie studied your face. You weren’t quite sure what he was looking for but he seemed to find it as his thumb brushed your cheekbone.

“Complete honesty, alright?” It was a request Eddie made rarely as he always trusted you to be honest. It was only made in moments like this - moments of unrivaled vulnerability, moments that saw you both struggling to speak normally - and you granted it readily.

“Alright.”

“Is this… Do you want me to be your first?” The question was blunt - maybe more so than Eddie intended - but you appreciated his directness even as you inhaled sharply.

“I think so,” you admitted, unable to shift your gaze even as his warm brown eyes set your skin alight. “I mean, I trust you, more than anyone else. You’re… You’re Eddie,” you pointed out, smiling softly. “You’re my best friend. I don’t think there’s anyone better.”

“This isn’t something you have to do, sweetheart. You don’t have to lose it right now,” he reminded you, soft but certain. “There’s no shame in being a virgin. Whoever you end up choosing, if they’re the right person, they won’t mind. I know you trust me but you don’t have to choose me just because you want to get it over with.”

“That’s not why I’m choosing you.” Eddie tipped his head, an uncertainty few others were allowed to see flickering across his face as he awaited your elaboration. “I know that this will change everything,” you admitted, voice a whisper behind the rain.

“It doesn’t have to,” Eddie interjected, voice as quiet as you’d ever heard it. “Whatever happens, or doesn’t, is entirely up to you.”

“But I want it to!” He blinked, surprised by the conviction in your voice, but kept quiet as you continued. “The reason I’ve had so much trouble finding someone else, someone I want, is because I want you. I have for a long time.”

Though you’d known how you felt about Eddie for a long while - swallowed it down, hid it for fear of ruining the best friendship you’d ever had - admitting the words aloud felt final. It felt heavy, sinking to the pit of your stomach like a stone, but you knew that the only way out was through.

There were only two options. The first, Eddie would reject you - never harshly, soft and sweet in the way he seemed to only be with you - seemed most likely to you. But the second, that was the option you wished for.

Eddie returning your feelings, wanting you just as you wanted him, seemed plausible some days. When he held your hand in crowds, when he lounged in his bed and spent hours discussing books and movies and music with you, when he threw an arm around your shoulders and grinned brighter than the sun every time you made it to one of his shows; you saw a future in which he loved you, too.

But insecurity, irrational and loud, told you that you were imagining the softness of his touch or the gentle tone of his voice. It made you uneasy, kept you from admitting your feelings for fear of the worst, and you nearly wished you’d allowed the insecurity to win as silence stretched around you.

Until Eddie spoke and destroyed any remaining shred of insecurity.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while, sweetheart.”

Soft fingers brushed across your cheek, tracing the slope lightly as Eddie watched you blink owlishly. There was a moment of stunned silence, a beat in which you wondered if your dalliances with the supernatural had damaged your hearing more significantly than you’d realized, before you inhaled deeply.

“Are you… are you sure?”

The soft smile on Eddie’s face was reassuring. “Very sure. Remember when we first met?” A spark of memory - a flash of the past, the moment you nearly bowled him over on your way to find Steve before facing yet another supernatural threat - as your brows furrowed. “I started going to history after that, just ‘cause I knew you were in that class.”

“That’s been a while.” It hadn’t, not really - not in the grand scheme of the misery of Hawkins - but it felt like forever as Eddie shrugged.

“Time flies,” he declared with a half-shrug. The soft brush of Eddie’s fingers across your rapidly heating skin continued, easily mapping the features you occasionally caught him studying with an intensity you now recognized as love, and he smiled as you inhaled a shaking breath.

“I don’t know if I remember a time before falling in love with you.”

The admission was quiet, a whisper in the still of Eddie’s room, but it felt as if you’d shouted it. Vulnerability was not new, not with Eddie, though baring your soul so completely was terrifying. He accepted it easily, however, and smiled as he cradled your jaw.

“You don’t have to butter me up, sweetheart,” he teased - an effort to lighten the mood, not downplay your emotions, and ease the deafening thundering of your heart. “I’m already yours.”

With that, he leaned in and bumped your nose with his own. He waited, giving you the final choice - whether you truly wanted to take that step or not - and allowed you to make the first move.

Though you knew Eddie would never make fun of you - not for something serious, something that meant so much to you, anyway - there was still a sense of hesitance as you studied him. Up close, you could see the tiny imperfections, the little lines and freckles and spots that made him, him, and you knew that this was what you wanted.

Before he could reassure you, tell you that it was fine if you weren’t sure, if you needed more time, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss itself was not perfect. It was not something out of a film, with fireworks and an immediate, instinctual understanding of what to do. It was clumsy, a little tentative, and curious, but it was good. The warmth of Eddie’s palm bleeding into your skin, the brush of his curls as his bangs tickled your forehead, the soft exhale he released as you pressed closer, just a touch relieved you felt comfortable enough to trust him with this; all elements you would’ve never considered important before the moment at hand.

But all too soon, it was over.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, Eddie broke the embrace, pulled away just enough to allow you to draw in a deep breath, and smiled. “You gotta breathe, sweetheart,” he teased, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he took in the sight of you - glazed eyes, parted lips. “Don’t want you passing out on me.”

With anyone else, it would’ve felt like a slight - a jab, rude and mean-spirited - but you knew Eddie. You knew that it was light, fond, and rolled your eyes in response. “Breathe, got it,” you nodded, serious in your study. “Any other notes?”

“Nah. For a first kiss, it wasn’t too bad,” he hummed, after pausing a moment in faux thought. There was a dramatic air of seriousness, though you could tell he was still teasing. “Technique could use a little work, though.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes, a glittering mirth that told you he wasn’t poking fun at you - not really, not maliciously - and you couldn’t help but smile as you nodded. “I suppose someone will have to teach me,” you reasoned, fingers twisting in his curls when he hummed as if it was the most rational thought. “I learn through experience.”

That grin returned, bright - pleased that you seemed to have relaxed; and, truly, you had, as there was nothing to fear in Eddie’s embrace. He’d proven that time and time again. “Lucky for you,” he hummed, tipping his head to brush your lips with his own, “I’m an excellent teacher. Very committed. Willing to spend all night here, if that’s what it takes.”

Then, his lips were on yours once again.

This kiss was more certain, a little more eager, as Eddie took the reins and guided you. He used the hand cradling your jaw to tip your head, to turn it just the way he wanted, and hummed encouragingly as you melted into him. It was still a little clumsy, still exploratory in a way you’d never experienced, but to you, it was perfect. 

And as Eddie’s free hand began to drift down your shoulder, careful not to move too fast, you broke from him just long enough to speak.

“It’s okay,” you promised him, breathless - chest heaving, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. “You can touch me. I want you to.”

With that, you returned your mouth to his.

Every press of Eddie’s mouth to yours, every swipe of his fingers over your heated skin, should’ve made you more nervous. This was farther than you’d ever gone, a complete deviation from the norm in which you were overlooked - only heard about experiences such as this from friends - and you worried there would be an overwhelming anxiety in the pit of your stomach as you attempted to gain some of that experience. 

However, as Eddie’s hands began to wander and his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you found that it was the exact opposite.

Eddie made you comfortable, set you completely at ease.

The idea that this would be the culmination of every experience you’d dreamt of having didn’t make you nervous. The rapid thundering of your heart was not from fear but an excitement, a gratitude that your firsts were being taken by someone you’d loved for so long.

There was an eagerness, not to get it over with but to experience it - to understand you’d been missing. And Eddie seemed to realize that as his hands began to dip beneath the hem of your shirt.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he urged, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes - grinning when you blinked slowly, attempting to regain your sense of reality. “How’d you imagine your first time? Bet it was romantic, maybe some candles or something. Not here, with Metallica playing in the background.”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, fingers playing with the strands fallen from his low bun. “But other times it was quick, in someone’s backseat with the radio playing, just to get it over with, I think. But, lately…” Eddie hummed, urging you to continue, as his hands drifted higher - fingers brushing the underside of your breasts, dragging back down your stomach and stealing your focus. “Lately, it’s been you and it’s been here and Metallica’s been playing in the background. You’re in my head but you’re prettier in real life.”

“Flattery, sweetheart,” he teased, grin bright as he tipped his head to nose at your jaw, though you could see the emotion glittering in his eyes. “You know, I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, hands lifting higher - cupping your breasts, earning a gasp from you at the warmth of his palms against your skin. “‘Bout you, here. What you’d look like, what you’d sound like,” he hummed, appreciative when you sighed contentedly as he began to knead the soft flesh. “Think I like the real thing more.”

From your position on his lap, you could feel him growing harder, pressed to your thigh as you shifted. He hid it well, his own desire, but you heard the sharp inhale he released as you reached for the scrunchie holding his hair back and brushed the tent in his shorts. 

“Can I take this off?” The question was breathed against your skin, nearly lost to the heavy thud of your heart, but you managed to nod as Eddie’s hands fell to the hem of your top.

Eddie had seen you in a bathing suit before, had seen you in just a bra after a torrential downpour left you both soaked and shivering, but this was different. Soon, he would see you completely and though you felt a bit of nerves, you knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t judge. So, you shifted and worked to get rid of the soft fabric.

When your shirt joined a handful of others on his floor, he made no effort to ogle you - though you imagined that would come later, when he knew you were well and truly relaxed. Instead, he returned his mouth to yours and his hands to cup your breasts.

With you sufficiently distracted, Eddie easily maneuvered the pair of you so that you were on your back, lying pliant beneath him. When you hummed, laughed slightly at the bounce as you both settled into the mattress, he broke the kiss and pressed his mouth to your rapidly overheating skin. He started at the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, before beginning to trail a path down your throat. 

“If you change your mind,” he hummed, voice muffled against your skin, “just tell me. Tell me everything, okay? Don’t worry about being too loud. No such thing.”

“Not gonna change my mind,” you assured him, voice pitching higher as his teeth scraped over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “Want this, want you.”

At that, Eddie continued his descent. His lips left a trail of fire in their wake and you gave in to his urging to not worry about your volume. With each brush of his mouth, each tickle of his hair against your skin, you made no effort to hide the soft noises of pleasure. And with each one, Eddie seemed to grow more and more eager.

Those wide eyes lifted to meet yours as he reached your chest, one hand kneading soft flesh as he nipped at the sensitive skin of the opposite breast. He sucked a bruise into the skin, shooting you a wink as he did so, before dipping lower and capturing your nipple between his lips. And when you gasped, hands flying to his hair, he hummed in approval.

Eddie spent a few moments focusing on your breasts, moments in which you realized you couldn’t have chosen a better first partner - someone who loved you, someone who was more interested in making the moment good for you than he was in the act itself - before he began to dip lower.

“I’m totally down to eat you out,” he offered, glancing up at you with those wide eyes, “but if you’re not up for it yet, that’s okay. It’s up to you, sweetheart.”

For a moment, you considered his offer. The press of his body to yours, the weight of him atop you, the warmth of his hands and mouth; it was all overwhelming, in the most beautiful way. Still, you weren’t sure if that was something you wanted in that moment. It sounded fun, and he seemed very serious about his offer, but you weren’t sure how much you wanted so soon. So, you decided to decline his offer, for the time being.

“Next time,” you promised, fingers carding through his curls as he pressed soft kisses to your stomach. “I… Sounds nice, but feels like too much this time,” you admitted, not ashamed but almost.

Eddie, however, easily accepted your answer. “Might be,” he agreed, with an easy grin. “I’m pretty good with my mouth.” It was teasing, accompanied by another wink, and made you roll your eyes.

“You’re pretty good at never closing it,” you countered, squealing when he nipped your skin. 

“We’ll revisit this conversation when you’re comfortable,” he teased, grinning as he shifted up and pressed his mouth to yours once more.

As he distracted you with a kiss - this one messier, more eager than the last - his hands continued to wander. They trailed down your stomach, traced the same path as his lips, before dipping beneath the band of your shorts. His fingers brushed the warm skin, earning a sharp gasp.

“Still okay?” The question was breathed against your lips, and you nodded. 

“Yeah,” you assured him, though your heart felt as if it might beat out of your chest. “Still okay.”

Calloused fingers dipped lower, brushed over the fabric of your panties, and slipped between your spread thighs. There wasn’t a ton of room for him to move, and you realized that he was at least trying to get you used to the sensation as his fingers brushed the fabric covering your folds. If he felt the damp patch - he did, you could tell by the pleased grin he wore - he said nothing. He would tease you for it later. This time, he simply returned his mouth to yours.

Eddie gave you a few moments to adjust to his touch, his fingers brushing the fabric - teasing, soft - before he nudged the now soaked fabric aside and allowed his fingers to drag through the slick gathered there. His touch was light, not hesitant but conscious, careful, waiting in case you changed your mind.

It should’ve made you nervous, should’ve set you on edge, but there was only pleasure as you melted into his embrace and tugged at the curls framing his face as his thumb found your clit.

The touch was electric, filled your veins with a blistering warmth that seemed all encompassing, and you began to understand why your friends made such a big deal of it all. The touch itself was good, better than your own fingers, but knowing that it was Eddie, with his wide eyes and pretty smile, made it that much better.

Every press of his fingers grew more experimental, dragging through your folds and coating his fingers in slick. He teased, brushed lightly and swallowed every sigh and soft moan you released. And after a few long, torturous moments, he finally pressed a finger to your entrance and pulled away just enough to catch sight of your face.

“I’m okay,” you promised him, before he could ask. He hummed, acknowledging, and slowly began to pump his finger, getting you used to the motion. “I kinda get it,” you hummed, gasping as his thumb brushed your clit.

“Mm, get what?”

Eddie pressed a second finger in, then, and his fingers were larger than yours. It was a bit of a stretch, a little more than you were used to, but it was nice and you told him as much as you leaned in to nip his jaw. “Why people like this, why my friends talk about it all the time.”

A quiet laugh filled your ears as he began to work you open, careful to prepare you. “Good. Glad this hasn’t put you totally off sex forever,” he teased, before he brushed his thumb over your clit and earned himself another moan. “Glad you’re not totally questioning why the fuck you thought trusting me with this was a good idea,” he laughed.

“I trust you with everything,” you promised, gasping as he began to work his fingers a touch faster and pressed a spot that made your head spin. “Oh, fuck.”

“There?” Eddie grinned, pleased to have found that spot, and made certain to pay special attention to it as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “C’mon,” he urged, “make some noise for me, sweetheart.”

With Eddie’s encouragement, and with the quickening press of his fingers into you, you found it easier and easier to make the noise he was hoping to hear. Though his space was limited, he made the most of it. He paid close attention to what made you gasp, what made you sigh, what made you moan. And with each swipe of his fingers, with every brush of his thumb over your clit, you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper into him as the fire burning in your veins threatened to consume you entirely.

Though your friends warned you that much of it was over quick, you hadn’t quite anticipated just how fast Edie would be able to push you over the edge. But after only a few moments of his eager ministrations, the press of his fingers and his thumb and the brush of his mouth over your heated skin, you found yourself falling over the edge with a cry of his name.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice tight as he lifted his head to watch you - the part of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the heave of your chest. “Look pretty, coming for me. Wanna make you do it again.”

The gravel in his voice, a rasp you’d never heard, made your head spin and your chest ache in a pleasant way as his fingers continued pressing, pushing you through the aftershocks. All that existed in your mind was him; Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Despite the difficulty you felt in catching your breath, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was pulling him close and pressing your mouth to his.

Eddie easily gave in, allowed you to take your fill of him, and only removed his hand from between your thighs when you grasped his forearm. However, he didn’t pull away entirely. He simply slipped his fingers beneath the band on either side and began to nudge the fabric down.

Without breaking the kiss, you shimmied out of the fabric - no longer caring about being entirely exposed, only caring about having him closer. In the midst of the kiss, Eddie shifted, arm reaching out blindly and swiping at his nightstand. He caught a few stray items, knocked them from the table with a clatter, and you laughed as you broke the kiss.

“What’re you looking for, Eds?”

With a bit of space between you, he eagerly pulled away just enough to tug his own shirt off - up, over his head, joining the fabric on the floor - before shoving his shorts down his thighs. He wasn’t wearing any boxers and you felt hesitant to glance down, despite the permission he gave you. No matter how comfortable he made you, some things still felt like too much for the first time, especially when you’d been half-certain you would lose your virginity in some dark room and now you could see Eddie all too well.

“Condom,” he answered, grinning when you flustered. “Don’t suppose you have one in your bag, sweetheart?”

“Can’t say I do. Wasn’t exactly expecting… this.” In fact, it was the last thing you’d been expecting from your visit to Eddie’s. However, you weren’t going to complain.

“Good unexpected?” He turned his full attention to the nightstand, then, shuffling through drawers and you laughed as you hummed your agreement.

“Totally.” 

A metallic jingle caught your attention and as Eddie shuffled through the items in the nightstand in search of a condom, you searched for the source of the sound. A pair of silver hoops, hanging on a hook near the bed, caught your eye and you inhaled a shaking breath.

“…are those handcuffs?”

Eddie laughed, the noise quickly covered with a triumphant hum as he found the foil packet, before his full attention returned to you. There was an easy amusement in his eyes, warm and bright, as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry about those right now, sweetheart,” he urged. “Eyes on me, yeah?"

“Can I worry about them later?” The question was teasing, tinged with only a touch of nerves as Eddie settled between your spread thighs and allowed one large hand to softly grip the plush flesh.

“Haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already thinking about next time,” he teased with a grin. “I’m creating a monster.”

“Your monster.”

That brilliant smile remained, bright and wide, as he leaned in to press his lips to yours. “My monster,” he agreed, words mumbled against your lips. He kissed you, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving you boneless beneath him, before he breathed a gentle reminder. Those soft eyes met yours as he said, “We don’t have to do this. If you’ve changed your mind, if you wanna wait, that’s okay.”

“I want this. No one I’d rather do this with.”

Eddie shifted closer, then, rested more of his weight atop you and shifted so that the tip of his cock bumped your aching clit. When you inhaled sharply, fingers pressing harshly into his shoulders, Eddie shifted his hips and notched the head of his cock at your entrance. And with a final nod of your head, he pressed forward.

The immediate experience was almost expected - your friends told you that it would hurt, that the first time wasn’t much fun. Only, it wasn’t so much pain as it was discomfort. There was no blinding pain, no tears, just an odd sensation that made you squirm. There was a sharp pinch, a sensation you’d never felt before, but it was bearable.

And you told Eddie as much when he lifted a hand to your cheek and asked, “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“Fine,” you assured him, still a touch breathless as he pressed closer. “Doesn’t feel good yet but it doesn’t hurt.”

Eddie leaned in, pressed a kiss to your cheek - to your nose, to your jaw, to your forehead - before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound very sorry at all. “It’ll feel good in a minute, when you get used to it.”

As difficult as it seemed, you believed him. You knew that he was right, and that he would do his best to make sure you were comfortable, so you simply tangled your fingers in his hair and buried your face in the crook of his neck to leave soft, open-mouthed kisses against the heated skin.

After a moment, Eddie was fully sheathed inside, body pressed to yours as he waited for you to give him the okay to move. As you adjusted, the kiss grew more heated and his hands wandered, returning to your core as his thumb found your aching clit.

When you jolted, clenched around him, Eddie broke the kiss. “Fuck me,” he laughed, tipping his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “Promise I’m not always ready to blow this quick. You’re just so fucking tight.”

“Flattery,” you teased, breathless as you tugged playfully at his hair. “’S’okay. You can move.”

With your permission, Eddie began to experimentally shift his hips. He moved slowly at first, pulling out only an inch or two, before he began to move in earnest. 

The pace was slow, easy, but with every shift of his hips, the better it got. The discomfort began to fade, giving way to a fullness that was more pleasant than you expected. And with his thumb brushing your clit, gathering the slick, you felt yourself enjoying it more and more.

“You know,” he hummed, lips brushing your skin as he continued shifting his hips almost experimentally, “it’s kinda hot, how much you trust me. ’S’like you’re in love with me or something.”

“Unfortunately, I am.” It was so soft, so fond, that Eddie couldn’t seem to find a teasing reply. The words were accompanied by a sticky warmth in your chest, so glad to have your feelings out in the open and returned.

The way Eddie treated you made the warmth that much more pleasant. He made your enjoyment a priority, eyes on your face as he watched for any signs of discomfort. Even as his pace grew faster, hips snapping into yours - driving deeper, pulling out farther - now that you’d adjusted, he still kept his full attention on you.

And when you felt yourself beginning to fall over the edge for the second time, he hummed in encouragement. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed, only just beginning to show how affected he was, voice wavering and breath a little labored. “Come for me. Sound so pretty when you do.”

After a few more snaps of his hips, you fell over the edge and Eddie was quick to follow with a low curse.

The high was unlike any you’d ever felt. It flooded your veins with fire, scorched you from within, and you swore you saw stars as you rode out your high. Eddie buried his face in the crook of your neck to catch his breath and, after a moment of desperately attempting to catch your own, you carded your fingers through his disheveled curls. He remained atop you - weight not quite fully pressed into you but enough for you to feel - for a few long moments before pulling out and tying off the condom. He stood, disappeared into the bathroom to toss it into the trash, before he returned and fell back into bed beside you.

“So,” he hummed, bouncing onto the mattress with a laugh and tugging you into his side. “First time. Not some frat guy in the backseat of some fancy car, or in some shitty dorm room but, not bad?”

“No,” you agreed, tipping your head to press a kiss to his collarbone. “Not bad. Not some frat guy but I think this was better.”

“You think?” Eddie scoffed with faux outrage. “Okay, well, clearly we’re gonna have to do this again and again and again until you know that this was better.”

Though the night began with an insecurity, in that wonderful way of his, Eddie managed to turn it into a beautiful moment. And though you were starting college in the fall, you knew that you wouldn’t be starting a virgin or searching for some frat boy to help you gain the experiences your friends so often spoke of. You would be starting college with a boyfriend and the knowledge that your love was requited. And you loved the idea that Eddie would be with you for every next step.

After all, what are boyfriends for?

__________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Slowly but surely going through the WIPs I have had for months. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[summer-oil]

I WANT YOU CLOSER, CLOSER EVEN STILL ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; in the midst of a rainshower, you run into your mysterious classmate.

word count; 6.1k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, implied no curses au, fluffy summer vibes, forced proximity (my beloved <3), pining, very shoujo manga coded, vague allusions to sugu having a troubled background, (kind of same w reader), switching povs, gojo slander, stsg implications if you squint (my brand), he’s a sweet sweet boy and i love him :((

a/n; teen sugu reminds me a lot of the kind upperclassman type of otome game li… with secret emotional baggage that makes his route really hard to complete….. anyway i dedicate this fic to hit mobage jujutsu kaisen: phantom parade PLEASE bring sugu home to me please please please ple

geto looks beautiful in the rain. 

it’s an embarrassing first thought to have, as he rounds the corner and comes into view. a black head of hair, making you stop in your tracks, breathe in a gulp of humid air.

you can’t help it, though.

it’s raining. droplets ricochet against the sidewalk in an endless cadence, the sky above you blanketed by gray clouds; enveloping your city in a summery shadow, the scent of hot concrete and blossoming hydrangeas. everything smells of a blistering summer, youth in a bottle cap. tasty on your tongue.

those very same hydrangeas surround him, on all sides, framing his figure like a painting come to life — splotches of colour, flecks of purple and pink and blue, clashing with the gray sky and the black umbrella in his hand. he looks a little disheveled, hair a little frizzy, bangs sticking to his skin. oddly at peace. when his eyes meet yours, you see a flash of recognition — a tiny spark in the amber hue. 

you take that as your cue to move closer. 

he waits for you, always so patient, smiling as you look both ways before crossing the street — shoes hitting the concrete in a steady thud, thud, thud. a splash from the puddle you step in.

you’re in a good mood. veins flooding with sugar and buzzing with joy, raindrops sticking to your skin and the plastic bag in your hand, absently humming along to a song playing through your headphones. your clothes are soaked, but you’re smiling; swinging the bag of treats as you walk. bags of chips, colourful lollipops, bottles of ramune, clinking together for every step you take. enough to last you a couple weeks. in your good mood, you ended up stocking up on your classmates’ favorites — bouncing on the balls of your feet at the thought of giving them away, seeing their satisfied little expressions.

you even got something for gojo. he’ll have to fight for it, obviously, but you look forward to seeing his face light up when he takes a bite of the soft mochi.

(you like giving them things. it’s fun. it makes you feel like a normal high school kid.)

nothing can dampen your spirits right now. the entire world smells of rain, and hydrangeas, and apple blossoms from the backyards behind you. a scent that creeps into your bloodstream, sneaks into your breath. a smile grows on your lips — blooming even brighter when you step into your classmate’s orbit.

”hey!” you chirp, raising a hand up in greeting.

”hey,” geto echoes, voice honeyed and smooth, bringing a hand up to wipe at his forehead. wet from the humid air. ”out on a walk?”

with a smile, you lift the plastic bag, grabbing his attention. clasping it tightly, with your wet fingers. ”just went to get some snacks. you?”

”i wanted to get some fresh air,” he smiles. eyeing you up and down. ”did you forget your umbrella?” 

silently, he takes in your appearance. your breathing is a tiny bit laboured, and the flimsy, oversized hoodie you’re wearing is sticking to your skin. it’s all that protects you from the steady downpour; no umbrella to be seen. you look small, tilting your head up, meeting his gaze. he feels the beginnings of a smile play at his lips. exasperated. all you do is blink, seemingly unbothered, as if you aren’t straight on the road to catching a cold. you can be a little scatterbrained. 

maybe that’s why he can’t help but dote on you.

(that’s what satoru calls it, at least. suguru thinks it’s just called being nice — not like satoru would know anything about that.)

”oh. no, i didn’t forget.” you scratch at the back of your neck. ”just didn’t know it was going to rain.”

the sudden downpour gave you no time to prepare, heavy and abrupt — clouds obscuring the glowing sun in what felt like no more than a second. like someone high above flicked the light switch of the world. all you could do was pull your hood up, try to walk under whatever apple tree you came across. it didn’t help much, though. 

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, soles weighed down with dew. sort of sheepish.

geto chuckles, raspy and soft. the sound makes your heart skip a beat. ”didn’t you see the weather report?”

”well, it… just slipped my mind, i guess.”

silently, you avert your gaze. now you remember — yaga-sensei did mention that, didn’t he? you heard him say it. but you just forgot.

geto is laughing at you, a little, from within his eyes; at least that’s the impression you get. so you continue, eager to defend your honour. 

”it’s fine, though,” you assure him, smiling brightly. a sunny grin. ”i like the rain!”

geto raises an unimpressed brow, but the expression fades away just as swiftly — giving way to something softer. ”you’re heading back to the dorms, right?” he asks, continuing once you give him a slight nod. ”then we can share.”

you blink. one moment passes, then two. but geto only smiles, shifting his umbrella a little, hoping you’ll get the hint. silently beckoning you over. 

it makes you feel oddly flustered.

in truth, you and him aren’t particularly close. he’s nice to you, sure, but geto is nice to everyone. you’d like to call him a friend, but what do you actually know about him? not much. 

suguru geto is a bit of an enigma. a little mysterious. he’s polite, well-mannered, and he seems like the most normal of your classmates — but the bar is in hell, because you know for a fact geto isn’t normal either. no normal guy deliberately chooses to keep his bangs like that. 

there’s a gap, there. a kind of inconsistency. he’s hard to approach, but he puts you at ease. pulls you in and scares you off. with a soft voice and kind smile, keen eyes and a heavy palm on your head. sometimes he brings you snacks when you study in the library, or helps you with homework. kind of like a dependable senpai. someone to lean on.

… but then there’s that gap. 

the real geto, who you’ve only seen glimpses of, only ever in gojo’s vicinity, is boyish and bright — he laughs and pouts and takes up space. he glows brighter than the sun. but the geto you’re seeing, right now, is more like the moon. wearing a polite, patient smile. standing up straight.

waiting for you to join him under his umbrella.

(he’s kind. but is he doing it because wants to, or because he feels obliged to?)

”… oh.” a pause. ”no, it’s fine!” you take a step back, quick to reassure him. ”i can walk there without it! i’m already soaked, anyway.”

geto observes you. for a moment, something in his expression flickers; a crease between his brows.

then he shakes his head. still wearing a comforting smile, the same one he always slips on when he’s around you. ”still. we don’t want you catching a cold,” he persists, sounding something like a nagging mother. ”you’ll miss the exam next week.”

and with that, your shoulders drop. 

right — the exam. the one you haven’t been studying for in the slightest, completely distracted by the feeling of summer in the air. the one you can’t fail, under any circumstances, because yaga-sensei can and will force you to take summer classes ad compensation. that exam. 

a wistful sigh leaves your lips. ”god, i wish.”

geto chuckles — a little deeper than usual. it makes your heart flutter. then he’s beckoning you over, again, with a slight shake of his head. 

”c’mon. there’s enough room for two.”

he gives you that same familiar smile, and you’re forced to admit that you might be slightly weak to it. something about the way his lips tug upwards, the light crinkle of his eyes. a certain glint in them that tells you he’s not budging on the issue. 

you’re still a little hesitant. but…

(this is a chance, isn’t it? a chance to bridge that gap between you.)

silently, shyly, you join him under his umbrella. shielding you from the still falling rain.

pitter patter, pitter patter. you don’t know where the rain ends and your own heartbeat begins. he’s so close — your shoulders nearly brushing together. it makes your nerves bubble up, in rhythm with the droplets bouncing off the cover up above. you feel stiff. the tiny, miniscule gap between you feels like a sweltering stove, radiating a heat that warns you to stay away. as if his touch could burn you. like this, you can even smell him; fresh laundry, an earthy cologne. the slightest hint of caffeine and tobacco. you blame it on shoko — the whole dormitory smells of cigarettes, thanks to her. 

it’s comforting, though. his scent. blending together with the aroma of rain, wet earth, blooming flowers. with his fragrance smoothing over all your senses, the closeness between you a constant reminder of the situation you’re in, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

all you do is murmur out a quick thanks, as you begin to walk, in tandem.

geto can’t help but steal a glance at you, out of the corner of his eye. you look a little meek, a little flustered. he hopes the narrow distance between you isn’t making you feel too uncomfortable. 

just to be sure, he angles his body away from yours. ever so slightly, one subtle step away, to make the gap a little wider. then, as discreetly as he can manage, he tilts the umbrella in your direction — not wanting the never-ending drops of rain to graze your skin. he can feel them, now, soaking through the material of his shirt, hitting his shoulder. but he doesn’t mind. to his relief, you don’t seem to notice. he’s pretty sure you’d protest; and as enjoyable as another friendly squabble would be, he’d prefer to avoid it for now.

you’re nice. accommodating, he thinks, in a subtle kind of way. always showing up with trinkets after your little outings, offering to get everyone a drink on your way to the vending machines. you’re friendly with the other two; always nagging at shoko to stop smoking, even when she just rolls her eyes and calls you a goody two shoes. recently, you’ve even started to be patient with satoru, even when he tries to get a rise out of you. it wasn’t like that at the start of the year. geto wonders what changed. 

he’s a little interested in you. just a little. you’re sweeter than the other two, easier to worry over. he saw you trip over your own shoelaces last week. you’re a little clumsy, a bit of a ditz — airheaded. maybe that’s why he can’t help but feel protective of you. satoru brushes everything off with a cheeky grin, and shoko is self-sustaining, but you’re often in need of a helping hand. the last time he tried that with the other two, they wouldn’t stop calling him mother geto until he smacked them over the head with satoru’s shounen jump issue. 

it makes him feel out of place — when he doesn’t have anything to tend to. itchy, a feeling of dread crawling up his throat. peace and quiet feels suffocating, when he isn’t in total control over it.

so, in his own way, small as it may be, geto enjoys taking care of you. grabbing you a carton of strawberry milk, or warding satoru away when he’s annoying you a little too much. he likes the smile you grace him with when he does. it’s pretty. and it’s all geto really knows about you — that, and that there’s a tenderness to you that’s hard to fake. it’s not much to go on.

so this is the perfect opportunity to learn more. 

(a heartfelt connection. something he’s always, always craved. something that maybe he can finally have, with satoru, and shoko, and you — 

if you’re willing, that is.)

”hey,” he starts, breaking the rainfilled silence. keeping his umbrella steady, leading you both away from a big puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. ”can i ask you something?”

you raise your head to look at him. blinking owlishly, at the sudden question, nerves beginning to rise again. he sounds kind of serious. did you do something? paranoia gnaws anxiously at the ridges of your ribs, but all you can do is swallow empty air and stammer out a meek reply.

”… uh, sure!”

geto glances over at you, his eyes meeting yours. that gaze of his is kind of heavy — the deep colour of his eyes coaxing you closer, luring you in. honey and amber, splotches of cedar and flecks of gold.

they’re pretty.

”this might be kind of a weird question,” he begins, reaching a hand up to adjust his bun, sneaking a finger under the black hair tie. voice light; to put you at ease. ”but i’m just curious.” 

he looks ahead, at the street before you, only meeting your stare once you give him a slight tilt of your head. then he parts his lips.

”why did you come here?”

you blink. 

silently, confusion painting the interior of your iris, you stare at him. waiting for a clarification that doesn’t come, before giving him a hesitant answer. ”… to get snacks?”

geto has the audacity to laugh, after such a vague question. the sound is light and breathy, melting together with the pitter patter of the rain, and for some reason it strikes you as sincere. ”not like that,” he grins. ”i mean, why did you come to the school in the first place?”

ah. 

that’s a different question. harder to answer. he must notice your hesitance, the puzzlement in your features, because he’s quick to elaborate. hiding a smile behind his fist, disguised as a cough.

(you’re sort of cute when you’re confused.)

”i mean — it’s an odd choice, isn’t it? far off the map, barely any students....” you nod along, and he continues. ”i don’t know about your background. but moving away from home must be kind of tough, right?” when he glances in your direction, you notice a sparkle of genuine curiosity in his eyes. ”so i was curious about your reason. if you feel comfortable telling me, i mean.”

a hum. it buzzes in your throat, absentminded, as you stare into space. brows furrowed. 

geto gives you time, as much time as you need, always willing to wait. for a minute or so, the only sounds that fill the space around you are the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the plastic cover of umbrella, and the sound of your shoes meeting puddles on the street. silently, you ponder the question. thinking of your answer.

geto has a point. you’ve been curious, too — about how your classmates ended up in such an eccentric little school, so detached from the rest of the world. a quirky private school in the middle of nowhere. you must all be a little eccentric yourselves. that’s probably why you feel so safe with them — you get the sense that you’re all lacking something. something that would ward normal kids away from such an unorthodox choice.

you could say you were just going with the flow. a relative of yours used to work with yaga-sensei, and heard about his position at a newly reinstated private school — heard that he was looking for students to fill the roster. 

so you accepted.

(if it was really that simple, geto would already have his answer.)

what drew you in, more than anything, was the promise of something new. a strange, small school, far away from home; from the people you know, the town you know, the life that you’ve lived. far away from the person you are, the person you was, the person you’ve always been.

an escape. that’s all it was. 

a way out.

he’s still waiting for your answer, even now, trying to read your thoughts off your face. eyes trailing over every contour. very briefly, you consider dodging the question — but his silent, steady presence squeezes a little honesty out of you. 

you want to give him a genuine answer.

”… i guess,” you begin, weighing the words on your tongue. they feel stale, a little awkward, but not dishonest. ”i wanted to stop being me for a bit.” 

the words are unexpected, surprising even to your own ears — like your mouth and your mind weren’t quite cooperating, one ahead of the other, one not weighing in on the honest choice. they catch geto off guard. 

he looks at you, silently, attempts to dissect your expression; but he doesn’t succeed. 

for a second, something flashes in his eyes. a glimmer that you just barely catch, that you can still sense behind his eyelids when they flutter shut. you’re not sure what to call it. recognition, maybe, or something like empathy. a sense of acknowledgement. it’s gone when he opens his eyes. 

he doesn’t look at you when he answers.

”… i get that.”

there’s a depth to his words that you’re afraid to uncover. you feel their weight, all the same, glancing up at him, studying his expression, the humid drops of dew that stick to his lashes. and you feel a tug. faint, non-existent, the string between your pinkies —

a growing connection. 

(it makes you feel oddly bare.)

all you can give him is a chuckle, a little breathless. ”do you?” you ask, grinning weakly. ”it’s a little melodramatic.”

geto only smiles. silent, comfort personified. there’s no judgement in his eyes, none whatsoever — because he knows exactly what you mean.

fleeing from the past. 

it’s a kind of murder, he thinks. a rebirth.

maybe the two of you are similar. similar in the sense that he recognizes the shadow in your eyes, the one he sometimes sees in mirrors; familiar in the sense that you both suffer from that same sickening awareness. 

(maybe you want the same thing he wants, what he’s always wanted — 

control.)

it’s a realization that creeps up on you, the both of you, slow and steady. a sense of kinship. it envelops you, cradles you close, in the same way molten clouds cover the summer sky.

geto isn’t lying, you can tell. he does get it. you know, just from that tilt of his voice, the way his eyelashes flutter, his absent shifting from one foot to another. and it soothes your worries.

everything is silent, for a bit. you look down at the asphalt, at your own reflection in a puddle, and geto gazes at the bushes of hydrangeas to his right. you feel safe, right next to him, under his umbrella. and he feels content to have you there. your shoulders brush together, for a moment, and it sends a jolt through your heartbeat.

geto inhales a breath.

”by the way —” 

”— have you studied for the exam?”

you both still. blurting out the words at the same time, turning to look at each other; sheepishly blinking in the other’s direction.

then he barks out a laugh.

”sorry,” he hums, a sleek smile on his lips. bright and sheepish. ”what was that? the exam?”

”ah — yeah,” you feel heat settle on the back of your neck, crawling up your ears. ”have you, um, studied for it at all?”

geto moves the umbrella from one arm to the other, smoothly directing you to stand on his right instead of his left. guiding you with his hand on your lower back, ghosting the fabric of your clothing. he stretches his free arm, a little stiff.

”yeah,” he exhales. ”not a lot, though.”

”really?” you blink up at him, trying not to blush at how easily he maneuvered you. stupid, stupid heartbeat. ”you strike me as the honour student type…”

geto scoffs. it leaves his lips before he can tug it back. ”satoru said the same thing.”

a breath spills from your lips, almost a chuckle. you’re not sure how to feel about being compared to gojo, of all people, but you’ll let it slide this once. ”well, you just kinda have that vibe.”

now he’s huffing, tethering on the edge of something childish, and your smile grows. you’re seeing him make a lot of new expressions today. 

”why, though?” comes a sigh. he must be playing it up, a little — you almost get fooled into thinking he’s pouting. ”is it the hair? i don’t even wear glasses anymore...”

”well —” you pause. ”hold on, you used to wear glasses?”

all you get is an absent hum. he doesn’t notice your wide, shellshocked eyes. ”when i was younger. i got rid of them a couple years back.”

“oh…” you try to imagine it, for a second. he’d look frighteningly good in them. just barely, you manage to keep yourself from saying it out loud. ”i think it’s more just your general personality. like, you’re responsible and polite… or something.”

and geto chuckles; the intersection between a teasing smile and a soft grin. it’s just a little bit ethereal, painted over with the humid summer air. he turns towards you.

”and that makes me an honour student?” 

”… okay, maybe not.” you bring a hand up to your hair, fixing it absently. deflating a little. ”you just strike me as intelligent, i guess.”

geto smiles, again, as always. the chuckle that escapes him is faint and fond, and awfully soft, dripping down his lips. ”well, thank you.” 

his eyes are warm, burning into yours. all you can do is glance away. you still don’t really understand this sensation — why he’s suddenly so easy to talk to. why he feels like something other than just a classmate, when he looks at you like that. 

then again, geto has always been a natural at putting people at ease. maybe that’s why you can’t help but warm up to him, compliantly, the way a child dutifully follows the first butterfly they ever see — it’s a little too pretty to resist. 

you want to slip deeper into his world, you realize. you don’t want this moment to end so soon.

”you guys really get along, huh?” you change the subject, speaking slowly, savouring every syllable. there isn’t any rush to get the words out all at once, when you’re with him. 

geto blinks, tilting his head. 

”hm?”

“you and gojo, i mean.”

a glimmer passes through his eyes, as your query sinks in. ”ah. yeah.” his gaze strays upwards, and a contemplative look settles into his face. he knows what you’re after, what you’re really asking; why are the two of you so close? why do you put up with his antics? 

what do you see in him? 

he thinks it’s a fair question. it’s not like he hasn’t asked himself the very same thing, before — satoru can be annoying. ignorant, too, and terribly rude. a little prick. when he stole his curry bun yesterday, geto wanted to kill him. spoiled little brat.

(then again, he’s…)

”he’s… well.” geto exhales, a little breathless. tasting the words on his tongue. ”you know how he is — but he’s not a bad guy.” 

and it’s true. he really isn’t. satoru is a lot of things; rude and spoiled, cocky and bratty, an expert at ticking everyone off. but there’s a kind of charm, there. an innocence that geto admires. 

satoru is childish — because he is a child. a child who knows a lot of things that children shouldn’t know. a child who doesn’t know the most basic of things. satoru doesn’t know how to make friends. he doesn’t know how to ask for help, doesn’t know how to give it. he doesn’t know what cotton candy tastes like, because he’s never tried it before. 

his childhood couldn't have been very warm. it definitely wasn’t normal. 

is that why he puts up with him, then? out of pity? of course not. the bare thought of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. he’d never look down on satoru, like that — and he knows he’d hate him for it. if anything, geto thinks that maybe the two of them are close because he doesn’t give him any special treatment. even if satoru wasn’t treated with warmth or love, he was certainly coddled. spoiled. it’s evident, in the way that he acts.

but satoru isn’t a god, and he shouldn’t act like one. 

one punch, right across the face; knocking the white-haired boy off his feet. that’s where their friendship began. there were stars in satoru’s eyes, geto thinks, when he looked up at him from the ground. sunglasses fallen off from the impact, blue eyes entirely on display, catching the light of the sun — gleaming with a certain bewilderment. almost amazement. like he didn’t know he could be hit, didn’t know it was possible. the sun shone down on him, illuminating the vague bruising on his cheek, and geto wondered if that was the first punch the boy had ever taken.

it certainly wasn’t a first for him, when satoru lunged at him next —

it was a little juvenile. more than a little deranged. geto isn’t one to throw fists, in the first place — he’s out of practice. the punch he fed satoru might’ve been a little too forceful. he couldn’t help but feel bad, every so slightly, for putting a bruise on that irritatingly pretty face of his. 

but it still ended with satoru’s arm around his shoulder, a buzzing voice by his ear, proclaiming them as friends. cheery and bright.

geto couldn’t help but echo the statement.

(satoru is a lot of things. 

most of all, he’s really hard to hate.)

geto’s answer brings a smile to your face. ”yeah,” you hum, soft voice breaking him out of his reverie. ”he isn’t.”

he looks at you. silently, a question of his own brewing in his irises — and with you so close, close enough to touch, smiling at him like he’s an old friend… geto can’t help but indulge in his own curiosity. 

he tries to appear nonchalant, stealing a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. ”seems like the two of you are getting along better, too.” 

”me and gojo?” you blink, surprised. a little flustered. huffing out an amused breath, trying to brush off the bare thought. ”no way.”

geto laughs — it’s a deep sound, a full one. somehow very earnest. you wonder if that’s how his laugh always sounds, whenever gojo’s involved. ”oh, come on. you don’t hate him that much.” a teasing glint blooms in his eyes, as he scrutinizes you. ”or am i wrong?”

you pause. faltering, a little, gaze falling down to the pavement — then to the sky — then to him. and then back to the pavement. 

”… i mean…” you attempt to squeeze the words out from within your chest, but you can’t help but feel hesitant. as if gojo could jump out of the bushes at any moment, ready to tease you if you say anything that paints him in an even moderately decent light. ”i don’t… hate him. but he’s still annoying.” a pout slips onto your lips. “he has it out for me, you know.”

geto laughs, again. you note that you’re fond of the sound. ”isn’t that because he likes you, though? he just doesn’t know how to show it. it’s like pulling pigtails.”

”don’t even joke about that,” you scoff, shooting him a scowl. “and that wouldn’t make it any better, even if it was true.”

a fond smile. ”yeah, you’re right.” he opts to dial down on the teasing, shifting into a more sincere tone. ”you do seem more friendly now, though. before it felt like you really hated his guts.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. brows furrowing, as you mull on what to answer with. unsure how you really feel. it’s not like you’re suddenly super close, or anything — but you have gotten friendlier. just by a smidge, but still. you’ve gotten better at putting up with him and his antics, at finding comfort in how open he can be.

after a tiny pause, you speak up. 

”… i still don’t really understand him.” you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip, trapping it between your teeth. “but i think i might be starting to.” 

you’re a little embarrassed over the words that fall from your lips, barely above a whisper. 

”… he’s not the worst.”

geto smiles, but you don’t see it — gaze still lingering on the droplets that bounce off the pavement. ”i’m glad,” he hums, earnest. ”that guy needs more friends.”

something about his tone of voice urges you to look at him. that smile of his is bright, gleaming in the rain, in the midst of the flowers all around you. a little teasing, a little boyish, but somehow very sincere. you didn’t think you’d get to see it up close.

and you can’t help but chuckle. the raven-haired boy glances over at you, confusion in his eyes.

noticing it, you breathe out a quiet chuckle. ”sorry, it’s just —” a teasing grin smooths over your lips. ”you guys bicker a lot, and you act like he annoys you… but you really care for him, don’t you?”

this time, geto almost stops in his tracks. his eyes widen, slightly, and you’re not sure why he seems surprised — when he always sounds so fond saying satoru’s name, talking about him like they understand each other fully. maybe he didn’t notice it until now. 

a moment passes, before he collects himself, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. awfully good at keeping his composure. 

(though he fails to fully conceal the flustered look on his face.)

”i wouldn’t go that far,” he mumbles, but it only makes you chuckle again. his lips curl up slightly, at the sound; despite his embarrassment. ”someone’s gotta look out for that idiot.”

”right. of course.”

geto gives you a displeased little look. you bite back a laugh. feeling at ease, by his side — you get the sense that you can trust him, that you could tell him absolutely anything, and he still wouldn't use it against you. it’s a relief.

standing there, under geto’s umbrella, in the shadow of summer, rain obscuring the world — you reach a definitive conclusion.

you want to get to know him. want to see inside his heart, hear more of his thoughts. if you could only step over that gap between you, wriggle your way into his world — 

you think you’d be happy.

so, as you walk side by side, narrowly avoiding puddles and breathing in the humid summer air, you try to coax them out of him. little thoughts, bits and pieces of the suguru geto you yearn to meet.

(unbeknownst to you, he’s doing the same.)

you continue to talk. about miniscule things, meaningless things, a comfortable sensation of trust simmering in the air between you. and before you know it, you’ve stepped onto the school grounds, stopping right in front of the dormitory.

”here we are,” geto hums, folding the umbrella and tucking it between his arm and torso. you turn to look him in the eye, taking an absent step away.

”thanks, geto,” you can’t help but smile. ”for letting me walk with you.”

”don’t mention it.” he brushes you off with ease, quick to drag the door open; waiting for you to step inside before following suit. always so accommodating. 

for a second, he hesitates. a glimmer of uncertainty, in his eyes, that you miss — stretching out your tired limbs with a shallow groan, enjoying the warm and dry air on your skin. 

finally, geto takes the leap.

when he parts his lips, his voice comes out soothing. natural and breathy, floral patterns blooming on his tongue; as silky as jasmine petals. ”you can call me suguru, you know.” he lets the silence linger, for a moment. ”if you want to.”

you turn to look at him, eyes widening, at the sudden offer, and he can’t get a good read on the emotion reflected in them. you seem caught off guard, but he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.

after a moment or two, you fumble for a response. 

”oh. um — okay? i will, then.” you shake your head, as if brushing off the hesitance you feel, mustering the courage to imitate his offer. ”in that case, you can call me by my first name, too.” 

a brief pause. 

”… if you want to.”

geto smiles. it’s laced with relief, hard to notice, impossible to miss. instead of answering with an affirmation, he takes a more teasing approach — unable to resist the temptation.

so he says your name. your first name, dragging the syllables out on his tongue, as if tasting it. trying to get used to the way the letters bend as they come out of his mouth. despite the teasing lilt it carries, the sound is oddly earnest; he pronounces it clearly, like he’s trying to call you to his side. you almost feel compelled to take a step towards him. 

geto looks you in the eye, as he calls you by your given name, for the very first time — and you can’t help but grow flustered.

”… suguru,” you echo, for whatever reason. you think your brain may be slightly fried. but it feels right, to say it. suguru. 

(what a pretty name.)

suguru smiles at you. you think it’s just a little wider than usual, a little more sincere. almost giddy, if you squint. in the open air, the intimate atmosphere simmers.

finally, you clear your throat, glancing in the direction of your dorm room. a silent que for him to follow.

and he does. leaving the umbrella by the hall, before walking you to your door. his steady, soothing presence sticking to your skin. you’re just about to place your fingers on the doorknob, when a pang of realization hits you — stopping you in your tracks.

”oh — right!”

swiftly, you turn on your heel, facing suguru again. he gazes down at you, bemusement in his eyes. watching as you rummage through the plastic bag hanging off your arm. finally, you find what you were looking for; holding it out towards him. 

”here,” you give him a warm smile. ”as thanks.”

suguru accepts it, compliantly, allowing you to slip a pack of gum into his palm. he recognizes the brand, one he favours over others. it helps him, on days he can’t find his appetite. 

did you see him chewing it at some point, he wonders? when, though? 

maybe you’re always paying attention to the people around you. the way they like their coffee, their favoured flavour of gum. it may be a small kindness, an absentminded one, but suguru thinks that makes it all the more meaningful. a kindness that seeps out of you, that draws him in. 

he wants to know more, about you. he really does.

but for now, this is enough. a walk back to your dorm, your shared home, talking and growing closer than before. 

it’s a small step, but in the right direction. 

the pack of gum stirs a mellow, tender feeling in his chest. all he can do is give you a smile, and a thank you that you’re quick to brush off. then you say your goodbyes, and you close the door behind you — flopping down on your bed with a muffled squeal. a giddy kind of excitement swimming in your veins. because finally, finally, you feel like the gap between you has been dented.

you know what his real laugh sounds like. that the tips of his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed. you know that he used to wear glasses, that you’re a little more similar than either of you could have assumed.

you know that you’re fond of him. fond of a boy with black hair, who smells of summer and rain and chewing gum. fond of a boy you’ve only scratched the surface of.

on the other side of the door, suguru walks back to his room. with a pep in his step, one that satoru notices — because of course he does — appearing from around the corner with a shit-eating grin.

“oh? what were you doing over there, suguru?”

suguru ignores him. popping a piece of the gum you gave him into his mouth, a flavour of apricot melting on his tongue — he sinks his teeth into it, slowly, feeling his lips curl up into a smile.

it tastes of summer and youth. a memory that both of you will savour, for many years to come.

[colorfulrook]

i saw you opened a request…

if possible can you write Mafia Jin-woo x reader?

Like sunshine and sunshine's protector

loves your writing ❤

The light in the shadows [SJW x Reader]

[A/N]: Hello love! Thank you so much for your ask, I really enjoyed writing this!! Also I want to take the chance to say that I almost reached 100 followers, which I find so fucking cool, I am so grateful! I was thinking about doing something special to celebrate! Stay tuned my loves - Rook

(fuck me I almsot forgot the title)

Genre: Mafia AU | Romantic with a sprinkle of my usual angst. Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Reader Lenght: 2.6K words, i let myself gooo

"A kind bar owner unknowingly becomes entangled with Sung Jinwoo, a mysterious and dangerous man from a hidden world of power and violence"

The first time you saw Sung Jinwoo, it was definitely memorable. Maybe because it was in the back alley of your bar—oh and covered in blood too.

The hot summer air clung to your skin, thick and humid as you pushed open the back door, a heavy garbage bag dragging behind you with a dull scrape. It was an eventful night at work and you decided to keep the bar open for another hour, now after hauling sack after sack you were starting to question your own choice.

On your way back inside, your foot caught on something—someone. Not a corpse, thankfully, but a very much alive body slumped against the wall, breathing ragged and stained in blood.

He didn’t flinch when you yelped, nor when you fumbled and dropped the garbage bag, contents spilling across the pavement. Instead, he blinked up at you slowly, like you were the one who’d interrupted his night.

"Sir! Are you okay? What happened? Wait here I'll call the am-"

“...Sorry,” he muttered, halting you from taking another step, voice low and hoarse. “Didn’t mean to scare you, please don't call the ambulance I'm fine"

You stared at him, unsure if you were more concerned or confused. Fine wasn’t exactly the word you’d use for a man who had splotches of blood on him. Your eyes darted on the gun holsters hung under his arms, thought devoid of any weapons.

His left side glistened red, soaking through the fabric like an abstract painting. And yet, somehow, his expression was calm. Stoic. As if this wasn’t even the worst part of his day.

You crouched a little closer, keeping your distance, hands out in front of you like approaching a wounded dog. “You’re bleeding,” you said gently. “A lot.”

“I’ve had worse.” His head tilted slightly, dark eyes meeting yours. Despite his condition, there was a sharp awareness behind them. Watchful. Dangerous.

Yet something about him pulled at your chest. Not fear. Something softer. Something stubborn.

“Well, you can’t stay out here.” You rose to your feet. “Look, I won’t call an ambulance, but let me at least get you inside. Just for a bit, okay? Maybe I can help you out".

With gentle hands you helped him up and brought him inside.

You managed to sit him down on one of the chairs, first aid kit in hand as you examined what could you do to help, thankfully it looked that not all of the blood was his.

You tried not to stare at the way his shirt clung to the lean lines of his chest, the hint of muscle beneath as you peeled the fabric away from the wound. Your hands moved carefully, fingers brushing his skin like he might shatter if you weren’t careful.

“This might sting,” you warned, though your voice was as soft as the cotton pad you pressed to the jagged cut.

He didn’t so much as wince.

Jinwoo looked at you then—really looked at you. For a moment, his eyes lingered, taking in the gentle crease of concern in your brow. You were pretty, he thought, like warm rays of sunlit peeking from the curtains at morning, quiet and comforting.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” you asked, gently cleaning around the wound. Your fingertips barely grazing him. He was warm, a living contradiction of how he was in his field of work—quiet and dangerous, and yet sitting so still under your care like he belonged there.

“Not much to say,” he murmured, voice low.

"I guess you won't tell me how did you end up like this, am I right?"

“You’d be right,” he said, his voice still that quiet gravel, though something in it almost sounded amused. “It’s… complicated.”

You gave a small smile as you finished wrapping the last bit of gauze, hands steady despite the thrum of curiosity dancing under your skin.

“I figured,” you replied, gently pressing down to secure the bandage. “People don’t end up bleeding in alleyways behind quiet bars because of simple things.”

He let out a soft sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. Just a breath, like he didn’t know what to do with you. Most people would’ve run, called the cops, shut the door and pretended he wasn’t real. But you—sunshine in human form—you helped him.

"Is your home near?" he asked suddenly, eyes flicking toward the back hallway of the bar.

You blinked, caught a little off guard by the question. “Upstairs actually, it's uh... It's convenient. Plus, the rent’s unbeatable when you’re the one running the bar.”

He nodded once, then shifted, testing his weight. You reached out instinctively to stop him, your hand pressing gently to his chest. “Hey, you probably shouldn’t move too fast. You’re still bleeding under that shirt.”

His breath hitched just slightly at the touch, and so did yours when you realized how close you’d leaned in. His eyes flicked to your lips for a heartbeat, but he didn’t say anything.

"Ah! Sorry, please don't move around so quick, I tried to patch you up but you still be gentle"

He shook his head. “No. You’re… fine. More than fine.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Honest. Quiet. And somehow heavier than they should’ve been.

You tilted your head, smile tugging at your lips again. “You sure you’re not concussed?”

That earned you a real smile. Small. Lopsided. The kind of smile that felt like seeing the sun rise after a long, cold night.

“I’m Jinwoo,” he offered suddenly. “Sung Jinwoo.”

You blinked. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

“I know, but I wanted to." He said before vanishing in the midnight breeze, leaving you hoping for another encounter.

———

He started coming back.

Never uninvited. Always after hours. Sometimes with bruised knuckles and a stitched brow, sometimes just to sit in silence in the dim light of your bar’s back room. You started keeping an extra plate warm. Left a bottle of water near his usual seat.

He never said what he did and you had never asked.

But you weren’t naïve.

The way he moved—sharp, alert, a predator even when relaxed. The clipped tone of his voice when he answered hushed phone calls near the back exit. Sometimes you caught glimpses of ink beneath the cuff of his rolled sleeves—faint lines of tattoos that whispered of something far more dangerous than his calm smile let on.

And then there were the new patrons.

They came late—never drunk, never loud. One of them, tall and still like a statue, always sat at the same table near the window. He read classic novels in silence, rarely speaking unless it was to quietly compliment the taste of the whiskey you poured. His name, or at least the one he gave after he started being a regular, was Igris

The other? A bit harder to forget.

He slouched across chairs like he owned them, spun bottle caps between his fingers, and flirted harmlessly with the jukebox. His laughter was easy, strange—but never quite reached his eyes. You once saw him fold a coin in half with nothing but his thumb. Said his name was Beru, with a grin sharp enough to draw blood.

They came in just before midnight and always left before closing. Never caused trouble. But something about the way they watched the room—watched you—felt intentional.

You didn’t press, you weren't stupid.

And still, they never brought trouble to your doorstep. Never stayed too long, never made any demands, and never pushed for anything more than a polite chat and a glass of something strong. But there was always something a little off—a lingering sense that they were keeping track of more than just your bar.

You caught a glimpse of them once, after you began closing the bar, as they met Jinwoo as he was coming for your now usual night talks. The way they looked at him and bowed politely was something more than a simple greeting.

You didn't know what kind of relationship there was between them, because at the end of the day Sung Jinwoo to you was just Jinwoo.

The man who fixed your broken liquor shelf without being asked. Who stood behind the bar with you one night, sleeves rolled up, silently drying glasses while the rain poured against the windows. Listening quietly as you spoke about the day. Who once crouched in the alleyway for over an hour when your neighbor’s dog ran off—and brought it back with a quiet, proud little smirk.

You were sunshine, people told you. Too soft for this world. Always laughing, always gentle, always making the regulars feel like kings.

And Jinwoo?

He looked at you like you were something from a better world. Something untouched. Something he wasn’t supposed to reach for, especially now that you were getting closer to him.

"You shouldn't be so close to me" he said one night, it was late after your shift, the bar was closed to all except you and Jinwoo. You wanted him to try a glass of your new drink, peach liqueur and gin, just the way he hinted that he liked.

"Why not?" You looked at him a bit confused at first, doe eye shifted to him.

“My world… people like you usually don’t last in it.”

You felt the words settle in the air like ash, bittersweet and familiar. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you walked around the counter slowly, closing the space between you and him with soft, steady steps.

And then, with gentle fingers, you reached up and fixed the crooked collar of his coat—tugging it straight like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Then maybe your world needs someone like me,” you said softly. “Maybe it needs something warm. Something that doesn’t come with blood on its hands.”

Jinwoo’s breath caught.

He looked at you like he’d been holding it for years—like he didn’t know what to do with something so kind, so real. His eyes flicked between yours, searching for doubt, fear, anything that said you didn’t mean it.

But there was none. Just you. Bright and unwavering in front of him.

He didn’t touch you. “I don’t want to ruin this,” he murmured. “Ruin you.”

You gave him a sad little smile, like you knew he’d say that. Like it hurt, but you understood.

“You won’t” you said, your voice like honey, a quiet, hidden sadness was present in his eyes as he looked at you.

———

You didn’t see him for a while after that night. You told yourself not to worry, that he was just busy with his work,

But worry crept in anyway—every time you passed the stool he always sat in, or found yourself making an extra drink out of habit. You even thought about calling the number he scribbled on a napkin once, but you didn't. You felt as if trying to keep him close you managed only to make him push you away and that hurt, a lot.

Tonight was one of those night where you were mulling over calling him or not, dejected once again you were ready to go upstairs when the front door of your bar shattered open.

Gunshots. Screams. A flash of steel and snarled voices yelling your name made you cower in fear.

You dropped behind the bar, ears ringing and your hand firmly pressed on your mouth. You didn’t know who they were—just that they were looking for you. Tears began to form as they kept yelling for you.

Looking for Sung Jinwoo weakness.

You.

You barely had time to think before the lights flickered—then died, leaving you alone with the darkness and the pack of strangers.

And then came the sound of boots. Dozens of them, sharp and sure, stomping through the chaos like a storm.

They didn’t yell. Didn’t scream. They didn’t need to "To be quick and silent" was their only order.

They moved with lethal precision—tactical, silent, devastating. A dozen men in all black, armed to the teeth, swept into the building like a wave. You heard bodies drop. Heard cries cut off mid-breath.

And then—

“(Y/n).”

His voice.

You looked from behind the counter, his voice was a magnet.

Jinwoo stood in the middle of the wreckage—calm, bleeding but alive. His black coat was dusted in smoke and gunpowder, blood on his collar, his dark hair tousled from the fight. Around him, his men—the ones who called him boss, who’d kill for him without hesitation—secured the room.

They looked so efficient and loyal, like shadows in human form.

Among them you recognised your recent new patrons.

Igris tall and regal in a black tactical coat edged in deep crimson, eyes sharp like blades—a contrast to his mundane self, with all of his books. His loyalty radiated like armor. He didn’t look at you long, but when he did, it was with silent acknowledgment: you were safe

Beru on the other side was a bit more chaotic—hair tousled, smile sharp, a slight twitch to his fingers like he missed the sting of combat. His eyes saw you crouched and trembling, he holstered his weapon and gently extended a handkerchief to you, he had the same warm smile as when he picks a song on your jukebox.

“Boss gets angry when you're hurt,” Beru said, in a voice far too smooth for someone with blood on his boots. “And you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”

Then Jinwoo was there—arm outstretched, fingers stained in red but steady. Waiting for you like he always would be, eyes flickering with concern.

You took his hand without question.

———

Later, after the bodies were gone and the cops looked the other way like they were paid to, you sat behind the bar, curled up in the corner booth with a glass of something warm in your hands. Your knees still shook, your ears still rang. You were safe now, but that didn’t mean your body believed it yet.

Jinwoo stood near the doorway like a ghost unsure if he was allowed to stay.

“I should’ve kept my distance, I'm so sorry dove” he said, voice hollow, blaming himself for this mess. “I knew they’d come for you sooner or later. I knew what I was putting you in.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “But if you had stayed away, I’d still be behind that bar. Dead. Don't you think so?”

You looked up at him then, warm but sure.

“I’m not scared of you, Jinwoo. I’m scared of a world without you.”

He blinked—like he hadn’t considered the possibility of living in his world with you safe at his side. Like he’d spent so long convincing himself that anyone who touched his world could only ever be consumed by it. That you, warm dove in his tainted world, would be better without him.

You stood and walked to him, taking his hands in yours, fingers quickly slotted together like you timidly done so many times before. They were rough, strong, stained by what he had to do to survive. But they trembled when you held them.

“I care about you,” you said, voice quiet but sure. “Whether you’re running an empire or just sitting in my bar at 1 a.m., it’s you. That doesn’t change.”

Jinwoo leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours like a vow, breath uneven against your cheek. “I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “From everything. No one will touch... my angel”

Your heart beat faster at the way he said it—but there was no fear. Only warmth.

“Then let me protect you too,” you whispered back. “Let me be your peace.”

That was when he kissed you.

Slow, deep, reverent. Like he finally allowed himself to fall—and knew you’d be there to catch him.

———

After that night, the bar changed.

Not in ways your regulars noticed—though they seemed to swear the place felt safer, warmer, untouchable. The type of place even the worst trouble wouldn’t dare step foot in.

But you noticed.

You noticed Igris quietly sitting near the front window most nights, sipping espresso and reading a book. Never saying much, but always watching.

You noticed Beru, spinning a barstool playfully and asking customers for riddles, but standing like a loaded gun the second someone raised their voice.

And you noticed Jinwoo.

At peace, for once.

He still wore the crown of shadows. Still ruled an empire. But when he walked through your door now, he smiled—genuine, rare, something only you got to see. He touched your waist like he was afraid to wake up. Kissed your temple like a man who finally knew what home was.

And the world?

It no longer tried to tear you away from him.

Because the King of Shadows had made it clear:

You were his light.

And nothing in this world—or the next—would be allowed to dim you.

[keyotos]

“please stay” after a nightmare from aventurine pls!!! i 🫶 how u write him hehe <3

the way that i am

summary ↯

aventurine's nightmare has him spiraling left and right. and also into you.

apart of the niche microtropes event!

word count ⎯ 3.5k

tana's thoughts ⎯ i am so sorry i got to this so late! i started working at a hospital this summer (working, not volunteering—BIG SHIFT YAY) so i've been a bit occupied!

aventurine doesn't even bother to look at the clock when he jolts up. his back is utterly slick with sweat—a feeling he detests. the room feels as though it's spinning slowly, then quickly, and slowly again. the cavity where his heart lies is pounding.

his fingers grip into the hotel sheets as a way to tether himself back to reality. but the attempt proves to be futile. his breaths have gotten even shallower before; aventurine begins to think that he may pass out from hyperventilation.

this is not the first time something like this has happened. aventurine knows what the protocol usually is. he'll be awake for a few more hours, and then eventually fall asleep for an hour before he has to wake up again.

however, this time it's different. swarmed by not only his childhood, but also red splotches covering his hands, rough metal, and thousands of eyes glowering down at him. everything overtook him—multiple topics all at one time, crashing down into his mind.

the hotel room was pitch black and frigid. the thin covers that the "5-stars" establishment provided did not render any heat whatsoever. not that it mattered to aventurine at the moment. his body felt like it was running a fever: how a nightmare could make him sweat, ache, and scalding was beyond him.

his sweat began seeping through his shirt, causing the material to stick to his skin. he needs it off.

aventurine didn't bother to turn on any lights (or use his phone light, even)—he doesn't think he could bare look at himself if he did. when dealing with nightmares, most people usually shake it off, distract themselves, and fall back asleep. but for aventurine, the waves of shame that wash over him are strong. dismay, embarrassment, and regret are some of the few emotions that crash into him left and right.

the mirror is hard to stare at after a nightmare. aventurine recalls one night—when he was a bit younger—where he turned on the bathroom light to wash his face. upon seeing himself in the fluorescent glint; a lethargic, sullen, and heavy reflection looked back at him. sunken eyes and cheeks that sink down to the floor—both paired with a sickeningly pale face.

he retched in the toilet shortly after.

aventurine put on some slippers as he stumbled on the way to the closet. luckily for him, it was right across from the bed, giving him easy access to change. however, the trip to the closet was still full of its' challenges: aventurine ran into the bed-frame multiple times, and almost tripped on his own feet.

yet, he managed to be successful as he hastily unbuttoned his previous shirt to slide on a new one. he would call it luck that he didn't run into the corner of the bed-frame.

aventurine didn't bother to finish buttoning up his shirt. his mind reeled to the next thing his body needed: a cold glass of water.

though the new shirt alleviated some of his discomfort, he was still running hot. sweat still beaded down his head, and he ran a hand through his damp, blond hair to straighten up.

with a bit more shuffling, his hands guided him to the door to leave his room. aventurine considered sleeping on the couch for the rest of the trip—not wanting to be back in that room for the next week—however he was worried you'd begin to question his antics.

you're smart. you catch on instantaneously and you're too quick-witted for your own good. sometimes, your big mouth gets you in trouble, but that's why aventurine is your partner: he's damage control. but your biggest flaw would have to be your nosiness. and aventurine—though he harbors no negative feelings towards you (except the minor annoyance)—is not ready to detail the specifics of why he planned to sleep on the uncomfortable couch for the remainder of the trip.

aventurine opens the door and tries his best to not slam it, just so he doesn't wake you. he rubs his eyes and yawns as he traverses down the corridor. his hands are scattered throughout the walls, and aventurine tries his best to not hit any corners as he walks.

there's a slight murmuring noise as he gets closer to the kitchen, and he pauses. there's a bright light being emitted, but it's not from the overhead light. aventurine slows down his breathing (which—is quite hard in his predicament) to better hear the sound.

aventurine's feet creep closer and closer, until he hears the noise suddenly stop. now would be a good time to go back to your room, he internally voices. but aventurine doesn't move. he's planted on the ground, anxiously anticipating what would come next. he doesn't know if it's due to shock from his nightmare, or because he was too exhausted to move any more.

"hey. what are you doing up?" you turn the corner, shining the light from your phone to see.

aventurine moves his hand up to cover his face from the light, "aeons, that thing is bright." you lower the brightness while aventurine puts his hand down. he continues, "you're going to go blind looking at that thing in the dark like this."

this is how it always goes. pretend nothing ever happened. no nightmares, no terrors, no deep-seated fears. aventurine was just tired, which wasn't exactly a lie.

he just hopes that you won't be able to see through it like everyone else does.

"i'm pretty sure that's a myth," you put your phone in the pocket of your shorts. the dark setting makes things a lot more intimate, aventurine thinks. he gulps—thankful for the darkness concealing it—and tries not to dwell on the topic for much longer.

"pretty sure that it's science," aventurine responds, leaning on the wall.

you mock him, repeating his words in a distorted voice that makes aventurine question what he is still doing here. yet, he doesn't leave. not even when you say, "since when do you know anything about science? aren't you a glorified tax collector? shouldn't you be worried about... tax evasion?"

the blond rolls his eyes, even when you couldn't see it. "it's basic knowledge, first of all. and i worry. how are you supposed to complete our mission if you can't see?" he lets out a yawn afterwards.

"yeah, yeah," you say, voice drawing out, "whatever. i know you just secretly care for me!" you tease, attempting to poke him in the shoulder, yet missing due to the lack of light.

funny, aventurine thinks. real funny.

"you also never answered my question by the way. what are you doing up?" you ask.

internally, aventurine sighs. he should've known that you would've circled back to that. he thought that exhaustion would cloud your judgement too (considering that it was 2:30 in the morning), but alas, it has not.

sometimes, he thinks that nothing could cloud your judgement, even if it was the strongest effort in the world. aventurine has always found it admirable, though he would never admit it.

"no reason. i'm just not feeling tired," he lies, standing straight up. it makes no difference really, because it wasn't like you could see him anyway.

"you lying liar who lies!" you laugh, "you just yawned like... thirty seconds ago."

aventurine brushes you off, "that doesn't mean anything."

"if you yawn that literally means you're tired," you exaggerate, "pretty sure that's science."

"do you really have to mock me at two in the morning?"

"um, is there ever a time to not mock you?"

aventurine groans. this time, not out of exhaustion. "how are you not tired yet?"

"i haven't gone to bed yet," you shrug, "like, at all." in the darkness, aventurine can see you fiddle with the string of your pajama shorts. "i've always been that way—abnormal. but i'm usually not tired in the morning, so i guess i'm fine."

aventurine hums in response. you talk quite often, but it's not usually about yourself. he leans back on the wall again, letting his head rest as you continue to tell him anecdotes about your chaotic sleeping schedule. this is your normal.

it's certainly not his. aventurine made sure to get eight hours (or more) of sleep each night. he had a routine—a perfectly constructed one, in fact—that would ensure he'd be rejuvenated in the morning. and it was good. it helped him forget; the focus on the ritual would subside any memories of his past that would haunt him.

like tonight.

although, it seems as though his nightmares are an abnormality as well, but he doesn't accept it like you do.

"i'm not gonna pry if you don't wanna tell me," he hears footsteps pattering closer to him. he still can't see you, but he knows you're close. his breath slightly hitches, just in case.

you continue, "but, i can invite you to what i was doing. you know, if you can't sleep either."

before aventurine could reject the idea, you open up your phone, the bright light blinding the both of you. you squeak a quick apology and turn the brightness down, just to where the both of you could see each other.

from his point of view, aventurine nearly has you pinned against him. his body is leaning against the wall, while his arm is propped up on it. you're below his arm, leaning against the wall as well; except, your head is underneath his arm.

you don't seem to notice the position the two of you are in, seeing as you are glued to your phone. in other circumstances, aventurine would've made a snarky comment about it, but the ability to speak was stolen away from him. there you are, right in front of him, obliviously scrolling through your social media. you haven't looked up, not even a glance.

part of him thinks that he should be grateful. tonight has been a rough night, and he's sure that he doesn't look particularly pleasant right now. his hair is tousled, blond strands mangled due to the earlier rustling. his eyes must be drooping, since he's not used to waking up during these hours.

but you don't notice whatsoever. you're here, aimlessly scrolling on your phone—searching up whatever (probably some kind of niche reference)—and not even looking up. and that's when the other part of aventurine comes in. why aren't you peering up at him? do you not feel his eyes boring into your body? can you not feel the rigidity of his stare?

aventurine would do anything to see you glance up: to see your breath hitch when noticing the position the two of you are in, or to finally see you be rendered speechless. he wants to see you hide away from his gaze, looking at anything except for him. then, he might able to come up with a remark as good as yours. only then.

he's torn between two halves of himself. you're his greatest relief tonight (shocking, as aventurine would usually refer to you as his greatest nuisance), but also his greatest fear. when he talks to you, aventurine feels like he's feverous: his heart rate increases when thinking of a retort to your wits, and he shivers with chills whenever you make wondrous and logical reasonings. but he's terrified of what would happen if you saw him—truly saw him. would you be able to come up with a witty response, or would you look at him with pity? would you pull back your punches, replacing your ardent jabs for dull responses?

aventurine didn't want to lose that.

"found it!" your excited voice knocks him out of his head. you click on a video of a wooden bowl filled with water and some blocks. or cubes. or spheres?

"um," aventurine peers down, "what is that?"

"wood soup!" you enthuse, scrolling through your social media to find more.

aventurine decides that he is lost. "wood... soup..."

"i don't see why you're so baffled by this," you shake your head, "it's not edible if that's what you're wondering. it's water and wood, ergo the name is: wood soup."

you pull the blond down a rabbit hole of wood soup videos, and aventurine becomes glued to your device with you. the two of you were definitely standing there for more than five minutes. you glance at him a couple times—just out of the corner of your eye—and aventurine has to suppress the urge to swallow every time.

"oh, oh," you pull up another video, "this one is my favorite!"

you've said that about ten times now. you definitely have not been keeping track, but aventurine has. sometimes, his gaze switches from your phone to you. you're distracted enough that you didn't notice him staring. aventurine silently thanked the aeons for "wood soup" being a distraction.

"this one is pretty good," aventurine murmured down to your neck. he occasionally felt his eyes sag, but blinked a few times to get rid of the fatigue. he rubbed his hand against his eyes to wake himself up.

"works like a charm, doesn't it?" you voice is soft when you give aventurine a slight smile. "these videos always put me to sleep."

you look up at him—actually making eye contact—and place your head on the spot on the wall directly under his arm. your arms are crossed over your chest, and you're biting down on your lip in an effort to not smirk or become smug.

aventurine knows this expression. it's your, "i was right from the whole time" expression.

and for a second, aventurine is scared. he should've walked back to his room earlier, instead of getting swooped up in your presence. judging by the expression you're donning at the moment, aventurine can tell you have him figured out. you were right about his lying earlier, and now you were gonna question him. and what was he going to say? what excuse was he going to come up with now?

would he tell the truth and reveal his most vulnerable bits of himself? what would you even think of that? what would you even say to that? aventurine admits, he's always wanted you to be rendered speechless, but not like this.

and what would you two be afterwards? not just coworkers, as aventurine wanted it to be originally. but you two are far away from becoming close friends. you are the person he needs by his side right now; you are one of the most important assets in the game he is playing. he can't lose you now.

and there's one more reason for aventurine's fears. though he will never admit it: he enjoys spending time with you. from a mission standpoint, you are one of his perfect partners. you balance him with your wit and observation, while he balances you with calculation and persuasiveness. but it's not just that. you're funny (annoyingly so) and you distract him. you make it easy to forget everything else when you're standing in front of him. sometimes, his heart races and all he can think about is you, you, you; every beat of his heart is a syllable of your name.

you make him feel normal. aventurine always knew he was abnormal, whether it was due to his eyes or status, he always knew. and then you waltz in, making sure that you are the weirdest person in the room. it makes him feel okay. safe, even.

safe. aventurine's heart is pounding out of his chest, waiting for you to say something. you make him feel safe, he realizes.

he can't lose you now. not like this.

you tilt your head, glancing up at his face. he watches as your eyes move from the furrow of his eyebrows, to his drooping eyelids, to his pursed lips, and to his slightly clenched jaw. you bite the inside of your lip—a sign that you want to say something, aventurine notes—and let a light sigh slip.

"rest up," you nod, placing your hand on his shoulder. your thumb brushes the fabric of his shirt, barely covering his shoulder. you're nearly touching skin. "you look like you need it," you quietly chuckle. if aventurine heard correctly, you muttered a soft, "yeesh," as well.

aventurine let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. you didn't say a thing. and that may be for the better.

you didn't pry, like you normally would. there were no additional questions. no follow-ups, no interrogations. your fingers brushed his shoulder and he had to make sure he wasn't going delirious from lack of sleep.

nothing was ruined. everything is okay. he is safe. it is a mantra he repeats in his head over and over. he had to make sure it was real. aventurine thought about pinching himself, but feeling your hand on his shoulder was enough evidence for him. your hand hasn't moved. neither has he.

aventurine's eyes are wide when he looks at you. you give him another small smile, "goodnight, okay? i don't wanna see you when i'm awake at 3 in the morning," you joke. "i have a feeling you get real cranky if you don't get your 12 hours of sleep."

first of all, it's 8. aventurine fought off the urge to correct you. this moment was too good to be true.

he couldn't go back to sleep after this. not when he'd be thinking about you and your hand all night. not when he knows that he'd be putting his own hand on his shoulder, recreating how you brushed it with your delicate ones. most of all, he felt like he couldn't fall asleep without you there with him. a chilling realization, he notes.

this is definitely one of the most craziest things he was about to do. insane, actually. when you're about to pull your hand off of aventurine's shoulder, he places his hand on top of yours, trapping it there.

"please, stay," he breathes. it's a shaky plead, and you can feel his hand tighten on top of yours.

"um," he looks around the hallway the two of you were in, "in my room."

you blink, "what?"

aventurine begins to chastise himself. this was a dumb idea. you shouldn't do this. run. but he continues, "could you stay with me in my room tonight?"

is this selfish? possibly. aventurine knows that you and him aren't close enough to share a bed. you guys haven't even shared a drink yet. but he needed you tonight. you help him feel safe. secure. okay. normal.

just for one night, could he indulge? he trusts you.

you blink a few more times. your chest has an unsteady rhythm of rise and fall. has he done it? are you speechless?

"uh. um," you pause. aventurine can tell that you're debating between yes and no. he waits, staring back at you. you bite back down on your lip, turning away.

"you know what. sure."

you and aventurine stumble over to his room in the dark. your footsteps are the only audible noise in the hotel room, and it invites an air of close intimacy between the two of you. he falls into bed first, with you awkwardly clambering in after him.

aventurine lies down like a stick at first. you are not much difference. your back is facing him, and you realize that the two of you cannot fall asleep like this.

you sigh and turn around, facing the blond next to you. it's awkward, for sure. anyone would probably be able to tell that neither of you has gotten into bed with another party before. but you've seen your fair share of movies, so you come up with an idea.

"turn around," you mumble. aventurine listens with no retort on his tongue. you gulp.

"let me know if you don't like this, okay?" you inch closer and closer to the man beside you, until your chest touches his back. you feel him tense, and you inch away a little. you bring your arms out in front of you and wrap them around aventurine.

aventurine's body is taut at first. he's stiff as a board, and you let go a bit to get him to relax. his hand slowly comes up and brushes over where your hand is. he grasps onto it—not as tightly as before—but a light touch, as if he was curious if you were still here or not.

"is this okay?" you whisper. your body is so close to his. you feel insane.

"yes," he responds. he isn't sure if he's capable of saying any more words. aventurine is already worrying that you can hear the way his heart his clamoring. he doesn't want to worry about nonsense spewing from his mouth as well.

your chest is pressed directly against is back. his instincts tell him to squirm away, but is body is telling him to stay right where he is.

later, when he feels your chest synchronize with his, he sighs. your head digs into his shoulder, and he's nearly about to fall asleep. his past nightmare has been forgotten. a topic for another time, he thinks.

you speak up again, your voice no louder than a whisper, "did you know that cuddling leads to an easier time falling asleep?"

aventurine lets out a light chuckle, "really? and how did you know that?"

"oh, i don't know. science?"

[heartshapedmisery]

𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 | cooper adams

summary ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ in which cooper adams is your next-door neighbor you've always had doubts about, but once you stumble into his trap, you're caught in the dilemma of becoming his next victim. but who's to say you didn't mind being his prey? . . .

warnings ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  MINORS DNI ! ( 18+ | THIS FIC IS DARKER THAN MY NORMAL CONTENT, DNI IF YOU AREN'T COMFORTABLE!) | language, graphic smut, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it y'all ), rough sex, bit of a blood kink?, knife kink, choking/suffocation, dacryphilia, m!receiving oral, daddy kink, breeding kink, hair pulling, degradation kink/name calling (whore), heavy age gap (reader is in early 20s and cooper is in mid 40s), let me know if i missed anything!

word count ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ 3.3k +

pairing ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ neighbor!cooper adams x fem!reader

author’s note ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  haven't seen trap yet but i'm still a slut for josh hartnett so do with that what you will :p i hope you enjoy! i had so much fun writing this, let me know what you think! :)

publishing date ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  august 21st, 2024 | © HEARTSHAPEDMISERY

When you first moved into your new house in Philadelphia, Cooper and Rachel Adams had been the first to welcome you into the neighborhood. They lived right next door, eager to get to know the new girl who had just moved into their subdivision.

You were fresh out of college and already swimming in debt (they honestly didn't know how you could even afford your house), so they had been kind enough to invite you over for dinner—which you happily accepted so you didn't have to spend any money on carry out. Plus, you figured getting to know new people would be nice so you didn't feel so alone in such a new place.

They had a nice home from what you could tell; it was warm and inviting as you walked through the living room, taking in the well lived-in space. You quickly learned they had a daughter, due to the family pictures scattered around the mantle above the fireplace, who had just gone off to summer camp the morning before. They spoke a lot about her at dinner. Well, Rachel did, her husband just nodded along to what she was saying as he quietly ate.

He didn't speak much; His eyes did most of his talking for him. God, his eyes. There was something about them that struck you so deeply, that you couldn't help but quickly look away every time you made eye contact with him. And he knew it too. He initially thought you were just shy, but after he caught your gaze lingering on his veiny hands and muscular forearms, he soon wondered if it was something else that made you react so heavily.

You couldn't deny that he was attractive. From his broad shoulders to his charming smile, he lit something ablaze deep in your gut that got harder and harder to ignore as the night went on.

After dinner, you migrated your way to the living room for a few drinks, continuing to listen to the story Rachel told about how her and Cooper met.

"Honey, could you get another bottle of wine from the cellar? This one's just about out," Mrs. Adams turned to her husband as she topped off her glass, rubbing his shoulder softly before he stood.

He quietly excused himself to the basement, leaving the two of you to retrieve another bottle. He returned moments later with an unopened bottle from 2007, which Mrs. Adams seemed elated about.

"Here, sweetheart. Let me get a corkscrew," he told her, setting the bottle on the coffee table and making his way towards the kitchen. Your eyes followed him for a moment, before falling to his feet to see the small red splotches his left shoe was leaving behind on the hardwood with each step.

Your eyes widened slightly, your mind jumping to conclusions to what that could possibly be. You carefully look at the basement door that he had left cracked open, a weird feeling suddenly washing over your senses.

"What is that on the bottom of your shoe?" Mrs. Adams asked the question you had been too afraid to, your eyes snapping to him as he came to a sudden halt and turned around.

"I dropped one by accident, I guess I stepped in some of it," he played stupid as he looked at the bottom of his shoe, grabbing a dish towel and wiping it clean.

For some reason, you didn't completely believe him.

"I didn't hear any glass shatter," you countered, meeting his gaze as it slowly turned cold.

"It was a case of box wine," he said condescendingly. "Probably better off spilled anyways, am I right?"

Rachel laughed in agreement, a smile cracking across his face once he realized he had her fooled. But he hadn't completely fooled you, your eyes narrowing before you let the whole thing go.

You didn't get up to leave until well after dark and were slightly buzzed, giving Rachel a hug and thanking her and Cooper both for inviting you into their home.

"Of course! We're so glad to have you in the neighborhood! The last guy who was at your place was a bit of a grump so it's refreshing to see a young and new face!" she told you sweetly, her husband still only nodding in agreement.

"Thank you again," you smiled, Cooper turning to open the front door for you. You waved back to Rachel one last time before making your way out the door. The sudden feeling of Cooper's hand on the middle of your back made your breath hitch in your throat, but you made sure to play it off with a smile.

"Have a good night, sweetheart," his tone was nice and friendly, but the way the nickname made you feel inside was the complete opposite. Surely, he meant nothing by it. His wife paid no mind to it, still smiling as you walked out.

So why did it make a sudden rush of heat pool in your lower abdomen?

"Goodnight," you said one final time before you heard the door close behind you, and you could finally release the uneven breath you had been holding.

You leisurely made your way back over to your house, drunk on the 3 glasses of wine you had and the smell of Cooper's cologne that still waivered around your nostrils.

As you got ready for bed, you wondered if you had just been overthinking everything. Was that really just wine on the bottom of his shoe? The thought ate away at you as you replayed the entire night through your head, yet all that was clear in your mind was his stone-cold gaze.

There was no life behind his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, no matter how happy he seemed. There was a darkness. A darkness that you could feel when he spoke to you. When he placed his hand on your back. You shuddered as you remembered it, a white-hot warmth spreading between your thighs. It alarmed you how unsettled you were by him, but you felt even more concerned with how much you liked it.

The following week was quiet.

Your house was belatedly furnished to your liking, the last of your boxes had arrived Thursday afternoon, and you were finally starting to feel comfortable in your new home by the time Saturday rolled around.

You decided to treat yourself to a day out, shopping around downtown until you felt like you were going to drop. When you got home, you decided it would be nice to return the favor of hospitality to your new neighbors by giving them a basket full of little things you had bought while you were out.

As you made your way over to their front porch, you noticed there was only one car parked in the driveway. Deep down, you hoped it was Rachel's since you weren't completely sure if you could handle talking to Mr. Adams alone.

Once you stood before the door, you raised you hand to knock, hesitating before doing so, only to find that the door was cracked open. Carefully, you opened the door enough to peek your head in and peer around. All the lights were off as if no one was home.

"Mrs. Adams? Mr. Adams?" you called out, hoping for a response so you didn't feel so creepy intruding on someone's home.

Nothing.

You walked in further, shutting the door behind you and slowly making your way through the house. Gently, you set the basket on the kitchen table, your eyes falling on the basement door.

You knew you shouldn't be snooping around like this, but you had to know what was behind that door. You needed to know you weren't crazy.

Your steps were light as you tiptoed across the hardwood, your hand gripping the doorknob and slowly turning it as anticipation coursed through your veins. You flicked on the lights to see a desolate staircase—seemingly normal enough.

You cautiously took the risk of walking down the steps, getting about halfway down before you could see the full basement. A sudden horror washed over your body as you took in the sight before you.

A large red stain sat in the middle of the concrete floor, the grungy discoloration making you realize a cheap case of box wine wouldn't make such a prominent stain. It was something else—something thicker.

The next thing that stood out was two chains drilled into the back wall with cuffs hooked to their ends, the mere sight making your stomach churn as you thought about what those were used for. Below them, sat an old mattress that had too many stains on it to count. Some of which were a deep red that matched the one on the floor, sending a chill down your spine.

"What do you think you're doing down here, sweetheart? "

Your entire body went rigid as you looked over your shoulder to see Cooper standing at the top of the steps. His eyes were dark as he watched you intently, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he watched you back up in fear when he began to descend the steps.

As he came into the light, a sudden buzz overcame your senses as you took in his edged appearance. He wore nothing but a white t-shirt that exposed his toned arms and a dark pair of jeans. He exhibited the same lifeless expression behind his unsettling smile, each step he took making you take one back until he had you pushed up against the wall.

"Answer me," he practically growled. His fist was in your hair before you could think twice, pulling your head back roughly to make you look him in the eye. He was so close you could smell his cologne, the same one that had you in a daze only a week prior. It made a low whine sound at the back of your throat as your watery eyes met his.

You knew this was all wrong, but you couldn't deny the fire that blazed through your stomach as you could feel his hot breath against your cheek, making it harder and harder to keep your morals.

"I wanted to do something nice for you," you croaked. Arousal swirled between your legs as his grip tightened on your hair, a grunt of frustration blowing past his lips.

"What with that gift basket you left upstairs? You're gonna have to do a lot more than that to win me over, baby."

You whined in fear, but that's what fueled your rapture. The terror that coursed through your body heightened the pleasure you were feeling as he manhandled you.

"I'll do whatever you want me to," you told him, your fingers moving to dance across his lower stomach and down his crotch, teasing him as you looked up at him with innocent eyes. You hesitated slightly before letting the next word tumble out of your mouth.

"Daddy."

The name seemed to flip a switch in his brain, his large hands grabbing you and throwing you down onto the mattress and beginning to undo his belt. The clinking noise of his buckle made a surge of excitement jolt through your chest, propping yourself up on your elbows as he got a good look at you.

You looked helpless below him as he pulled his belt from his pants, his eyes not leaving your as he unzipped his jeans.

"Get on your knees," he told you sharply, his tone low and graveled. You were quick to do as he said, sitting up to kneel on the mattress with your feet tucked underneath you.

A rush of arousal went straight to his lower half as he looked down on you, the power to corrupt you to no end eating away at his brain. It felt almost as good as a kill; the feeling of you putting your life in his hands, unaware of what he intended to do with it. Your obedience astounded him and he couldn't wait any longer to dip into you.

With one hand, he pulled himself from his boxers while the other cupped the back of your head, guiding you towards his already hard member.

"Open," he muttered sternly, his fingers raking through the hair at the nape of your neck as he eased his dick into your mouth, halting his movements once his tip reached the back of your throat. "Good girl, take it all for me."

Your lips closed around him, moaning as he began a steady pace of thrusting into your mouth. Both of his hands were tangled into your locks now, using them as leverage while he fucked your throat. Your palm grasped at his jean-clad thigh, your nails digging into the rough denim as he shoved his dick farther and farther. As much as you would allow.

"Fucking take it," he said through gritted teeth, harsh grunts ripping through his throat as your eyes began to water. You continued to look up at him, watching his face contort with pleasure while he used you like a fuckdoll, strings of saliva pooling out of the corners of your mouth.

You were practically soaked through your panties by the time he came down your throat with an aggressive tug on your hair, shoving you down so far on his cock that your nose brushed with the small tuft of hair along his pubic bone.

You pulled off of him with a gasp. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to catch your breath and wipe away the streaks of mascara from your cheeks stained from tears. He couldn't get enough of how you were like putty in his hands, abiding by whatever he told you with such compliance.

"Good job, sweetheart,' he said in a softer manner. "Might not have to kill you after all."

Your stomach felt like it had caved in at his words, your eyes widening as he tugged the t-shirt over his head. But the threat still made your core throb, your thighs clenching together in response.

"Take your clothes off," he demanded, watching you carefully as you slowly unbuttoned your shirt. Your fingers trembled as you tugged your shorts down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your undergarments as he finally crouched down to your level.

You lay back on the dirty mattress, watching his hand as it reached into his back pocket to reveal a large pocket knife. It flipped open, glinting sharply in the light as he brought the blade to the supple skin of your neck. The metal was cool against your warm skin, making a shiver run down your spine.

His eyes danced across your lustful expression, his heart pounding from the thrill that surged through his body. He had you right where he wanted you, the blade slowly running down your chest before stopping at your sternum and hooking under the band of your bra.

You couldn't take your eyes away from him, eager to see what he would do next. With one swift movement, he ripped the knife right through the lacy fabric, tearing your bra at the front to reveal your chest. You watched his eyes dilate at the sight of your breasts, a low groan falling from his lips.

The blade trailed down your stomach, Cooper dragging the sharp point against your skin as it moved lower to your hips. His eyes were dark as he did the same with your panties as he did your bra, cutting them off of you with such aggression that you couldn't help but moan.

"Please, fuck me," you gasped, impatience taking over you as Cooper took in your naked appearance. You didn't realize he had nicked you in the process of removing your underwear, the crimson blood running down your hip thickly.

"You want me to fuck you?" he taunted, expressionless. His thumb smeared the blood around on your smooth skin, satisfied with the way it stained you. His large hand then gripped the back of your knee, pulling you closer to him and making you slide all the way down onto your back with your thighs on either side of his hips.

You only whined, needy for his touch. You didn't care how pathetic you seemed.

"I'll fuck you," he said with an aggravated tone. He quickly gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach so you were trapped face down between his large body and the mattress. "I'll fuck you like the whore you are and you're gonna take it like a good girl, understand?"

His hand was in your hair once more, pulling your head back for you to look at him.

"Yes!" you sobbed, tears falling from your eyes as you ground your ass back against his crotch to get some sort of friction, which only angered him further. He shoved your head back down against the mattress, his free hand grasping his dick to line himself up with your entrance before shoving himself into you without warning.

"Yes, what?" he pried, his lips right at your ear as he pinned your body down with his.

"Yes, Daddy! I'll be your good girl I promise!" you cried, a raspy moan ripping from your throat once he finally thrust into you again, his hips beginning a slow but hard rhythm of fucking you. You reeled with pleasure, ecstatic with the feeling of his thick cock pounding your slick cunt over and over again.

With each brush of his tip against your cervix you thought you were done for, your thighs beginning to tremble as his pace quickened.

"That's it," he groaned, pulling you up from your vulnerable position by your hair, your back tight against his toned chest. "Taking all of me so good."

His arm snaked around your neck, locking your head in the crook of his elbow and tightening it. Your hands grasped at his forearm, your nails digging into his skin as he took the air right out of your lungs with each flex of his muscle.

"P-Please," you gasped, becoming scared as your mind went fuzzy and your vision blurred. He still continued his hard thrusts but ultimately loosened his grip on you after a few moments of torture.

You tiredly flopped back down to the mattress once he let go of you, his hands gripping your hips to gain more leverage as his thrusts became quicker and more sporadic. You could tell he was getting close to his release, but still had a few more tricks up his sleeve.

"You're not giving up on me yet, are you, baby?" he rasped, stilling his movements to flip you over onto your back one final time, before regaining his harsh pace.

You shook your head in response as you were unable to form coherent words—only disgruntled moans and pants that were music to his ears.

His rough hands gripped your leg and threw it over his shoulder to pound into you at a deeper angle, which had the coil in your stomach unraveling by the second. You were nearly there as well, your core clenching around him desperately. His hands moved to their rightful spot on your neck, restricting your airflow once again.

"Fuck me, Daddy," you moaned, making intense eye contact with him as he continued to drill into you. "Fuck me full of your cum!"

Your words made him shudder, his hips stuttering as he ultimately tipped over the edge of pleasure and came deep inside of you.

You let yourself succumb to your orgasm at the sound of his deep, guttural groan as he came, clawing at his muscular back (which was sure to leave marks) to bring yourself back to reality.

You lay limp on the mattress as he pulled himself from your used cunt with a hiss. You felt brain-dead, overwhelmed with the memory of his cock using you to no end. Your teary eyes met his, and all he could do was smile down at your fucked-out expression.

"Don't look at me like that, baby. We're only getting started."

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