#do you think he thought about it when he kissed. felt those lips on his like a sharp beak straight through his body

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Bathing with Ni-ki;

Pairing; fem!reader x cute boyfriend! Nishimura Riki Synopsis; In a tender moment, you and Ni-ki share an intimate bath, exchanging teasing touches, and sweet kisses. Genre; Fluff. But a bit suggestive. Warning; None (?) A bit of sexy tension because... you and him are naked.. (?)

A/N: I've had this idea for a few days and couldn't rest until it was finished, so here it is. I wanted it to be longer but whatever. It's still cute and intimate and that was the main goal! Likes and reblogs are always welcome, thank you so much!

As you stepped into the warm, soapy water, you immediately felt your body relax, loving the way it wrapped around you. You sat down in the tub, planning to wait for your boyfriend, but since he would take a while, you decided to start the bath by yourself. This way, when he arrived, you’d only need to focus on taking care of him—because knowing Ni-ki, he would ask you to wash his hair.

This wasn’t the first time you and Ni-ki had showered together, but last time it was a shower, and now it was a bath. And it seemed more intimate to you, so you felt a bit shy just thinking about it. Pushing those thoughts aside, you continued washing up. As you finished rinsing your hair, your boyfriend appeared.

Ni-ki entered the bathroom in just his underwear. His eyes immediately scanned the room, and when they met yours, he gave you a sly smile. Your eyes travelled along his body while he kept his gaze locked on you, waiting to see your reaction. You quickly turned your head away, closing your eyes and laughing.

“Come on, hurry up!” you said in a playful tone, knowing he was teasing you on purpose.

“Why are you closing your eyes? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before,” Riki joked, but you didn’t look at him. Instead, you stayed still, looking off to the side and laughing. It was true, of course, but it still made you shy.

You only looked in Ni-ki’s direction once you heard him settle into the tub, his movements causing ripples in the water. When you finally turned to face him, you noticed only half of his torso was submerged, his skin glowing in the water’s reflections. He was smiling like a kid, savoring this precious moment with just the two of you.

Sitting across from him, you admired how childlike he looked, his arms resting beneath the water shyly. Then he spread his legs, signaling you it was time to change positions. Slowly, you lifted yourself and turned around, resting your back against his chest and your head on his shoulder as you nestled between his legs. Your feet planted themselves on the tub’s bottom, and you curled your legs against your torso.

Your boyfriend’s large hands quickly wrapped around your waist, savoring the calmness and warmth of your body against his. He then moved slowly, kissing your hair sweetly before nuzzling his face into your neck, his nose brushing against your skin lovingly.

“I love this,” Riki confessed, a smile on his lips as his hand softly caressed your cheek with his thumb.

You turned to face him. “Me too,” you replied, giggling when he brushed his nose against your ear.

“But we do have limited time. Remember what Jungwon said?” you reminded him, your hand now travelling to his handsome face, his oreo hair still completely dry.

“I know,” he said in a low voice, sulking.

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, soaking in each other’s presence and warmth. His long fingers gently caressed your sides under the water while your head rested on his shoulder, your eyes closed.

“Your hair smells so nice!” Riki said near your ear, inhaling deeply. “Can you wash my hair, please?” he asked excitedly, loving the way your gentle fingers always left his hair feeling perfect.

“How can I say no to you?” you teased, nodding. You signaled for him to turn around and move back a little to give you room to wet his hair and he did obediently.

“You have to go lower,” you complained with a laugh. His head was too far from the water because of how tall he was, so he let himself nearly fall backwards onto you until his head was almost submerged.

You couldn’t resist how cute he looked—eyes closed, lips slightly pouting, and his head completely wet. Gently, your fingers moved over his scalp, ensuring his hair was fully soaked so the shampoo would work better. Without him noticing, you leaned down and gave him a soft, upside-down kiss on his plump lips.

Ni-ki opened his eyes, surprised, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks. Smiling, you pulled him upright to start washing his hair.

“Use your shampoo, please…” Ni-ki asked, pouting. He loved smelling like you—it made him feel close to you at all times.

“Of course, baby boy,” you teased him, knowing he hated the nickname. But he let it slide, enjoying the moment. Carefully, you lathered his hair with your shampoo, the scent of fresh fruit filling the bathroom. Your skilled fingers gently massaged and cleaned his hair, bringing a sense of calmness and safety to him. You gently gather his front hair and massage it a bit more, noticing his bleached hair is starting to feel stronger.

“You’re so good at this…” Ni-ki said in a low voice, his deep tone sending shivers through you. Flustered, you felt your cheeks warm as you continued. Once his hair was fully washed, he dunked his head under the water to rinse, your hands still massaging his scalp.

The sight before you was breathtaking: his muscular body covered in bubbles, water drops rolling down his abs before disappearing under the water. Your mind wandered, and your cheeks burned even redder.

Ni-ki opened his eyes to find you staring, your mouth slightly open. Smirking, he teased, “You okay, baby?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, laughing lightly. “You just look so good, I was—”

“I know what you were thinking…” Riki interrupted, his tone teasing as he turned to face you. For the first time, he allowed himself to fully take in your beauty.

The water rested just below your chest, exposing your neck and shoulders your skin getting goosebumps under his intense gaze. Your wet hair was pushed back, making you look even more stunning. Slowly, Ni-ki’s hands reached for your waist, pulling you closer so he could seal your lips with a kiss.

You can feel his bare skin against yours, his lean abdomen against yours, your chest firmly pressed against his. You wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to share his skin with you so you can be impossibly closer. His lips are slow but hungry against yours, devouring you with eagerness you have never seen before, his tongue carefully fighting yours to gain dominance.

Pulling back for air, Ni-ki admired you—head tilted back, eyes closed, and lips swollen. He could feel your rapid heartbeat against his chest.

“Y’all better hurry up!” Heesung yelled from outside, startling both of you. “I NEED TO USE THE TOILET!”

The urgency in his voice made you and Ni-ki laugh, breaking the mood. You stood up, stepping out of the tub to wrap yourself in a towel.

Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart was nearly pounding out of your chest. Your hands trembled slightly, the intimate moment with Ni-ki still vivid in your mind as you shyly dried yourself.

Ni-ki stayed behind, finishing his bath while regaining his composure. After a few minutes, as you slipped on one of his t-shirts, he appeared behind you, his tall frame looming over you. You turned around, only to be met with the sight of a wet Riki, a towel wrapped low on his hips. You gulped, your eyes instinctively traveling up and down his body, your breath caught in your throat.

“We… huh…” you stammered. “We have to go… Heesung needs…” Your eyes locked with Riki’s, his gaze so intense that it robbed you of the ability to form coherent words. “Heesung needs to come here,” you finally managed to say, your voice quivering as you bit your bottom lip.

Riki leaned forward, his tender lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Give me five minutes to dress, princess.”

Turning away, flustered, you tried to compose yourself, but the mirror in front of you betrayed you, reflecting every moment. Quietly, you watched as he dressed, unable to tear your eyes away. Speechless, you absorbed every movement until, within a few minutes, he was fully dressed.

As the both of you leave the bathroom, Heesung is waiting by the door.

“What happened in there?” Heesung asked with a smirk, noticing how you avoided Ni-ki’s gaze.

Looking at Heesung, Ni-ki smirked back, his hand resting on your lower back. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

Taglist: @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay @crimson-reaper576 @rikifever @mrsjjongstby @laurradoesloveu @babyboomysweetie @mintchocos-things If you want to be added or removed from the taglist, comment below!

[livingformintyoongi]

Echoes of Love | Kim Taehyung

a/n: This is literally the longest thing I've ever written in my life ._. I really tried to do my best, I got the idea after seeing the Winter ahead teaser and I really wanted to write it (even though I thought it was going to take much longer). I wanted to give a special thanks to @thunderg, @kookiewithluv and @angellekookie for helping me with the revision, they are the best moots in the world, I adore them, I really don't think I could have finished it without their opinions :(

Resume: You and Taehyung had a passing relationship four years ago, a relationship that felt like a hurricane; fleeting, sweeping, destructive. You had left a mark on him, one that, even as the years passed, was still present, and, no matter what he did, it seemed unwilling to go away.

Warnings: It has quite a bit of angst, Taehyung at one point acts like an idiot, time shifts between the present and four years earlier, most of the shot is focused on Tae's point of view.

WC: 16.9k

Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @zent9

Dividers: @thecutestgrotto

Taehyung stared fixedly at the sculpture in front of him, from the shape of its eyes to the soft curve of its lips. It was just like you, so much so that he could almost imagine the sparkle in your eyes and the sound of your laugh. He clenched his jaw as flashes of the days he had spent by your side returned to his memory—those times when you stayed up late kissing until your lips ached, or those afternoons when you went for walks on the beach to get some fresh air. It was unfair, it was painful, and perhaps the worst part was that it was his fault.

He set aside his chisel, never taking his eyes off the perfectly polished face of the one he was sure was the love of his life. He wasn’t going to gain anything by recalling the past, by getting stuck in the “what ifs” that had tormented him these past few years, he knew that. But then, why? Why was it so hard to stop thinking about you? About your voice, your touch, the way you loved so selflessly and intensely, simply... you.

"Taehyung, the exhibition is about to start. Are you ready?" Jiwon asked, crossing her arms as she leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. Her navy blue suit and the firm tie of her hair contrasted completely with the casual image she usually projected. He couldn’t help but feel a little relief as he realized his best friend took her work seriously, that maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought, as alone as he felt inside.

"I think so..." he murmured, untangling the linen apron with clumsy movements before walking to her side. "What about you? Are you ready?"

"Already ready for more than an hour," she muttered quietly, too distracted by the sculpture behind him to really answer as she should. "It’s her, right? The woman you’ve been crying over for... I don’t know, three years?" She walked closer to the sculpture, studying its features. The delicate way in which Taehyung had captured her essence, as though he had poured his heart and soul into polishing every tiny detail of her. He had probably succeeded because even she, someone who was a zero at anything unrelated to science—and emotions in general—could feel a pressure in her chest looking at your face. "She’s beautiful... I understand why it hurts so much to have lost her." She shoved her hands in her pockets and turned to him.

"It was four years, Jiwon, and no, it’s not just ‘beautiful’, she is—" He protested, clenching his fists at his sides, his gaze fixed on your face—or rather, on the portrait of it. "She’s much more than a pretty face. You never knew her, you never did, so don’t talk about her like that."

Jiwon raised an eyebrow, a mocking smile crossing her face. "Oh, seems like I struck a nerve. Did you remember something interesting?"

Taehyung swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t like talking about you; actually, he hated when others talked about you, at least when they hadn’t had the chance to get to know you the way he had. When he had presented his exhibition with the 38 pieces he had created with you as his muse. Just like him, everyone was captivated by your beauty. It was weeks of the newspapers asking him about you, his new muse, talking about you as though they knew who you were, investigating tirelessly to find you. He hated it. With the bad taste left by Jiwon’s comment, he took a silk veil to cover the sculpture with as much care as possible, convincing himself that, in some way, covering your face would protect you from prying eyes. But he hadn’t counted on the fact that through the silk veil, the silhouette of your face still stared at him, as if reminding him that some wounds couldn’t be hidden by the finest fabric. Perhaps he didn’t miss company so much, at least not Jiwon’s.

"Let’s get out of here, please," he murmured, leaving the studio as quickly as his feet would allow him. The pain in his chest grew more unbearable, the nausea soon followed, and the discomfort was hard to ignore. He didn’t know how much longer he could endure it like this, but it definitely wouldn’t be much longer.

While Taehyung hurried out, Jiwon remained in the doorway, staring fixedly at the statue now covered by the veil. Unlike what Taehyung thought, she had known her—perhaps even longer than she could confess to her friend. She took the door handle, giving the space one last look. She stopped for a few seconds, clearing her mind. The uncertainty and guilt that had haunted her for the past four years were becoming harder to bear. She kept telling herself she was doing this for his sake, or at least that’s what she kept telling herself. She clenched her jaw as she closed the door, as if doing so could choke the memories that threatened to suffocate her too, trying to leave that bitter love behind with the hundreds of portraits, photographs, and sculptures Taehyung had refused to display.

"Seriously, you couldn’t look more pathetic," Jiwon murmured, sitting relaxed in one of the beach chairs Taehyung had in the backyard of his house—mansion. The warm sun embraced her semi-naked skin, covered by a black swimsuit that accentuated her figure perfectly. Thick sunglasses rested on the bridge of her nose, protecting her eyes from the scorching summer sun, while her blonde hair fell softly over her shoulders. Jiwon was, in simple terms, a beautiful woman. But her sarcastic, insensitive, and rough attitude drove away almost everyone around her. Taehyung was one of the few exceptions.

"What are you doing in my house?" Taehyung grunted, ruffling his hair as he lay down on the grass, his brown eyes fixed on the crystal-clear water of the pool. The soft itch from the grass against his bare skin made him feel a little better, a little more alive. Why did it affect him so much that Joohyun left him? Well, maybe the fact that they had been together for five years, that she had been his muse since he met her, and that she left him right when he asked her to marry him, explained the intense pain in his chest. "You should, I don’t know... do whatever it is that family business owners do, like ruining one of your employee’s lives or marrying your secretary."

"Nah, that’s boring. Besides, Jungkook isn’t my type," she murmured lazily, the summer sun burning her eyes through her sunglasses. The sensation soon began to relax her, to the point of feeling her eyelids fall involuntarily. "Now, what are you going to do with your work? You have an exhibition in eight months and you’ve barely managed to do anything other than cry over some brainless girl."

Taehyung frowned, turning to look at Jiwon. Her mocking smile and sarcastic tone fit perfectly with her attitude. They had been friends for over ten years, and he still didn’t understand why they remained friends. With the urge to throw a beach chair at her head still bubbling inside, he stood up from the ground and walked toward her, approaching with firm steps.

"Joohyun wasn’t a brainless girl. She was my girlfriend, my muse, and without her..." He paused for a moment, staring at the sky barely covered by clouds. Something in his throat was choking him. "Without her, I’m nothing."

"Oh, please, stop being so pathetic." Jiwon reclined back in her chair, taking off her sunglasses and throwing them somewhere on the floor. Her expression, though slightly furrowed, was filled with disdain, and one of her eyebrows rose inquisitively. "Since when do you feel sorry for a woman? There are hundreds of thousands of women out there who are way more interesting, beautiful, and fun than that bitch."

"Stop calling her that, Jiwon," he said sternly, clenching his teeth to avoid exploding. He didn’t like her talking about Joohyun like that, even though he knew Jiwon had no filter for her opinions. He had always been aware of Jiwon’s coldness when it came to emotional matters, especially love, but that didn’t stop the pain her words caused every time they pierced him. Part of him knew what Jiwon said was true, but another part, the bigger part, refused to accept it. He preferred to live in a world as beautiful as his works than face the harsh reality.

"I’m just telling the truth. She cheated on you more than once, took advantage of your money, and was obsessed with being the star of your works. She practically made you dependent on her!" She moved a little closer, gently tapping his forehead. "Trust me, there are a lot of beautiful girls out there who could be your muse. Just... I don’t know... go look for one."

Taehyung looked at his best friend’s impassive face, the calm in her blue eyes, as cold as ice. She would never understand him. No matter how hard she tried, Jiwon would never feel art and love the way he did. Her view was objective, superficial. And that was exactly what he needed at that moment.

"Ugh, I’d forgotten how loud these events could be," Taehyung muttered, walking with his head down, heading directly to the exhibition hall. The cream-colored hallways adorned with hundreds of high-quality paintings and sculptures made Taehyung feel as if he were at home—or at least that’s how it had been for a long time, before he met you. He still felt a certain warmth in these kinds of places, but something inside him twisted every time he stepped into a museum. It was hard to feel whole when you had lost someone you felt so drawn to.

"It’s because you’re here, stirring up the hormones of the women artists," Jiwon murmured, walking slowly, taking her time to appreciate the art around her. Unlike Taehyung, she had never sympathized with art. She didn’t understand why people admired it so much, nor did she understand how it could generate such strong emotions with just one look. But she knew he liked it, and that was more than enough to spare a few hours of her life to accompany him to exhibitions.

"Of course not, that’s—" His feet came to a sudden stop when he noticed a large painting on the far wall. At first, his mind refused to accept what he was seeing. He blinked, trying to convince himself it was a coincidence, an illusion… But every detail brought him back to that night. And then, the weight of reality fell on him, crushing him. He remembered that moment as if it were yesterday—the cold night breeze on the beach, the smell of salt, the sand against his toes, you… It didn’t take long before he felt the knot forming in his throat, growing until it made it hard to speak and breathe. That white dress with blue reflections, your long, dark hair, the moon, the night,… everyhing came back to him like pieces of a broken mirror, cutting his heart with every little shard he tried to visualize.

It wasn’t just a painting. It was the only time he had captured something more than the beauty of a muse; he had painted the love he felt, without masks or artifices. That painting was a secret, a silent confession he never intended to share.

"Oh, I don’t remember seeing this one among the pieces you submitted," Jiwon said, walking closer to read the title. "Muse?" Taehyung’s heart stopped the moment he heard those words leave Jiwon’s lips. He didn’t want that painting to be displayed; he didn’t want anyone else to see it, for anyone else to feel what he felt that night. He didn’t want to share that moment so intimate, so important to him, to both of you.

Every brushstroke was an unspoken word, an echo of that night he could never relive. How could he share it? How could he allow someone else to interpret it, feel it, judge it? With the little strength he had left, he looked at the figure of the young woman in the painting, and with a trembling hand pressed to his aching chest, he murmured, "Ask them to take it down. Now." His voice cracked as he clenched his fist against his chest, as if trying to contain something that was about to break. "I don’t want… I can’t see it here."

Despite the pain the painting caused him, he seemed incapable of looking away from it, from you. He didn’t understand—how had it ended up here? He was certain he had left it with the rejected pieces. He had spent four years hiding it from the view of any intruder, never showing it to anyone—so how?

While Taehyung wrestled with himself, trying to figure out how the painting had ended up in the exhibition, Jiwon focused on studying him, every little gesture he made. She noticed how his lips pressed into a thin line, how his chest rose and fell irregularly, how his hands trembled slightly at his sides, and, finally, how his eyes seemed to be covered by a sheen of water, on the verge of spilling a bitter tear.

It was only when a single tear traced down his cheek that guilt overwhelmed her. She pressed her lips together, her thoughts clashing against each other. She had thought displaying it would give Taehyung a push, a way to force him to stop running from his own feelings. But now, seeing his reaction, she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to present that painting at the exhibition.

The soft night breeze elegantly tousled Taehyung’s hair, a stark contrast to his bare feet resting on the sand. The cigarette between his lips and the taste of nicotine made a feeble, almost miserable, attempt to ease the pressure on his chest. The memory of Joohyun still lingered in his mind, every time he closed his eyes, every time he picked up a brush. Frustration began to irritate him, and he still had only seven and a half months left to present his exhibition.

“You shouldn’t do that, it’s bad for you,” murmured a soft voice behind him. Silent footsteps beside him made him turn to see who was interrupting his negative thoughts, but even after being able to put a face to the mysterious voice, he couldn’t say anything. Every word, every thought, absolutely everything seemed to vanish the moment their gazes met.

There was a woman next to him, slightly younger than him. She wore a white dress, very similar to the one a bride would wear on her special day. Her dark, long hair rested delicately against her back and hips, and her large, bright eyes perfectly reflected the moonlight. Every feature he focused on made her seem even more ethereal. He had never felt anything so sudden since the first time he took a brush in his hand.

“Are you okay?” the young woman murmured, her brow furrowing slightly as she tilted her head to better observe Taehyung’s face, as if looking for any wounds or signs of pain. There was something about her that made the pain disappear from his chest.

“Who are you?” he managed to say after what felt like an eternity. The cigarette he had between his lips had long since fallen to the ground, forgotten entirely thanks to the almost angelic presence of the girl.

“Me?” she pointed to herself, her eyes reflecting incredulity and confusion, emotions that lasted only an instant, for she almost immediately gifted him one of the purest and gentlest smiles he had ever seen in his life. “My name is Y/N, Y/L/N Y/N.”

“Y/N…” he murmured softly, taking in every detail of her face. The way her eyes reflected the light of the stars, how the night breeze tousled her hair, how her very presence seemed to calm the pain that had darkened his days for months. For the first time since Joohyun’s rejection, Taehyung felt inspired, as if, after months of drowning in a sea of tears, his lifeline had arrived, the one thing that could pull him from his misery. A new muse. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course! Ask me,” she tilted her head slightly, ready to listen to whatever the stranger had to say. You would lie if you said you weren’t nervous about speaking to him, not only because he was a complete stranger and could very well be a lunatic - although you were sure he wasn’t - but there was something about him, perhaps the way his eyes seemed so lost, or his melancholic aura that drew your attention, urging you to get closer to him, to understand why he seemed so… lost.

“Could you… could you be my model?” Taehyung wasn’t an insecure person and rarely justified what he said or did, but for some reason, he immediately felt the need to justify why he was asking her, a girl he had never seen before in his life, to be his model. “I don’t want you to misunderstand me, I’m not a creep or anything like that,” he hurried to say, feeling a wave of heat flood his face. “I-I’m an artist, I do paintings and sometimes photographs…” he shifted in place, anxiety gnawing at him. He licked his inner lip, taking a breath before continuing. “I have an exhibition in seven months and… the woman I was working with, my model, quit some time ago and seriously, seriously, I need someone to help me and you are…” he stopped again, his heart skipping a beat as he looked at her face again, “you’re beautiful…”

“Oh…” you said softly, feeling your cheeks warm faster than you’d like to admit. For a man as handsome as him - because yes, he was very attractive - to say that about you was… overwhelming. Even though your impulsive side, the more romantic one, screamed yes, your rational side made you reflect a little before accepting. You didn’t know him, you didn’t know his name, you had no way of knowing if it was true, and you didn’t plan on putting yourself in danger unnecessarily. “Do you have any proof that what you’re saying is true?”

“Well…” he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t want her to see how they had been trembling from the nervousness of whether she would say yes or no. “I can tell you my artist name and, you know, you could look up my work. You don’t have to say yes now, you can take your time to think about it,” he pulled out a piece of paper from the back pocket of his pants, an old supermarket receipt he had forgotten to throw away in the past. He stretched it as much as he could, and once it was more… presentable, he wrote a series of numbers on it along with the name Vante. ‘I hope this doesn’t make me look crazy,’ he thought, ‘but I can’t let this opportunity slip away.’ “Here, this is my number and my artist name. If you like the idea, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Thank you… I’ll look it up when I get back to my hotel,” you murmured, looking at the messy, hurried writing with a smile. His strange way of giving you his contact information might have made you a little fond of him, but you definitely wouldn’t tell him that. It would be a secret kept only for you.

“So… why do you want that painting removed?” Jiwon stood her ground, ignoring Taehyung’s request. Her playful gaze had vanished a few seconds ago, replaced by an unusual seriousness. Her hands rested casually in her pants pockets, and her gaze, now cold and calculating, stayed fixed on her friend. “Why does her memory torment you so much, Taehyung? What happened between you two?”

Taehyung, for his part, remained looking down, incapable of facing the painting, incapable of reliving the moment that would change his life forever—something he had labeled his “point of no return.” He didn’t want to be interrogated, didn’t want to answer questions about her, didn’t feel capable of doing so without breaking down into inconsolable tears.

“It’s been almost four years, Tae,” Jiwon murmured, her voice so soft that, if he didn’t know her, he wouldn’t believe it was the same person. “You won’t achieve anything by keeping all of this inside… I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t open up to me.”

Taehyung sighed, ruffling his hair in a futile attempt to shake off the frustration weighing on him. He knew she was right; he knew he had to be honest, to tell the truth, but the memories were so painful, so unbearable.

“Tae… please.” Jiwon tried to meet his eyes, her pleading gaze fixed on his now-disheveled hair.

There were a few moments of silence, seconds in which they both seemed to be debating how to proceed. On one hand, Taehyung wanted to open up to her, to tell her the truth about what happened between him and her. Jiwon, on the other hand, seemed to be debating internally whether to keep pushing or simply let it go and wait for another moment, wait until he was ready to take that step on his own.

It was just when Jiwon opened her mouth to say she’d go talk to have the painting removed that Taehyung’s voice interrupted her. “It was my fault…” he murmured in a low, trembling voice, barely holding back tears. “She… she left because of me, Jiwon. I ruined it… and I’m not even sure if I’ll ever have another chance to see her again.”

With soft yet determined steps, Jiwon approached Taehyung, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him close, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder. She ran her hand through his dark hair, sighing as she felt her shirt grow damp from his tears. She lifted her gaze, noticing the large ostentatious chandelier above them. It was a trivial detail; she’d seen it hundreds of times and never paid attention to it. But now, in this moment, with the uncertainty of not knowing how to console her friend, the crystal design of that pretentious object helped her stay distracted, to maintain the calm she was known for.

“It’s okay… it’ll be okay. Whatever happened, you can’t keep carrying it alone. I’m here, do you understand? No matter how much time has passed, you don’t have to face this on your own,” she murmured softly, feeling Taehyung’s hands grip her like his life depended on it.

“If only I had… If only I’d been different, if I’d been better, maybe she’d still be here. But I hurt her. I made her leave.” The weight of his words seemed to crush him further, his voice trembling as if even the air itself refused to cooperate. He kept his head down, unable to face Jiwon’s eyes, afraid of finding pity or judgment there.

Jiwon had known Taehyung for years, had seen every side of him and accepted them all without question, because it was those very facets that made Taehyung the man he was—her best friend. However, seeing Taehyung break down like this hurt her more than any other negative trait she had witnessed in him. This time felt different; this time it felt like there was nothing she could do to help him, and that unsettled her deeply.

She wanted to find the right words, something that could take away at least a fraction of the pain that seemed to be consuming him. But all she could do was hold him, because sometimes, words weren’t enough; sometimes, all it took was silence and a warm embrace, letting them release their pain on your shoulder and simply being the handkerchief for their tears.

You walked into Taehyung’s studio, taking in the walls covered in artwork, many of them featuring Joohyun. A framed photograph caught your attention: Joohyun in an elegant, confident pose, with an air of near-unattainable perfection. A knot formed in your stomach at the thought that you could never measure up.

“She wasn’t perfect. I just learned how to capture her that way,” Taehyung murmured, almost as if sensing your unease and insecurity about his proposal.

You gave him a nervous smile, telling yourself this couldn’t go too badly... though deep down, you felt like you’d already failed before you even started. “Are you sure this is going to work?” you murmured as you watched Taehyung shuffle his things around in a clumsy and overly rushed manner.

You had contacted him the following day, still uncertain about the idea of being his model. The paintings you’d seen, the photos and sculptures—everything was truly beautiful, just like the woman who had taken on the role of Taehyung’s former model. It made your anxiety grow even more. What if his audience didn’t like his new muse—you? What if you couldn’t measure up? How were you supposed to pose? What expression should you wear?

Taehyung set his canvas in front of you, moving around the room in search of the perfect angle, muttering to himself all the while. “Relax,” he said without looking directly at you, his hands busy adjusting the lights and his materials. “I don’t need a professional. I just need someone who can give me back the inspiration I thought I’d lost. Difficult? Yes. But not for you.”

A soft blush spread across your cheeks, and you quickly lowered your gaze, embarrassed. You had no idea why you had agreed to this, but when you saw the bright spark in Taehyung’s eyes as he asked—begged—you to be his model, his muse, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

Your eyes fell on one of the photographs resting near the easel. Once again, it was Joohyun with her impeccable posture and piercing gaze, seemingly staring at you, judging you from afar. You tried to avoid catching your reflection in the nearby window, but you couldn’t stop the thought: How am I supposed to live up to this?

“But I’m not a model... I’m going to be so stiff,” you said quietly as Taehyung gently guided you to the exact spot where you were supposed to sit. Your heart raced every time you felt his presence close to you, his touch, his gaze. You were so deeply captivated by his passion for art that it was almost impossible not to feel your small, fragile heart overflow with anxiety, fear, and excitement whenever you saw him.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to be a model to be someone’s muse,” he chuckled softly, seating you in front of the grand piano in his spacious home. He stepped back to where his canvas and paints were, feeling the inspiration he thought he’d lost rushing back to him in a flood of emotions he didn’t fully understand—and, for the moment, didn’t care to.

All he needed was to complete a total of ten paintings—just ten. The other works would be divided into photographs and sculptures, most of which were already nearly finished. He only had to focus on his craft, on taking advantage of the inspiration that had returned to him thanks to you, and simply… paint.

“So… do I just sit here doing nothing?” you asked curiously, lifting your hands until your delicate fingers hovered over the piano keys. You liked music and, along with it, instruments. You’d taken piano lessons as a child, so you had some skill, and playing might help calm your nerves.

“You can play something if you want…” he murmured, fumbling with his charcoal pencils, desperate to get something onto the canvas, eager to capture your beauty with his own hands. He wanted—no, needed—the world to see you, and not through just anyone’s eyes. He wanted everyone to see you the way he did: as his salvation.

“Oh… okay.” From your spot, you could see him: the concentration on his face, the way his fingers moved clumsily among the pencils and charcoal. There was something hypnotic about his passion, the way his entire world seemed to revolve around a canvas. And for a moment, you wished to be more than just his muse. Shaking your head in an attempt to dismiss the thought, you turned back to the piano, pausing for a few seconds before beginning to play a soft melody that Taehyung recognized as River Flows in You.

The anxiety he had felt, the desperation to create something at that very moment, dissipated. He still wanted to paint the scene before him—there was no doubt about that—but he no longer trembled as he picked up his pencil. His heart didn’t race wildly. It was simply… you, him, and the sound of the piano keys filling the silence between you as Taehyung immortalized the moment.

After a few minutes, Taehyung paused to observe the scene before him: your gentle gaze fixed on the piano keys, your lips slightly pursed in concentration, your hands moving fluidly to the romantic yet melancholic rhythm of the song. It was like a scene from a movie made just for him, reflecting both his pain and his fortune.

“Wait, turn a bit to the left… No, not that much.” His voice was calm, but you could see the tension in his furrowed brow. You tried to follow his instructions, though every small movement felt more awkward than the last. You were starting to get nervous, and it showed. “Like this?”

“Yes… yes, that’s good,” he replied, but his tone was distracted, his gaze fixed on the canvas as if trying to solve a puzzle. You knew something was still bothering him, but you didn’t have the courage to ask again—not when your nerves felt so raw.

For a moment, he lifted his eyes from the canvas and looked at you. His gaze was intense, as if trying to find something he still couldn’t capture on paper. “You’re fine,” he said softly, more to himself than to you, before returning to his work.

His comment threw you off a little, distracting you from your task. A sharp, wrong note echoed in the room, and your cheeks flushed immediately. Were the stars aligned today just to embarrass you?

“That was… unexpected,” Taehyung said with a soft laugh.

“Sorry, I was thinking about something else,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“Don’t apologize. It makes it more… real,” he said, his lips curving into a smile that managed to soothe your anxiety, if only a little. “I never thought something as simple as a piano could look so…” Taehyung trailed off, his voice fading into the sound of his pencil against the paper.

“So what?” you whispered. For some reason, your heart raced with anticipation for whatever he was about to say.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied quickly, but his cheeks held a faint blush. He set his pencil aside and leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between the canvas and you. You could feel his scrutiny, but this time, it didn’t make you feel insecure. There was something different in his eyes, something you couldn’t decipher.

Taehyung didn’t realize it, but in that moment, his eyes met yours. It lasted only seconds but felt like an eternity. Something in his expression made your chest tighten: was it admiration? Gratitude?

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper that hung in the air between you. His gaze remained locked on yours, dark and deep, as if searching for something he didn’t even know he’d lost.

In that moment, the world seemed to stop—there was no piano, no paintings, just the weight of his gaze anchoring you to the ground.

His hand, stained with charcoal, rested gently on yours with a softness that surprised you. It was a strange contrast: his fingers strong but trembling slightly, as if holding himself back from gripping you tighter. Something in your chest twisted—a mix of fear and hope—and for one brief, eternal moment, it felt as if the walls between you both had crumbled.

But the moment broke as quickly as it had come. Taehyung withdrew his hand, his expression closing off again as he stepped away. He gathered his materials with studied calm, as if nothing had happened. But you knew it had meant everything; you wanted it to mean everything.

Even as Taehyung distanced himself, you remained at the piano, letting the melody flow naturally from your fingers. But your mind? Your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t stop wondering why such a simple gesture affected you so deeply, why your heart raced every time he looked at you. Your reflection in the piano’s glossy surface stared back at you, confused and almost lost. To him, this was just work. But to you… what was all of this to you? What were you feeling? The answer scared you, but at the same time, it filled you with something new, something you couldn’t define.

"Are you feeling better?" Jiwon murmured, holding a bottle of water up to his face. She would be lying if she said she didn’t feel sorry for seeing him in such a sorry state, with wet cheeks, a red nose, and dry lips. It was probably the worst she’d ever seen him, even worse than when Joohyun had left him. But she had no idea what to do or say to cheer him up. Knowing herself, she’d probably make things worse if she opened her mouth.

"Yeah..." he replied quietly, his brown eyes fixed on an empty spot on the floor. He seemed lost, absorbed in his own world, trapped in memories that caused him so much pain and heaviness it felt like he couldn’t bear them much longer. That, Jiwon thought, had been Taehyung's greatest muse: his pain.

"I’m sorry you have to go through all of this, I... I didn’t want to cause you more trouble. I know you hate listening to people complain and all that, but... I don’t have anyone else..."

"Shut up, you’re just making things worse," he murmured with sarcasm, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere a little. Contrary to what Taehyung thought, Jiwon actually cared about how he felt, she cared about listening to him, being there for him. "Now, why don’t you start from the beginning? How did you meet her?"

Taehyung stayed silent for a few seconds, one of his hands running through his hair, which had lost its once elegant form a long time ago. He licked his lips, feeling them dry. When he looked up, Jiwon’s eyes were already fixed on him, observing him with an intensity that revealed just how vulnerable he felt.

"I... I met her five years ago... there were almost seven months left until the next exhibition and I was struggling to create new art... and then she..."

"Did you make her your muse?" Jiwon tilted her head, sitting down next to him on the step. Her friend’s nervous behavior was starting to unsettle her. Even she didn’t know why. She knew him like the back of her hand, she knew he would never harm a girl, at least not consciously. So why was it so hard for him to speak?

"Yeah..." he murmured, covering his face with both hands. He closed his eyes, letting the memories of his time with Soomin flood back: her laughter, her eyes, her lips, her skin against his. Each memory grew more vivid, like a cold stream of water. He could hear the melody she played on the piano the first time they worked together, or remember the first time he saw her smile... Everything overwhelmed his mind like a cascade of moments he couldn’t stop. "She... she was like a breath of fresh air. I’d never met anyone so beautiful... and I’m not just talking about her looks, although she was that too. I’m talking about... her." He sighed, looking at Jiwon, whose eyes reflected the desolation he was feeling. "Her essence, her soul... whatever you want to call it. That’s what made her beautiful, Jiwon, and I don’t think I’ll find that in anyone else... I don’t want to."

Jiwon hugged her knees, still looking at her friend. She thought she understood what he was saying, at least to some extent. She had seen it reflected in his works, the way he portrayed her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that in each one, Soomin appeared as an ephemeral, ethereal being.

"So, then? Why did you let her go?" she murmured, studying his profile intently. She knew Taehyung was rambling, avoiding the topic. If she didn’t press him, he wouldn’t face it, and the last thing he needed right now was to keep avoiding reality.

Jiwon watched Taehyung for a long moment, feeling how the air between them thickened. She could see the internal struggle in his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged as if the weight of his sadness was crushing him. She decided not to interrupt him, though his words hung heavily in the air. The silence between them became thick, but Jiwon didn’t want to rush her friend. She knew that only when he was ready, the words would come. But when Taehyung finally looked at her, his dark eyes were empty, filled with a sadness that Jiwon couldn’t fully understand, but she felt it as if it were her own.

‘It was her who left me, Jiwon...’

"I told you I can't dance, Taehyung," you said with a trembling voice, watching as your feet wobbled unsteadily while trying to follow Taehyung's steps.

The soft jazz music filled the room, and the evening light covered them in a warm blanket that made the scene feel like something straight out of a 1950s-inspired movie, where a couple of lovers let themselves be swept away by the music, enjoying each other's presence.

The only difference was that they weren’t a couple of lovers. At least, not both of them.

You simply let yourself be carried away by Taehyung. His slow and relaxed swaying set the rhythm while you felt his soft heartbeat against your ear. Yours, in contrast, sped up, making it hard to breathe. Your steps stumbled between the softness of the music and the weight of what you didn’t dare confess, as if you were dancing on a cloud about to disappear. Every second with Taehyung felt like that to you—it felt magically unstable, a shaky ground that made you feel too good to let go.

Taehyung, on his part, felt calm, at peace, inspired. He enjoyed your presence and how easily you could make him reason, forget his pain, and move on. Feeling your hands, much smaller than his, against his shoulders made him feel grounded, and your nervous gaze and shy stutter caused a warmth in his chest that he had never felt with any girl before. Taehyung wasn’t someone who liked comparing people, but it was impossible for him not to compare the emotions he felt when he was with you and how these made him feel much more secure than he had ever felt with Joohyun. He couldn’t stop wondering what that meant, what he was supposed to do with all the emotions he was feeling. Everything felt so familiar and new at the same time, as if his heart recognized something his mind still couldn’t understand. And that disconnect scared him more than he wanted to admit.

They were each other’s refuge, their pillar. Taehyung felt free when you were by his side, and you felt protected when Taehyung was by your side. You were sure of what you wanted from Taehyung, but him? He still couldn’t fully decipher his emotions for you. How could he think about what he wanted if he didn’t even know what he felt?

"Let go," he whispered next to your ear, his fingers lightly brushing the silk fabric covering your waist. The combination of his warmth and the coolness of the fabric gave him a strange comfort, one he didn’t fully understand but didn’t want to let go of.

"It’s hard... to let go in situations like this, Tae," your fingers pressed slightly against Taehyung’s shirt in an attempt to ignore the shiver you felt down your spine when his words left his lips. For a moment, you could feel the warmth of his mouth against the bare skin of your shoulder, and it was a sensation you didn’t want to forget.

"Then let me guide you," he pulled back slightly, enough to gaze into your eyes. The eye contact between the two of you made everything feel unstable and blurry, and for the first time, you didn’t feel afraid to let yourself feel, because how could you not, when he looked at you with those warm eyes and that kind smile on his lips?

The tension between you two seemed to grow with each passing second, until you felt a tingling at the tips of your fingers and a flutter in your lower belly. The soft saxophone melody had long since faded into the background, both of you too focused on each other’s breath, the foreign heartbeat invading your ears, transporting you to a world where only the two of you existed.

"Tae," you murmured, a lump forming in your throat, your eyes fixed on his. You felt like with every word, the ground beneath your feet was disappearing, but you kept going, "I think... I think I’m falling in love with you." The words hung in the air, filling the silent space between you two.

He didn’t respond. He simply watched you, feeling the gentle sway of your body against his. His hands, now a little stiffer, remained on your waist, but his fingers began to tighten slightly, as if trying to hold onto a truth he didn’t fully understand. His lips, pressed in a thin line, trembled for a moment before returning to silence. He wanted to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat, as heavy as the feelings he was just starting to understand. His thoughts were a whirlwind, unable to find an anchor in what he truly felt, so he just stayed there, your words floating in his mind, repeating over and over, tormenting him.

And you? You just let it go, convincing yourself that he needed time. You knew it was hard to find the words for something so new. At least that’s what you told yourself, trying to silence the fear that started growing in your chest, the fear that this silence wasn’t the prelude to something beautiful, but the confirmation that your paths would never be the same.

“What did you say?” Jiwon frowned, not out of anger but confusion. You had left him? Really? Up until now, everything she had heard about you—from Taehyung—painted a picture of someone completely in love, head over heels, someone who seemed to give everything for him. So why would you leave? Something didn’t add up.

Both remained silent, the only noise filtering into the room was the distant buzz from the exhibition inside the museum. There was a certain tension in the air that neither of them could decipher, mostly because they were both focused on two very different things. Jiwon was trying to understand the torturous silence and torment that seemed to invade Taehyung every time your name came up in conversation; and he… he was trying to explain the situation without breaking apart in the process. He didn’t like remembering the past, didn’t like reliving the happy moments by your side because he knew they’d only remain as fleeting memories erased by time. And he didn’t want to forget you, didn’t want to lose you. You had left a mark on him in a way no one else ever had. Who else could understand him the way you did? Who else could play a melody as harmonious as the one you played every time you sat in front of his piano? Who could allow themselves to open up the way you did with him? To Taehyung, you were one of a kind, a treasure that no amount of money could buy or replace. If only his past self had thought the same, maybe…

Taehyung let out a sigh, softly biting his lower lip. He felt frustrated, lost, hurt… how could he put everything he felt into words when the wound was still open? Wasn’t it supposed to be that you healed first and then made sense of the situation? Even so, he tried. He tried to tell Jiwon the reason you had left. “It was my fault, Jiwon… damn it, it was my fault,” he murmured through clenched teeth, the lump in his throat growing more suffocating, his eyes burning more and more. “If it weren’t for me, she’d still be here, with me, and… and maybe… just maybe…” he pressed his lips together, looking at Jiwon with eyes full of pain, of regret, “she’d still love me.”

Jiwon observed him in silence for a few seconds. She hadn’t missed the fact that he still hadn’t told her the truth about why you had left him. So far, all he had admitted was that it was his fault and that you were the one who left, but the reason was still being dodged, and it was beginning to frustrate her. She wasn’t a patient person; she had waited four years for him to spit out whatever was tormenting him so much. She didn’t intend to give him more time—he had already had the opportunity to wallow and cry over his own misery. Now it was time to face reality, to face the present. It was about time he left the past where it belonged.

“Taehyung,” she grabbed his cheeks between her hands, perhaps a bit too roughly, but she didn’t care. She wanted to help him, truly wanted to, but time was running out, and his ramblings weren’t helping much. “Tell me right now what the hell happened between you two.”

"Then… What do you like more? Painting or music?" you asked, a playful smile decorating your beautiful face as you held a small bouquet of flowers in your hands. You had been with Taehyung for almost five months, and each day spent with him made you feel more comfortable, more at home. You were no longer embarrassed to be his model, and you didn’t mind looking at him for hours while he captured your image on the blank canvas. A few days ago, you had also lost the shame of being next to him, skin to skin, heart to heart. You had forgotten how good it felt to be with a guy.

Your eyes were fixed on Taehyung, on how the summer linen shirt barely covered the top of his body and how small maroon marks stood out on his neck and collarbone. You felt a slight wave of heat cover your face as you remembered the previous night, and all the ones before it. You could still feel his warm, rough hand on the bare skin of your waist, his soft sighs against your lips, and his eyes covered by a layer of lust.

"Hmm, I think… I prefer admiring music, and creating paintings," he smiled as he answered, letting his brush float over the blank canvas, tracing every detail of your figure, from the shine in your eyes to the pink of your plump lips. "What about you, Y/N? What do you prefer?"

"Me?" You paused for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling. You were surprised that he returned the question— you’d be lying if you said otherwise. You stopped to think for a moment. Music or painting? You loved art in all its forms, you loved going to museums and admiring the classic works that everyone knew, as well as those hidden in a corner that rivaled the beauty of the classics. You also loved music, attending recitals, concerts, seeing a live performance like The Phantom of the Opera or Hamilton— that was one of your biggest dreams. But...

A slight smile painted your lips as you thought of your answer. "I prefer to write."

"Write?" Taehyung set the brush aside for a moment, focusing entirely on you, not the beauty that so enchanted him or the inspiration you made him feel, but on you as a person. Even though you had been getting to know each other for months, Taehyung didn’t know much about you, aside from basic things like your name, age, and a few likes you had casually mentioned.

"Yes, I studied a degree in literature in Paris. Actually, I had returned to Korea the same day we met," you laughed softly, hiding the lower half of your face behind the bouquet of flowers Taehyung had asked you to use for today’s session. "I’ve always… been captivated by books and the emotions they could evoke in people, how you could get so immersed in a story just through the words of someone you've never met… I… really want to become someone who can provoke those intense emotions just with words, cross the barriers of language and culture…" You lifted your gaze, locking eyes with the bright man in front of you; his eyes so full of life, his heart-shaped lips, his messy dark hair, stained with paint from his hands. He was a work of art in itself, one you had admired constantly from the very first moment. "I guess that’s why I was captivated by you the first time we spoke… knowing that you were able to achieve everything I’ve always wanted with your art… made me see you as a role model, I suppose."

With slightly trembling hands, you set the bouquet aside, walking slowly and unsurely towards Taehyung. You didn’t stop until you were in front of him, feeling the warmth of his skin close to yours. You stretched one hand to rest it on his shoulder, lifting the long skirt of your pale pink dress just enough to raise your leg. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you positioned both of your legs around his, in an intimate yet comfortable act at the same time. You brought your face closer to his, resting your forehead against his.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, just before saying, "Anyway, I don’t think that matters… I stopped seeing you that way a long time ago."

Taehyung didn’t say anything. He rarely responded to comments like that from you. Besides, it’s not like you could say anything when his lips were against yours, his paint-covered hand caressing your cheek, leaving a trail of color on your skin as he brought his face closer to yours, wanting to feel you closer, wanting his kiss to convey everything he felt. You felt his other hand caressing your thigh, lifting your dress higher as his hand moved closer and closer to your waist.

You didn’t need words when you could feel it this way, you thought. That would be enough for now.

Taehyung was aware that he needed to speak, that he had to let out what he had been hiding for so long, even if it was difficult for him. He thought that perhaps, the perspective of someone distant and completely detached like Jiwon could give a new twist to his memories, maybe with her help, he could reflect on what had happened. But knowing what he had to do was very different from being ready to do it.

Still, despite the insecurity and anxiety that speaking it out loud caused him, he said it, for the first time, to someone else other than himself.

"I think... I think it all started after Y/N confessed her feelings for me," he said with a trembling voice, his hands shaking slightly as he prepared to tell Jiwon the truth behind his separation from you. "Everything felt too overwhelming, I was too absorbed in my own art, in what I wanted, in what she meant to my art, and..." he closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath in an attempt to avoid breaking down in tears again, "I guess I forgot she was more than just a muse for me... I forgot she was a person with emotions, with feelings..." He lifted his gaze, looking at Jiwon’s expectant eyes. "The only way I knew how to love was through my art, through my paintings... but I completely ignored the fact that... by doing that, I forgot her, I neglected her... I treated her like a replacement."

They both fell into silence for a few seconds. Jiwon observed him attentively while Taehyung seemed to be lost in his own world, lost in his memories and his own pain, in the moment when you confronted him, in how your tears started falling the moment he didn't know what to say to you, too afraid of how it might affect your relationship with him, not realizing that it was precisely that insecurity that would separate you permanently.

As Taehyung vividly recalled the day of your separation, Jiwon was trying to analyze everything he had said up to that point, trying to piece it together as best as possible. There was one doubt that lingered in her mind, one piece that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fit together. "Replacement"... did he really say he treated her like that? She was sure she had heard him use that word. She glanced at him sideways, noticing how his hands were clutching his dark hair, pulling at it in a desperate movement. She didn’t feel completely comfortable interrogating her best friend while he was in such a vulnerable state, but the unease and the urge to intervene were too strong, even for someone as controlling as her.

"Taehyung, by any chance... did you treat her like a replacement for Joohyun?" she said softly, watching every little change in Taehyung’s expression, looking for any sign that could tell her what was going on in his mind. She wished she was wrong, she really did, but the fact that he had just used that word... it was hard to think of anything else.

She knew she was right the moment she saw how his brown eyes filled with tears.

"How much longer? My hands are starting to cramp," you murmured, feeling the exhaustion weigh on you. The moonlight streamed through the window, delicately falling on your sleepy face. It was a view worthy of being captured in a photograph, but Taehyung knew that, even if he did, it wouldn't be the same. A photo couldn't express the emotions he was feeling in this moment.

"Just a little longer, Y/N, hold on a bit more," he said softly, finishing painting your dark hair. His heart raced every time his eyes met yours, noticing how they seemed to reflect the stars and the moon. He'd painted hundreds of women in the past, had a muse here and there, but no one had made him feel the way he felt right now. Not even Joohyun. "God... you're so beautiful, it's so easy to feel inspired by you."

You watched him in silence, noticing how his hands moved over the canvas, how his eyes shifted between the painting and you in a matter of seconds. You could see the adoration and admiration in his gaze, and yet, you couldn't help but feel a slight tug in your chest. The thought had been lingering in your mind for days, but the insecurity and fear of hearing his answer had kept you from asking it until now.

At least until now.

"What am I to you?" you murmured with a trembling voice, gripping the soft fabric of your dress. The pressure in your chest and the knot in your stomach grew with each passing second without an answer from Taehyung. You were scared to know the truth, scared of what his answer might be, but you needed to be sure of his feelings for you. You needed to know if he saw you for who you were or if he simply… treated you like another one of his models.

"What kind of question is that?" he laughed softly, putting aside his palette and brushes, gazing at the painting before him. It was absolutely hypnotizing, like all the ones he'd done since meeting you. He couldn't explain it, but every painting he'd done with you as the subject made him feel satisfied with his work. "You're my muse."

"Is that all? Nothing more?" You watched as Taehyung carried the freshly finished painting alongside a pile of other works he'd made since meeting you. The lack of interest he seemed to show toward your question made your heart ache. You were sure you hadn’t been imagining things; you saw the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, how every little thing you did seemed to dazzle him in a way that was almost exaggerated, as if your mere existence enchanted him. So why did it now seem like he had no interest in you? In what was between you?

"Why do you say it like that? It’s important to me," you murmured, your heart breaking a little more with every word he said. "I needed to finish the next exhibition, and I couldn’t find inspiration after Joohyun left... when you came into my life, it was like a lifeline. Honestly, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there that night. I probably would’ve had to, I don’t know, post an ad on the internet asking for a model or something."

"I was her replacement," you interrupted, standing up from the chair you���d been sitting in for the last five hours. Your legs trembled; you weren’t sure if it was from the time you’d spent in that position or because of the overwhelming urge to cry, but it didn’t matter, not now, not when the person you loved had just told you to your face that you were nothing more than a tool to achieve his goal. That, just as you were, it could’ve been any random girl who offered herself. "All this time... all we’ve been through together... didn’t it mean anything to you? Did you only care about finishing your work?"

Taehyung turned to look at you, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the tears silently streaking down your cheeks. He felt his mouth dry and his heart tighten at what he had just said. He had never thought of you as a replacement, right? You were beautiful, and he wanted to capture that beauty in his work; that was it.

No. No, it wasn’t. He knew it, but still, he couldn’t deny what you had just said. There were emotions involved, of that he was sure, but was it love? Was it really love? His heart had just been broken almost half a year ago, wasn’t it too soon to fall in love so quickly? Wasn’t it unethical?

"You never said it," you said with a broken voice, your bottom lip trembling with each word that left your lips. "You never answered when I told you I loved you."

"You're really an idiot," Jiwon let out a deep sigh, pressing her hand against her forehead. "How is it even possible that you said that? Do you have a brain? Of course, you do, but it's obvious you don't know how to use it."

"I know it was a mistake, I know, believe me," Taehyung watched her get up, feeling the urge to do the same, but the numbness in his legs and the trembling in every part of his body prevented him from moving. "I've replayed that moment in my head over and over, thinking about everything I could've said, how the situation could've been different if I... if only..." He let out a sigh, tugging at his hair with force. "I loved her... I still do, I always have, but... I don’t know... I was so desperate for inspiration, for recognition for my art that... I forgot."

"What did you forget?" she murmured, watching as Taehyung's hands lowered to his knees, burying his short nails into the fabric of his suit pants. "That the poor girl, surprisingly, also had feelings and wasn't just a doll you could use for your work?"

Taehyung knew Jiwon would react this way, after all, he had thought the same thing after his conversation with you. Still, it was hard not to feel hurt by his friend's cold words, no matter how much he felt he deserved them.

"I forgot that the reason I approached her in the first place was because I loved her," he whispered after a few seconds of silence, biting the inside of his lip to keep any sob from escaping. He didn’t deserve to cry; he wasn't the victim in this situation. "I loved her, Jiwon, like I had never loved anyone in my life. She was so much more than my muse. The only reason I was able to paint was because she made me feel alive, because she made me feel like it was worth showing the world the same beauty I saw in her. I wanted the world to see what I felt, but I never thought that by doing so... she... she would leave me."

"Well, shit," Jiwon crossed her arms, pacing in circles in front of him. She felt nervous, restless, and insecure. She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out her phone and quickly sending a message to one of her saved contacts. It was just as she pressed send that she realized something. "Wait, with what you just told me, she never mentioned anything about leaving you."

Taehyung looked up, his eyes seemed dull, lifeless, desolate, just like he'd felt over the last four years without you by his side. With one last sigh, he gave her a soft, weak smile, devoid of happiness. "That’s because she didn’t leave me at that moment, Jiwon."

Taehyung felt restless, pacing back and forth, staring at the window like a madman, desperate for any sign of you that would indicate you were still alive. It had been almost three days since your last conversation, and during those days, he hadn’t received any sign of life from you. The anxiety began to consume him like never before. Were you okay? Were you eating three meals a day? Were you staying hydrated? Were you sleeping enough? What if you had caught a cold? What if you’d had an accident?

It was just when his mind took him to the worst possible scenario when a soft "knock knock" sounded on the front door, followed by a “Can I come in?” from your side.

With his heart in his hand and his stomach almost in his throat, Taehyung ran to the door, opening it too quickly. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide his desperation anyway.

"...Hey," you said quietly, looking at him with a barely perceptible smile. It wasn’t like the smiles you had given Taehyung in the past. There was no familiar sparkle in your eyes that made him feel weak and excited, and your voice didn’t have the affectionate and cheerful tone it used to have before your last conversation. But there you were, in front of him, looking just as beautiful as always, being the pillar that kept him standing during his worst moments. “Can I… come in?”

Unable to say anything, Taehyung stepped aside, letting you enter his studio, watching as you walked gracefully and delicately through the place decorated with hundreds of paint jars and canvases of all sizes, most of them empty.

"Y/N, I..."

"Let me speak first, please," you said in a calm tone, turning to look at him. Your expression was serene, but it carried the same pain as the last time you saw each other, and that broke Taehyung in a way he didn’t even know he could feel. “I want to apologize for the other day. I think... I think I got carried away by how I was feeling, and I completely forgot that, from the beginning, what we had was only a work-related relationship.”

“No, wait, don’t apologize…”

“Let me finish,” you approached him, your steps slow and unsure. You were scared, afraid of making a mistake again, of taking the wrong path, of opening your heart once more and leaving even more hurt. But you knew this conversation was necessary. “What we had was a contract, yes,” you took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to organize your thoughts as best as you could, “But… I’m aware that over time, we both developed feelings for each other. I know what I felt for you, I know it was real and genuine and intense... and I know you feel something for me too. It might not be the same way I feel, but it's there; the way you look at me, how you treat me, I know it was mutual because I could feel your love for me in every moment I was by your side. I know it wasn’t my idea.”

Taehyung felt a weight lift off his shoulders. You understood, you knew how he felt even without him saying a word, and that made him feel even more captivated by you. He wanted to hug you, kiss your face, stroke your hair, feel every little piece of skin he could touch, kiss every corner of your body to show you that what you were saying was true; he loved you.

“But... I can’t allow myself to keep suffering for your indecision, Tae. I don’t want to give everything of myself while I wait for you to feel ready to take the next step,” your lashes fluttered quickly in an attempt to ward off the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. Even though you felt like you were breaking inside, you kept that weak smile on your face until the end. “I don’t plan on staying by your side, begging for the minimum I deserve…” you moved even closer to him, lifting your hands to touch his cheeks, caressing his cheekbones with great delicacy. You swallowed the lump in your throat and continued, “So I’ve made the decision to leave, to... to give us some space to think things through... so that you can get over whatever it is that’s stopping you from moving forward with this... and while you do that, I... I will continue with my life... waiting for you to fix your problem... waiting for you” you whispered against his lips, barely separated from yours by a few centimeters.

Taehyung barely had time to process everything that was happening. He didn’t want to accept what you were saying, he didn’t want you to leave, to abandon him, to leave him on his own.

But he knew you were right, he knew this would only hurt them more, that he needed to separate his muse from his love for you, and if that process hurt you, then... he would have to let you go.

“How am I supposed to find you again?” he placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him as much as his body allowed. He licked his lower lip, feeling it getting drier and drier, “I already gave all my luck in doing it once...”

“I know you will,” your tearful eyes met his. They both seemed to express the same thing; pain, loss, love. “I trust you.”

And finally, you brought your lips to his, releasing all the emotions you had kept inside since the last night you were together.

The kiss was overwhelming, full of desperation, tears, and small sobs escaping from both of them. It was slow, soft, delicate, and felt like what a farewell kiss should feel like between two people who could have had everything but were not yet in the right place, who weren’t ready for whatever they would have to face if they were together. It was a kiss of promise, a “see you later” that kept the question of how long it would take to feel that way again.

That moment was, without a doubt, the one that marked both of them the most. That moment was the one Taehyung framed in the last canvas of his final collection; The 1.

“I feel a bit overwhelmed by all the information I just received,” Jiwon murmured, uselessly shaking her hair. Her hands seemed to tremble softly, and judging by the shine on them, sweat was beginning to cover them. “I mean, I understand what happened… more or less, but this whole situation is so… I don’t know, intense?” She turned around to look at Taehyung, who was still sitting at the side entrance of the museum. “You two sound like two hopeless idiots who have no idea how to get over your fears and differences, and that frustrates me so much. If I didn’t care about you so much, I’d probably be hitting you by now.”

Taehyung let out a small laugh. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t funny, it was just some kind of impulse, a reaction Jiwon always managed to get out of him whenever they were together. It reminded him why they were friends. Taehyung was the sensitive side of the friendship, Jiwon the rational side, and both complemented each other, which was why they had made it this far without killing each other in the process.

“I know… we were young and stupid… maybe if we had talked things through better… if only… I hadn’t been so scared to admit what I felt,” Taehyung sighed, letting his head fall into his hands. He wanted to be strong, face the situation in a mature and responsible way, but it was so hard. Years could pass, but your presence and the effect you had on him… that would never change.

“Don’t bullshit me, that was four years ago, you weren’t that young and naive,” she muttered under her breath, fidgeting restlessly. She lifted her head, looking at the clear sky above them. She thought maybe by doing that, she could calm down a little, take a breath before continuing. “Okay, fine, let me…” she let out a sigh that seemed to have been held in for a long time, her gaze, usually cold and direct, now completely avoided Taehyung’s. “I have something to confess.”

Taehyung furrowed his brows, observing Jiwon’s hesitant expression, how her hands moved over the fabric of her pants, how she walked back and forth awkwardly. He could tell something was disturbing her, and it made him feel even more uneasy than he already was. “What’s going on?”

“I know her,” she murmured almost immediately, stopping to look him in the eyes. The doubt and insecurity were still there, she didn’t know if this was the right decision, but she couldn’t hide such an important detail from Taehyung either. He was her best friend, she wished him the best, wanted to see him happy, and if she could help, even a little… she would. “I’ve known Y/N for years… three, to be exact.”

Summer had arrived, and with it, all the memories you shared with Taehyung. It had been a year since your farewell, and although you were the one who decided to end whatever it was you had at that time, the pain of losing him hadn’t diminished at all. You could still vividly recall every inch of his face: his smile, his eyes, the mole on his cheek, on his nose—every tiny detail felt as close as the last time you were with him.

You had spent the past year moving from one part-time job to another, never relocating to a city too far from where you met Taehyung, holding onto the hope of running into him again as soon as possible. You didn’t feel ready, of course; not enough time had passed to move on from your relationship with him. But that didn’t mean you missed him any less—the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his work, his deep laugh, his soft voice, the way he danced to music your grandparents would listen to.

You missed everything about him, and you no longer knew how to deal with the loss. You had never officially been together, but it had felt like the most real relationship you had ever experienced in your life, even if it had lasted only a few months, even if it had left you feeling used. You wanted to go back to him, to take back your words, to see if you’d still be together if you hadn’t said what you did.

But your rational side—the side that tried to protect your heart from the pain of failed romances and relationships that could hurt you—repeated that you had done the right thing. You weren’t ready for each other, and if you were lucky, you’d find him again, and this time, he’d be ready to let himself be loved and to show his love openly.

You stared at the triangular-shaped glass sitting on the coffee table in front of you. You were almost certain it was lemonade, but you couldn’t quite remember what you had asked the waiter for, and you didn’t feel like asking. Picking up the glass, you took a sip, grimacing as an odd taste hit your tongue. It wasn’t lemonade. You cursed yourself internally for being so caught up in the past that you hadn’t paid attention to what you had said or done in the present.

“Hey! You must be Y/N, right?” A blonde woman in a black suit approached your table, pulling you back to reality and the present. She carried a leather bag over her shoulder, and resting on the bridge of her nose were black glasses that matched perfectly with her suit. Everything about her screamed “boss” and “woman in charge,” and just watching the elegant and confident way she walked made it clear she was someone decisive who didn’t beat around the bush. She was everything you were not.

“Miss Han?” you murmured, standing up from your chair to greet her properly. You were slightly taken aback when she casually tossed her bag onto the chair, but you decided not to comment on it. After a brief bow from both of you, you sat down again, facing each other. You felt quite intimidated by her—not just because she was more than ten centimeters taller than you or because of her elegant haircut and confident posture. She genuinely looked like someone who didn’t tolerate nonsense.

“Please, just call me Jiwon,” she said with a tight-lipped smile. Her cold, calculating gaze scanned you from head to toe. “So… you’re the new editor, huh?” she asked as she picked up the drinks menu from the center of the table. Her glasses were still on, but you managed to catch a glimpse of her blue eyes when she lowered her head to look at the menu.

“Uh, yes, that’s me,” you said in the steadiest voice you could muster, straightening your posture in your chair. You wrapped your hands around the glass of… whatever it was you had ordered, gripping it tightly until your knuckles turned white. Your nerves were at their peak today, and her presence wasn’t helping. Perhaps it would have been better not to come to the interview today.

“Oh, do they serve alcoholic drinks here? What a surprise,” Jiwon hummed, too engrossed in the menu to notice your panic. “I think I’ll order a mimosa… no, better yet, soju. Just one bottle. It’s been a stressful day,” she sighed heavily. Her perfectly painted red lips let out a deep exhale. For a moment, you wondered if the woman in front of you was really your boss or a runway model. She had the physique for it.

“You’re going to drink? How will you get home? You came by car, right?” you muttered before you could stop yourself. Heat flooded your cheeks as you realized you had just questioned your potential boss, someone you had only just met.

“Huh? Yeah, I came by car,” she said nonchalantly, waving over a waiter to politely order a bottle of soju and some gimbap. “See that guy at the table behind me?” she murmured once the waiter left, pointing to a young man, probably your age, sitting a few tables away. He was leaning on his hands, staring at Jiwon’s back with an overly wide smile—one of those smiles that looked like it would give him a facial cramp. “That’s my secretary. He’s the one who brought me here.”

“Secretary?” you blurted out in surprise, glancing at the guy. Did she notice the way he was looking at her right now? Because he definitely didn’t seem like the type to be a secretary.

“Yeah, ignore his stupid face. He always looks like that,” she said, resting her chin on her hands and pushing her glasses up to rest on the top of her head, where her bangs met her hairline. “Now, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Y/N?”

“Well…” You cleared your throat, trying to hold her gaze. You lasted no more than five seconds, but at least you tried. “I studied literature here in Korea, and… uh… I went on an exchange to Paris, where I finished my degree.”

“Do you have any previous work experience in this field?” she tilted her head slightly, and you swore you heard her secretary sigh.

“I edited some books for independent authors this past year…” You decided not to mention your time working at a bookstore or the other small jobs you had taken to pay rent.

Before Jiwon could comment further on your sparse experience, her secretary approached the table and handed her a phone. You caught a blurry image on the screen—it was an incoming call.

You weren’t the type to snoop, really, but it was impossible not to glance when the guy was practically offering it on a silver platter. You saw the contact name and, for just a second, caught a glimpse of the photo. Your chest tightened as you recognized the picture.

“Ugh, I told you not to interrupt, Jungkook,” Jiwon muttered before taking the phone to answer it. “What do you want? I’m busy,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table and inspecting her nails with boredom.

She spoke to him with such confidence that it made you wonder what kind of relationship they might have. Were they friends? Family? …Partners?

“Why should I care if you’re alone on a day like this?” she rolled her eyes, slumping back in her chair. “Fine, I’ll buy you one on my way home. Happy now?” She fell silent for a moment before muttering a goodbye and ending the call. “Sorry, personal issue.” She handed the phone back to Jungkook, refocusing her attention on you. “Now, where were we?”

You glanced at her phone, lost in thought for a second. They knew each other, and judging by her tone, they were close—but not romantically involved. You doubted she’d be that curt with her boyfriend. Turning back to her, you felt a newfound determination in your gaze.

She knew Taehyung. She could be the bridge between the two of you when the time came. Taehyung could find you more easily if he knew you worked for one of his friends. You adjusted your hair, tying it into a firm bun to keep any stray strands in place. You were going to get this job, no matter what.

“What do you mean by that, Jiwon?” Taehyung’s voice sounded a bit more agitated than before, mostly because now both of them were running toward Jiwon’s car, desperate to get to her publishing house as soon as possible.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I told you I know her, idiot!” She pulled the keys to her car out of the bag she was carrying on her shoulder, unlocking the doors. She gestured with her head for him to get in the passenger seat. She didn’t have time for explanations, not now, at least. I mean, it was three damn long years she needed to explain, and although she could probably give him a summary with the essentials, her brain wasn’t ready to form the timeline properly.

“Could you elaborate a little more!?” As soon as he was inside the car, he slammed the door – a bit too hard – and buckled his seatbelt, taking longer than he should have because of the constant trembling in his hands. Knowing that Jiwon knew you… that she knew where you were, that she had the possibility of seeing you again, of apologizing in person… It was just too overwhelming.

“Shut up and let me do my job as your friend,” she muttered, checking the rearview mirror to make sure no car was coming. Once she was sure nothing or no one would cross their path, she started the car and accelerated as much as she could legally do on the street… and maybe a little bit more than what was legal. “Ugh, damn it, I never thought I’d do this for you. Can you see how low you’re making me fall? I’m playing Cupid-for-second-chances, this is disgusting,” she glanced at him sideways, her eyebrows furrowing in her frown, “you owe me big time, Taehyung.”

Taehyung, still reeling from the news and scared by the excessive speed at which Jiwon was driving, grabbed one of the handles on the ceiling of the car, watching as the buildings seemed to flash by on either side of them. He swallowed, just before looking at Jiwon. “O-okay, I’ll give you whatever you want, seriously, just… could you slow down a little? I’m not sure how legal this is…”

“A speeding ticket doesn’t kill anyone,” she murmured with indifference, ignoring Taehyung’s insistence to slow down, even just a little.

Still feeling his chest tighten and his nerves on edge due to the situation, Taehyung stared intensely as the buildings became more familiar, as they got closer to the publishing house where Jiwon worked, and the closer they got to you, the more his insecurity grew.

What if you didn’t want to see him again?

“Do you think she’ll want to see me?” he murmured softly, gripping the car handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Jiwon, on the other hand, wasn’t in a very different situation. Her hands gripped the wheel as if her life depended on it, her furrowed brow and serious expression, which so often characterized her, were back, something that, to some extent, calmed Taehyung’s anxious and uncertain heart. At least one of them could keep control of themselves… even if it was just a little.

“If it’s the Y/N I think it is… then yes, she wants to.”

"I don’t get it, why do you want to work in the art section? I thought you liked fantasy books, romance, and stuff like that." Jiwon observed curiously the draft you were holding in your hands, absentmindedly chewing on a tomato and cheese sandwich. It was lunchtime, and her new employee couldn’t even take a second off from her work, and she wasn’t sure if that should make her happy or worried. At least it was fun spending time with you.

"I do like them, yeah, but... uhm... there's someone I like, and he... he really likes these things, and I just... wanted to learn a bit more about his world." A shy smile appeared on your face, your gaze dropping to the book sketch you were holding in your hands. "And, well, I wanted to know if, by any chance, someone might have written about his works in any of these books."

"Oh, I get it, you have a crush on an artist." She laughed loudly, playfully putting her arm around your shoulders. She raised an eyebrow and carefully watched the embarrassed expression on your face. "Did you have any luck finding him in any of those books?"

"Yeah..." You pursed your lips slightly, avoiding Jiwon's inquisitive gaze at all costs. "But I’m not planning to look for him... at least not yet, I need to give him time, I need to... wait."

"Wait? Wait for what?" She murmured, confused, watching as you held one of the sketches tightly against your chest. She knew that one, she had flipped through it a bit when she came to check if Taehyung appeared in it.

"Wait for him to be ready," you replied, looking at the sketch you were holding. You had seen his interview and the photos attached with it, photos of the works Taehyung had made during your time together. You had read the interview over and over again, feeling your heart race every time he mentioned you, the way he talked about you... it gave you hope that he still loved you, even though it had been a year since the goodbye.

"Wouldn’t you like to meet another guy? I know a guy, who also happens to be an artist, who I really think you’d get along with," Jiwon said with a big smile, pulling out her phone to show you a picture of Taehyung. "He’s handsome, right? Just like you see him, he's still single, he has horrible luck with women."

You laughed softly, finding the situation quite ironic. You stared at the picture for a few seconds, smiling as you saw his face again, not in interview photos or ones taken from the internet, but a picture of him, one where he looked relaxed and happy. That was the Taehyung you had fallen in love with.

"Could you give me his number?"

“Get in the elevator.” Jiwon stopped in front of the tall metal doors that almost reached the ceiling. Once they opened, she pushed Taehyung inside, ignoring his complaints and confused expressions. “Tenth floor, office 1013.” Before the doors closed, Jiwon raised her index finger, pointing it at him threateningly. “Don’t you dare screw it up this time, Kim. This time, the girl has me to give you the beating you deserve.”

And the doors closed.

Now that Taehyung was alone, his mind couldn’t help but flood with emotions and questions, keeping his nerves on edge. What if it wasn’t his Y/N? What if you didn’t love him anymore? What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you weren’t ready? ... What if you’d found someone else?

Hundreds of questions echoed in his mind as the elevator climbed to the tenth floor. He was scared, nervous, excited, tense—all at the same time. He didn’t think he could bear the thought of losing you a second time in his life. He didn’t want to.

The sound of the elevator doors opening distracted him from his internal monologue, preventing him—at least somewhat—from imagining even worse scenarios. With a lump in his throat and the fear of being rejected again, he stepped toward the door marked 1013. The door and walls were made of glass, allowing him to see everything inside the office without even entering.

From the outside, everything seemed to be in order. A large bookshelf filled with books, mostly hardcovers of various colors and sizes, stood prominently. A tall lamp rested in one corner of the shelf, while a beautiful plant in a decorative wooden pot occupied the other. The desk appeared impeccably neat, with only a few colorful, patterned pencils resting on its surface, alongside a yellow notepad and several sticky notes of different colors and sizes.

He scanned the room for any sign of you—or at least something to confirm this was indeed your office—but there was nothing recognizable, except for the almost obsessive orderliness of the space. He knew you had a sort of OCD when it came to organization, at least in work-related matters. He still remembered how you’d almost panicked at seeing just one thing out of place in his studio, or how you’d arranged all his paints by color palettes to make his work easier. He hadn’t changed that arrangement in four years…

“Excuse me, can I help you with something?”

Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of a soft voice behind him. It was you; he was sure of it. He could recognize that voice anywhere. Suddenly, there were no more depressing or pessimistic scenarios, no more voices in his head telling him this was a bad idea, or memories pulling him back to the moment he had been with you. Now, there was only silence, and the single thought that you were standing behind him.

His chest ached, each breath he took feeling tighter against his ribs. Everything around him seemed to shrink, suffocating him. He wanted to turn around, wanted to see your face again, but fear and insecurity made it difficult. He had imagined this exact scenario in his mind over and over—every morning when he woke up and every night before falling asleep—so why? Why was it so hard to speak now that he could finally see you again? Now that he had the chance to make things right?

“Are you okay?” Your voice carried a layer of worry and uncertainty. Your hand gently rested on his shoulder, trying to make him turn around so you could confirm he was alright. You didn’t usually receive many visitors—apart from Jiwon and Jungkook—and this floor was exclusive to certain employees. You were sure he wasn’t one of them; you’d never seen him here before.

While you tried to make the man in front of you turn around to ask what he was doing there, Taehyung was trying to control the erratic beating of his heart, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm it. He had wanted this moment to come, had yearned for it since the day you walked out of his studio four years ago… but that didn’t make it any easier.

A part of him wanted to give up, to run, to prepare himself better for this moment. But another part… didn’t want to leave you, didn’t want to lose you—not after knowing what life felt like without you. He still remembered some of the moments you’d shared together, moments that made him question why his love life had always been so complicated.

Just coworkers wouldn’t sleep together, wouldn’t bring each other breakfast in bed, wouldn’t dance at sunset, pressed tightly against each other, feeling the warmth of their bodies as one. They wouldn’t kiss… coworkers wouldn’t take each other to the edge of pleasure every night until their last “project” together. And he knew it.

He didn’t want to lose that again, not now that he had the chance to get you back. So, for the first time in his life, he decided to take the leap.

“I… I’m fine,” he murmured, his voice sounding rougher than it usually was, yet still retaining its essence. And that was enough for you to recognize it.

When he turned around to finally face you, it felt as if the past four years had never happened. You looked just like the last time he’d seen you—maybe a little older, and your once-bright eyes now seemed a bit more serious—but you… you were still as beautiful as ever. You still made his heart race uncontrollably, just like you had four years ago.

“Tae?” A soft gasp escaped your lips, your eyes widening slightly in surprise at seeing him there, standing in front of you. Your hands started to grow cold and clammy, and you couldn’t stop the warmth from rushing to your cheeks. You knew this day would come. It was why you’d joined this company, why you’d accepted the number Jiwon had shown you, why you’d kept your promise and waited for him all these years. Yet you’d never truly believed the day would come when he’d find you, when he’d finally come back. “You… you came back.”

Hearing his name from your lips was a shock he hadn’t expected to hit him so hard—but it did. Some things didn’t change, and one of those was the effect you had on each other.

“I need… I need to talk to you. Are you free?”

Both of you walked in silence toward the small yet elegant café located on the top floor of the building. Neither of you seemed to dare to speak first; you were still processing the fact that he had come all the way to your workplace to find you, and Taehyung was too preoccupied organizing his thoughts, repeatedly rehearsing all the things he wanted—no, needed—to say to you. Neither of you wanted to ruin this reunion.

“We’re here,” you murmured softly, glancing at Taehyung out of the corner of your eye. Your fingers fidgeted with the fabric of your dress, trying to mask the trembling in your hands. You didn’t expect a reply from him; you simply led him to a table near the balcony and took a seat in one of the four chairs around it.

Taehyung sat across from you, clasping his hands together on the table, lightly scratching the skin of his fingers. He felt anxious, worried, excited—and didn’t know how to express everything he wanted to say. He hesitated for a few seconds, seconds in which he barely looked at you, barely breathed properly.

At least he was lucky that you were a patient person.

“Y/N, I… damn it, I’m sorry, let me…” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already was. His gaze darted around, struggling with all his might to verbalize what he had wanted to tell you for the past four years. He licked his lips, and the table shook slightly as his restless leg bumped against it. He tried, even a little, to hide the anxiety that overwhelmed him, but his body wasn’t cooperating at all.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You tilted your head, tentatively reaching out to take his hands, wanting to offer at least a little comfort. You didn’t want to rush him, not if it would make him even more nervous to the point of being unable to speak. “Take your time.”

“I can’t, damn it,” he sighed in frustration, holding your hand between his and giving it a gentle squeeze, as if he needed to remind himself that you were there, with him. “I’ve already spent too much time thinking about this. I’ve practiced hundreds of times what I was going to say when I saw you again—why is it so hard to do it now that you’re in front of me…?”

You watched him in silence, feeling your heart tighten in your chest at his words. He had thought of you all these years, just as you had thought of him.

“The last time we saw each other, I… I was a jerk, a complete idiot. I knew what I felt for you—of course, I did—damn it, I’m sure I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he licked his lips, keeping his gaze low. He felt incapable of meeting your eyes, of facing the possible rejection from you. “I should have told you then, but I was so scared… I thought that if I did, sooner or later, you’d leave me, just like Joohyun did. I thought that if it ended like that, I wouldn’t see you the same way again. And I was so damn obsessed with the intense inspiration you gave me just by existing that I completely forgot why I felt that way. I forgot that I loved you…” He lifted your hands, still trapped in his, and pressed a soft kiss to them, something barely perceptible, cautious. “I didn’t come here to ask for your forgiveness, because I don’t feel I deserve it—not after the way I made you feel. I just… I just wanted you to know that you were never just a muse to me—you were… you were everything.”

You swallowed the lump growing in your throat, feeling your eyes start to sting. Four years had passed, and finally, you had heard what you had longed to hear from him. Warmth filled your chest, and in an instant, the weight you had been carrying seemed to lift. The soft kiss you had received from him made you feel like that twenty-year-old girl again, meeting him by the seaside the same night you had returned to Korea.

“Tae… could you look at me?” you whispered, eyes fixed on his dark, tousled hair from the countless times he had run his hands through it that day. A few seconds passed, and he didn’t move or say anything, as if it were too hard for him to face you after the outpouring of words he had just let out. And it truly was hard for him; what would he do if he saw rejection on your face?

But that wasn’t the case.

When he finally looked at you, he couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his body or the faint sting in the corners of his eyes. There you were again, smiling at him as if he hadn’t broken your heart years ago, reaching out to gently touch his cheek in the softest, most delicate way possible, treating him as if he might break at any moment.

“Thank you for being honest with me…” you said. Your tone was much more relaxed than it had been minutes ago. The hand resting on his cheek slid down to his jawline, and your eyes studied every corner of his face that you could see. You had missed him more than you realized. Seeing him in photos wasn’t the same. Hearing about him wasn’t the same.

Taehyung observed the smile on your face, trying to understand why you weren’t angry, why you didn’t want to yell at him, hit him. Wasn’t that what was supposed to happen after everything that had happened between them? Weren’t you supposed to hate him? To move on with your life and leave him behind? That’s how it was supposed to work, right?

“I thought… I thought you’d hate me for taking so long,” he murmured softly, bringing his hand to rest over yours. At this point, it was impossible for him to take his eyes off you. It almost felt like you had cast a spell on him, one he refused to break free from.

“I promised I’d wait for you,” you gave him a smile so radiant, so full of emotion, that he couldn’t help but feel a weight lift off his chest as a small smile began to spread across his face.

With the ache in his chest slightly lighter and with a bit more confidence, Taehyung dared to ask the question he had been waiting to ask all this time. “Should we… start over?” The hand still holding yours stretched, intertwining his fingers with yours, feeling your warmth against his skin. It felt right to experience that sensation with you again.

“No.” You shook your head, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as your smile grew even bigger. “I don’t want to forget how I fell in love with you,” you murmured, running your thumb over the skin of his hand, trying to get used to the sensation of his touch against your fingers once more.

A soft laugh escaped Taehyung’s lips. His eyes still felt misty, but this time for different reasons—this time, out of joy, out of happiness. “God, you’re so sweet,” he said, bringing your hand to his lips again, this time with your fingers intertwined. He pressed his lips to your knuckles, a soft smile meeting them. “Alright, then no starting over.”

“Yeah.” Warmth crept up your cheeks, and you had to bite your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling even wider than you already were. “Can we… pick up where we left off last time?”

Taehyung watched the pink on your cheeks spread to your neck and ears, the way your eyes sparkled as they looked at him. He loved having you in front of him again, and he loved that he could still have this effect on you even after all this time—because you still had the same effect on him.

With a gentle nod, Taehyung leaned closer to you, never letting go of your hand. He could feel your soft breath against his, your noses barely brushing, his eyes fixed on your lips. He had waited four years for this, and he still couldn’t believe it was about to happen. It felt almost like a dream, one he had been having for 1,460 nights in a row.

The goodbye kiss they shared had been painful—perhaps the one that had marked them both the most in their entire lives. But this? This would undoubtedly leave an even greater mark than the last. Feeling your lips against his, the faint taste of coffee, the sensation of your hair brushing against his fingers, your soft sigh of relief, and their light laughter colliding as they tried to deepen the moment made him feel like an inexperienced teenager again. But it felt good—more than good—it felt perfect.

When they parted, just a little, only enough to look at each other, Taehyung decided it was time to say the words he had held back for so long—this time, without fear, this time, without waiting for you to say them first.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered against your lips, brushing a strand of hair away from your face as you leaned forward to kiss him. “More than anything in this world.”

You let your head rest against his hand, closing your eyes under his touch, smiling softly. You felt happy, overwhelmingly happy.

“I know,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. “I love you too.”

Masterlist.

[coffeedepressionsoup]

Somebody Does Love | MYG - Will They, Won't They

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where they take a brave step forward. Part 8 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 2.4k+

Warnings - kissing, lovesick and anxious Yoongi, that's about it

Ratings - 13+

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity

A/N - Yes, I am alive. No, I did not abandon this story. Just, life happened. Ofc, not proofed (lol when is it ever). Just wholesome moments, really. Hope you like it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kiss had been perfect—sweet and electrifying. For a brief moment, it felt like time had stopped to give them those precious few moments. The moment their lips met, it was like the world shifted. For a second, Yoongi forgot how to breathe, think, or do anything but feel.

This is real.

He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. For so long, he’d convinced himself that this was one-sided, that the way his heart raced when she laughed, the way his chest ached when she was near him, was his burden to carry alone. He’d hidden it, buried it beneath layers of careful excuses and overthought jokes. Or so he thought. She does not see you like that, he’d told himself, over and over, like a mantra.

But here she was, her lips against his, soft and warm and so awfully real it made his head spin.

She kissed him! Scratch that. She kissed him first! She. Kissed. Him. First!

A swell of disbelief surged in his chest. Was he imagining this? Was this some cruel trick of his mind, conjured by weeks of wishing and hoping in secret? His heart pounded so loudly he was sure Y/N could feel it too. He almost pulled away, afraid that the slightest shift would implode this extremely intimate moment and consume them whole.

But then she leaned in closer, her hands resting firmly against his lower back, grounding him. The touch was deliberate, sure.

She wants this too.

The realisation swept over him like a tidal wave, an overwhelming mix of exhilaration and fear. Fear of what this meant and euphoria for all that could come. For all the sleepless nights he’d spent dreaming about this, it still felt too good to be true. He wanted to laugh at himself for doubting it, for letting his insecurities keep him in the shadows.

Her lips moved steadily against his, and it felt like a quiet answer to every unspoken question, a silent assurance against all trepidation. He wasn’t dreaming. She was here, with him, choosing him.

How did I get this lucky?

He opened his eyes slowly, breaking the kiss momentarily, half afraid she’d disappear if he let her go. But her keen gaze accompanied by a low complaining moan dared him to believe that there was a feeling akin to affection floating between them. Maybe even more than that.

He blinked, swallowing hard, before pulling Y/N flush against him and diving in for another kiss. When they parted next, Yoongi could not hold back his smile as he said, “I waited so long to do that.”

Taken aback by a soft “Me too, actually,” with a flustered smile, he stared back, unmovingly, for a bit. Surely, Y/N in his arms, gushing in the aftermath of a kiss seemed too good to be true. The way his mind was racing between what would be and what would not have been if he had not followed her out onto this deck almost choked him up.

However, he could feel all the ifs and buts wiping away from his cognition as Y/N leaned slightly to peck him right by his mouth. Not on, just next to his lips. Yoongi kept his head lowered, trying to bite back a full grin.

When he found the courage to look into her eyes again, she asked, “You want to take a walk?”

Of course, he did. He did not trust his voice yet, so he nodded in response and let out an unmindful sigh. As they turned to walk down to the beach, Yoongi tried to quiet his thudding heart and reached out to hold Y/N’s hand. It seemed like the only natural thing to do. Almost instinctively, their fingers wrapped around each other. Yoongi could live in this moment forever. Nothing more, nothing less. Just the absolution of being wanted by Y/N, the sober affirmation of her hand in his.

But the moment shattered as thunder rolled overhead, a warning drumbeat that quickly turned into a deafening roar. A flash of lightning cut through the night, momentarily blinding Yoongi and Y/N, and shrouding the beach in a dense darkness.  

As Yoongi blinked quickly to acclimate to the lack of light, he realised that the power had gone off. All electronic lights were out. 

At that moment, after what seemed to be aeons, both Yoongi and Y/N realised that they were on the deck of Hajoon’s beach house. All their friends were still inside. Hand in hand still, their phones’ flashlights alight in the other, they turned to walk back into the house. 

The house was alive with chaos. 

“Do we have candles?” someone yelled from the kitchen.  

“Who left the window open in the kitchen? I think I saw something jump in!”  

“I swear I just saw something move—was that the wind, or do we have a fox in here?!”  

Yoongi and Y/N exchanged glances, barely visible to the other as most lights were directed to the floor. Her gaze managed to calm something in him, despite the mayhem around them.  

“Who lit this candle?!” Another voice, muffled but distinctly annoyed, came from the hallway. “It smells like... vanilla? We hate vanilla!”  

Someone tripped over a forgotten board game on the floor, letting out a startled yelp. 

The chaos in the house only seemed to intensify. The wind howled, slamming the shutters of the windows that hadn’t been latched properly. Someone cursed loudly from the living room, followed by the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground.

“Yoongi! Is that you?” Hajoon appeared in the dim light, his face barely visible as a flashlight beam bobbed from his hand. “Could you check the back patio? Something’s banging against the railing—it might be that cooler we left out.”

Yoongi hesitated. His fingers still tangled with Y/N’s, he felt her slight squeeze before she let go, her hand slipping away like an afterthought.

“I’ll help,” Y/N volunteered, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves she was trying to suppress.

Hajoon nodded and led her away, leaving Yoongi, standing awkwardly in the doorway. A mixture of relief and regret settled in his chest as he watched her go, her phone’s flashlight bobbing with each step.

“Yoongi! Get in here!” another voice, possibly Aera, hollered, and he turned toward the kitchen.

As the storm raged outside, the night dissolved into a blur of small tasks and distractions. Y/N was roped into helping Hajoon and the others secure the house, close windows, and retrieve candles from forgotten drawers. Yoongi found himself sidetracked by someone’s misplaced luggage, searching for dry towels when a window leaked rainwater onto the hallway floor.

Their paths did not cross again that night.

Each time Yoongi caught a glimpse of her—a fleeting shadow in the flicker of candlelight, the curve of her silhouette against a flashlight beam—his chest tightened. Every time she looked his way, her lips parted as if she had something to say, but the moment never presented itself.

By the time the house finally settled into an uneasy quiet, the storm having dulled into a steady rain, Yoongi retreated to one of the small guest rooms, unable to keep up with another round of candlelight reverse Uno. He leaned against the closed door, exhaling shakily as the memory of the kiss surfaced again. It felt both surreal and inescapable.

What now?

His phone’s screen glowed faintly in the dark, but every time he thought of texting her, the words crumbled before they could form.

The storm had left the air crisp and clean, the horizon glowing faintly as the first rays of sunlight spilt over the ocean. Yoongi wrapped his arms around himself, pulling the overshirt closer together, as he stepped onto the beach, the cool morning breeze making him shiver slightly. The house was still and quiet, its occupants likely exhausted from the night before.

He walked slowly along the shoreline, his feet sinking into the damp sand. The events of the previous night played on an endless loop in his mind—the kiss, the storm, the chaos that had swept them apart. And now, the question he had avoided asking himself lingered stubbornly in his chest.

What now?

“Hey.”

The voice was soft but unmistakable. He turned to see Y/N standing a few steps behind him, her hands shoved into the pockets of her sweatpants. Her hair was mussed, her eyes slightly puffy from lack of sleep, but she still managed to look disarmingly charming.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, stepping closer.

He shook his head. “You?”

“Not a chance.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them broken only by the gentle crash of the waves. Finally, Y/N gestured toward the shoreline. “Walk with me?”

He hesitated but nodded, falling into step beside her.

“I thought about texting you last night,” Yoongi began after a while. “But I didn’t know what to say.”

“I thought about it too,” Y/N admitted, kicking at a stray shell in the sand. “But... it felt like something we needed to talk about in person.”

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

The pause that followed felt heavier this time, the air between them thick with unspoken words.

“Yoongi,” she said finally, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t regret it. The kiss. I just... I don’t know what to do now.”

His steps slowed, and he turned to face her fully. “Neither do I,” he said honestly. “But I know how I feel about you. I’ve known for a while now.”

Her breath caught, her eyes searching his for any hint of doubt. She found none.

“It’s just…” Y/N started, then sighed, her words faltering under the weight of her thoughts. She hugged herself, as though bracing against the morning chill—or perhaps against the vulnerability she felt in that moment. “You’re... you. And I don’t know-” she sighed to a stop and looked up at Yoongi. She was scared she would find some amount of resentment. What she saw instead, was the opposite. Understanding. An empathetic look that tugged at her heart.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the rhythm of the waves. “I’ve seen what it does to people—people I care about. It’s messy and exhausting, and mostly it’s unfair.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. Of course, he knew. He knew the cost of it all. He was terrified that if they decided to pursue a relationship, a lot could go wrong, and things could end horribly. However, as he looked at Y/N and the early morning light on her slightly frowning face, the thought of not trying at all scared him even more. 

“But I also know what it feels like to meet someone who makes all of that seem small. And the way I feel about you?” His voice grew softer still. “That’s worth figuring it out. Worth trying.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She turned her gaze to the horizon, the sunlight dancing on the waves as if mocking the storm within her. “And what if it’s not?” she whispered, more to herself than to him. 

“What do you mean?” he urged, voice still so soft, it would be inaudible if they hadn’t moved to stand so close.

Y/N reached out for Yoongi’s hands and he drew in a long, shaky breath, sighing at the sense of reassurance the small but significant gesture provided him.  

“What if I can’t deal with it all?” she asked, looking away from his eyes, down to their joined hands between them.

Yoongi squeezed Y/N’s hands, in an attempt to comfort her. “I can say that you won’t have to deal with anything alone. I know I am asking for a chance from a selfish place-”

“That’s not-” she tried to interrupt but Yoongi continued, bringing her right hand up to his lips, to leave a small peck, “I am not saying anything we decide to do will be easy to pursue. It may change a lot of things.”

His startling honesty made her look back up at him. “But not trying would change us too, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

Her eyes flickered between his eyes, and for a moment, the fortress she attempted to build with logic and rationale, faltered. “Yoongi…” she began again, but the words stuck in her throat. Her gaze shifted down to the sand beneath their feet again. 

The man she was addressing stayed quiet, allowing her the space to gather her thoughts.

“I like you Yoongi, I like you a lot. Every time we say goodbye, I wonder when we will see each other again. I feel like a teenager with a crush,” Y/N let out a chuckle. Yoongi joined in, his heart soaring with identical ruminations.

“Every time I look at you, I want to hold your hand, keep your arm in mine and talk to you about anything  and everything all at once,” Y/N gave his hands a slight squeeze and added, “But I am scared that won’t be enough.”

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “That is more than enough, more than what I should be asking of you, honestly,” he added. “I know what you’re scared of. I hate that my life could make you feel that way. But I am just me. To you, that is all I want to be. Just me. Just Yoongi.”

Her breath hitched, his words cutting through the noise in her head.

“Yoongi?” He loved the way she said his name. He hummed in response. 

“Can I ask you to do one thing?” Y/N sounded hesitant.

“Of course, anything you want,” he said without missing a beat.

Y/N looked him in the eyes again, before inching closer and dropping her forehead against his. Yoongi sighed in comfort, as he nudged her hands to rest around him, before entangling her in a similar embrace like the night before.

Sniffling slightly, Y/N said in the softest voice yet, “Please be honest with me.” Seeing a slight frown on Yoongi’s face, she explained, “No matter what happens, good or bad, if things need changing or redoing. Just be upfront about it all, be completely honest. Always.”

“I can try to live up to that,” Yoongi murmured back.

“Okay then,” Y/N sighed out.

“Okay” Yoongi let out a small laugh. “Also Y/N?”

It was her turn to hum in response. “I like you too, by the way, in case it was not clear. And I am scared too but I like you too damned much. So much more than I can explain right now. But I hope I can show it to you every day, starting now.”

Yoongi swore he saw a blush spread across her face and not just the lights of dawn reflecting. Y/N could indeed feel her face burn as she groaned and chuckled at once, hiding her face in his chest. He welcomed the move and held her tighter in his arms if that was possible. 

As Yoongi stood by the vast sea, with Y/N in his arms, staring at the calm, blue sky, he felt a raging storm within him quiet down.

[yuvany]

CHRITSMAS TREE SHOPPING // ENHYPEN

OT7 ENHYPEN x f !reader contains : est relationship + not ptoofread // no cw !! 𝐰𝐜: 1.2k

─── ( on point ) this is promt nr.12 for @cupidhoons seaon of romance event !! such a fun idea and I enjoyed writing this a lot.

NOTE : finally back and posting... enjoy ? I hope

reblogs are always appreciated !!

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

going shopping with him sometimes felt more like a task, especially when it was time for holidays. Heeseung becomes competative and fierce because if he really wants something, he'll fight for it - even when you're his girlfriend. On the walk over to the christmas tree market, you could feel the intensity radiating off him, and you start to get worried, because well, it's only a tree, right? Wrong. "What tree do you wanna get?" You ask your boyfriend who was holding your hand in his that was cosily in his pocket. "I really want a classic green, and you, babe?" He asked, and you felt his eyes on you. "I wanna try white one this year!" Upon hearing that, Heeseung purses his lips. "White?" "yes! have you not seen those pinterest posts?" At this point, the two of you have stopped walking, and were blocking the way, going back and forth on what colour was the best. "Will you agree if I give you a kiss?" you say at least, and he replies, "One won't be enough. How about a hundred more, mm?"

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

Jay doesn't seem like the type to be very picky when it comes to choosing stuff, he only wanted to know what you were interested in. "Have any plans for Christmas?" He asked you, walking beside you on the side walk that hardly looked any different from the road where cars drove by, their window swipers shoving the snow away from the glass. "Actually, no idea." Jay sweats, because what are two clueless lovers supposed to do in a market? "What do you think?" You asked your boyfriend, He clears his throat and pullls out his phone. This motivates you to continue picking on him the whole walk there. "I don't know either, babe." He admits at last. "We gotta YOLO it I suppose, let's hurry, I wanna look at the trees!" You say and pull him behind you. Even though you didn't know what you wanted to buy, you somehow knew what you did not like. "This one is pretty." Jay said, pointing at a dark green coloured one. "we for sure have different tastes." You comment with a scowl.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

Jake wants to find the perfect christmas tree, a tree where he can place all the presents he had bought for you. The market was filled with trees ranging of different heights and colours, you did not really care what tree you guys would carry home at the end of the day, but Jake was running around the place with you on his tail. "babe, calm down!" You call out, your legs almost giving up on you. "Hurry! look at that one!" He says, stopping only to tell you to keep up with him. You heave a sigh and stomp your feet, frustrated. "c'mon..." Jake moops, his palms on your shoulders. "Just pick a tree, you're not an expert." You groan, and Jake shakes his head. "But we need to find the perfect tree. I'm not leaving until we find the one." "Just pick any one, the decorations will make the tree pretty." You argue, your head finding his chest as exhaustion catches up to you.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

It's been hours of walking around the place, and the both of you could not agree on one tree that the both of you found pretty. At first he said he didn't care, but gradually he revealed his real demeanour. "But you said I could pick whichever one!" You whine, and Sunghoon shoves his hands into his pockets cluelessly. "What do you mean, sweetie? I did not say that." Sunghoon lied. You shake your head at his words, feeling betrayed by the one you thought you could trust the most. "It's just a tree, hoonie, and you can't take back a promise. We pinky promised." Sunghoon remembers this vividly and winces as he tries to make an excuse, but he can't find one that'll satisfy the both of you. "Sure, go ahead. I did promise you, lovely." He walks towards you and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Do you really want this brown, poop-coloured tree?" "I was actualy joking with you." You admit.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

Sunoo is a perfectionist, but he also loves you. You had walked up to a classic tree that had that traditional musky colour, the scent of freshly cut wood and the aroma of chirstmas making its way through the market. Something classic could never go wrong, right? That's what you thought at least until you look over your shoulder to get Sunoo's opinion. Upon the sight of his raised eyebrow, crossed arms as he tapped his boot against the thinly covered ground, you start to second guess. "Babe, what do you think of this?" You ask with hesitation. He lets out a hum, "It's alright, I suppose." You shurg his reaction off, and turn to look to the next tree due to his reaction. He sees this, and gets ahold of your shoulder. "Why did you continue looking? Didn't you want this one?" He asks, and you shrug. "I mean, it didn't seem like you liked it." You explained. "I mean, as long as I get to decorate it, I'm fine with anything." Sunoo reassures, and you chuckle.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

He could not care less about what tree would be carried home that eveing, he just wanted to tease you. Whenever you suggested a tree, he'd turn down the option. It came to the point where you were pointing at every christmas tree that you passed and he'd still shake his head.Your legs began to get tired and you stood in place in front of a classic short tree and pointed at it. "What about this one then?" You asked him with an eyebrow cocked upwards. Jungwon had his fingers around his chin as he was mocking a stance deep in thought. "Are you sure about this one?" He asked. "Goodness, this is the last one in this place and the one you haven't said no to. Go pick one for yourself." You sighed and Jungwon combed his hair back upon seeing your tired state. "babe, I was just teasing, get whichever one you want and decoration, and I'll pay." He offers with a hand cupping your cheek.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

"What do you think of this one?" you asked, trying to find at least one tree that the two of you could agree on. "Can't you see that it has too many branches?" Riki judges, and you can't believe how childish he is being. "That one is the perfect one," he continues, pointing at a tree in the distance. "Are you really sure, because I find that it is very ugly. no offence." You sass, looking at the too tall tree. You feel his sharp gaze judge you, but you only giggle at this, knowing you managed to tick him off. "So... what do you wanna do?" You asked him, nudging your shoulder with his. "Obviously that tree." Riki looks over at the one he was insisiting on bringing home. "Lets settle this with rock paper scissor." You challenged him, and he eagerly nodded. "Rock, paper scissor..." He counted down, and you played a paper, and he did a scissor, resulting in his victory. "You were just lucky this time." You sulk.

TAGLIST : @dollyhoon @itjengirl @saeivra @orimuraa @pshwrldd

[rook-apologist]

"Sunrise"

(Tumblr gets it first! Ao3 later today!) Pairing: Lace Harding x Rook Thorne (Human) (He/Him)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Tags: Comfort, Fluff

Word Count: 731

Prelude: After defeating Elgar'nan in the Archon's palace, an exhausted Rook Thorne and Lace Harding watch the sun rise over the now liberated city. ----------------------------------

The air hung heavy with smoke and ash, the remnants of battle swirling in the faint breeze. Rook sat on the crumbling edge of what had once been the Archon's grand palace, his boots dangling over the ledge. Below him, Minrathous stretched out like a battlefield frozen in time—ruined, blighted, and scarred by the chaos that had consumed it. The rising sun painted the horizon in hues of blood orange and pale gold, a stark contrast to the devastation below.

He let out a slow, weary breath, his body aching with exhaustion. The weight of victory felt strange, almost hollow. The day was won, Elgar’nan was defeated, and the blight was halted, but at a staggering cost. Lives lost, a city in ruins, and Solas penitently bound to the Veil forever. It was over, yet the world didn’t feel saved. Not yet. His mind shifted to rumors of a coming storm beyond the edges of the sea, and those mysterious voices from the magical orbs his team discovered during their journey to stop the blighted elven gods. But that was a worry for tomorrow. For now, he was just focused on trying to enjoy their triumph today.

Nearby, the Inquisitor and Morrigan stood in deep conversation, their voices a low murmur against the backdrop of distant cries and collapsing buildings. Plans for rescue efforts were already taking shape, their urgency palpable. On the shattered steps of the Archon’s throne, Neve Gallus knelt beside Bellara, who lay pale and trembling but alive. Despite her blighted condition, Bellara smiled weakly, tears streaming down her face as Neve whispered something that made them both laugh and cry at once. The bond between them was unshakable, forged in fire and despair.

Rook watched it all, letting it blur into a quiet hum at the edges of his awareness. His attention was drawn only when a familiar figure approached, her footsteps light despite the rubble. Lace Harding.

She said nothing as she reached him, her presence warm and steady amidst the ruin. Without hesitation, she sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. Lace leaned her small frame into him, resting her head against his arm. For a moment, neither spoke, both of them letting the silence settle around them, comfortable in the simple fact that they were alive and together.

Finally, Lace broke the quiet, her voice soft but steady. “You know, I was thinking about the first time we met,” she began, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “That little village in the Anderfels, the one swarming with darkspawn. You waded into that mess like you had nothing to lose. Saved everyone.”

Rook turned his head slightly to look at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Seemed like the right thing to do. Even if the First Warden thought differently”

She chuckled, the sound light despite the weight of the moment. “I had a feeling, even then, that you were going to ruin me. You had this look in your eyes... like you weren’t just saving them…you were saving me, too. And damn it, I knew I was going to fall for you.”

His chest tightened at her words, a mix of exhaustion and emotion overwhelming him. He shifted slightly, bringing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “Funny,” he said, his voice tinged with warmth. “I thought the same thing about you. Like fate…or whatever it is—had plans for us. And here we are.”

Lace tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears and something deeper. Without hesitation, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both tender and full of unspoken promises. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, anchored in each other amidst the ruins.When they finally parted, Rook rested his forehead against hers, a tired smile crossing his face.

“I love you Lace Harding.”

Lace smiled and closed her eyes as she rested her head against Rook’s shoulder, “I love you too.”

Rook turned back to the sunrise, his arm still draped around Lace as they watched the light inch over the broken city. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Their journey wasn’t over, but for now, they had this moment, and it was enough.

---------------------------------- This is probably going to be the last short fluff piece I do for awhile, as I am eleven pages deep into a fanfic focused on Rook and Harding visiting Ferelden post-Veilguard. Additionally, I am making another AMV focused on ALL the companions instead of just a specific ship or story moment. Stay tuned!

[xetlynn]

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

eleven.

[ten] [eleven] [twelve]

faithful to its nature, its power never diminished.

Arms wrap around you sweetly, you lean into it. Wanting nothing more but to stay in the moment. “you’re so pretty.” And you look over to see Viktor. You smile, going in to place a kiss on his lips. It was perfect. The room was dark, only dimly lit by the laptop screen that played…

That played um… What is it playing? You pull away from the kiss, to look over at the device that was beginning to look weird. “What the-” “[Name]?” You look back over to Viktor who was now replaced by Powder. Your best friend. You furrow your eyebrows, slightly in disgust. You blink a few times.

“What?” You rasp and you hear Powder laugh, her arm rested on your waist as the two of you lay together on your bed watching a show. “Dude, you passed out.” She announces. “We’ve only watched one episode.” She tells you and you scrunch your face. Trying to register what was happening. “Sorry.” 

She raises a brow at you. “Have a nightmare or something?” Powder sits up, her arm going back to her own side. You frown momentarily at the loss of her warmth. “No, I- it was stupid.” You shrug your shoulders, sitting up as well. Staring down at your fingers as your face grows flustered. “Tell me about it.” 

You think back to the short, painfully short dream. “It was about Viktor. For the hundredth time.” You sigh, annoyed with your own brain. Creating such imagery in your own head that you now have to think about when you’re conscious. “Mm, not surprised.” Powder huffs out a laugh, leaning into you as she also pauses the show. “Thanks.” You scoff, sliding off the bed to stretch out your limbs. 

“No problem, but seriously I have a question.” Your best friend follows suit, jumping on the ground. Surely to give you guys another complaint by the people underneath you. “What?” You ask, heading over to your desk, plopping down on the rolly chair.

“Do you love him or something?” The question catches you off guard and your eyes almost pop out of your own head. “Love?” You repeat.

“Yeah, if I’m wrong you can tell me but I only ask because this is like a heartbreak [Name]. I’ve never seen you this… disheveled over any break ups you’ve had.” Powder explains her reasoning. 

And thinking back to it, she’s right. With your past relationships, that was official, you’ve never really given it another thought when it ended. It was over and yeah you were sad for a little bit but this is different.

Your chest ached with the mention of Viktor. In most dreams there he existed, holding and loving you, and each time you pleaded it was real when you wake up. Only to be left with the harsh reality that you ruined that chance of being tangible.

You beat yourself up every second you're alone. 

“I don’t know. It had only been two-three weeks of getting to know one another. I feel love is a strong word for that.” You tell her truthfully. “Did you love him when he was your online friend?” She inquires and your eyes travel over to your phone. “I had love for him. He was a close friend but can you fall in love with someone you technically never met?” You question, it was something you asked yourself quite a lot. Did you love Ma? Could you fall for someone you never saw face to face. Was that possible? And if it was, is it pathetic? 

“I think so, I mean you know who he is now. Is the feeling the same for both?” 

“Why are you interrogating me?” You ignore the last sentence, now feeling on edge on how deep this was getting. “Just curious.” She hums. “I don’t know the answer.” And truthfully you didn’t. 

Love? You don’t even know if you’ve ever truly loved someone. As time passed you believed you weren’t capable of loving someone more than a friend. With your exes it never felt right. In those relationships you were honestly miserable. No motivation, putting on a mask, and not being true to yourself. 

You couldn’t enjoy your interests. Your art is forgotten about.

With Ma… or Viktor. Both. That never happened. If anything you were more motivated.

In high school you stayed up until ungodly hours, painting, sketching out sculptures based on the sound of Ma’s voice. The colors you saw, the feelings you felt all put into your art. 

Specifically the crowd paintings you created. Crowds of people. Crowds of familiar faces but not the one you wanted to see. A face that you hadn’t gotten the chance to meet blurred out but facing you in each painting. Only one figure that stood there, staring back at you. No features attainable to recognize.

And you hated it. You wanted to know who it was.

“Wonderful ideas, wonderful models. I don’t think I’ve had such intelligent and creative students as I do this year. Take this time to inspect others' projects and mingle with one another.” Your biology professor tells the class, everyone of you standing up to his directions. 

Viktor and you stick together, unintentionally throughout the room. No words said between either of you.

You admire your fellow classmates' work, clicking through the slides on each laptop. Reading thoroughly through their slides. Silently gushing at the way they decorated their boards. Viktor observes you the entire time. 

The words of his friends stick in his mind. You don’t entirely seem upset? But if they had seen it themselves, surely they’re not lying to him. His eyes scanned your face closely. A hardened gaze, his jaw clenching subconsciously.

Did he want to see you upset? Why would he want that? To know you’re hurting just as much as he is? Would he wish that pain on someone he lo- he respects? 

No, he wouldn’t.

You look back at him with a polite smile. “Right?” His eyebrows furrow, confused. “What?” He asks hesitantly, his cheeks fell warm as he is put on the spot by you. You snicker. “I said, their work is so organized, maybe the two of you would hit it off.” You repeat, your breath now caught in your throat. Wondering if that was too friendly too soon. He glances over to the people’s work. 

It had no color, monotonous and tidy. Is that what you think of him? Bland, tasteless and… boring? 

His head bows down, a ghost of a nod. “Sure.” He dryly replies, unfortunately feeding into your worries. “Did I say something wrong?” You quietly inquire as you guys head to the next board. A clique of students pushing past you. 

“No?” He averts your eye contact. Was he actually upset that you think of him like that? 

“Oh.” You puff out your cheeks, not knowing what else to say.

The voices of others cover the awkward beats of silence between the two of you.

“Am I that mundane to you?” He was almost inaudible when he asked the sudden question. You cock your head to the side. Your mouth opens to answer but he lets out a scoff shaking his head.

“Don’t answer that.” He walks ahead of you. 

Mundane? Why would he think that? You pointed out the person’s tidiness because of how put together Viktor is. You admired that.

He preferred things a certain way, his room showed that. He still had a personality outside of that. His energy drew you in. The way he held himself, the enigmatic essence but also the familiarity you felt.

And now you know the familiarity was Ma. They were the same person.

Ma used to tell you about the moon and constellations for hours. He enjoyed star gazing. He enjoyed reading and learning about living beings. Their struggles. But also their potential to be more than who they were raised to be. 

He was far from mundane. Viktor was more than who he thought himself to be. In your eyes he was far better than perfect. There wasn’t a word for how you perceived him. Because every word seemed minimal in comparison to what you felt.  

“You found your muse?” You hear your professor behind you. You glare down at your paper then up to them. “What? No, look at this.” You express, lifting up the sketch and shaking it dramatically. “I am. It seems you found it.” They place a gentle hand upon your shoulder. 

You drew a crowd. Just like your millions upon millions of paintings posted on your instagram. How is a crowd of people your muse? Your eyebrows knit together and you look up to Dr. Shoola once more. “This is just a random sketch?” You say in more of a question. You were confused. You drew this often, but it’s not your muse. 

“You’re a silly one, [Name].” They pat your shoulder, moving onto Ekko’s sketch in front of you. Your eyes land back at the sheet of paper. Found your muse? Where?

You observed your own drawing. What are you not seeing?

This is short, I did it on purpose because twelve and thirteen are going to be longer. :) And honestly I do have a concussion and this took me hours. I probably shouldn't have been on my laptop the way I was but I had to post thisssss.

Two more chapters left.

Taglist: @policedeer @ang3lz-lov3 @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @confusedgemposts @corpsepies @almostdrowningdown @obittwo @ren-ni @xx-siren-sings-xx @donnie-is-here @urmommt

[kazxraval]

Kaz felt confident he knew all of Emre's grins. Many prompted a most affectionate question: what is this fucker thinking? Others started a blazing fire in him, one that sparked low and radiated all throughout. Several were meant to be kissed off Emre's face. Twisty, bittersweet ones made Kaz want to grasp a shoulder, a hand, and look away. One in particular lived rent-free in Kaz's mind (an amused disbelief with a matching shake of the head).

This grin he knew too. Allow it, calm, everything is alright. Fair enough.

Somehow, Kaz kept the back and forth with Ginger Frank. Until his gaze connected to Emre's. Later, he'd wonder how Emre counted on Kaz to not hesitate and fire the speargun. Because even as he avoided being kicked and tripped by a semi-conscious Georgie, Kaz wasn't sure himself. (Perhaps it wasn't as much of a mystery as Kaz thought too.)

Sounds were muffled below the fast beat of his own heart, an enraged drum beat in his ears. Should he be worried more over how loud and rapid his heart raced, or by the silent squeeze of the trigger?

As soon as his hands touched Emre, ambient noise returned to pummel him. The discordant rock-and-slam of the other boat, still lodged on whatever it had initially struck. Gurgling, gagging, twitching limbs, and the scrape of a spear tip all played into a symphony of dying men on the floor of the deck feet away from them.

Emre's remark brought on a hideous recollection. Static postcard images of Emre, a true crime scene In the blue glow of the teleporters. About as lifeless on the ground as Frank. I'm alright. And already jumping to the next step. Not a minute to spare.

"Maybe I can figure it out." How to keep this new boat afloat. A big maybe, yet no other option appeared. He paused to watch and feel the soft scratch of Emre's beard in his palm with the kiss. Then, Emre flashed knives, like teeth in all those grins he memorized.

But, Georgie. An immediate frown was his response. The entire trip, Kaz fought through war zones to reach Emre. Every time he caught up, had a square inch of peace, he was shoved into battle again. "She don't know how--" he fumed, "I'm telling you." Not the worst logic, and Kaz was still surprised she made it so far. He started to look back to the other boat, but stopped as he caught sight of the dead crewman in his peripheral. "Why do you keep making me haul her ass around?"

Emre's hand flattened to Kaz's chest. Kaz's heart still ran wild and currently pounded in his throat too. He covered the hand with his own, with fingers curled under Emre's. Silver beads of rain began to sprinkle into Emre's hair from above. No fat drops, but he kind of wish there had been. The heaviest rain was what was needed to wash all the hell away. "Don't need a brolly when it's only drizzling," with a small and tired smile. Brolly, for Emre's amusement.

The latest idea worst than the last. "You want me to just wait on the fucking bridge while you're alone down there?" Not likely. He huffed in annoyance. "If you're not back up here in five minutes, I will come get you." Emre's knuckles were covered in dirt and blood, but Kaz kissed them anyway.

Hauling Georgie over to the new boat and cutting loose from the old one certainly burned more than the pledged five minutes. The blonde was propped up in what was presumed to be Frank's old chair at the helm-- rotted, split vinyl, the swivel of the seat squealed angrily with every half circle turn. He recognized an old fish finder set up on the dash and tapped it. "Is this how they avoided the reef, when your boat ran into it?"

Georgie's eyes remained closed as her grin spread. A lower giggle registered, and she slurred in a sarcastic tone, 'You're soooo smart.'

Kaz grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. Georgie's head flopped and bobbed with little control. "I didn't want to bring you on board. He did. Least you can do is help!"

'... but you did. You didn't leave me. Guess that friend of yours knows.' Her lips smacked and eyes cracked open. She sighed in resignation and pointed to a few lights on a control panel. Georgie walked him through the steps needed to raise the anchor and re-engage the engine, while the pair sniped back and forth. Kaz turned to study Georgie. She held on by a thread somehow, battered and seriously injured. "Georgina. What's below deck. What're they carrying on the ship."

She smiled again, eyelids fluttered in a fight to stay open, flyaways from her frazzled blonde braid peeled off her sticky-blood-and-sweat covered neck. 'Find out for yourself.'

Georgie covered a thick cough with her arm and began to get the boat moving. Kaz carefully crept below deck. At the bottom he paused to listen. Silence. Where was Emre?? Furious, he began to search. One hatch in the floor led to another, lower hold. Narrow but deep, perhaps originally meant to store fishing gear.

Kaz was looking down into the space when Emre finally appeared. He motioned Em over with a wave. "I found this." Kaz swept the beam of a flashlight below. Curled up on the steel floor below was a sleeping Ali. At least Kaz hoped Ali only slept. "Fuck. They might've..." he stopped himself, edited the blunt words that were about to come out of his mouth, as Emre seemed fond of the little shit.

"Maybe they doped him up or something." Like a child given sea sickness tablets to sleep on a short ferry ride. There wasn't any sign of blood on his clothes, bandages anywhere underneath. Just that same damn tatt they noticed earlier. "I can check his pulse." Instead, Kaz turned the light directly on Ali's face. After several long moments, his features contorted, and the boy whined in annoyance. Kaz's brows tensed. "Look. He's fine, isn't he. Gotta fumigate the place to get rid of the kid."

"What else did you find down here?"

"Soon, man," Emre replied with a wicked grin, so Kaz wasn't too bothered. The man was dealing with enough; Emre certainly didn't want to add to his already long list. From getting the tar beaten out of him, to now being responsible for a woman who, from Emre's understanding, had once loomed large and starry in Kaz's youthful eyes.

Now barely spared a glance, by Kaz. How cold Kaz Raval could become. How this man, who's pretty words 'Gonna have to claim you again...' could warm Emre now, from tip to toe. Kaz was not a fickle man; at least Emre believed, about matters of his heart. What family might've lived there, now carved out with a knife. How much his young, tender heart might've bled for Georgina, now cauterized into scars Kaz wouldn't even acknowledge. How profoundly Kaz could cut people off, people he might've once tried to love.

It was unnerving for someone like Emre, who didn't know how to give up on his messy, often ruinous relationships. The both of them, responsible for now being alone (either deliberately or through circumstance)...now together. Yeah, definitely soon.

Kaz's tone as he volleyed with Ginger could easily be interpreted any which way; and Emre could imagine his stony-faced expression paired with it. A frothy, greedy little thrill in Emre, because he got to hear a different sort of Kaz, got to bask in a myriad of faceted expressions that lit up or reddened those gorgeous features. Kaz's private looks - perfect distraction to think about, as Emre's hands moved in efficient death.

Georgina to her credit (Emre thought) made some final attempt at chaos, knowing her time was ending at the hands of a very special man. A man that she remembered still, had staying power in her brain after all these years. Emre couldn't even fault her, but his instincts took over. Kaz, the wildcard, the unpredictable.

Emre heard the spear gun. Or rather, he registered the milliseconds of a terrible woosh of the spear gun; a crack-squelch of Ginger's head now punctuated by dark red and a metal tip. "Oh fuck," Emre exhaled, staring as Ginger didn't register his fate at first. (The head felt no pain? There's no pain receptors in the brain? Folktales that spun around the nightclub tables of gangsters and roadmans, weird tales). By the time he fell, Emre looked up to find Kaz hopping over the rail, long legs easily finding purchase.

A face like smooth marble, as Kaz rounded on a cringing deckhand. "Kaz wait no -" Emre started, but the whoosh-kthunk to the throat (so precise! Oh Kaz...) ended the man's life without a second thought.

"Kaz..." Emre whispered, pushing himself up to standing. Only for Kaz to turn and face him, with the most gentle of looks, large eyes turned softest brown under that rain-patter of blood-spray across Kaz's features. The most concerned fingers slid around the back of Emre's head, checking, petting. Questions asked. Emre felt like he was in a strange dream, suddenly. One where blood and violence - things he associated with hatred, necessity, cold, cruel desperation - now blended with the sweetest kindness towards him. Towards him, genuine attention meant for Emre. Him and Kaz, creating something terrifyingly new here. Did Kaz feel it too, Emre wondered.

"I'm alright, I've been through worse," he said, smirking even when Kaz's fingers brushed over the scars of a baseball bat to Emre's head, many months ago. He nodded to the throated crewman. "But we still don't got no mandem who knows how to sail this thing. Might be more below decks."

Emre nodded, gathered his thoughts. When it came to killing, violence, it was never over. Once it started, it just kept going and going and fucking going... Emre wanted to be home. Home with Kaz, clean and scrubbed after a hot, painful shower together. He shook his head to clear it.

"Right. I'll go down - I'm alright," he assured Kaz, holding Kaz's wrist. Kissing a calloused palm that smelled like steel and blood. "Better off than you, trust. Still got my little friends to help," he lifted the knives. "You cut us loose, and bring Georgina on board, yeah? We can't leave her to die, Kaz. And besides," Emre offered a better incentive, so Kaz wouldn't grumble.

"Might be she knows how to sail a boat? Seems everyone in your old city is reliant on sailing, innit. She'd be stupid to not bother learning, herself. She can get us back to the mainland - she'd be saving herself too." Feroze was as good as dead, if not already. Poor sodding bastard had no idea at the start of his day when he'd found Emre and Kaz at the finance building, that his fate would end here.

Emre pressed his hand on Kaz's chest. He could feel Kaz's heartbeat, a pounding sound that seemed to match the waves around them. Suddenly, rain started to fall. Emre looked up, shook his head. "This fucking place. Just like London, innit."

Another nod. "You take our Georgina to the bridge, I'll go below and...see what's there." Emre was thinking the same as Kaz: what kind of cargo would he find on this pirate ship? Memories flooded Emre's mind: dark cabins in port ships, sea containers full of crying, sweat and perfume, different languages... these ones would have a special tattoo on their wrists.

If they found more 'cargo', what on earth were Kaz and Emre to do with them? Emre shook his head to clear his mind again, like a dog. Questions for later. "I'll be careful, I promise. As long as you're careful too."

As Emre stepped back, he could feel the floor slick, his boots skidding slightly. Whether that was from blood or rain, Emre couldn't tell in the dark. Kaz did this. And Emre had asked him to.

Soon.

[chastiefoul]

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

[iiiiiiis-things]

idk just thinking about how you burst into your home damn near slamming the door shut, only for toji to stop it with the large palm of his hand before he smoothly walks in behind you. you're on 10 right now, stomping and shouting around the house (while your husband follows like a lost puppy) until you make your way to the kitchen yelling something about how it was "totally unnecessary to punch him" honestly toji didn't even know what the hell you were going on about, i mean he wasn't even listening. he silently convinced himself that it wasn't his fault- no it was definitely yours that he couldn't focus on the sweetness of your voice. i mean he just couldn't stop himself from trailing his eyes down to your ass, sinfully watching from his stance at the doorway as it jiggled with each hard step you took. "you can't keep doing this shit man-" your words go in one ear and out the other, again wasn't his fault, he can't help but think about is how fucking sexy you look right now. lace tussled into a slight mess, lip gloss smeared across your puffy lips because of how much you opened your fat ass mouth out of anger, and that dress ? oh that dress is what gotten you in the situation in the first place, the way it hugged your frame perfectly, mapping out each of your curves in all the right ways. had you not wore it like he told you to he wouldn't have had to beat his boss ass for staring at you a little to long. lashes that had been ripped off are still in his car, sitting prettily right on his dashboard, he couldn't care less in fact he was glad you took em off ecstatic even, toji loved to see you natural, toji thought you were so god damn fine

"what ?"

...did he say that out loud ?

"nothin'" he muffled out "are you even listening? see this the shit i'm talking about-"

toji wanted nothing more than to bend you over the kitchen island and shut your big ass mouth with each deep stroke he gave you, dick hitting deep in that gummy area that always turned you into mush whenever he found it, but alas he didn't, he knew you were angry, just didn't know why. aren't you glad he protected you from the preying eyes of his boss ? did it cost him his job ? maybe.. but it doesn't matter because it was all for you, his lovely wife. "here asshole" toji finally snapped out of his head when he felt you shove something against his chest before walking off. noodles ... you made him-

"a cup of noodles ?" he questioned following you out the kitchen "you didn't eat at the party." the scar on his pretty lips decided to rise. oh how sweet you were, even after being so pissed at his possessiveness you still cared enough to make sure he ate before the night was over but there was still one problem.. "you didn't either" "i'm not hungry." once you reach the bottom of the stairs he stops dead in his tracks "baby- where you going ?" "to bed." no hug ? no kiss goodnight ? no invite ? oh he fucked up.

smut! under the cut (18+)

"now do you forgive me?" voice comes muffled from beneath you as you ride out your nth climax of the night your husband had been sucking and licking into you for hours drawing out orgasm after orgasm. and shit were you ovulating? because you just can't get enough. "fuck" you roll you head back in pleasure riding the sweet sensation of his nose repeatedly brushing against your clit

*smack!*

"i asked you a question mama" you moan loudly at the combination of the nickname and his tongue thrusting in and out of you hitting that special spot each time. "y-yes baby" you grind down to match the rhythm of his tongue as he begins to play with the fat of your ass tugging and gripping tightly, encouraging you to move your hips faster "'m sorry baby, so so sorry" his lips wrap around your rednend clit while he stuffs two fingers into you. at this point you were so overstimulated but you just couldn't stop riding his face even if the world was ending. bringing a hand to his hair you push it back unveiling those gorgeous green eyes. toji looks up making eye contact with you, you begin feeling the tension that was building up about to finally burst (again) "i didn't mean to upset you" he wraps his fore arms around your things getting you to grind down even harder against his perfectly fat nose "i-it's okay toj- fuck you're so deep" "i just don't like when other boys stare at you" he couldn't even bring himself to call his boss a man. a man would never violate a women's privacy like that, basically eye fucking her while she's out with her man. you felt everything, every touch, and god you were so hot, moans were leaving your mouth left and right as you felt him continue sucking, his fingers thrusting into you so desperately as if they were asking for forgiveness too.

this was gonna be a longggg night .

[sttoru]

#𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔: “show me you’re shameless, write it on my neck, why don’t ya?”

cw. married!gojo satoru x female reader. smut, angst to comfort. cheating/infidelity. unprotected. crēampie. bréeding themes. soft angsty-ish sèx. petnames ‘baby, sweetheart, wifey’ not proofread !

satoru has never loved the woman he married. he’s never felt an ounce of attraction or affection towards her. it’s hard to be around someone who he’s supposed to love and cherish, when all he can think about is you.

it’s you he was supposed to end up with if it wasn’t for his damned clan. setting up an arranged marriage behind his back and only telling him last minute of their plans— a bunch of assholes they are.

satoru could’ve declined, disagreed, ran away. he had all the power to, but he had fully convinced himself that his actual soulmate - you - would never return his love, which is why he settled.

. . . he was proven wrong after it was already too late.

“i love you s’much,” satoru grits his teeth as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his sweat trickling down his forehead. his hips move in a gentle rhythm, as tender as his arms are holding you. he never treated you roughly.

satoru wouldn’t do that to the love of his life. the one who he’s supposed to call his wife, his beloved. he’ll find a way to achieve his dreams. he’ll do anything to end up with you and escape this messed up arrangement.

but for now, he’ll love you like this. every day, behind the other woman’s back, for as long as he can.

“i love you too, ‘toru,” you sigh, tilting your head to give the white-haired man access to your neck. his tongue wets your sensitive skin before sucking on it. he’s claiming you as his— like he usually does whenever he manages to get ahold of you.

“say that again,” satoru whimpers against your throat whilst leaving soft kisses all over. the sounds of your bodies meeting bounces off the walls, the lewd noise of flesh hitting flesh is a melody that you both enjoy behind closed doors.

“please,” satoru pleads. you’re surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. he holds onto you - ruts into you - like he’s never experienced this before. his cock twitches and throbs within you, desperate to reach that aching release.

you swallow the lump in your throat. you feel bad doing this right on the bed that satoru shares with his wife, but you also couldn’t care less. “i love you, satoru, i really do,” you moan near his ear.

the sorcerer shivers at your pretty voice uttering those three words to him. his big hands hold onto your waist, fingers digging into your skin, leaving small dents. his breath hitches, “oh, fuck. y’do, huh?”

satoru curses as he lifts his head from your neck. the view of you beneath him while you take his dick all the way inside your sopping cunt is addicting. it’s also way too slippery because of the mixture of cum on your lower body and the sheets.

“ah,” you look down at the place your bodies meet the second you feel his cock slip out of your pussy. you reach a hand down and guide his tip back to your folds without much thought.

it’s a sight that makes satoru nearly bust a nut right then and there. “missin’ me already?” he tilts his head, that boyish smile on his lips reappearing again. his soaked, white bangs cover his ethereal eyes a little, yet you can still notice the playfulness in them.

“yeah, i do,” you sigh, whining a little as his cock slowly fills you up all the way again, “i always miss you, ‘toru.” you never fail to feel so full whenever you’re intimate with him— he’s big and knows just how to use that to his advantage.

satoru pouts at your words. he knows what you’re indirectly referring to amidst all the physical pleasure. he tries to make as much time for you as he can, without raising suspicion. though sometimes he fails to see you for days. balancing his work schedule, along with his many other duties and his private life was a hassle.

it’s frustrating when satoru is leading a double life, for both you and him. there’s nothing more in this world that he wants than to have you beside him forever. as his wife, not his secret lover.

one day, soon— he promises silently to himself and to you with a kiss.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes out, his thrusts resuming. two of his rough fingers roll your nipple between them, his tongue following to circle the sensitive bud while he drives his dick in and out of you repeatedly. “but i’m all yours tonight, yeah? only yours.”

you nod mindlessly. you trust satoru, he’ll figure this all out. for now, you’ll enjoy every single second you’re able to spend with him.

“mhm,” you hum before your eyes focus on his neck. you know he’s told you not to leave any marks on him, but tonight, you’re feeling shameless. your hand on the back of his head pushes him down until your lips touch his neck.

satoru’s eyes widen at your unexpected action. he can’t deny you anything, even if this is a risky thing to do. he moans when you suck and bite on his skin. you’re leaving hickeys he will have to hide from his wife.

“naughty fuckin’ girl,” he tries to groan, though it comes out as a choked up whimper instead. he bites his lip and his eyes nearly roll back when your legs wrap around his waist, all whilst you’re leaving those dark marks on his neck.

you softly giggle at your own bold move. satoru however, seems to enjoy this more than he thought he would. he allows you access to his neck while he focuses on his set pace.

“y’ just want me to get caught, hm?” the white-haired man clicks his tongue, his balls slapping against your ass, your juices sticking to his skin which makes the sounds of his thrusts even louder. lewder. satoru huffs, “want that woman to know jus’ how well i fuck you, sweetheart?”

you feel your body heat up, the knot in your lower tummy tightening. his increased dirty talk only could mean one thing; he’s close. and so are you. the pleasure of having satoru inches deep in your cunt after not seeing him for two whole days, is driving you insane.

“yes, fuck— yes,” you hiccup, feeling absolutely no shame at this moment. you don’t care how loud you’re getting, if satoru’s neighbours were to hear him have sex with a woman that’s not his wife.

the man himself doesn’t even seem to mind it either. not when he’s this close. he pants before pressing soft kisses against your forehead. the lingering feeling of your lips against his neck remind him of the hickeys you’ve left.

satoru moans against your hot skin. his dick twitches, his balls tighten and his arms wrap around you to cradle you against his bare chest. he’s going to fill you with his hot cum like you deserve. you deserve every single drop and he wouldn’t give it to anyone else but you.

“shit, g’nna cum,” satoru warns after a small whine leaves his throat, “take it, baby. don’t waste a drop, wanna breed you full.” his thrusts turn a bit erratic, body pinning yours to the mattress so you have nowhere to run. all you can do is lay there and take it— take his cum while you reach your own climax.

white dots appear in his vision as satoru releases rope after rope of hot, sticky cum inside of you. his hips are pressed tightly against yours— leaving no chance for his seed to trickle out of you.

the satisfaction that fills satoru’s chest is like no other. a small grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he leans his body weight on top of you slightly, catching his breath. your trembling frame rests beneath him while you’re trying to regain composure as well.

“there y’ go, atta girl,” satoru coos and kisses your forehead. he treats you so well, even after sex. he treats you like you’re his true wife. which you should be.

he rubs your sides with his hands to calm you down. his own breath is still shake as he looks down at you with a grin. a wicked idea pops up in his head once he sees the thick trail of cum that’s left on your slit after he pulls out.

“y’know how i told ya that i’ll make y’ my wife one day?” satoru hums, eyes focused on both your face and cum-covered pussy. he has told you before that he will find a way to officially make you his.

and he finally just realised the perfect way to do it.

“mhm,” you nod with a dazed look in your eyes. you wrap your arms around satoru’s shoulders and hug him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. you can practically feel the smirk on his lips as his breath ghosts over your ear.

his hand travels down to your tummy, fingers splayed over the soft flesh; “good, ‘cause y’re gonna need to play the part for me already. gonna fill you up ‘til you’re nice and swollen with my kids, wifey.”

[shvdwscng]

her  quick  response  is  as  benevolent  as  she,  and  it  certainly  reminded  the  day  lord  at  every  moment  how  blessed  he  was  capture  her  heart.  the  hand  he  held  as  they  moved  to  the  tune  of  the  music,  dec  squeezed  it  gently,  as  his  smile  remained  in  place.  his  delight  at  her  sentiment  was  obvious  "i  suppose  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  before  it  revealed  itself  to  me."  declan  believed  it  had,  in  more  ways  than  one,  even  beyond  him.  it  had  led  him  to  her,  in  all  the  ways,  she  had  been  unexpected  and  someone  he'd  not  known  he'd  been  searching  for  until  their  time  together.  if  he  did  not  believe  in  some  higher  power  at  all,  he  was  certainly  starting  to  now.  it  was  not  only  looking  after  him,  but  it  seemed  for  those  he  cared  for  as  well.  "i  can't  think  if  a  better  form  than  of  you  to  reveal  itself."  far  be  it  from  the  day  lord  to  understand  the  workings  of  their  magical  universe,  but  he  didn't  need,  not  when  it  had  given  him  cissa.  surprise  flickers  across  his  features  when  she  reveals  her  true  feelings  for  him,  his  heart  skipping,  as  a  warmth  settles  on  his  insides.  words  he  had  entertained  in  his  mind  for  some  time  now  as  what  else  could  be  this  feeling  of  constantly  wishing  to  be  with  her?  wondering  when  he  was  not  with  her,  was  she  thinking  of  him  as  he  did  with  her?  the  need  to  have  her  by  his  side,  the  ache  he  felt  when  he  thought  of  what  would  happen  when  it  was  time  to  return  home.  the  arm  around  her  nestled  her  closer  to  him,  dipping  his  head  so  he  could  kiss  her  forehead,  but  never  once  removing  his  gaze  from  her.  "as  i  love  you,  lady  narcissa."  the  words  a  low  murmur.  stars,  he  did  not  know  how  good  it  felt  to  say  it.  had  they  both  been  simply  holding  back  for  the  other's  sake?  "i  hope  you  know,  i  will  not  allow  you  to  go  back  on  those  words."  he  took  them  as  a  promise  from  her,  just  as  he  gave  his  own  when  he  uttered  hus.  cissa  is  yet  finished  with  her  tender  sentiments,  unabashed  delight  coursing  through  his  veins  that  he  hadn't  been  the  only  one  obsessing  on  what  would  occur  when  it  was  time  to  leave.  how  would  they  see  one  another,  if  she  still  wished  to  after?  "we  both  could  have  saved  one  another  the  misery  had  we  expressed  our  desires  sooner.  it  was  the  same  for  me,  i  miss  my  home,  but  i  do  not  wish  to  return  there  without  you.  "  a  faint  chuckle  falling  from  his  lips,  but  and  it  was  as  reveling  when  he  saw  her  hesitation  and  her  wariness,  perhaps  fear  began  vanish  at  his  words.  "i  would  have  found  a  way  to  see  you  if  you  did  not  wish  to  leave  your  home."  he'd  have  found  a  way  to  convince  her,  assure  her,  she  would  not  regret  her  decision.  the  latter  of  which  he  would  do  anyway  once  they  returned  together  to  day.  they  had  one  thing  left  to  sort  out  their  brothers,  as  he  saw  her  eyes  dim,  he  shook  his  head,  tucking  a  strand  of  her  hair  back.  "let  me  speak  to  my  brother  first.  one  thing  i  can  assure  you  of  cedrian  is  that  he's  always  placed  his  siblings  happiness  before  all.  i  am  certain  he  will  work out  something  with  your  brother."  now, it  was  much  easier  said  than  done,  but  he  knew  ced  would  find  a  way. dec  had  been  meaning  to  tell  him  about  his  development  with  cissa,  only  searching  for  the  right  moment  in  between  ced's  own  dilemma  with  the  high  lady  of  summer.  "do  you  trust  me?" 

Brushing over the subject of her ex husband makes take a sigh of relieve, she hated dwelling in the matter, if it was up to her she would never dare mention it to begin with. it was not worth it for it was now water under the bridge. "all it matters is that you did ask," sooner or latter, it seemed it did not matter for their paths had been greatly intertwined for that very moment, the moment they would both agree to it. "the fates have a funny way of making us all believers, don't you think?" and she would make sure to make a good offering to them when life slowed down a bit for all of them, for she did have much to be grateful about when it came to the lord of day. her lashes flutter as her hues gaze into his, their faces much closer once again, were they still even dancing or just standing lost in each other words and the moment. "well i am glad i can bring you happiness." the words that come out of her mouth next are not a surprise in the sense that she hadn't known, but a surprise that they would roll of her tongue with such ease. "i love you, declan aster," she had known for a while, the only hesitation had been if he belonged with her just as much but that was now confirmed and all her fears had dissipated entirily. "it does make me feel slightly better i was not the only one wondering such things. the wish to leave dusk was greatly overshadow by loosing having your presence in ever day, the thought of returning to spring was bitter sweet." although before that very moment she had not realized how little she cared for returning there if it meant she could be with declan. "nothing will make me happier than going home with you," her smile remains even if her eyes soften with a hint of sadness. "but how? my brother..." the thought of telling her still made her stomach uneasy. they could ask and he could agree, but what if he didn't?

[atrwriting]

shouldn’t have — lumberjack!logan x fem!reader

listen usually i would hate this plotline but like ?? are yall seeing what im seeing ?? feminism exists and is alive and well until we see this man and suddenly we’re all damsels in distress

as always, warnings: reader was in an abusive relationship, logan the savior (i have issues ok), dom logan, bratty reader, choking, slapping, rough p in v sex, swearing, breeding kink tee hee

mdni!!!1!!1!1!1!11!

————

you had been with your boyfriend — well, now ex-boyfriend — for about three months before you had noticed something was wrong. just a few things, you thought. nothing bad. nothing to worry that much about. it felt like he was doing so many things too much; sleeping, drinking, smoking, video games… yelling…

you thought by getting him a job with some men you knew would be fine — that it would solve every problem. why would it not have? he just needs a job, you thought. just something to get him up in the morning… something to give him purpose…

you were wrong — oh, you were so wrong.

at first, everything was fine — up every day, home every night, and only so many hours at the end of the day could be dedicated to all of those bad little habits you hated so, so much. he was drinking, smoking, playing video games so much less — you almost forgot why you were so annoyed and insistent on this new job in the first place.

...until he stopped coming home before midnight.

...until the yelling got worse.

until he got worse.

you almost left him — almost. until, one night — he asked if you could pick him up from the bar after work so he wouldn’t have to wait before he could drive home. you could've squealed you were so relieved, so happy. it seemed like a step in the right direction, and you were hopeful. you thought the kinks were working themselves out, making it so you could finally work out your issues with him. like the good girlfriend you were, you drove to the bar promptly for half past ten and waited in the parking lot for him.

after a few minutes, you sent a text.

a set of ten minutes had passed as you sat there, waiting.

...then another.

...and then another.

you called him, but there was no answer.

no fucking answer.

you ground your teeth when the call was sent to voicemail. voicemail? fucking voicemail? you stared down at the screen like it mocked you — showing you the reflection of your face in the glass like you were some joke, and embarrassment flooded through you.

all you could think about was self-respect — how if you didn't have any respect for yourself, how could your boyfriend respect you? how could anyone respect you?

it brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them away.

and there went the last straw…

you got out of the car and slammed the door. you were buzzing with anger, shivering like you were cold. anger filled you, but adrenaline was what carried you on its back through the doors of the bar and past its threshold. it was the only friend you had in that moment, and you grasped at its hand — letting it lead you to your doom.

what you didn't expect what form your doom would take.

…your doom came in the form of a hot blonde with legs and cleavage for days.

she laid horizontal across the bar — shot glass in her belly button, line of salt up her abdomen. you watched a man, dirty from the work day, eye the blonde with hunger in his eyes. he wrapped his dry lips around the rim of the shot glass, and threw his head back. almost immediately, he licked the salt trail with a flat, heavy tongue. the blonde above him giggled at the texture of his tongue on her tanned skin — and once he was done, she grasped both sides of his face and pulled him towards her.

that’s when you saw the guy’s face — smiling and drunk — your boyfriend’s face. men around them hollered as he pushed her against the bar top, kissing her hard. all you could do was stare — adrenaline left you high and dry when you needed it most. you were just cold now — cold, lonely, and embarrassed. so embarrassed. so fucking embarrassed.

“you’re his ol’ lady… aren’t you?”

your head cocked to a stool near you, occupied by one of his coworkers. he had a cigar in his mouth as he cocked an eyebrow at you, barely looking at you. his hand was around two fingers of whisky — and it had never looked so tempting.

“was,” you whispered, politely correcting him and locking eyes with him.

“good,” was all he said before he threw back the rest of his whisky and stood from his chair.

you were still in shock, frozen in place. all you could do was watch as the man pushed through the crowd, and stood in front of your boyfriend. you stared at the man's shoulders — covered by thin flannel that would never stand a chance against the muscles underneath. you gulped as he stood toe to toe with your ex-boyfriend, but the man didn't look half as scared as your ex did.

“you’re fired," was all the man said.

everyone around the man, including the blonde and your boyfriend, went silent. jaws were on the floor — no one knew what to do. what could they do? they weren't expecting this — not when the fun had been going on for so long. the man couldn’t have cared less — he waited for a split moment, awaiting any sort of rebuttal from your ex-boyfriend… and that was when your ex noticed you, staring at him. instead of running to you, begging for forgiveness… he started begging the man that had fired him for his job back.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes. of course.

“not happening, bub,” he spat. “now — i’m going to go buy your ex-girlfriend a drink with your last paycheck. ask your buddies for a loan on the tab with the blonde."

and with that, the man turned on his heel back towards you. when he turned, he didn’t bow his head or look at the floor — he looked straight at you. and for the first time that night, you saw what he really looked like — a man. the man radiated masculinity like he was the poster child for the hard working all-american man. worn jeans, work boots, faded flannel… the works. his body was thick with muscle, and impressive sight that was definitely thanks to his job. the years showed on his face — but in a way that was handsome and reliable. life seemed to have chewed him up and spit him out, but he didn’t look the type to go down without a fight.

with a moment or two, he was in front of you. he sat down on the stool, and patted the one next to him — gesturing to you.

“what’re you having, sweetheart?”

you stared up at him with confusion and surprise in your eyes, but a blush across your cheeks. your mouth fell open, stammering — as if you hadn’t been embarrassed enough tonight. your eyes darted to your ex — the intoxication starting to wear away as realization set in. he lost his job, girlfriend, and ego all in a matter of a moment — and you knew how these things ended.

“i think i should —“

“he won’t bother you,” the man responded, gesturing to the bartender for two more drinks.

you took a cautious step back — eyes on your ex who was talking with his work buddies now, eyeing you and the man. the blonde had been discarded, scoffing as she found herself in a similar position as you — chewed up and spit out, but not willing to fight.

you were fumbling for your keys now, anxiety beginning to take over. you were shaking as you took several steps back, not knowing whether to run or start crying was the better answer.

the man who had stood up for you then stood, sighing. he saw your ex walking towards you now, and he rolled his eyes in the way an owner would be annoyed with a dog going back for something they were explicitly told not to. the man drank his whisky, and handed you the other glass.

the man only had a take one step towards your ex before your ex had stopped in his tracks, eyes and mouth wide.

“got all the time in the world, bub,” the man spoke. the man had his fists balled at his sides — and, within an instant, sharp bones almost two feet long had sprung from between his knuckles. the man didn’t wince — but everyone else did. with a cocked head, he then continued, “do you?”

when your ex didn’t move, and the man was satisfied that none of his friends were going to make a move… he turned on his heel and stalked back toward you.

“finish your drink, sweetheart — we’re leaving.”

within five minutes, you had finished your drink before you went outside. there was logan — same bone swords unsheathed, but now stabbing into black tires on a familiar truck. you smiled — now your ex didn’t have a ride home.

“can i give you a lift?” you asked.

few hours later — there you sat with the man, who you now knew as logan. you were on one side of the couch — you curled in the corner on the end, and him in the middle turned towards you. the alcohol was flowing, so you didn’t need a blanket over you to keep warm. now, sat across from logan, both of you appearing to feel the effects of whisky — all you wanted was his warmth.

“good hostess,” he spoke as you refilled his whisky glass.

you blushed. “nothing compared to what you did for me back there — least i can do.”

“i gotta ask —“ he said, taking a sip. “why him?”

you shrugged. “guess i learned the hard way you can’t change someone who doesn’t want to change.”

he looked at you then — almost through you. you wondered if he could see the same ghosts in your eyes that you could see in his.

he shook his head then, chuckling — appearing to want to break the heavy air. “you’re too young for talk like that, doll — won’t allow it.”

you returned his laugh, realizing you were happy for the subject change. “not every man is like you, logan — first one i met that would’ve done what you did.”

he set his glass down then, and you were struck with the realization of how broad his chest and shoulders were. how the fabric of the stretched across his muscles. how heavy the scent of whisky, maple, wood, and cigar smoke hung on his clothes. you stopped staring at him to meet his eyes then, but he was already looking at you.

logan caught you staring. a blush rose to your cheeks.

“there was a time where men i knew would’ve killed to be served whisky by a pretty girl like you,” he spoke, voice gruff. “time where i would’ve.”

you smiled, insecure under his gaze. “you’re easy on the eyes, lo — can’t imagine you had to put much effort into getting with someone you wanted.”

“oh, doll —“ he spoke, leaning in towards you. his face was barely inches from you, and you wanted him to touch you. you wanted those big, calloused hands on your soft skin — wanted it so fucking bad — but he wouldn’t put them on you. not yet. not quite yet. “sweet, pretty things like you? worth all of the effort in the fucking world.”

you felt one of his hands — his large fucking hands — slide down from your knee, to the side of your thigh. he squeezed lightly on the flesh, loving the feeling of your soft skin. you met his eyes then, dark and hungry. he wasn’t hesitating — he was waiting for your approval or disapproval. he wanted you to know he wanted you, but also that you had the final say.

“y’gonna let me show you how a real man’s supposed to treat a woman?” he asked, tucking a hair behind your ear. “hmm, sugar? climb in my lap, and i’ll show you.”

curiosity killed the cat, but not before it found out what the secret was.

logan fell back against the couch — man spreading, hands on the tops of his thighs with his eyes on you. only on you. there was no more of the adrenaline from earlier, no — but there was the confidence from the warm, dark liquid flowing through your veins. it gave you the push you needed, making you throw a leg over his hips, and sit your ass down right over the tent in his jeans.

“that’s a girl, yeah…” he spoke, his hands ran up and down your thighs. his eyes were raking up and down your body in the way that your ex had looked at the blonde, and it only added to your confidence. you wanted to be wanted — and logan made you feel more sexy than your ex ever had. “tell me, sweetheart — when you look at me, what do you see?”

“a man,” you respond, before you can stop yourself.

he raises his brow then — surprised, but not displeased at your answer. “ — yeah? and what makes me a man?”

you thought for a second, as the alcohol clouded your ability to be witty. you couldn’t pinpoint why — you just knew. while you were thinking, almost stammering — you felt his hand snack underneath your skirt and find your lacy panties. you were struck with the sudden realization of how badly you wanted to show him what they looked like, convinced he would like them — but he wouldn’t let you take off your skirt. you eyed him, confused.

“not yet, doll,” he spoke, voice hoarse. his eyes never left yours. “not taking off this skirt — no matter how much i want to — until you know for sure that i deserve to.”

“logan…!” you grumbled, throwing your head back in mock laughter and frustration. “y’gonna make me beg? come on —"

“beg? not tonight, darlin’,” he laughed. you felt one of his fingers prod at your folds through your panties, poking through your lips to find the hidden sensitive parts of you. you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling — curious and turned on. “but you are gonna tell me everything you’re going to look for in a man from this point on. when i’m satisfied, then i’ll let you cum.”

“didn’t think you liked games,” you breathed, curiosity, pleasure, and anxiety mixing in your blood.

“i don’t,” he said with finality and sincerity. “i teach lessons, sweetheart — and now i’m gonna teach you how a man should treat you."

“yeah?” you breathed, keeping your lips barely centimeters from his. “and how are you going to accomplish that?”

“rock those pretty hips against my hand, baby —“ he spoke, pressing his fingertips against your clothes core. “and tell me types of guys you're goin' to avoid."

you went to question him, confused — but he pulled you right back in. he pressed two finger tips against your panties, creating the most devious fiction against your sensitive bud. you jumped at the feeling, but he kept your hips steady.

“there’s one —“ he chuckled. “didn’t know how to touch you, yeah? so sensitive — ‘s like he never did.”

“he didn’t know how,” you whined, rolling your hips against his fingers and letting your eyes drift close.

“not surprised,” he grunted. “never a good worker either. so, what’re we avoiding next time, sugar, huh? tell me.”

“i don’t know… i don’t…” your mind was warm and fuzzy now, leaving you unable to answer.

he swatted at the flesh of your ass then, causing your hips to jerk and your eyes to open in shock. he looked up at you, unfazed. “you don’t wanna cum, do you? want me to use you just like him — leave that pussy wet and wanting?”

you giggled. “don’t tempt me.”

his hand reached for your throat, an evil smirk on his lips. “you’re a naughty fucking thing.”

you nodded feverishly, loving the grip on your throat. “for you, lo. i’ll avoid lazy men, i promise —“

“you better,” he warned, his eyes looking up at you with hunger. his wingers were rubbing hard against your clit, and you wanted him oh, so badly to dip into the fabric and roll around your clit or supple hole. “another — tell me. now.”

“careless,” you whined, your hips jerking. “i’ll avoid careless men, logan, i promise —“

“fuck that,” he spat, the grip tightening on your throat. “you’re mine, darlin’.”

he threw you down onto the couch then, landing on your back with a thud. he gave up on his own game, and your confidence bloomed within you. to be so sweet, so pretty — to make a man like logan stumble? forget what he was doing, all because he wanted you so bad? to be in between your plump thighs, round lips, and encircles in those pretty arms? your cheeks were burning pink as your gaze came back into focus above you. there stood logan, on his knees on the couch, as he unbuttoned his flannel with an animalistic chase in his eyes. you couldn’t help but put yourself on your elbows, rubbing your thighs together to keep the friction and heat up. but your eyes? oh, your perfect, big eyes? they were on logan’s. they told you everything you needed to know as he tore off his belt.

“you want me to use you, baby?” he asked as he unzipped his belt. “that’s what my girl wants?”

“by you, lo — a real man,” you breathed, stroking his cock and lining his cock up with the entrance of your pussy.

“good fucking girl,” he growled, plunging his cock into your pussy.

his hips snapped against yours, causing you to jump into the arm rest. you held onto the arm rest, your pillow, to keep you steady. logan liked the sight — pretending that you had your hands tied up above your head as your breasts lifted with your arched back, preening upwards just for him. he watched the shivers run up and down your spine, causing your nipples to peak. he watched them hungrily as they bounced for him and only him, wanting to pull both into his mouth and show you just how greedy real men are.

and when he saw you release the grip held by one hand, and watched it travel down the length of your abdomen, with the end goal of your clit — he swatted your hand away, angry. his gaze — it screamed how fucking dare you?

“fuck off with that shit —“ he spat, pushing your hand back down to hold onto the head rest. “this first time, darlin’? i make you cum — and you lie there, and you take it.”

you whined at his words, your big beautiful eyes on his hungry irises. you folded your lip in between your teeth before you curled your hips up to meet his, wrapped your legs around his hips. never had you been treated with such confidence, such ease — but you wanted him to work for it, see how far he could go to prove to you that he was the best. “you promise, old man? you can keep up?”

the air went still then — but your smirk didn’t falter. it should've, you would realize later. you should've been afraid of the man, knowing what he was capable of when someone tested him. the difference was... logan welcomed the spice in you, as long as it was his to silence. logan’s eyes went wild and dark then, realizing the challenge. he held back so much with you, trying to keep the man awake and the beast dormant — but the greedy girl in you just kept knocking.

he flipped you then — forcing you onto all fours. he bent you over the arm rest, your throat in the crook of his elbow. his free hand groped and pulled at the flesh of your ass, letting go only to smack it. smacksmacksmack. his tough and calloused skin would leave marks, you were sure of it — but it only made your pussy wetter. the sounds were pornographic, filling the room and his nose and ears.

“wasn’t much of a brat tamer, was he?” he spat, fucking into your puffy pussy. his grip on your throat wasn’t tight, but it kept you in control. there was no moving, and there definitely wasn’t enough air to mouth off. “nothing sweet about you — just a greedy fucking girl with the neediest fucking pussy. i'll get'ya there, doll — don't worry now."

you held onto his forearm for dear life, trying to keep your balance as you arched your back up into him. you felt your juices leak around around your sopping wet cunt and down both of your thighs and logan’s. the air was thick with your scent and sounds, pricking at logan’s heightened hearing. your whines — oh, your whines, your fucking whines! — were filling his ribcage and warming every part of him that wasn’t touching you. his lips were sucking at your neck, nipping at the skin . he felt the vibrations of your moans against his lips and he had to fight every instinct to sink his teeth into your shoulder, ruining you for everyone else.

“please — please —“ you choked, smacking against the arm rest. he pulled your free arm back behind your back, forcing you to take everything he gave you.

“not stopping until that pussy creams, baby,” he spat into your ear. his hips were relentless against yours, plunging in and out of your wet folds as he kept them tight and controlled for his use. “when that dumb fuck comes back, to get his stuff? i want him to know who’s pussy this is now. that fucked out look on your face? yeah? that’s all that sack of shit is gonna see before i slam the door in his face.”

“fuck, logan —“ you whimpered. “i’m so close. f-feels so good. please, don’t stop —“

“i know, baby, i know….” he moaned. you reached underneath him, grabbing at his heavy sack and rolling his balls with your finger tips. he jumped at the feeling, curious how a fucked out little thing like you still had so much energy to tease. “never ends with you, huh, does it? always wan’ more?”

“cum with me, lo —“ you choked out. “come on — make me feel it.”

he smacked your ass once more, grasping onto the rippling skin. you could feel your tight muscles, like cement — knowing they would be sore in the morning. you rolled his balls in between your fingers, keeping as controlling of a grip on him as he kept on you. his breaths were ragged against your neck, broken and feverish. your eyes were screwed shut, trying to find his lips in the darkness as you fought with and against logan.

“fill my pussy, baby,” you whined, reaching to any part of him you could grab.

when he saw your eyes, most of the begging in them rather than your tone — he couldn't help it. it took over him before he could even realize it was happening. how could he deny you so,ething you wanted so badly? asked for so sweetly? logan came before you did — much to his dismay, but only for a moment. he felt his skin shiver before his hips snapped forward once to meet yours, trapping you against the arm rest. he rutted into you as the walls of your pussy were coated — dressed in his seed, his spend, his claim. you could hear a growl rumble low in his chest, tearing up at the sound of such a big and strong man at his most vulnerable, his most peaceful state — only for you.

when you reached for your clit again — whining and wanting, ready to take advantage of hearing his satisfied moans in your ear — he smacked your hand away. you scoffed at his movement, but he shut you up quickly. his own fingers found the spot, and his fingers felt better than yours. you should’ve known they would, with the way they attacked you through your panties.

“pussy’s filled to the brim, sugar —“ he grunted. “now i wanna feel it shake while you’re full of me.”

he was so tired, but not his muscles — definitely not his muscles, nor his grip. it held you tight and upright — forcing you to take it in your weak, fucked out state.

“you want me to fuck my cum farther into you, darlin’?” he rasped, fighting his exhaustion through gritted teeth. “i’m too deep, aren’t i? i’ll fuck my cum into your womb if i’m not careful… but you'd like that, wouldn't you? dirty little thing..."

his warning was a threat, but your mind was too soft to realize. too pliant, too ready for him. all you could do was stare off into space as he held you close to him. his fingers spun circles around your puffy clit, his still hard cock piercing into you. “so very deep, lo…”

and when he smacked your clit once before continuing the assault, you came. you came harder than you ever had before — alone, or imagining something in your head as someone else fucked you. it was like your primal nature was being ripped from you, wanting to show and present itself to match logan’s — to show logan you were his match, that you were his equal. you bucked your hips back to meet his, letting the tip of his sensitive cock graze your sensitive walls as you screamed his name. it filled the room more than anything had for him — and it was all he would think about in the days to come. this woman, so worthy and so ready for him — only for him, and all for him.

“that’s it, sweetheart. work for it, that’s right…”

and as his seed slipped into your womb, open and ready for him as you came, you felt his lips press hard, sloppy kisses against your jaw. your own mouth was open, cries falling from it.

“my good girl learned her lesson, didn’t she?” he rasped. “don’t matter now, anyway — no one but me is gonna be in your bed. i'll burn his shit later."

———

i need to touch grass - L xoxo lmk what u think

[dollerinna]

I WANT TO F**K YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL .

( black noir x fem supe!reader )

summary: the not-so-innocent things that go on in noir’s head abt you during The Seven meetings (wc: 1.8k)

warnings: MDNI, dub-con, rough p in v, doggy style, primal play themes, size kink, gagging, sobbing, corruption kink, Homelander being a weirdo at the end… just a lil’

first fic on this blog and I lowkey hate it- ughhh sorry if it’s all over the place!

The morning sun cast its golden glow upon the Manhattan skyline as The Seven assembled in their meeting room.

Homelander paced before them, detailing some new initiative he had conceived, but his words rang as emptily as the void behind his eyes. The Deep hung on his every syllable, eager as ever to prove his ass-kissing self with poorly-timed quips. This earned him nothing but a withering side-eye.

A-Train and Maeve listened with feigned interest, checking out of the conversation all but in body. Noir sat apart, idly fidgeting with a pen as his mind wandered. But his attention was drawn not to the usual faces, for there was a new supe among them—you, the latest fresh-faced recruit to their team.

On the surface, you appeared the absolute picture of attention—eyes forward, laser focused on Homelander as he tiresomely outlined the team's objectives.

It was cute, really, how focused the newbies always strived to be. Yet beneath the facade, you were actually anything but so, not when you felt an unseen gaze assessing you, weighing you.

Flicking your eyes discreetly aside, you confirmed a suspicion you could smell from miles away: Noir watching from across the table, his expression shrouded as ever behind the visor of his helmet.

Ugh, talk about creepy.

A subtle flutter of your eyelids shifted your line of sight, choosing to trust that his thousand-yard stare just so casually happen to drift your way and not an attempt to burn his gaze into your very soul.

Besides, what else could the guy possibly think about? Training, orders from Vought, simple pastimes—usually, such painfully mundane, run-of-the-mill thoughts occupied him.

But little did you know in this moment, as he studied your presence from afar, his mental reflections took a turn less… innocent.

─────────────────

“N-Noir… mmph-… please…”

It wasn’t his doing, he didn’t ask to be plagued with this sickly obsession; but every time he heard your voice, it was as if sweet, smooth-spun sugar had come alive.

An alien lust scorched Noir’s consciousness, catapulting his fevered mind into unfamiliar territory. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sinful thoughts that stubbornly stuck to him like glue. Just the mere notion of ever being responsible for those pretty little sounds was enough for arousal to creep through his veins like a nasty virus, sapping what was left of his crumbling self-control.

Your every whine, your every moan, would be a siren's call that beckoned him to claim you, to strip away your composure until you were utterly, helplessly his. All he craved was to watch the light in your eyes dwindle, to witness your breaths dampening into shallow puffs of air that blanketed your gaze in a veil of fog, gradually muffling you into a stillness even quieter than he was.

And truthfully, it wasn’t a matter of whether you liked it or not.

Noir would ensure his touch left no room for refusal, his grasp iron-hard as he positioned your trembling, naked body on the floor to his liking—face pinned down, ass arched up, just as it should be. Yet even as he held you fast with a palm braced against your sweat-slicked spine, his other hand moved with a surprising tenderness, gently teasing loose and brushing apart the knotted strands of hair clung to your ruddied features.

He imagined the merest of touches would set your blood aflame, rumbling up a ripe groan from your core. “…Oh m-my god… fuck…” words fled your mouth on airless breaths, nearly inaudible but still enough for him to catch. In response, he’d slowly lift a finger to your glistening lips, accompanied by a soundless ‘shh’—a signal for you to behave.

After all, good girls should never cuss.

Large, strong hands would then greedily paw at the lush fat of your ass cheeks, the scratchy textured fabric of his gloves leaving blooms of red across your flesh. Spreading you open, he’d admire the way your juicy, moist folds parted slightly, the aching emptiness within your entrance eliciting an involuntary clenching—your muted moans, trapped in your throat, acting as a wordless plea for more of his touch, more of him.

He liked to think you’d be mere putty in his hands, before he was even close to fucking you.

Noir would take his sweet time exploring you, his curiosity of the human form eclipsing the immediate need to quell a white-hot carnal desire every red-blooded man gets. He was good at rearranging people’s insides, literally, but what if he flipped the script in a much different way?

Experimentally, he’d run the very tip of his gloved finger along the weeping slit of your sex, ghosting ever so lightly over your swollen, hypersensitive clit to collect your slick arousal. Then, without warning, he’d dip an entire digit into your quivering depths, reveling in the way your spongy muscles squeezed and welcomed him in.

Your breath would hitch at the intrusion, skin prickling with a visceral need as you eagerly shoved your rear back against his palm, craving more. However, just as swiftly, he would withdraw his hand, bringing it close to his face to observe it covered in your juices, inspecting how the slimy, milky-white essence connected a trail between his fingers.

Who knew light fondling and agonizing silence was all the foreplay you needed? (or at least, in Noir’s fanciful pornographic depictions of you)

Once done playing with his food, he’d drag his knees closer to your body, his hips flush against your ass, leaving your peripheral vision filled with nothing but his imposing, darkly-clad figure dwarfing your own. Without hesitation, he’d reach down to remove the codpiece off him, freeing his hefty cock which sprang forth in the air, where it stood rock-hard, veiny, and impossibly large.

Wrapping a hand around himself, the thickly-roped, buzzing veins were betrayed by each gritty pull of his glove, drawing a guttural grunt from behind his balaclava. He’d guide his erection between your warm folds, the engorged ridge of his tip prodding against your bundle of nerves, sending electric jolts of pleasure to crackle through your core, before he began to sheathe himself inside you with a push that drove him home.

With a grip possessive and firm around your waist, Noir quickly fell into a steady, almost robotic rhythm of sturdy pushes and pulls. Each punishing collision of your bodies was answered by the lewd, rapid sounds of skin-on-skin, making damn sure you felt every single inch of him as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

He’d only hope to see you struggle taking him all in, envisioning how the sheer scale of his size forced the very air out from your gasping lungs.

“P-Please Noir!… ngh-… my body can’t handle this much,” your once-lovely voice now ragged and frail, scraping sobs grinding your vocal cords near silence as you churned and coiled like a fawn caught in the clutches of a big, bad wolf. “Be gentle, I’m begging you!—-” You choked out weakly, bordering on a soft, pitiful whine.

Expectantly, a weighted silence followed suit from Noir. In his typical, unsparing fashion, he slipped a glove from his hand, jamming it into your mouth and effectively gagging you into silence, as if to say—pipe down, be a good girl, and take my cock like you’re supposed to.

Even without a single word uttered by him, it worked like absolute fucking magic.

Your torso would practically collapse under the onslaught, wobbly limbs giving way as you let Noir use your arched up, offering form like a personal fleshlight. His hips would retract further back in an excruciating slowness, simply marveling at your wetness coating the base of his member like a second skin, only to slam back into you with raw vigor.

Your tight, gummy walls would be offered absolutely no time to adjust to the relentless invasion of his girth, the sheer thickness of his cock forcefully stretching out your cunt to shape him, to the point it felt like he was trying to split you into two.

He’d yank your flexing thighs back to meet his brutal series of thrusts, burying himself into you to the very tilt as the fleshy head of his cock kissed your cervix, igniting a searing white bolt of static to lance through your vision, momentarily fracturing it.

The all-consuming, dizzying sensation hit you like a ton of bricks, toppling your senses and wrenching a strangled sob out from your slack jaw once more. This earned you another biting touch from Noir’s thumbs pressed into your sides, as if seeking to wring every gasp out of your chest, to hear your moans rattle through your ribcage.

However even your rawest cries were swiftly muffled, swallowed by the balled-up glove shoved roughly between your teeth, which reduced you to nothing more than a gagging, pleasure-drunk whore for him to claim.

─────────────────

Meanwhile…

“Welp, that about covers it for today,” Homelander announced with a thunderous clap, loud enough for it to ring through Noir’s ears and bring him back to the present.

Slowly, Noir spun his head back towards Homelander, who had just finished addressing the team while his own thoughts drifted to places where even the pearly gates of heaven wouldn't give him the time of day.

“Now shoo- and no more sloppy behavior. I’ll be keeping an eye on each and every one of you.” Homelander dismissed them with a casual wave and a chuckle laced with another one of his thinly veiled threats.

As everyone, including little-miss-oblivious-you, got up to leave the meeting room, Homelander sauntered over to Noir, heartily slapping a heavy hand onto his back. “Earth to Noir! I know that look—thoughts a million miles away behind that sphinx-like mask of yours,” giving a sly little shrug, he slanted a meaningful look towards Noir’s codpiece. “But methinks, someone here isn’t as impenetrable as I thought…” A thin wry smile played his lips, a subtle hint at his x-ray vision allowing him to see a particular something-something of Noir’s that was currently just as hard as his body armor.

“It might do you good to line that suit with zinc. Wouldn't want any unwanted eyes peeking where they shouldn’t, do we?" An amused exhale, part sigh part snicker, slipped out of Homelander as his gaze swept over Noir once more.

True to form, all he received in turn was Noir’s standard muteness, as soundless as a grave.

Homelander eased the quiet with a huffed laugh, rocking back on his heels as he tilted his head in playful study of Noir. "But don't worry," he added with a knowing smirk, "it happens to the best of us. But do try to keep your head in the game! And not with your other one, ‘kay buddy?” Homelander jested in mock-reproach as he landed one last waggish, firm slap between Noir's shoulders, flashing his gleaming white yet eerily pointed grin.

Noir remained statue still, no hint of feeling betrayed by his rigid posture despite the toe-curling awkwardness of the encounter, or perhaps he'd yet to fully realize Homelander had peered within and seen his aching, raging hard-on behind the suit's facade.

Noir silently watched Homelander shoot two playful finger guns, his cape swirled shut behind him before leaving the room.

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Pssst- Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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Apologies if there are any grammatical errors here, cuz I’m alr so done with this fic 😭😭😭

[preqwells]

imagining simon with a reader that's extremely awkward since it's their first serious relationship.

simon was practically yearning for your touch, ready to burst at the seams and teeter over while you hesitantly refrained. you two had been dating for at least eight months and had known each other for longer around this point, so he was well-adjusted and within his comfort zone with you; he trusts you. you’ve had flings here and there, all of which lasted more than a month if you were lucky— not your fault these assholes did a complete 180 once you officially put a title on things. for a long time, you convinced yourself that it was your fault since the only common factor in all of those relationships was you until simon was practically desperate to prove you wrong— although his poker face and lack of flowery words would ever allow him to do so.

every time simon would try to get closer to you at night? you didn’t know what to do. cheek kisses? you’d just press your lips into a tight-lipped smile, managing a small “thanks” and averted your gaze. if simon tried to hold your hand? it was almost like you’d find a way to wiggle out of it. it was almost like you weren’t used to affection— how could you of all people not be used to affection, he wondered.

he started to eventually get discouraged at one point. he wasn’t one for affection often, but you didn’t seem to want to get closer to him— why didn’t you want to get closer to him? he’d try to brush it off, but he wasn’t good with words and touch was all he had left.

it was abruptly brought up when you two were seated on the couch, his eyes mindlessly mapping out how your hair framed the side of your face, assuming it began to tickle you from the way you raised your hand and began to gently scratch the softness of your cheek. “why do you move away from me when i try to touch you?” he suddenly asked, his voice vibrating in his chest. he caught onto the way your jaw undulated at the question which only fueled his curiosity. were you aware you had been doing this to him? were you dangling your affection above his head? what a cruel game if you were, honestly. “um…” you began, a silence ensuing between you two. you didn’t know what to say— what could you say? your reasoning felt silly the more you thought about it— you didn’t want to push simon away of all people.

“i don’t know what to do or where to put my hands… and im afraid i’ll get clingy. its not that i dont like it… i do…. i just…” you mumbled, your eyes flickering between his and the tv.

…that was it?

you didn’t know where to put your hands and you thought you’d be clingy just after giving him a small hug? small kiss? he stifled a laugh which you caught onto, prompting a small pout to form on your plush lips. “why’re you laughing? i’m being serious!” you groaned, slightly frustrated at the feeling of simon not taking this seriously. simon took your frustration in stride, the roughness of his hands grazing across your cheeks as he gingerly cupped the sides of your face. “s’nothin— nothin a’ all…” he mumbled, secretly on cloud nine as he silenced you with a kiss, feeling you tense up to which he elicited a throaty chuckle. “it’s not— s’not funny!” you attempted to reprimand him which failed, seeing as how you were holding back your laugh at simon’s smile and at how ridiculous the situation was now that you thought about it.

“you’re right. i’m afraid you’ll be like a leech if you get used to me.” he mumbled against your lips. he was pleasantly surprised at the feeling of your hands returning the gesture and cupping his face, your thumbs grazing the stubble which pricked and prodded needles into the soft pads of your fingers. “shut up.” you mumbled back, pulling him down onto the couch with you as he landed on your chest. he tried to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and how it hammered in your chest, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute.

if you weren’t used to affection, he’d have to change that.

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 20 - size kink jason todd x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, size kink, tummy bulge

"That's it, baby. Take it all. Oh, look at you go. Being so brave for me."

On the surface the words are soothing, but the tone of Jason's voice fills each syllable with condescension. Not in a bad way. The sickly sweet lilt strikes the perfect chord that has you wetter than any body of water on this earth.

Your hips rise and fall in measure rolls, your cunt embracing his thick cock with every motion. You have to take it slow. Otherwise, you feel like you'll tear yourself in half.

"Jay…" you whimper, lip wobbling and eyes gleaming with the need for him to coddle you, "You're so…"

A sharp whine from your throat cuts off your own words. Your head tilts back and then hangs forward. His tip brushes your sweet spot every time you sink down on him. It makes it nearly impossible to remain coherent. You'd never met somebody who could make you malfunction like this.

"I'm so what?" he coos, prompting you to finish your statement. He already knew the words on the tip of your tongue, but he still wanted to hear them spoken into the drafty air of your apartment.

"You're so big," you choke out.

Another moan falls from your lips before you grit your teeth. Your face scrunches up in tandem with your walls clenching around his length. Vaguely, you hear him chuckle. He then pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"And you like that, don't you?" he whispers.

He slumps further down on the couch. His feet press hard against the smooth wooden floor beneath the two of you. The muscles in his thighs flex as he begins to pump his hips up and down. You whine and clutch at his meaty bicep, melting against his warm skin and letting him do all the work right now.

You nearly forget he asked a question at all until he continues speaking.

"I know you do, doll. You like that when you're with me, you're helpless. Don't have to think. Don't have to move. Don't have to do anything but let me use this sweet, little pussy till I'm satisfied," he says.

Your toes curl, your thighs clamping around his own. The pressure doesn't stop him from moving though, not in the slightest. You inhale sharply before nodding against his neck. Of course, you like this. You love it.

You could never get enough of Jason's body. You'd study it forever if he let you. Your pupils felt magnetized whenever they had the chance to drift along his chiseled torso or mentally map the pathways of his scars. Adoration wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt in regards to his figure. Obsession seemed more appropriate.

Fortunately for you, Jason behaved much the same about your body.

In the mornings when he thought sleep still had a strong hold on you, he'd run his fingers over every curve he could find. He'd knead the swell of your ass and press tender kisses between your shoulder blades. As you'd start to wake, he'd wrap his hands around your waist and nearly pop a boner right then and there from how large they looked in comparison.

His favorite thing in the world after a long grueling patrol fast became coming home to you. Not even thirty minutes with your delicate body washed away all the stress caused by hard and rough people he dealt with beyond these walls. Some nights he'd prop your dainty legs over his broad shoulders and dive into your slippery cunt. Other nights he'd get right down to it, shoving his fat cock inside you and watching your belly bulge with the intrusion.

Tonight hadn't been either of those. He'd been home for a change. But having you curled up to his side and pressed against him while he read a book got him worked up pretty fast. It wasn't his fault the two of you just seemed to fit so naturally together.

"My good girl. Soft and sweet all for me," he praises as he continues fucking up into you. His heavy balls lightly slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as the repetitive strokes start to build on one another. Small, whimpered expletives drip from your lips like a leaky faucet. He knows you're getting there. All he has to do is ramp up his efforts a little.

His hands lock around your waist like they do on hazy mornings. Just like then, he's obsessed with the way your skin dimples beneath his digits now. He boosts you back and starts bouncing you up and down in addition to his thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at the sensation and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. You don't have to do anything in this position still. He's strong enough to hold you upright all by himself. The only thing you had to do was like he said - stay still and let yourself be used.

"Can never get enough of you, baby, fuck," he grunts. His head falls back against the sagging cushion as he keeps working himself into you over and over. He glances back up at you slightly. "Is it feeling good?"

"Mhm," you whine, "So fuckin' good. So deep. All the way inside."

Your head bobbles around with the way he jerks you up and down on his lap. He smirks at your words and the airy way you say them.

"I know. I can see it," he responds, eyes flitting down to that faint and familiar bump. Evidence of his place inside you.

You only whimper in response. He drops you back down against his chest so one of his hands can slot against your center and rub your clit in fast, tight circles. The flickering feeling draws even more noises of pleasure from you.

The edge sneaks up on the both of you fast. You fall over it first. Your body spasms and seizes between his hands, but his strong grip is enough to keep you in place. For him, it explodes in a muted burst of ecstasy before burning into a brighter one. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and keeps you flush against his sweaty skin as he fucks his load deep inside.

The both of you stay there while you come down. His chest puffs up and down with deep breaths. Even with all his exertion, his hand rubs soothing stripes along the column of your spine. You lie against him completely motionless, limp against the muscles of his chest. A little pleasure doll all for him to play with.

[mahgyu]

Shiu smut + N$FW audio

• minors do not interact!

──── In Shiu's eyes, you were a goddess. And if your neglectful boyfriend, Toji, didn't treat you as such, Shiu would gladly fulfill that role.

Your moans echoed throughout the room as Shiu's tongue roamed your vulva. One of the man's hands firmly gripping your exposed breasts while your eyes rolled back feeling Shiu simulate a thrust with their tongue at your tight entrance.

Your fingers gripped the black strands of his nape as the male hands descended now to grasp your quivering thighs. Fingers sinking into your sensitive skin, Shiu's agile tongue snapped loudly as it explored every inch of your needy intimacy.

"Ugh... Shiu~" You called out in a plea, lifting your partially naked torso to look at him. The dark deeply hypnotic eyes granted you attention, that sensual gaze making you wet within seconds. "Toji will be back soon, y-you have to go..." You cautioned, practically struggling to resist Shiu's intoxicating touch.

In response, Shiu held you even tighter between his hands, inching his face away from your needy area. "Don't talk about your little boyfriend while I eat your pussy, doll." Kong's pink moist lips formed a smirk before he returned his attention to your intimacy.

Your relationship with Toji was not on the best way, often feeling like he used you as a toy only for his moments of boredom. Today, for instance, Toji had agreed to spend the whole day with you, but the disappointing reality came to light when you found out through Shiu that he had gone out to gamble again. But despite feeling neglected in your own relationship, you still felt terrible for cheating on Toji with his own friend, even though Shiu gave you the attention that Toji never even bothered to give you.

"We both know he doesn't deserve you, sweetie" Shiu said, dragging his wet lips along the inside of your thighs. "He shows you off like you're an accessory, but doesn't even care to truly take care of you" Shiu's face quickly turned dark and serious, his slightly wet hair covering his forehead. "Toji doesn't know how to appreciate the queen he has by his side, my love." As painful as it was to hear those words, it still felt so good to be appreciated like that by someone.

"But, we're acting wrong... Hmm, shit! " You said, trying to control yourself from fucking your needy pussy against Shiu's face who just laughed mockingly at your protest and moved closer to your pussy again.

"I wonder what his reaction would be if he saw us like this. Would he learn how to treat you properly?" Shiu said, dismissing other thoughts, leaving a chaste kiss on your sensitive and swollen clit. "I'd love to see the look on that jerk's face watching another man devour his girlfriend's needy pussy" He needled, staring at you.

Shiu sucked your clit hard, hungrier, more ravenous, delighting in your tearful moans that escaped straight from your throat. "Let me enjoy your sweet little pussy just a bit longer, doll, I promise it'll be worth it in the end." You felt Shiu's hot tongue slickening you up more as he promptly inserted two fingers into your needy and slippery hole. Your eyes rolled with the intrusion, Shiu's name repeatedly falling from your lips in the form of a moan, causing him to grunt. "Let me take care of you, my goddess."

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Shiu's version! I'm curious to know what you guys think. 🤭

Any other character suggestions? Tell me.

Your interaction is very important to me, reblogs and comments are always welcome. 🫶🏻💕