#lustres HAND??

[blushouyo]

HOLY MOLY

[sleepgarden]

Limited run of Under the Perfumed Bower prints are available in my shop now! They're only available in A5 size texture and petal paper ♡

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Stages of Decomposition

The decomposition process occurs in several stages following death:

Pallor mortis

Algor mortis

Rigor mortis

Cadaveric spasm

Lividity

Putrefaction

Decomposition

Skeletonization

PALLOR MORTIS

The first stage of death.

Occurs once blood stops circulating in the body.

The cessation of an oxygenated blood flow to the capillaries beneath the skin causes the deceased to pale in appearance.

In non-Caucasians, the pallor may appear to develop an unusual hue; the skin will lose any natural lustre and appears more waxen.

Occurs quite quickly, within about 10 minutes after death.

ALGOR MORTIS

The cooling of the body after death.

The cooling process will be influenced by many factors, including the deceased’s clothing, or whether they are covered with bed linen such as blankets or duvets.

The body will typically cool to the ambient room temperature, but this alters if there is heating in the room or if there is a constant draught cooling the body.

RIGOR MORTIS

Can occur between 2 and 6 hours after death.

Factors including temperature can greatly affect this.

Caused by the muscles partially contracting, and the lack of aerobic respiration means that the muscles cannot relax from the contraction, leaving them tense, subsequently resulting in the stiffening we associate with rigor mortis.

This stage typically begins in the head, starting with the eyes, mouth, jaw and neck, and progresses right through the body.

The process is concluded approximately 12 hours after death (although, again, certain variables may occur) and lasts between 24 and 72 hours depending on circumstances.

Contrary to popular belief, rigor mortis is not a permanent state and is in fact reversed, with the muscles relaxing in the same order in which they initially stiffened.

The reversing process also takes approximately 12 hours, when the body returns to its un-contracted state.

It is possible to ‘break’ rigor mortis by manipulating and flexing the limbs. This is usually done by undertakers, pathologists or crime scene investigators who are attempting to examine or move a body – or by a murderer trying to hide their victim in the closet or the boot of a car.

CADAVERIC SPASM

A phenomenon that can be misinterpreted as rigor mortis.

The instantaneous stiffening of the body (most commonly the hands) following a traumatic death.

Unlike rigor mortis, the stiffening of the affected limb is permanent and is not reversed, causing the deceased to maintain the rigidity until such time as putrefaction causes breakdown of the particular muscle group.

Examples:

The deceased following an air crash were later discovered still clutching their seatbelts or arm rests in a final, desperate act of survival.

In a drowning case, the victim was discovered with grass from the riverbank still grasped in their hand.

Perhaps the most famous case of cadaveric spasm involves the rock band Nirvana’s lead singer, Kurt Cobain. Cobain reportedly committed suicide in April 1994. His body was discovered a few days after his death with a shotgun wound to the head, and tests revealed he had large traces of heroin in his system. He was reportedly discovered still clutching the gun in his left hand, due to cadaveric spasm. However, a great deal of controversy surrounds the veracity of this latter assumption, and indeed the cause of his death, with many people insisting and attempting to prove that he died as the result of foul play rather than suicide.

LIVIDITY

Also known as livor mortis, hypostasis, or suggillation.

Once blood can no longer circulate, it will gravitate towards the lowest point of the body.

Example: A supine body will display pinkish/purple patches of discoloration where the blood has settled in the back and along the thighs.

Occurs about 30 minutes after death, but will not necessarily be noticeable until at least 2 hours afterwards as the pooling process intensifies and becomes visible, finally peaking up to between 8 and 12 hours later.

Once it is complete, the lividity process cannot be reversed.

Therefore a body discovered lying on its side, but with staining evident in the back and shoulders, must have been moved at some point from what would have been a supine position at the time of death.

It is worth noting that if the body has had contact with the floor, a wall or other solid surface, lividity would not occur at the points of contact as the pressure would not allow the blood to seep through the capillaries and pool. The specific area of pressure will be the same colour as the rest of the body and a pattern of contact may well be evident.

PUTREFACTION

Derives from the Latin putrefacere, meaning ‘to make rotten’.

The body becomes rotten through the process known as autolysis, which is the liquefaction of bodily tissue and organs and the breakdown of proteins within the body due to the increased presence of bacteria.

The first visible sign is the discoloration of the skin in the area of the abdomen.

Bacteria released from the intestine cause the body to become bloated with a mixture of gases; over time these will leak out, and the smell will intensify to unbearable proportions.

Typically, this will attract flies that will lay eggs, which develop into maggots.

Bloating is most evident in the stomach area, genitals and face, which can become unrecognizable as the tongue and eyes are forced to protrude due to the pressure of the build-up of gases in the body.

At this stage, the body will also begin to lose hair.

The organs typically decompose in a particular order: starting with the stomach, followed by the intestines, heart, liver, brain, lungs, kidney, bladder and uterus/prostate.

Once all the gases have escaped the skin begins to turn black: this stage is called ‘black putrefaction’.

As with all the other stages of death so far, the rate of putrefaction depends on temperature and location. A body exposed to the air above ground will decompose more quickly than a body left in water or buried below ground.

During putrefaction, blistering of the skin and fermentation can also occur:

Fermentation - a type of mould that will grow on the surface of the body. This mould appears white, and is slimy or furry in texture. It also releases a very strong, unpleasant, cheesy smell.

As the putrefaction process comes to an end, fly and maggot activity will become less, which leads to the next stage.

DECOMPOSITION

The body is an organic substance comprising organisms that can be broken down by chemical decomposition.

If the body is outside, any remains that have not been scavenged or consumed by maggots will liquefy and seep into the surrounding soil.

Thus when the body decomposes it is effectively recycled and returned to nature.

SKELETONIZATION

The final stage of death is known as ‘dry decay’, when the cadaver has all but dried out: the soft tissue has all gone and only the skeleton remains.

If the cadaver is outside, not only is it exposed to the elements but it also becomes food for scavengers such as rats, crows or foxes.

As the remains are scavenged, the body parts become dispersed so it is not unusual to find skeletal remains some distance from where the body lay at the point of death.

The way in which skeletal remains are scattered in such cases is of interest to archaeologists, and is referred to as taphonomy.

Where a body has lain undiscovered at home for a period of time it has also been known for family pets, typically dogs, to feed on the body. The natural instinct of a pet is to attempt to arouse the deceased by licking them, but once it gets hungry, its survival instinct will take over and it will consider the body as little more than carrion: it will act with the same natural instinct as a scavenger in the wild, which will feed on any corpse, be it animal or human, if it is starving.

Obviously the number of pets, the body mass of the deceased and the time lapse before the body is discovered will influence to what extent it has been devoured.

For further research on the stages of decomposition and the factors that affect it, look up body farms. These are medical facilities where bodies are donated for research purposes so scientists can specifically observe the decomposition process. However, be aware that some of the images are quite graphic.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Autopsy ⚜ Pain & Violence ⚜ Injuries Bereavement ⚜ Death & Sacrifice ⚜ Cheating Death ⚜ Death Conceptions

Writing Resources PDFs

[yukinohiko]

something about caleb spoiling you. it’s a habit he’s built since you both were young, and it’s certainly shaped your mannerisms and attitudes as you grew older. like a dove inside a gilded cage.

he’s indulgent with you. you snap and snarl; throw water cups and utensils; shove and push. and despite it all, he only ever accepts it. catches your wrist if your punches grow too violent, but not out of desire to stifle you — only to correct the way you fold your thumb into your fist.

you’ve grown to be quite spoiled at his hands. your first instinct is to look for your gege at any point, knowing he’ll give you answers where you have doubts, knowing he’ll console you when you’re upset, knowing he’ll soothe the ills of any displeasing situation.

when caleb’s own actions shift, take on darker intentions, your mind struggles to keep pace. his hold on gravity weighs your leg down as his hands cup your ankle, slide up your calf, slip under your thigh. his grip on your wrist tightens as his voice, once boyish now leering, croons promises of a garden — one structured like an inescapable maze.

you can’t reconcile this frightening visage with the memory of your indulgent gege. his hands are too rough; his words too cruel.

you struggle. you’re spoiled; and he’s spoiling you still.

he always will. he’s always been so fond of you, hasn’t he? even when his actions were misguided, leading to your tears in a locked attic, his intentions were always honed in on you.

“you. it’s always you,” he coos, brushing raindrops off your cheeks as he gazes down at you with the fondness born of a lifetime together.

the storm outside fills the room with shadows. the occasional flash of lightning eclipses him. his violet eyes look black, pupils swallowed by the night as he absorbs you so intently. your face, your body, your being. you.

your gege has always spoiled you. it’s made it quite difficult, you realize in hindsight, to find the will to fight him when that title loses its lustre.

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Missing Puck

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Little hurt/comfort because Quinn isn't perfect, but he has good intentions and it's a fluffy end

Summary: It's the Hughes Bowl...and you're missing your usual warmup puck from Quinn. You think he's forgotten, he most definitely has not, but he didn't think this through. Fuck.

Notes: Sequel to The Collection

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Another home game for Vancouver meant another puck ready and waiting for you fresh from the ice. Or it should have.

You were waiting glass side for the teams to come out for warmups, today the Canucks would go face to face with the Devils and like always you are both excited for Quinn to get to see his entire family and sad that at least one of the Hughes brothers has to lose tonight's game. You expect to see Quinn make a beeline for you like he always does with a puck to throw over the glass for you. When it doesn't come and he skates past you with a smile to go warm up you just assume he'll pick one up for you nearer the end of warm ups, not too bothered at first by the missing puck that should have already been in your hands. Even fans around you gave you a look, so familiar with the ritual that was Quinn Hughes giving his girl a puck.

When the puck fails to come at the end of warm ups, when you watch him skate off the ice at the end of warmups without passing you your puck, the puck he's given you every single day since the very first game you attended, you try to justify it as he's distracted. The Hughes' Bowl, as people called it, was a high stress time for Quinn, the desire to win competing with the desire for his brothers' to win, mixed with concern that either of his brothers might get hurt by his own teammates. It was natural for him to be a bit distracted, for him to forget. It was just a puck.

You try not to let it ruin your night, to not distract you from the game, but you can't help it. You just feel...sad, forgotten. Quinn has never forgotten to get you a puck. In the 135 games that you've watched, he has never forgotten to get you a puck. Even when it's an away game you can't come to he's always come back with a puck from each, a thought about you that he's had written on each, sometimes arriving back to the apartment with 6 or 7 pucks in tow.

You try your best to watch the game, cheering when either the Canucks and Quinn score or Jack or Luke do, you can't really help but support your boyfriend's brothers, even if you want Quinn to ultimately win the game. Still, your cheers are definitely lack lustre and there's a heavy feeling in your chest that just won't disappear.

Even the Canucks' win doesn't make the feeling disappear and you berate yourself all the way to locker rooms about it. it's so silly to be worked up over a puck of all things, you've got over a hundred of them, what's one less? It's not like he forgot your birthday or left you at an event, forgetting to take you home. It's silly that you feel so upset about something so...so unimportant, or that's what you tell yourself anyway.

Deep down you know it's not silly to be upset about it. This was a ritual, a special thing that the two of you had been doing long before you were official. He'd never forgotten to give you a puck before and the idea that there would be a gap, a game missing from your collection? A day missing from the story you'd been cataloguing in bits of vulcanised rubber? It wasn't silly to feel forgotten. It wasn't silly to be happy for Quinn's win while deep down feeling like he'd let you down.

He actually hates it. Watching the way your face falls when he simply skates past you with a smile during warmups, he hates the way you stay right up at the glass the entire time, biting your lip, like he might remember in a minute...As if he ever even forgot.

It's hard for him to focus on the game, to be perfectly honest, for the first time in a while he can't keep from searching for you in the crowd. He can't help but hate the glimpses he gets, the way you cheer half-heartedly after his goal, the way your shoulders are slumped. He feels like an asshole and maybe he could have planned this whole thing better? Maybe he should have given you two pucks rather than waiting, waiting, waiting to give you the one...he just hopes that you forgive him for the torture he's put you through and forgive him for being a complete and utter idiot about it.

He really didn't consider that by planning to give you the puck after the game you'd feel forgotten, he didn't consider that he'd always given you a puck at the start of warmups, never at the end, never after and certainly not after an entire game. Yeah, he was an asshole and he thinks he'll be lucky if you give him the answer he wants tonight. It makes anxiety buzz so hard in his stomach that he feels sick for most of the 2nd and 3rd periods.

He doesn't waste time getting off the ice once the game is through and he doesn't even get out of most of his gear in the locker room, just his skates, gloves and bucket. He's rushing as he picks up the puck he scored with that night, but tries to calm his shaking hands when their rookie, Sasson, passes him a metallic gold pen to write across the puck's surface. There's both a deep need to be quick, to find you as soon as possible, and a deep need to do this correctly, to take his time. Not write a scrawling mess across it that you won't even be able to read.

He almost walks out the locker room without the final piece to the whole thing, but it's Kiefer that tosses him the little black box from his things before he embarrasses himself even more than he already has that night. He barely hears the good lucks from the rest of the guys, so focused on what he needs to do and trying to salvage this whole situation.

You look so small in the hallway outside, arms crossed over your chest as if you're trying to protect yourself from the world, eyes downcast to the ground. You feel small, a heavy weight of disappointment on your shoulders that doesn't ease much when you hear footsteps across the carpet and look up to see Quinn rushing towards you.

He's still in most of his gear, hair tousled and messy, moistened from sweat. His cheeks are flushed red and he's practically stumbling over his words the moment you're in ear shot, rushing towards you like a runaway train.

"I'm so sorry, this is not how this was supposed to go and I completely didn't think about how you'd feel an-" He's talking so fast that you're simply filling in the blanks, of course he's apologising for forgetting the puck and the one in his hand is clearly one from after the game. It shouldn't disappoint you more, it should make you feel better, that he's remembered now, even if later on in the day.

"It's okay, Quinn...it's just a puck..." You try to reassuring him, but he's shaking his head. Quinn's eyes go wide at the realisation that you think he forgot when he most certainly did not and he is not having you think he forgot when this was all part of the plan, a fucking stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.

"That's not...I didn't forget the puck, I promise, I didn't forget the puck, baby." He sounds so absolutely desperate, so horrified that you believe him. Even, if it confuses you even more.

"But...but you always give me the puck at the start of warm ups?"

"I know...I...I thought if I did this after the game it would be better and I could have it all prepared, but I didn't really think about the fact you'd be expecting it at warms ups and I'm fucking inconsiderate asshole..." Half of what he has to say is a rambling mess that you can't really comprehend, so you latch onto the last thing he says that rockets your anxiety through the roof because giving you a puck later in the day is certainly not something which makes him an asshole even if it set your anxiety off and made you sad.

"Quinn, you're not an asshole, it's okay!"

"No, not it's not! Because...because I've messed this up so bad and if you don't want to say yes I completely get it..." Quinn almost looks ready to cry and he feels like it, in his head he's catastrophising. You're going to say no because he was too big of an idiot to think about the routine he'd made with you, the expectation you would have, the anxiety he would be putting you through for 3 hours.

You stop for a minute, processing his words as he stares at you horrified, scared, worried, all of the above and every synonym for them under the sun. The silence is so dreadfully loud and broken by the softest whisper of your voice, "Say yes?"

Quinn's scared, certain he's going to have a heart attack in that moment but still he forces his hands to move, toss the puck in his hands lightly to you and watch as you twist it right side up.

He has to stop himself from rambling further as he gets down on one knee in front of you, shaking hands opening up the little black box Kiefer had given him. The ring inside is perfect for you, the right gem, the perfect colour, the correct metal and shape. The epitome of someone knowing exactly what you'd find most desirable in a ring, but you're not looking at it, your eyes are fixed on the puck in your hands.

It's the usual beat up puck, although not a warmup puck this time but an official game puck, a goal scoring puck. Across the surface in gold lettering Quinn's handwriting stands out. The date is scrawled across the surface and underneath? Oh, underneath might be the most beautiful sentence you've ever read in your life and you can't help but feel tears well up in your eyes as you read them.

'Will you marry me?'

It all makes sense now. His rambling on about you not saying yes, his insistence that he'd messed up. He's scared, you can understand it now. That this absolutely amazing, wonderful man, thinks that something as simple as not giving a puck to you earlier is going to make you say no. When in reality very few things could ever stop you from saying yes, saying yes felt as natural as breathing.

"Give me a pen..." Your voice is wobbly and quiet as you request a pen, puck shaking in your hands as you look up at him and he's certain you're going to say no to him, so certain he takes a moment to process what you've asked for. Blinking at you blankly.

"Pen?"

"Give me a pen, Quinn." You reiterate until he seems to process your words and then he is scrambling, fumbling around as if he even has pockets in his gear which he doesn't. He almost drops the ring in the process and it is so utterly endearing to see how absolutely he wants to make this right and please you, as endearing as it is heart wrenching that he seems to think you'd ever say no.

He stumbles around, forgetting he's left the pen in the locker room, cursing this whole mess until Jack is leaning over his shoulder dangling it between two fingers with a soft smile. Luke just stood off to the side behind him. He supposes it would be par for the course for his brothers to be present for his imminent rejection and humiliation. Better them than anyone else.

He passes you the pen with shaking hands and can't take his eyes off you as you write something underneath his own words.

When you toss it back to him he's so certain that he's going to see a big no underneath that it takes him a minute of staring to actually comprehend what he's seeing, the puck shaking in his hands. Your handwriting lays so neatly underneath his, but its the unfathomable word that hits him with warmth and a bright spark of happiness straight to the chest.

'Yes -`♡´-'

Quinn's eyes pan up to you slowly, wide and bright as his lips part in shock. Glancing back down and up again as if he has to read the word a few more times to just make sure.

"Of course I'll marry you, you absolute idiot...why would I not?" You're smiling at him through the tears that slip down your cheeks, happy tears this time, not the disappointed ones you had supressed earlier in the evening. These tears are a combination of every feeling of affection and love you have for Quinn and the hopes you have too.

"Be..because I...I mess it all up..." He looks so utterly startled, so taken off guard and it hurts that he can't understand why one mistake wasn't really the end of it all. He's overthought the whole thing, just like you did. Two peas in a proverbial stressed out pod.

"Quinn," You close the remaining distance between the two of you, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks softly. Palms pressing against scratchy stubble as he looks down at you so softly, "I love you...messing up a little bit isn't going to change that, not when your intentions were so so sweet, baby..."

"So...you'll marry me?"

"I'll marry you." You confirm, grinning up at him as his mind works so hard behind green eyes. Little by little the doubt, confusion, starts to fade away to joy, to love, the way it should be after a proposal.

"You're going to marry me." You nod your head in confirmation, thumbs brushing across his cheeks in soothing circles, "We're getting married."

"Just put the ring on her, you idiot!" Luke calls from behind Quinn's shoulder and your gaze shifts to see the younger man grinning at the two of you, hands in his pockets and shaking his head. Jack is grinning equally as hard, the two brothers watching their older brother lose that calm, capable edge he always seems have. Both knowing they're never going to let him live this down. Ever.

"Shit!" He fumbles for the box, passing you the puck as his hands shake as he takes your left hand in his and slips the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly and it's beautiful, truly, what you imagined your engagement ring would one day look like.

He can't really comprehend it, that it's the ring he's given you on your finger, that he hasn't completely fucked this up. That you're going to be his wife.

It's you that pulls him close, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It's so soft and sweet that he isn't really sure what to do with himself for a moment and just stares down into your eyes.

"I love you, Quinn Hughes." You mumble against his lips, you're still grasping the puck in your right hand, even now. If anything your grip on the physical memory of this moment has grown tighter, scared it might fly away if you don't grasp it tightly.

"I love you too...thanks for saying yes." He sounds a little dumb, endearingly dumb.

"Quinn!" You lean back with a laugh, but don't get vary far before Quinn's arms are wrapping tight around your waist and pulling you back into his body. The closeness is appreciated not just because of the giddy high you're riding but because of how much distance there had been in the confusion of the day and Quinn's proposal.

"Am I not supposed to say that?" He grins down at you for the first time that night and it's the first moment where it feels real. He just asked you to marry him and you said yes. You're going to be Mrs Hughes.

"You generally don't thank your fiancé for agreeing to marry you, no. But you're welcome." You smile into the kiss he presses to your lips, losing yourself in the scratch of his stubble across your cheeks and the soft but firm press of his lips against yours. You let yourself just enjoy the feel of Quinn's hands gripping your hips and forget for a moment that you're in a corridor, a public space with your fiancé's brothers stood nearby.

"So drinks?" You're pulled away from the moment by the sound of Jack's voice chipping in. You pull back from the kiss, forehead pressing into Quinn's chest with a groan as he snaps at his brother lightly.

"Jack!"

"What we've got to celebrate right? Quinny can go get all cleaned up and then we'll go to a bar and celebrate this one becoming our new sister!" When you look up Jack and Luke have matching grins on their faces, cheeks pulled so high you're certain their faces must be hurting. Jack's grin is the more mischievous of the two, no doubting wondering how drunk he can get Quinn tonight, no doubt planning on using the special occasion to get Quinn to break from his health kick this season.

"Ugh, I forgot I'd be getting you two in this deal...can I change my mind?" You pretend to be put out, pouting at the two boys who you'll end up calling your brothers in short order.

You and Quinn turn to face them, Quinn tucking you under his arm and close to his side. He smiles down at you with what can only be called loving stubbornness.

"Not on my life, baby, you're stuck with me and stuck with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, sorry!"

"Hey!" "We're great!" The two protest and in that moment it all feels like the first day of the rest of your life. The man you love giving you his name in the sweetest and most chaotic way possible. The two men in front of you becoming your brothers in name not just actions. The moment when it is cemented firmly that you're not going anywhere and neither is Quinn. That you're stuck with each other.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

When you get back to the apartment that night, after a few drinks, Quinn avoiding being drawn into unruly behaviour by Jack, Quinn watches from the bed as you pull the familiar and now incredibly full box of hockey pucks out of the closet and place the new entry right on top. He smiles as you pat it gently before putting the box back away where you'll reach for it when he's away on his next roadie.

Watching you in that moment Quinn thinks he's the luckiest guy in the world to get the girl who still said yes even as he stumbled through a proposal that should have been perfect, but was far from it.

A girl that forgave him for a missing puck.

[seospicybin]

CAM.

CHAPTER II

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (23,4k words)

Author's note: Forgot to mention this was a late bday fic for Hyunjin. Hope you enjoy it and pls leave a feedback ♡

The past week has been a blur of paint-stained hands and sleepless nights. Hyunjin barely has time to think about anything else, buried in preparations for his school's upcoming exhibition. His apartment is a mess—canvases stacked against the walls, discarded sketches littering the floor, and his camera resting untouched on his desk. For once, his world isn’t revolving around late-night shoots and Lustre content. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

His brush glides across the canvas, layering deep strokes of blue over the rough outline of a figure. He’s been obsessed with movement lately, trying to capture fleeting emotions in abstract shapes and colors. His professors say his work has soul—that it feels raw, intimate. But he wonders if they’d still say the same if they knew where his inspiration truly came from.

Hyunjin sighs and sets his brush down, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. His eyes wander around his cluttered space, landing on an unfinished canvas propped up against the wall.

Your painting.

It’s a portrait, though he never intended it to be one. It started as a simple study—your figure bathed in warm light, the way your eyes softened when you were deep in thought. But then he kept coming back to it, adding layer after layer, unable to stop himself from trying to capture the quiet allure that had him tangled in knots.

Now, it’s only half-done. The outline of your face remains, delicate but unrefined. Your lips are sketched in, parted just slightly, as if caught mid-breath. Hyunjin swallows, gripping the brush tighter. He should be working on his exhibition piece, but his fingers itch to reach for this one instead.

It’s been days since he last saw you, yet here you are, lingering in the space between his thoughts.

-

The next day bleeds into the afternoon before Hyunjin even stirs awake. The weight of exhaustion still lingers in his limbs, his body aching from hours spent hunched over canvases and standing in front of easels. He barely remembers crashing onto his bed sometime in the early morning, the remnants of dried paint still on his fingers.

A sharp knock at the door pulls him from the haze of sleep. Hyunjin groans, pushing himself up with effort. The room is dim, sunlight seeping through the closed blinds, casting soft shadows over his cluttered space. Another knock follows, more insistent this time.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffles to the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before swinging it open. You're standing there, a warm smile curving your lips. The sight of you in the soft glow of the afternoon sun makes him blink twice, as if he isn’t sure whether he’s still dreaming.

“Wow, you look awful,” you tease, eyes flicking over his disheveled hair and the oversized shirt hanging off his frame. Before he can respond, you lift the paper bag in your hand. “Brought food. And coffee. Thought you might need it.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, words catching in his throat. He wasn't expecting you—not today, not like this. But the scent of coffee and something delicious wafts toward him, grounding him in the moment. “…You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Are you gonna let me in, or should I just eat this myself?”

The two of you sitting cross legged on his worn-out couch with take-out containers in hands. Hyunjin eats in slow bites, his body still shaking off the remnants of sleep. Next to him, you sit with your coffee in hand, fingers curled around the cup as you sip at it leisurely. He doesn’t think much of it at first—just you, keeping him company like you have before. But after a while, he notices it. The way your gaze lingers on him, thoughtful, as if you’re weighing something in your mind. You barely touch your food, just sipping at your coffee, lost in thought.

Hyunjin stops chewing, setting his chopsticks down. His brows furrow slightly as he studies you. “Do you have something to say to me?” he asks, tilting his head.

You blink, as if caught off guard, and glance down at your coffee. “No, not really,” you answer quickly, but there’s something in your tone—hesitation, uncertainty.

He doesn’t buy it. He puts down his chopsticks and looks at you. “Come on,” he presses gently. “You obviously have something to say. Just say it.”

You hesitate again, biting your lip as you lower your cup. For a moment, you seem to debate whether to speak at all. He watches you closely, his heart picking up its pace as you finally part your lips to speak.

“I was going to wait until after the exhibition to ask you this,” you begin, your fingers nervously tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “But… the thought of waiting has been making me uneasy.”

He stays quiet, letting you gather your words, his anticipation growing.

You take a deep breath and meet his gaze. “Now that you’ve paid off your debt… I was wondering if you still want to work with me. You know, help me with my content.”

Hyunjin gets a little taken aback. He expected something different, something more final—but this? He studies your face, the way your expression tightens with genuine worry, as if you’re afraid of what he might say. Instead of answering right away, he asks, “Why are you so worried that I’d stop?”

Your lips press together before you sigh. “Because it’s hard to find someone I can trust to do this with.” Your voice is softer now, more vulnerable. “And I trust you, Hyunjin.”

A strange fluttering feeling stirs in his chest at those words. Trust. You trust him.

You continue before he can respond, your words spilling faster as if you’re scared of what his answer might be. “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to say yes just because I asked, and if you want, we can negotiate the numbers—”

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back against his chair. “Hey, slow down,” he says, amusement laced in his tone.

You shut your mouth quickly, looking embarrassed, aware that you were a second away from rambling on and on. Then, without hesitation, he gives you his answer. “Yes. I’ll continue working with you.”

The tension in your shoulders melts instantly. A smile blooms across your face, bright and relieved, and Hyunjin can’t help but stare for a moment, thinking to himself how effortlessly you light up a room.

The mood in the room shifts into something lighter, something comfortable after that talk. He sees that you can finally pick up your chopsticks and start eating, the sound of utensils clinking against the takeout containers filling the space between easy conversation.

“You really need to eat more proper meals,” you chide playfully as you watch him practically inhale the food.

He chuckles between bites. “I do eat properly,” he argues, though the evidence says otherwise.

Once the food is finished, Hyunjin gathers the trash and tosses it away, wiping his hands on a napkin. Meanwhile, you stand and wander around the room, eyes roaming over the canvases scattered throughout his workspace. Some lean against the walls, others rest on the floor, each one carrying a story in its strokes.

“These are for the exhibition?” you ask, tilting your head at one particular piece.

He nods, stepping beside you. “Yeah, I’m almost done with them. Just a few more details here and there.”

You take your time admiring each one, letting your fingers hover just above the dried paint as if you could feel the emotion embedded in them. Then, your gaze lands on a canvas tucked away in the corner, covered by a white cloth. Your curiosity sparks instantly. “What about that one?”

Hyunjin stiffens. His reaction is subtle, but you catch it.

“It’s nothing,” he says too quickly, stepping forward as if to block your view. “Just a failed one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A failed one?”

“Yeah,” he lies smoothly, though his voice is just a little too even. “Didn’t turn out the way I wanted, so I scrapped it.”

You don’t push, but you do glance at the covered painting again, wondering what could possibly be underneath. Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin swallows hard, keeping his expression neutral as he prays you don’t try to unveil it. Because hidden beneath that cloth is something he isn’t ready for you to see.

He shifts his focus back to you, watching your gaze lingers on the paintings, your fingers tracing the air just above the dried brushstrokes. The way you look at them—at his work—makes something warm settle in his chest.

“So,” he starts, hands tucking into the pockets of his sweatpants, “are you going to come to the exhibition?”

You turn to him, a playful glint in your eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “So that’s a yes?”

You nod and with a soft smile, you say, “I’d be more than happy to come.”

Somehow, in the pause that follows, your eyes find his, and for a moment, neither of you look away. There’s something lingering in the air between you, something unspoken. Hyunjin wonders if you feel it too.

Then, after what feels like a beat too long, you break into a smile and glance toward the door. “I should probably go so you can work on your paintings.”

He barely manages to hide his disappointment. He wants you to stay. He likes having you here, in his space, talking to him like this. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he nods, forcing himself to play it cool. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”

You give him one last smile before heading for the door, and when it finally clicks shut behind you, Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair. The room feels quieter now, a little emptier and he hates how much he wishes you had stayed.

-

As you step into your apartment, the air-conditioning greets your skin, a cool relief after your morning run. You set your phone down on the counter, make yourself a smoothie, and settle into your usual spot by the window. The city hums faintly outside, but inside, it’s quiet—just the way you like it in the mornings.

You take a sip of your smoothie and open Lustre, scrolling through notifications. A few messages from subscribers—some predictable, explicit ones—but one stands out.

mag.shawn

The profile picture is simple: a bunch of purple tulips. No face, no suggestive username. Curiosity piqued, you tap on the message.

"The more I see your pictures, the more convinced I am that you're not just beautiful from the outside, but on the inside too. I hope you have a lovely day, beautiful."

You take another second to reread the words. You’re used to messages from men, but they usually come with crude compliments, detailed fantasies, or straight-up requests. This, however, is just… sweet. A small smile tugs at your lips. You type a reply.

"Thank you, that’s really sweet of you. I hope you have a lovely day too."

After sending it, you lean back, taking another sip of your smoothie. It’s such a small thing—a simple message—but somehow, it lifts your mood. As you're about to have a sip of your smoothie, another notification comes and catches your eye.

Felix [Lustre]: Hey, do you want to meet up today?

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. You knew this was coming—he had already reached out about a collaboration and texted you a few times talking about it—but something about it makes you pause. Maybe it's the uncertainty of working with someone new, or maybe it's the fact that Hyunjin's face flashed in your mind the second you read Felix’s message. You chew on your lip, tapping your nails against the glass of your smoothie. What should you say? Your screen stays lit, Felix’s message waiting for an answer.

-

You pull your car out of the parking lot, the engine humming softly as you ease onto the road. Just as you’re about to turn the corner, you spot Hyunjin walking along the sidewalk, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair is tied into a loose ponytail, his bag slung over his shoulder.

You slow down, rolling down the passenger-side window. “Hyunjin!” He looks up, surprised. “Need a lift?”

He stops on his track and then slightly bends down to look at you as he kindly refuses your offer. “It’s fine, I can take the bus.”

“At least let me drop you off at the bus stop.” You insist, offering him a look that says you won’t take no for an answer.

With a sigh, he caves in, pulling the door open and settling into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

As you start driving, you glance at him. “So, where are you going?”

He nods, gazing out the window. “I’m heading to school to help set up the exhibition.”

You hum in response, but before you can say anything else, he shifts slightly in his seat and looks at you, noticing the way you're dressed. “How about you?”

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel for a second. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do. Then, after a pause, you ask, “Do you remember Felix?”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “The creator who wants to collab with you?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m meeting him today.”

His gaze flickers to you before returning to the road ahead. “Does that means you’re doing the collab?”

Another hesitation. You wonder if it's a good idea to share when nothing is decided yet. Then, you exhale. “I’m still considering. I just want to meet him first, get to know him a little before deciding.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. As you focus on the road ahead, you don’t know why, but you feel like you told him something you shouldn't have shared.

When you finally pull up at the bus stop, Hyunjin unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door. Before stepping out, he turns to you with a small, polite smile. “Thanks for the ride.”

You nod, watching as he shuts the door behind him. As you drive away, you steal one last glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of him standing there, hands back in his pockets, staring off at nothing in particular.

-

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods lingering in the air as you step inside the café. You scan the room, searching for him, and it doesn’t take long before your eyes land on the person you're looking for.

Felix. He’s already there, sitting by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. The afternoon sun casts a glow over him, highlighting the soft waves of his long, bleached blonde hair. You knew he was good-looking from his pictures, but in person, he’s even more striking—sharp jawline, deep brown eyes, freckles dusted his cheeks and a natural pout to his lips. You get it now. You understand why he’s one of the most popular creators on Lustre.

But when he looks up and spots you, a smile breaks across his face—warm, inviting, nothing like the sultry, smoldering persona he portrays online. “Hey, glad you made it,” he greets, standing up to shake your hand. His voice is deep, laced with a natural rasp that takes you by surprise.

You nod, shaking his hand. “I hope I didn't make you wait too long.”

“Nah. Not at all,” he grins before gesturing to the seat across from him. “Please, have a seat. I already ordered for you—hope you don’t mind. I just figured a vanilla latte suits you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by how effortlessly charming he is—not in an overbearing way, but in a way that makes you feel at ease. Sitting down, you take a glance at the drink he ordered for you, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s actually my go-to order.”

Felix chuckles, resting his chin on his palm. “Lucky guess. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

The conversation flows easily between you and Felix as you sip on your coffee, talking about Lustre, content creation, and the experiences that come with it. He’s easy to talk to—engaging, charming without trying too hard, and surprisingly down-to-earth despite his popularity.

Eventually, curiosity gets the best of you, and you tilt your head slightly. “May I ask why you suddenly want to do a collab with me?”

Felix hums, stirring the remnants of his coffee with his straw. “Honestly? I’ve never done a collab before. I always worked solo, but then I saw the one you did with Sienna.” He leans back against his chair, a small grin tugging at his lips. “And I just thought… that looks fun.”

A smile tugging at your lips, slightly flustered. “Fun?”

He nods. “Yeah. The way you two work together, the chemistry—it felt natural, not forced. And I could tell you put a lot of effort into it, not just in front of the camera, but in the way everything was presented. It wasn’t just content; it was… artistic.”

His words catch you off guard, and you find yourself lowering your gaze, a hint of warmth creeping up your neck. Still, another question lingers in your mind. You glance at him again, hesitating only for a second before asking, “But why me? There are so many other creators on Lustre—some even more popular than I am. Why choose me?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second to answer. “Because I like you.”

Your breath catches slightly, eyes widening at his direct answer. He seems to realize the weight of his words, quickly raising his hands with a sheepish chuckle. “I mean, I like your content—your artistry, your aesthetic. It’s different from the rest.”

But then, after a short pause, he tilts his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Though… yeah, I guess I also just like you. You’re beautiful—it’s impossible not to like you.”

You feel your heart skip, caught between surprise and something else you can’t quite place. And from the way Felix watches you, as if amused by your reaction, you know he notices it too. As if you weren't flustered enough, he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he watches you with quiet curiosity. “So, what do you think? About collabing with me?”

You let out a small breath, fingers idly tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you think of how to answer. Before you can, Felix speaks again.

“I honestly think this would work,” he says, his voice light but certain. “One, because I like your style—it’s different, and I think our aesthetics could blend well. Two, because I know how to bring out the best in my content partners.” He pauses for a second, a smirk playing on his lips. “And three… because I can already tell you and I have chemistry.”

His confidence is disarming, and you can’t help but smile at his words. He says it so naturally, like it’s a fact rather than a guess.

Still, you take a moment before answering, meeting his gaze. “I only collaborate with people I trust.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods in understanding, his expression softening. “I get that,” he says. “Trust is important in this line of work. I’d probably be the same way if I were you.”

You expect him to push further, but instead, he leans back, completely relaxed. “I just hope you’re not completely closed off to the idea.” His eyes meet yours again, sincere and patient. “Take as much time as you need. And when you’re ready, give me a call.”

The weight in his words lingers between you, an unspoken promise that he won’t rush you into anything and for some reason, that makes it harder to look away.

Being a gentleman that he is, Felix insists on walking you toward your car, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his steps unhurried like he has all the time in the world. The late afternoon sun casts a soft glow on his blond hair, making him look even more ethereal than he already does.

When you reach your car, he turns to you with an easy smile. “I really hope we get to do this collab,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You raise a brow at him, smirking. “No pressure, huh?”

He chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “None at all. Just putting it out there.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you—warm, expectant, and just a little mischievous—that makes your chest feel light. You unlock your car, and before you can reach for the door, Felix beats you to it, pulling it open like a perfect gentleman. “Here,” he gestures, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Allow me.”

You laugh softly but step inside, settling into the driver’s seat. As you adjust your grip on the wheel, Felix leans down, resting his arm on the top of your car, his gaze meeting yours through the open window. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced by something more serious—more intense.

“Whether there'll be a collab or not, please give me a call.” His voice is deeper and lower now, smoother, and for a brief second, it feels like he’s asking for something much more than just a call.

Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel as your heart does a tiny, unexpected flip. And then, just like that, he steps back, flashing you one last, heart-melting smile.

You drive away, glancing once in the rearview mirror to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. By the time you turn the corner, you realize that you’re smiling too.

-

The gallery is alive with murmurs of appreciation, soft footsteps against polished floors, and the occasional clinking of glasses from the refreshment table. Hyunjin should be basking in the compliments, engaging in conversations with professors and fellow artists, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances toward the entrance again, pretending to survey the crowd, but really, he’s just looking for you.

The anticipation coils tight in his chest. He’s not even sure why. Maybe because you promised you’d come. Maybe because you looked at him that way—the way that made him feel like he was someone worth looking at. He shifts his weight, nodding along to a professor’s comment about his brushwork, but his thoughts are elsewhere. You’ll come. You said you would.

Hyunjin excuses himself, turning around on his feet and about to check his phone when he hears your voice.

"Hey."

He turns to the side, and there you are, standing by the entrance, holding a bouquet of flowers. His breath catches for a second—maybe from surprise, maybe from something else—but he quickly recovers, walking toward you.

"You're here," he says, relief evident in his voice.

You flash him a grin and hold out the bouquet. "These are from Sienna. She wanted to congratulate you but couldn’t make it."

Still smiling, he gestures toward the gallery. "Come on, let me give you the grand tour."

As the two of you walk through the exhibition, Hyunjin explains his paintings to you, his voice softer than usual. He doesn’t even realize how closely you’re listening, how intently you’re watching him as he talks. But when he finally meets your gaze, something about the way you’re looking at him makes his heart race.

Just as Hyunjin is about to say something else, a voice cuts in.

"Hyunjin, I didn't know you have a girlfriend."

Hyunjin turns to see Edgar approaching, one of his classmates and a fellow artist in the exhibition. Edgar's gaze flickers between the two of you, curiosity evident in his expression.

"This is not my—" Hyunjin clears his throat and then gestures toward you. "She’s my neighbor and a... friend of mine."

You briefly glance at Hyunjin before offer a polite smile and extend your hand at Edgar. "Nice to meet you."

Edgar takes your hand with an easy grin. "Nice to meet you too. You a fan of Hyunjin’s work?"

You glance at Hyunjin playfully before nodding. "Yeah, you could say that."

Before Edgar can respond, Hyunjin hears his name being called from across the room. His professor waves him over, motioning for him to come quickly. He exhales sharply, hating the timing.

"I have to take care of something," he tells you, regret in his tone. He looks at Edgar. "Hey, can you take over for me? Show her the rest of the exhibition?"

Edgar nods easily. "Yeah, with pleasure."

He looks at you one last time with a gentle smile on his face. "I’ll be back soon, okay?"

You nod with a reassuring smile. "Go, do your thing. I’ll be fine."

Still, as he walks away, Hyunjin can't shake the feeling of guilt for leaving you behind.

His professor had kept him occupied longer than expected, and now that he’s free, his first instinct is to find you. He immediately scans the room, searching for you amidst the crowd.

When his eyes land on you, he stops in his tracks. You’re still with Edgar, standing near one of the paintings, laughing at something he just said. There’s an easygoing warmth in your expression, the kind that makes it obvious you’re enjoying the conversation. Edgar, on the other hand, is leaning slightly toward you, a smug grin on his face like he’s proud of making you laugh.

Hyunjin doesn’t know why it bothers him, but it does. It’s not like you’re his. He has no right to feel like this. And yet, the longer he watches, the stronger the irrational urge becomes—to interrupt, to pull you away, to remind you that you came here for him, not Edgar. Before he can talk himself out of it, he makes his way over.

“Hey,” he says, slipping into the conversation as casually as he can manage. His eyes flicker between you and Edgar, but his focus lingers on you. “Having fun?”

You turn to him with a bright smile. “Yeah, Edgar’s been telling me all kinds of stories about you.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at Edgar, who only smirks in response. “Oh yeah?” Hyunjin crosses his arms. “What exactly have you been saying?”

Edgar chuckles. “Just a few fun facts.” He glances at you with a teasing look. “Your friend here thinks you’re impressive.”

Hyunjin feels his heartbeat pick up at that, but he masks it with a scoff. “Yeah, well, I hope you weren’t exaggerating.”

Edgar waves him off and then turns to you with a grin. "So, what do you say? A drink after this? A little celebration for Hyunjin’s big night?"

You blink in surprise, then glance at Hyunjin, who suddenly looks like he wasn’t expecting this either. A smirk tugs at your lips as you tease, “Oh? Hyunjin never mentioned anything about drinks.”

Edgar crosses his arms together and chuckles. “That’s because I just came up with it. But come on, it’ll be fun.”

You shake your head, smiling politely. "I appreciate the invite, but I think I’ll have to pass this time."

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his posture subtly shifts, like he’s relieved. Taking the opportunity, you turn to him. “Speaking of leaving, I should probably get going.”

His expression falters slightly, just for a second, but he quickly recovers. “Oh… already?”

You nod, offering him a warm smile. “Yeah, but congratulations again. The exhibition is amazing, and I’m really proud of you.”

Something flickers in Hyunjin’s eyes at your words, but before he can say anything, you take a small step back. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nods, and just as you turn to leave, Edgar playfully nudges Hyunjin. “Damn, man. You didn’t even try to convince her to stay.”

Hyunjin ignores him, watching as you disappear into the crowd. And as much as he wishes you had stayed just a little longer, he holds on to your words—letting them replay in his head, over and over again.

-

You take a sip of your iced coffee as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. Most of them are the usual—likes, tips, and messages ranging from sweet to outright explicit but one message catches your attention. The one user with the purple tulips picture on his profile. You open it, your curiosity piqued.

mag.shawn: “I really liked your new photos. The silk dress suits you beautifully, but what suits you best is the smile on your face.”

You pause for a moment, rereading the message. It’s simple, kind, and—like before—different from the usual messages you receive. There’s something almost personal about it, like he actually sees you beyond just the photos. You type out a quick reply.

"Thank you! That’s really sweet of you to say. I’m glad you liked the photos. Hope you’re having a good day, sweet baby!"

Hearing the knocking on your door, you set your phone down and walk to the door to open it. You don't have to check to know that it's Hyunjin. You step aside to let him into your apartment, he walks in without hesitation, setting his bag down near the couch.

“Want to have a drink first?” you offer because he seems like he's just ran from his art school in a rush.

He uses the hair tie he carries around in his wrist to tie his hair into a low ponytail. “Maybe later. We have a lot to do now.”

The two of you don’t waste time, moving around in quiet understanding as you begin rearranging one of the spare rooms to turn it into a proper photo studio. You adjust the lighting, shift furniture, and clear out unnecessary clutter while Hyunjin sets up his camera equipment, occasionally checking the angles and backdrop.

The silence is comfortable, but after a while, you feel the weight of something unsaid pressing on your chest. You take a deep breath and break it.

“Hey…” You glance at Hyunjin, who is adjusting his camera settings. He hums in response, looking up.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay long at your exhibition,” you say softly, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

He straightens up and calmly responds. “It’s alright.” But then, after a beat, he tilts his head and asks, “Why, though?”

You hesitate, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s just… safer that way,” you finally say, your voice quieter. “I don’t want to risk getting recognized by people.” You lower your gaze, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Hyunjin frowns slightly. “Embarrass me how?”

You let out a small, breathy chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “For being... with me. For being associated with what I do.”

He shakes his head, almost scoffing. “I don’t care about all that stuff.”

“Yeah,” You lift your gaze to him and, without thinking, murmur, “But other people do.”

Hyunjin falls silent at that. His expression shifts—like he wants to argue, to tell you that it doesn’t matter what others think. But deep down, you both know that’s not entirely true.

The room stays quiet for a moment before you clear your throat, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I'll get the cake.”

He watches you as you get up from the floor and walk out of the room but the weight of your words lingers between you both.

The concept for today is simple—just you against the clean, white backdrop, playing with food as a prop. The first choice is a small, frosted cake, one that you picked up specifically for this shoot. You sit on the floor with the cake in front of you, dressed in a soft, pastel-colored outfit that contrasts nicely against the backdrop.

Hyunjin lifts his camera, adjusting the focus. “Are you ready?”

You give him a thumbs-up. “I'm ready.”

The second he aims the camera at you, you dip a finger into the frosting, bringing it to your lips with a playful smirk. The camera clicks. You swipe a bit of frosting onto your cheek, pouting dramatically, and Hyunjin chuckles before snapping another shot.

"Try smearing some on your lips,” he suggests, his voice more focused now.

You do as he says, dabbing frosting on your bottom lip before licking it off slowly. The camera clicks again.

“Perfect,” he mutters while keeping his focus on getting good shots.

The shoot continues like this—innocent yet teasing, fun but undeniably intimate. You pretend to feed an imaginary person, tilt your head back with a bite of cake on your tongue, even press a bit of frosting onto your collarbone. Each time, Hyunjin captures the moment with an artist’s precision, his eyes trained on you through the lens.

But at some point, you glance up at him, and for the briefest moment, your eyes meet—not through the camera, but directly. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something that makes your stomach flutter. You quickly look away, dipping your fingers back into the frosting, pretending you didn’t notice the way Hyunjin swallowed hard before lifting the camera again.

As the shoot winds down, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a content sigh. “That was fun,” you say, glancing at the mess you made. There’s frosting smeared on your fingers, your face, on your chest and you’re sure there’s some in your hair too.

He lowers his camera and looks at you, his lips pressing together as if he’s holding back a smile. “Yeah, fun for you,” he mutters. “I have to clean all this up.”

You grin, swiping a bit more frosting onto your cheek just to be annoying. “Well, you’re the photographer. That’s part of your job, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin sighs, shaking his head, but he grabs a cloth and steps closer. “You’re impossible.”

The warmth of his fingers ghosts over your skin as he wipes the icing from your cheek first, his touch careful and lingering longer than necessary. You stay still, watching him through your lashes as he works his way down—your jaw, the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can’t help but tease him.

“You sure this isn’t part of your job description too?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly.

He briefly stops moving, his eyes flicking to yours. There’s something in his gaze—something warm, something restrained. But then he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he moves to clean the frosting from your hair. “And you have to pay me extra for it.”

You laugh softly, letting him continue. But there’s no denying the shift in the air, the tension settling between you both as his fingers linger just a little too long. Even after he wipes most of the frosting with wet wipes, you feel the remnants of sugar still clinging to your skin. "I need a shower," you announce, already heading toward the bathroom. "Order dinner while I'm in there. Get whatever you want."

Hyunjin, now cleaning the mess on the floor, nods absentmindedly. "Got it."

The sound of running water fills the bathroom as you step inside, letting the warmth wash away the sticky remnants of the shoot. The sweet scent of frosting lingers on your skin, but soon it’s replaced by the familiar comfort of your body wash. You’re halfway through rinsing your hair when you faintly hear Hyunjin’s voice outside the door.

"Hey—what do you want to drink?"

You blink through the water running down your face, unable to make out his words clearly. "What?"

"I said—" His voice comes again, a little louder this time, but still muffled by the sound of the shower.

Sighing, you shake your head. "Just come inside, I can't hear you!"

There’s a pause. A long one. Then, the door creaks open hesitantly. "I'm—uh—I'm coming in," He mumbles, clearly uncomfortable.

You smirk to yourself, picturing the way he must be avoiding looking anywhere but straight ahead. "Relax, it's not like you haven't seen me naked before."

He scoffs but doesn't comment. "I was asking what you want to drink," he says stiffly, keeping his gaze locked on the tiled floor as he stands awkwardly by the sink.

Still grinning to yourself, you peek your head out from behind the shower curtain, water dripping down your face. "Just get me iced tea or something," you say casually.

He glances at you for only a second—before his eyes go wide, and he quickly looks away, his ears turning pink. "Okay—iced tea. Got it."

Before you can tease him further, he spins on his heel and nearly stumbles out of the bathroom, shutting the door a little too quickly behind him. Laughing to yourself, you shake your head and return to your shower, amused at how flustered he still gets around you.

-

Steam clings to your skin as you step out of the bathroom, your hair damp and dripping onto the collar of your bathrobe. The scent of warm food fills your apartment, making your stomach growl. You pad barefoot toward the kitchen, finding Hyunjin setting out containers of takeout, his sleeves pushed up as he arranges everything neatly. Without hesitation, you reach over and snatch a crispy fry from the plate.

"Hey!" He glares at you, swatting at your hand too late. "At least get dressed first!"

You grin as you pop the fry into your mouth. "Why? Does it bother you?" you tease, clutching your robe loosely around you.

He huffs, narrowing his eyes. "No. It’s just basic hygiene. Also, your hair is dripping everywhere."

You glance down, noticing a few stray droplets landing on the table. Shrugging, you steal another fry. "Guess I'll have to eat fast before I make a mess, then."

He groans, grabbing a napkin and pressing it into your hand. "Go. Dry off, get dressed, and then you can eat like a normal person."

You roll your eyes but turn on your heel, waving a hand as you walk away. "Ugh, okay, fine. But don't eat all the fries before I get back."

The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, the scent of fried food and warm rice filling the space between you. With your hair still wrapped in towel, you twirl your chopsticks absentmindedly, picking at your food while Hyunjin quietly eats. The atmosphere is comfortable, a peaceful kind of quiet settling between you both—until he suddenly speaks up.

"So…" He pauses, looking down at his plate before glancing up at you. "How did your meeting with Felix go?"

You stop mid-bite, not expecting him to bring it up. "It went fine," you answer, chewing slowly.

He nods, as if contemplating your answer, before continuing, "And what do you think of the guy?"

You shrug, poking at a piece of chicken. "He's nice."

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to say more. When you don’t, he asks, "So, have you decided? Are you going to collab with him?"

You let out a small sigh, setting your chopsticks down. "I don’t know. I mean, he’s great—charming, professional, all that. But…" You hesitate, searching for the right words. "I’m not fully sure about it yet."

He stays quiet, nodding slowly but a while later, his gaze flickers to you. "Why not?"

You purse your lips, unsure of how to explain it. "I guess… I just don’t jump into things like this. I like to trust the person I work with, and trust takes time, you know?"

He hums in response, stabbing a piece of food with his chopsticks. "Yeah. Makes sense."

As you and Hyunjin clean up after dinner, the rhythmic clinking of dishes and running water fills the room. You pass him a plate to dry, your fingers brushing for a fleeting second before you turn back to the sink. You thought that Hyunjin has dropped the conversation until, out of nowhere, he speaks up. "If you're still considering," he starts, voice casual but careful, "then maybe you should do a test shoot with him."

You glance at him, surprised. "A test shoot?"

Hyunjin nods, keeping his eyes on the dish he’s drying. "Yeah. Just to see if you really have the chemistry. That way, you don’t have to commit right away, and it’ll help you decide."

You lean against the counter, thinking. "I never thought about that…"

"It makes sense, right?" He finally looks at you, his expression neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something unreadable. "If it works, great. If not, then you won’t waste your time."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, mulling over his words. He has a point. And yet, something about him bringing it up makes you hesitate. "You think I should do it?"

He nonchalantly shrugs. "It’s just a suggestion."

You study him for a moment, trying to gauge what he's really thinking. But his face gives nothing away. Instead of pressing, you nod slowly, wiping your damp hands on a dish towel. "Maybe I will."

The night continues with the two of you settling onto the couch with cans of drinks in hands, checking the result of today's photoshoot. Your laptop balanced between you, the soft glow of the screen lights up your faces as you scroll through the photos. Some shots capture the playful chaos—the smears of icing on your skin, the mischievous glint in your eyes—while others are more poised, effortlessly seductive in a way that even surprises you.

"You did a great job," you say, nudging Hyunjin lightly with your elbow. "They all look amazing."

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze fixed on the screen. "You made it easy."

A pleased smile tugs at your lips, and as you keep scrolling, a random thought pops into your head. "The cake was delicious by the way. Should stick to that bakery shop." You glance at him. "Which reminds me—what kind do you want for your birthday?"

He freezes for half a second before slowly turning his head to look at you, eyes narrowing. "How do you know when my birthday is?"

You grin sheepishly, caught red-handed. "Uh… I may have accidentally found out when I was at your apartment. Your mail was just sitting there, and I—"

"You went through my mail?" He squints at you, but there’s no real anger in his voice.

"Not on purpose!" you defend yourself, hands up in surrender. "It was just there, and I happened to see it. That’s how I know your birthday is next Friday."

He leans back against the couch, his legs parting apart. "Well, don’t get any ideas. There will be no cake."

You nod dramatically, pressing your lips together in mock seriousness. "No cake. Got it."

But then he narrows his eyes at you again, like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head. "And no gift either."

You gasp and then frown. "No gift? At all?"

"None," he confirms.

You pout, crossing your arms. "How come you don't want anything for your birthday?"

"Because I just don’t," he replies simply, as if that’s enough explanation. "And before you ask, no party either. No surprises, no celebrations, nothing."

You lean back against the couch, tilting your head as you study Hyunjin’s expression. He’s still watching the laptop screen, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

With a playful smirk, you decide to test him. "Okay, no cake, no gift, no party," you repeat. "But what if…" You pause, letting the anticipation build before continuing, "what if I was the gift?"

Hyunjin’s entire body stiffens. His eyes widen slightly, and he finally looks at you, clearly caught off guard. "Huh? What?"

You bite back a laugh at how flustered he looks, his ears already turning red. "I mean, if you won’t accept a present, maybe I could be the present," you tease, tilting your head. "Would you accept that?"

Hyunjin blinks rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to come up with a logical response, but failing miserably.

You scoot a little closer, watching his reaction with amusement. "What’s wrong? You look nervous."

"I’m not," he mutters, but his voice betrays him.

You chuckle. "You’re totally flustered right now."

"I—" Hyunjin abruptly stands up from the couch, nearly knocking over the laptop in his rush. "It’s, uh—getting late. I should go."

You laugh, watching as he practically scrambles to gather his things. "So that’s a no on accepting me as your gift?"

He shoots you a glare, but it’s weak at best, his face still slightly pink. "Goodnight."

With that, he heads straight for the door, leaving you grinning to yourself as you hear it click shut behind him.

-

You sit in your parked car, drumming your fingers lightly on the steering wheel as you wait for Hyunjin to be done with his class. With nothing else to do, you pull out your phone and open Lustre, skimming through notifications until a new message catches your eye.

mag.shawn: "I’m a little nervous today. I’m meeting someone, and I don’t know how it’ll go. But anyway, I just wanted to say I hope you’re having a lovely day."

You smile softly, touched by his honesty. Without thinking too much, you type out a response.

"I’m sure it’ll go well! Just be yourself, and everything will fall into place. Wishing you the best of luck, and hope you have a lovely day too!"

Just as you send the message, a sudden knock on your window makes you jump. You turn to see Edgar grinning at you through the glass. With a sigh, you roll down the window. "Please don't sneak up on people like that."

Edgar chuckles, resting his arms on the top of your car door. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." He tilts his head. "Waiting for Hyunjin?"

"Yeah," you reply, glancing past him as if you might spot Hyunjin approaching.

"Perfect timing, then," Edgar says, leaning in slightly. "Did you know it's his birthday this Friday?"

You nod. "I do, actually."

His eyebrows raise in mild surprise. "Oh? He told you?"

"Not exactly," you admit. "I found out by accident."

Edgar laughs. "Figures. He’s not the type to bring it up." Then, as if suddenly remembering, he adds, "A few of us are taking him out for drinks that night. Just something chill, nothing crazy. You should come."

You blink at the unexpected invitation. "I—"

"It’s at The Blue Moon, around nine," he continues, not giving you a chance to refuse. "No pressure, but I think he’d be happy if you showed up."

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try."

"That’s good enough for me," Edgar says, pushing away from your car just as you spot Hyunjin walking toward you.

Edgar gives you one last wink before stepping away, leaving you with a strange feeling as Hyunjin approaches and slides into the passenger seat.

Hyunjin glances toward Edgar, then at you. "What did he want?"

You start the engine, glancing at him with a small smile. "Nothing much."

Hyunjin tosses his backpack to the backseat of the car before putting the safety belt on. “So, where are we meeting him?”

You turn the car engine on and it roars to life. “It’s at this hotel not far from here,” you answer, showing him the route on the GPS.

-

The elevator dings as you and Hyunjin step into the dimly lit hallway of the hotel, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. Room 716—you stop in front of the door and knock twice.

Within seconds, the door swings open, revealing Felix on the other side. His warm smile is the first thing you notice, followed by the familiar brightness in his honey-brown eyes. His long bleached-blond hair is tied back loosely, a few strands framing his sharp yet inviting features.

"Hey, you made it," he greets, pulling you into a brief but firm hug that smells like vanilla and something subtly musky.

"Of course," you reply, pulling back with a small smile. You turn slightly to gesture to Hyunjin. "And this is Hyunjin—my photographer. He’s the man behind all those amazing photos."

Felix’s eyes flicker to Hyunjin, and he extends a hand. "Nice to finally meet you. Your work is incredible."

Hyunjin shakes his hand but remains quiet, only offering a polite nod. You can tell he’s reserved, but you’re not sure if it’s because he’s just naturally like that or because of the situation.

You clear your throat and turn back to Felix. "So, I just want to make it clear—this is a test shoot. Just to see how well we work together, how the chemistry flows. No pressure."

Felix’s lips curve into a confident smile, his gaze holding yours as he playfully responds, "Oh, I don't feel pressured at all."

His words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary, and you glance at Hyunjin, who remains expressionless, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Something about this moment makes your stomach flutter—but whether it’s excitement or nerves, you can’t quite tell.

The soft click of Hyunjin’s camera echoes through the hotel room as you and Felix stand near the edge of the bed, facing each other under the warm glow of the studio light he set up.

Felix shifts beside you, then pauses, tilting his head. “Is it okay if I touch you?” His voice is gentle, respectful, his dark eyes searching yours for permission.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

With that, Felix lifts his hand, fingertips grazing your wrist before sliding up to your elbow, guiding you subtly closer. The two of you hold the pose, looking into each other’s eyes and he looks at you in a way that makes you feel nervous that you can’t help the way your lips twitch, and after a few seconds, you burst into laughter, flustered.

“Sorry, sorry!” you gasp, covering your mouth as you glance at Hyunjin, who lowers his camera slightly, his expression unreadable.

Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

The photoshoot continues, Felix adjusting his stance, letting his touches remain light and respectful—a hand on your waist, fingers grazing your jaw as if to brush imaginary strands of hair away. Hyunjin keeps clicking, staying quiet as he captures each moment.

Between shots, Felix leans in, his voice just above a whisper. “You have the prettiest smile,” he murmurs.

You blush, biting your lip as you try to hold your pose.

Another click of the camera. “Your skin is so soft.”

You giggle, shaking your head slightly as the warmth in your cheeks deepens. Felix just grins, enjoying your reaction. The camera keeps clicking, capturing every moment—but you can’t help but wonder what’s going through Hyunjin’s mind right now.

“That’s enough for now,” Hyunjin suddenly announces, lowering the camera from his face. His voice is steady, but something in his chest feels tight, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

You turn to look at him, blinking as if pulled from a daze, while Felix exhales a soft hum, tilting his head in thought.

“Actually,” Felix says, still holding onto your waist, “Can we try one more thing?”

Before you can ask, Felix glances down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “How about a kiss?”

-

The camera in his hands acts as a barrier, separating him from the scene unfolding in front of him. But it doesn't stop him from seeing everything—the way Felix holds you so effortlessly, the way you laugh when Felix murmurs something in your ear, the way your body relaxes against his touch.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why he’s noticing these things. He shouldn’t be. But as he adjusts the focus, framing the next shot, he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here—like he’s intruding on something intimate, something that doesn’t need a spectator.

It’s ridiculous. He’s here for work. Nothing else. Still, he feels like a third wheel.

Felix and you—you make sense together. Felix is confident, charming, a natural in front of the camera. He knows how to play up the chemistry, how to draw reactions from you that look effortlessly beautiful through the lens.

Hyunjin, on the other hand—he’s just behind the camera. A quiet observer.

And when Felix suddenly suggests a kiss, the thought cements itself deep in his stomach.

Hyunjin stills and you freeze, eyes widening as you pull back slightly. “What?”

“A kiss,” Felix repeats, like he’s merely suggesting a new camera angle. “Just a light one. I think it would look great in the photos. Plus—” he smirks now, “—it's how we know for sure if we have that chemistry.”

Hyunjin swallows hard, fingers twitching over the shutter button on the camera. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much—the way Felix is looking at you, the casual way he suggests kissing you, as if it’s nothing more than another pose to try.

You, on the other hand, look completely flustered. “I—” You glance at Hyunjin for a fraction of a second before looking back at Felix, hesitating.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just waits. And after a moment of silence, you crack a sheepish laugh and nod.

You and Felix are now sitting on the end of the bed and Hyunjin presses record. The camera’s screen frames the moment perfectly—too perfectly. Felix starts slow, his fingers tucking every stray strand of hair away from your face with a tenderness that makes Hyunjin’s stomach knot. Then, Felix’s hands cradle your jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones.

“You’re comfortable, right?” Felix murmurs, his voice so soft that the mic barely picks it up. He doesn’t move forward just yet, just holds you like he has all the time in the world. “You can stop me whenever, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing.

Felix smiles—gentle, reassuring. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Then, he tilts forward—but not toward your lips. Instead, he kisses the corner of your eye.

Hyunjin remains calm but his grip tightens on the camera. The way you suck in a sharp breath, your lashes fluttering at the unexpected touch—it’s too much to watch through the lens. But before you can react, Felix does it again, placing a kiss on the other eye.

The moment is intimate, more than Hyunjin expected. And yet, his hands don’t lower the camera. And then—before you can process it—Felix finally presses his lips to your slightly parted mouth. It’s gentle at first. Barely there. Just the soft press of his lips against yours, his hands steady on your face as if holding something delicate. Hyunjin feels something crawl up his throat as he keeps his hands steady.

Felix pulls back, searching your gaze. “Can I continue?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted. And then—you nod.

Hyunjin swears he sees the exact moment Felix’s expression changes—from gentle to something else entirely. Because this time, when Felix kisses you again, it’s deeper. More insistent. He watches—forced to watch��as the kiss grows, slow and unhurried, but still more intense with every second.

Felix tilts his head, his fingers slipping down to your neck, pressing you closer. Your hands finally move, fingers clutching at his sleeves.

Hyunjin doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the burning in his chest forces him to exhale and for the first time since picking up a camera, he wishes he wasn’t here. He clears his throat. Loud enough. Sharp enough. Enough to cut through whatever moment was unfolding between you and Felix.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice flat, carefully void of emotion. He lowers the camera, stopping the recording. “I got what we needed.”

But Felix—he doesn’t let go. Instead, he keeps his hands steady on you, his thumbs absently brushing the skin of your jaw. His gaze lingers on your lips, like he’s not ready to pull away just yet. Then, finally, a slow grin spreads across his face.

“You’re a good kisser,” he muses, his voice low, filled with something teasing but also… something else.

It takes you a second to react, like you’re only just registering what happened. Your eyes widen and warmth spreads across your face.

Felix chuckles at your flustered expression, his hands finally releasing you. “You okay?” he asks, amusement lacing his tone.

Despite still dazed, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours, you nod. You scoot to the edge of the bed, walking toward Hyunjin.

“Can I take a quick look on the photos?”

The three of you sit together on the sofa, scrolling through the shots and the video, the room quiet except for the occasional click of Hyunjin’s camera as he reviews the footage.

Felix leans in slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. Then, softly, just for you to hear, he mutters, “Told you. We have chemistry.”

You glance at him, catching the smirk playing on his lips. It’s confident—almost knowing. You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t deny it.

Felix leans back, stretching. “So, how about I treat you both dinner? My way of saying thanks.”

You smile but shake your head. “I appreciate it, but we should get going.”

Felix pouts dramatically. “Not even a quick bite?”

“I’ll take a rain check,” you say. “Besides, you have another shoot, right?”

Felix sighs, pretending to be put out, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Work never stops.”

You stand, and Felix follows suit. Before you leave, he pulls you into a quick, warm hug, his arms squeezing lightly around your shoulders.

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he murmurs.

You smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Felix tugs at your elbow and says, “Any kind of call.”

You smile as you step back, and as you turn toward the door, Hyunjin—who had remained noticeably quiet—only gives Felix a brief, wordless nod before heading out.

During the car ride home, Hyunjin keeps his eyes on the road ahead, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances at you briefly before saying, “I have to admit, I was a little surprised you turned down the dinner.”

You smirk, keeping your eyes on the road. “Oh? Are you disappointed?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No. Just… surprised.”

“Well, if you want, I can buy you dinner instead,” you offer, sparing him a quick glance. “But I can’t tonight. I have somewhere to be.”

That piques his curiosity. He tilts his head slightly. “Where?”

You only smile mysteriously. “That’s a secret.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, watching as you pull up in front of the apartment building. Before he can ask again, you unlock the doors, silently telling him to get out. He hesitates for a second, still wondering where you’re going, but he knows you won’t tell him even if he asks. With a sigh, he steps out of the car and carries his backpack in hand.

“See you later,” you playfully say to him just before he shuts the car door

As you drive away, Hyunjin stands there, hands in his pockets, watching your car disappear down the street and he can’t help but wonder.

-

Hyunjin has never liked celebrating his birthday. It’s not that he hates it—it’s just another day to him, one that he doesn’t see the need to make a big deal out of. Growing up, birthdays were quiet affairs, just a simple meal with his family, sometimes a cake if his mom had the time. Now that he’s older, he prefers to let the day pass without much attention. No parties, no gifts, no unnecessary fuss.

So when his class ends and he slings his bag over his shoulder, he’s already planning a quiet evening—maybe sketching, maybe watching something mindless until he falls asleep.

But as soon as he turns the corner, Edgar is waiting for him, grinning like he’s up to something. “There you are! Come on, we’re heading out.”

Hyunjin tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack. “Heading where?”

Before he can take a step back, Edgar throws an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the exit. Two more of their friends appear, flanking him on either side like bodyguards.

“The bar, of course!” one of them chimes in.

Hyunjin groans, knowing well what Edgar planned for him. “I didn’t say I was going—”

“Too bad,” Edgar cuts him off. “We’re celebrating your birthday, and you don’t get a say in it.”

Hyunjin sighs, already regretting not taking a different route out of the building. “You guys planned this?”

“Obviously,” Edgar says, rolling his eyes. “Did you really think we’d let your birthday pass without doing anything?”

That’s exactly what Hyunjin had hoped for. But seeing the determined looks on his friends’ faces, he knows there’s no escaping this. “Fine,” he mutters. “One drink.”

Edgar smirks. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.”

With that, they drag him out of the building, and Hyunjin resigns himself to the fact that his quiet night is officially ruined.

-

The second you step into the bar, you weave through the crowd, scanning the room until your eyes land on Hyunjin. He’s standing by the bar, drinks in both hands, his expression neutral as he waits for the bartender to return with the rest of the order.

A smile tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Without a second thought, you close the distance between you and, just as he turns slightly, you throw your arms around him from behind. “Got you!”

Hyunjin tenses for half a second, startled, and nearly spills the drinks in his hands. You hear a sharp inhale, a quiet grunt of protest, but before he can say anything, you take full advantage of the fact that his hands are full. Leaning in, you press a quick, sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday!” You cheerfully whisper into his ear and you can feel his whole body stiffens in reaction.

You pull back just enough to look at him, grinning as you meet his eyes. He stares at you, his lips slightly parted, clearly caught off guard. The dim lighting of the bar does nothing to hide the way his ears redden.

Hyunjin shifts the drinks in his hands and glances at you, still looking slightly flustered from the surprise hug and kiss. “Why are you here?” he asks, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Before you can answer, he exhales sharply and mutters, “Wait. Let me guess—Edgar?”

You grin and nod, confirming his guess. Right on cue, Edgar appears beside the two of you, a wide smile on his face as he claps Hyunjin on the back before turning his attention to you. “You made it! I knew you wouldn’t miss it.”

You chuckle. “I wouldn't miss a little fun.”

“Now, what are you drinking?” Edgar gestures towards the bar. “First round’s on me.”

Before you can reply, you shoot Hyunjin a playful look. “See? Edgar’s offering me a drink. Meanwhile, the birthday boy didn’t even ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, rolling his eyes as he finally sets the drinks down on the table nearby. “You showed unannounced and ambushed me. You barely gave me a chance.”

You scoff and dramatically roll your eyes at Hyunjin. “Excuses.”

Edgar laughs. “Alright, alright, let me get you something. What’s your poison?”

The bar is alive with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone in high spirits as they celebrate Hyunjin’s birthday. The moment someone starts singing the birthday song, the rest of the group drunkenly joins in, their voices off-key and words slurred from all the alcohol.

Hyunjin groans, lifting a hand. “God! Please, shut up already.” His protest only makes them sing louder, and you laugh as you watch him shake his head in defeat.

Once the song ends with a chaotic cheer, the night continues with games, and somehow, you and Hyunjin end up locked in an intense match of darts. The two of you stand side by side, taking turns as the others watch and place bets on who will win.

“You’re going down,” you tease, lining up your shot before releasing the dart. It lands close to the bullseye, and you turn to Hyunjin with a smug smile.

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, picking up his dart. “We’ll see about that.”

He lines up his shot, eyes locked on the dartboard with unwavering focus. His fingers grip the dart, his stance firm as he calculates the perfect angle.

Smirking to yourself, you step closer, just enough to lean in near his ear. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you blow a soft puff of air against his skin.

Hyunjin instantly flinches, his body jerking as a shudder runs through him. “What the—?!” His grip on the dart slips, and it flies off-course, landing embarrassingly far from the bullseye.

You burst into laughter, covering your mouth as you watch him slowly turn to glare at you.

“That was sabotage,” he mutters, jaw tightening as he runs a hand through his hair.

Before he can even think about payback, your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling your attention away. You look at it to check caller ID. “I need to take this,” you say, stepping back.

Hyunjin watches you go, still looking slightly flustered, a dart in hand, but his eyes linger on you for a moment before he finally turns back to the game.

-

Stepping out of the bar, you take a deep breath of the cool night air. The muffled sounds of laughter and music fade as you slip into the quieter back alley, away from the chaos inside. You glance at your phone screen before swiping to answer.

"Finally," Felix sighs dramatically on the other end. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

You smirk, leaning against the brick wall. "And what if I was?"

"Then I'd have no choice but to call you every hour until you gave in," he teases, his voice warm and playful.

You roll your eyes. "You sound desperate."

"Of course, I’m desperate," he admits easily. "You still haven’t called me back. A lesser man would take the hint, but not me."

"You’re persistent," you muse.

"And charming," he adds smoothly. "And funny. And—"

"Annoying?" you finish for him.

Felix gasps in mock offense. "I was going to say irresistible, but sure, let’s go with annoying."

You chuckle. "Did you even call to talk about the collab at all?"

Felix hums. "Nope. I called because I wanted to."

Your stomach flutters slightly at his honesty, but you keep your voice light. "How bold of you."

"Always." He pauses, then asks, "So, when can I see you again?"

"As a good girl, I have to refuse the first time," you say teasingly. "You have to ask me again in two days."

Felix groans. "Two days? That’s cruel."

"You’ll live," you reply with a smirk.

"Fine," he grumbles. "But can I at least call you tomorrow?"

You pretend to consider. "You can… but I can’t promise you that I’ll pick it up."

Felix lets out a dramatic sigh. "Playing hard to get. I see how it is."

You grin. "Goodnight, Felix."

"Sweet dreams, beautiful," he replies smoothly before the call ends.

Your heart is still racing as you turn back toward the bar’s entrance, shaking off the uneasy feeling that Felix’s call had left behind.

Just as you’re about to step inside, you nearly bump into Edgar. The smell of alcohol clings to him, and his smile is loose, his movements sluggish. "There you are," he says, his voice slightly slurred. "I was looking for you."

You force a small smile. "I just stepped out to take a phone call." You move to walk past him, but before you can, he grabs your wrist.

"Stay with me for a bit," he says.

Your shoulders stiffen. He’s drunk—you can see it in his unfocused eyes. Keeping your distance, you shake your head. "I'd better go back inside."

Edgar frowns. "Hey, come on, just stay with me for a minute."

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off. "I don’t want to make Hyunjin waits."

But then, before you can step back, Edgar’s grip tightens, and he pulls you closer. You freeze. "Edgar, please let go," you say firmly, trying to pull away.

Instead, he pulls you in even tighter, his face dangerously close to yours. "Come on, why are you so shy?" he chuckles.

You twist in his grip, but he only holds you tighter. Your stomach churns with unease. "You’re drunk," you tell him, keeping your voice as calm as possible. "Please, let me go."

Edgar only smirks. "Just one kiss."

You shove him—hard. He stumbles back, his back hitting the stacked crates of empty beer bottles. For a second, you think it’s over, but then he looks at you, his expression darkening. "How much?"

Your brows knotted. "What?"

Edgar tilts his head. "How much should I pay you for a kiss?"

Disgust and disbelief surge through you. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. I know who you are." His voice drops lower, more sinister. "So how much to fuck you?"

Your body goes rigid, the word alone making your skin crawl. "You're disgusting."

Before you can move, Edgar lunges toward you. Your back slams against the brick wall as he pins you there, his hands gripping your arms. Panic flares in your chest. You struggle, trying to push him off, but he’s stronger than you expected. "Get off me!"

And then, suddenly—The back door flies open with a loud bang.

"Get the fuck off her!"

Hyunjin’s voice is sharp, furious. He’s standing in the doorway, his whole body tense, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burn with anger as he takes in the scene before him—Edgar pinning you against the wall, your expression twisted in fear.

Edgar only scoffs, barely glancing at Hyunjin. "Relax, man—"

Before he can finish, Hyunjin strides forward and roughly grabs him by the shoulders, yanking him away from you and shoving him backward. Edgar stumbles, cursing.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate—he turns to you, his expression shifting. He reaches out, his hand grasping yours, pulling you up and steadying you. His touch is gentle despite the rage in his eyes.

Then Edgar laughs, low and taunting. "Why are you friends with a whore like her?"

The words hit like a slap and it makes something in Hyunjin snaps. He lunges at Edgar, landing a hard punch straight to his face. Edgar barely has time to process it before Hyunjin punches him again—once, twice. Edgar collapses onto the ground, but Hyunjin doesn’t stop. He gets down, grabbing Edgar by the collar, and raises his fist again.

"Hyunjin!" you cry, rushing forward.

Hyunjin is still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. His fists remain clenched, his knuckles already turning red from the force of his punches. Edgar groans on the ground, a hand pressed to his bleeding nose, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem satisfied yet. His body is still tense, ready to throw another punch.

Without thinking, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, holding him back. "Hyunjin," you plead, your voice quiet but urgent. "Please stop."

His whole body is trembling, heat radiating off him, but at your touch, his breathing hitches. He doesn’t move right away, as if still caught in the grip of his anger.

You tighten your hold, pressing your cheek against his back. "Let’s just go," you murmur.

Hyunjin’s fists slowly loosen. His breath is still uneven, but the tension in his body begins to ease. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is Edgar’s groaning and the distant noise of the bar inside. Then, finally, Hyunjin lets out a slow, shaky breath and nods.

You release him, stepping back just enough to see his face. His jaw is tight, his eyes still burning with anger, but he’s calming down. He turns away from Edgar without another glance. You take his hand—gently, reassuringly—and lead him away.

-

Hyunjin sits on the couch, his hand resting in yours as you carefully dab at his bruised knuckles with a damp cloth. His skin is raw, swollen, and angry-looking, but he barely flinches. Instead, he watches you. The way your brows knit together in concentration, the way your lips press into a tight line, the way your hands—gentle yet firm—move with such care.

“You shouldn’t have fought him,” you murmur, your voice laced with both scolding and concern. “What if you seriously hurt your hand? What if you couldn’t paint anymore?”

Hyunjin has been trying to hold himself together, trying to push down the emotions still swirling inside him, but hearing you go on and on about him—worrying about him instead of yourself—something inside him snaps.

"Why do you keep worrying about me?" he suddenly bursts out, his voice sharp. “You should worry about yourself!”

He immediately regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. He watches as your lips part slightly, your breath hitching, and then—your eyes get red. His heart clenches.

Shit.

He inhales, forcing himself to calm down before his voice softens. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze wavers as you stare at him. For a second, it seems like you’re trying to hold it together, but then, barely above a whisper, you shake your head. "Honestly, no," you admit as tears spill from your eyes, "I'm not okay."

He reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist—instead, you bury yourself against him, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break. He holds you tight. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "I’ve got you."

The two of you stay like that with Hyunjin holding you close as if he tries to absorb part of you sadness. He doesn’t let go even as your sobs quiet, even as your breathing evens out, he keeps holding you, his arms wrapped securely around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip. His hand moves gently over your hair, smoothing it down, while his other rubs slow circles against your back. He doesn’t say anything—he just lets you cry, lets you release everything you’ve been holding in.

Minutes pass like this, the silence filled only by your uneven breaths. Then, finally, you stir against him. You pull back just enough to look at him, your face still wet with tears, eyes glassy and tired. Hyunjin meets your gaze, his heart aching at the vulnerability written all over your face.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" you ask, your voice small, fragile.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate as he nods. "Of course," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, but you manage a tiny, grateful smile.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "Come on," he murmurs, guiding you gently toward your bedroom. "Let’s get you to bed."

You and Hyunjin lie side by side on your bed, neither of you saying anything at first. Just breathing, just existing in the same space. Then, after a while, you break the silence.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He turns his head slightly, though he can barely make out your face in the dim light. "For what?"

"For… causing what happened."

At that, Hyunjin tenses. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of the city outside. Then, finally, he exhales.

"Why are you apologizing for getting assaulted?" His voice is quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like he’s trying to hold back his frustration. "That wasn’t your fault."

You don’t say anything, just stare up at the ceiling.

"If anything, what happened only showed me what kind of person Edgar really is," he continues. "And I don’t want to be friends with someone like that."

Silence settles between you again. Then, after a long pause, you shift closer to him. He feels the mattress dip under your weight, feels the warmth of your body inching toward him. When he looks over, he catches the faint gleam of your eyes in the dark, watching him.

Then, softly, you whisper his name. "Hyunjin."

He hums in acknowledgment. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," you say, your voice barely more than a breath.

Hyunjin swallows. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods, even though you probably can’t see it. Another stretch of silence follows, before you whisper again, "Goodnight."

He watches as your breathing evens out, your body relaxing as sleep slowly takes over. He tells himself he’ll leave once you’re asleep. He should go. He should get up, go back to his own apartment, and try to put everything that happened tonight behind him. But he doesn’t move. He stays.

-

Hyunjin wakes up to the unfamiliar weight of a blanket draped over him and the soft glow of morning light kissing his skin. His mind is slow to catch up, disoriented by the unfamiliar scent of the sheets and the way the bed feels different from his own. Then it hits him—he’s in your apartment. His eyes snap open fully, and he turns his head toward the space beside him, only to find it empty. The warmth lingering on the sheets tells him you must have been there not too long ago.

Hyunjin sits up, running a hand through his messy hair as he blinks away the remnants of sleep. His body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the events of last night. Still, he forces himself to get up, his movements sluggish as he fumbles out of bed.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. He steps out of your bedroom, his bare feet padding against the floor as he looks around. His gaze sweeps over the small living space, searching for you. For a second, a strange unease creeps up his spine—until he finally spots you.

You’re perched on the window sill, one knee pulled up to your chest, a steaming mug of coffee resting in your hands. You look lost in thought, your gaze fixed outside, watching the world slowly wake up.

He lingers in the doorway, unsure if he should say something or if he should just leave quietly. But then, as if sensing his presence, you slowly turn your head to the side.

Your eyes meet his, and then, just like that, you smile—soft and warm, like the morning itself. "Good morning," you greet, your voice still laced with sleep.

Hyunjin debating whether he should stay or make up an excuse to leave. But before he can make a decision, you tilt your head toward the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, taking another sip of your coffee.

He shakes his head almost immediately. “I should probably go—”

Before he can finish, you slide off the window sill, setting your mug down on the counter. “At least have some breakfast first.”

Hyunjin hesitates. He’s not really in the mood to eat, but before he can refuse, you’re already walking toward him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder as you steer him toward the dining table.

“Sit,” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He exhales through his nose but doesn’t fight it, dropping himself onto the chair. His fingers drum idly against the tabletop as he watches you move around the kitchen.

A few moments later, you place a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Here. This should help wake you up.”

He glances at you, then at the cup. He hesitates for a second before finally wrapping his fingers around it, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He takes a slow sip, the bitterness grounding him a little.

You smile in satisfaction. “Good. Now sit tight while I make breakfast.”

Hyunjin hadn’t planned to stay, but now, with a warm meal in front of him and the air feeling oddly peaceful, he finds himself grateful that you insisted. As he takes the last bite of his toast, he feels your gaze on him. He glances up and catches you staring, your expression unreadable. His brow lifts slightly.

“What?” he asks, setting his fork down.

You hesitate, like you’re debating something internally, before finally reaching for something on the chair next to you. Hyunjin watches as you pick up a small, neatly wrapped package and place it on the table between you. His eyes flicker to the gift, then back to you.

“I didn’t get the chance to give this to you last night,” you explain, sliding it toward him.

“You got me a gift?” His voice comes out more hesitant than he intended.

Before he can say anything else, you quickly add, “I didn’t spend much money on it or anything. I made it myself.”

That catches his attention. His fingers twitch against his coffee cup as he stares at the package. He hesitates to reach for it, unsure if he deserves something so thoughtful. Seeing his reluctance, you gently nudge it closer. “Go on. Open it.”

He swallows, then carefully picks it up and begins unwrapping it. His fingers move slowly, peeling back the wrapping until he uncovers a leather-bound case. He unfolds it, his curiosity piqued when he sees the compartments inside. It takes him a moment to process—until realization dawns on him. It’s a paintbrush case. He runs his fingers over the stitching, taking in the effort that went into it.

Before he can say anything, you quickly interject, “I know it’s not perfect—”

“I like it,” He cuts you off, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His eyes meet yours, sincere and unguarded. “Thank you.”

Hyunjin barely has any words left to say after that. He just sits there, running his fingers over the smooth leather of the paintbrush case, admiring the craftsmanship and the effort you put into it. Every stitch, every fold—it’s clear that you made this with him in mind. He doesn’t know how to express what he’s feeling, so instead, he keeps his gaze on the gift, hoping you understand his silence for what it is: gratitude.

A smile slowly blooms on your face at his words, and something warm unfurls in his chest at the sight. Then, you break the quiet, your voice gentle but casual. “And don’t forget that we have that shoot tomorrow.”

He looks up at you, your expression easy and composed, as if nothing had happened the night before. His brows furrow slightly. “Shouldn’t you be… slowing down and maybe take a break?”

You shake your head and absentmindedly stabbing pieces of scrambled egg with your fork. “Nah. Making content takes my mind off things.”

Hyunjin watches you for a moment, studying the way you say it so lightly, like you’re brushing everything off as if last night didn’t shake you to your core. He wants to say something—maybe push you to take a break, to take care of yourself—but he can tell you don’t want to talk about it. He still doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but if this is what you want, he won’t argue. So instead, he just nods. “Alright.”

-

The air still humming with the energy of the shoot as you lie on your stomach on the thin mattress, your bare legs lazily swinging behind you as you scroll through Lustre notifications. The sheets beneath you are slightly rumpled from all the movement earlier.

Hyunjin is across the room, busy checking the result of the shoot. You let yourself get lost in your notifications, tapping through comments and messages until one catches your eye.

mag.shawn: I really liked your new set. You look beautiful as always. But I think what I love the most is your smile. Whenever I see it, it makes me wish for you to always be happy. That way, I get to see you smile every day.

There's something about his message feels different from the usual compliments you receive—more genuine, maybe. Less about desire and more about… you.

You: That’s really sweet. Thank you for your message. I appreciate it.

You hit send and glance up, only to find Hyunjin standing by the tripod, watching you with an unreadable expression. You don’t know how long he’s been looking.

“What?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand.

He shakes his head, turning away to grab his jacket. “Nothing.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head at him, “Dinner?”

“Sure, I'll order,” he calmly responds, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and begins tapping on it.

“And how about we watch a movie after?” you ask out of a whim.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone to look at you and casually says, “Sure.”

The soft glow of the living room lamps mixes with the flickering light from the movie playing on the screen, creating a cozy atmosphere. Hyunjin sits on the sofa, his plate resting on his lap as he absentmindedly takes small bites of his cake. His plan had been simple—stay a little longer to keep you company, maybe distract you for a while. But somewhere between the hearty dinner, and now, sitting here in the warmth of your apartment with you beside him, he realizes something he hadn’t expected. He’s enjoying himself.

It’s not just the food or the movie, though both are nice. It’s the easy, unspoken comfort of the moment. The way you’re curled up next to him, completely immersed in the film, your spoon slowly scraping against the plate as you savor each bite. The occasional hum of satisfaction you make. The way he feels… at ease. He had meant to leave. He always does after the shoots. But now, he isn’t in a hurry.

You suddenly nudge him with your elbow, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It's good, right?” you motion toward his plate.

He glances down at the half-eaten slice of cake before looking back at you. A small smirk tugs at his lips. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Then your phone rings, shattering the comfortable silence. You don’t hesitate to pick it up, casually bringing it to your ear as if you’ve been expecting the call. At first, he doesn’t think much of it, keeping his focus on the movie, but then he can't help but catches glimpses of the conversation.

Your voice, soft and teasing, the slight lilt in your tone as you speak. A light chuckle here, a playful hum there. It doesn’t take much for him to piece together the kind of conversation you’re having.

He doesn’t want to care. He really doesn’t. So he keeps his eyes on the screen. By the time you finally hang up and set your phone aside, he barely lasts a second before blurting out, “Who was that?”

You glance at him, completely unbothered. “Felix.”

He keeps his expression neutral as he asks, “What did he want?”

“He asked if I’ve decided about the collab yet,” you say, stretching your arms above your head before settling back against the pillows.

Hyunjin hesitates before asking, “And… do you want to do it?”

“I think it’s a good opportunity to start something new.”

He frowns. “After what happened?”

You sigh, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “I know,” you meekly admit.

“Then do you have to do it?”

“Not necessarily,” you say, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t just keep doing the same content and expect a different result.”

He exhales through his nose, still uneasy. “Do you trust him enough to do this with him?”

A small smile plays on your lips as you tilt your head. “The only man I trust to do this with is you.”

And then, before he can even process that, you add, “But since you obviously don’t want to, that means I don't exactly have any options.”

“Let’s do it.” The words slip out of him before he can stop them.

You freeze for a second. “What?”

He swallows, his grip tightening around his plate. “Do it with me.”

You stare at him for a second before laughing, shaking your head as if he just told the funniest joke. "Yeah, right," you scoff, waving a hand dismissively.

But Hyunjin doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even crack a smile. His expression remains serious, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your laughter waver. “I mean it,” he says, setting his plate down. “I want to do it.”

You arch a brow, still unconvinced. “You? Hyunjin, are you actually serious?”

“Yes,” he insists. “If you want, we can do it now.”

That only makes you laugh harder. “Oh my God, stop,” you say, pressing a hand against your forehead. “This is funny, okay, you've got me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of offense crossing his features. His brows pull together as he watches you laugh at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you chuckle, wiping at your eyes. “You saying all that with a straight face.”

He exhales sharply. “I don’t see what’s so funny about it.”

You sigh, finally regaining your composure, and shake your head with a small smile. “Even if you want to do it, we can’t just jump into it immediately.”

“Why not?” he challenges, tilting his head.

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbow on your knee. “Because,” you say, meeting his gaze, “there’s something else you have to do first.”

-

You remember, almost absentmindedly, that your friend’s wedding is this weekend. The realization comes as you sip your morning coffee, scrolling through your phone. A few mutual friends have posted about their excitement—outfit choices, travel plans, well wishes.

That’s when you glance toward the kitchen counter and spot the wedding invitation, half-buried beneath a pile of unopened mail. You set your mug down and pick it up, running your fingers over the elegant gold lettering. The date is clear. It’s happening in just a few days.

But instead of excitement, a heavy feeling settles in your chest. The memory of their engagement party resurfaces, uninvited. The way the night had ended for you. The way you had driven home with a lump in your throat, gripping the wheel too tightly. The way you had collapsed onto your bed, drowning in emotions you couldn’t quite name. You exhale sharply and set the invitation down. You already know your answer. You’re not going.

Turning away, you head toward your closet, pulling out the dress you had bought specifically for the occasion. It’s still in its garment bag, tags still attached—a waste, really. You take it out, letting the fabric slip between your fingers, admiring it for a moment before shaking your head. There’s no point in keeping it now.

Grabbing your phone, you check the return policy. Still eligible. Good. You drape the dress over your arm, grab your keys, and head for the door.

The store is far from crowded when you arrive. You step inside, the dress slung over your shoulder, and make your way straight to the customer service counter. A staff member greets you with a polite smile, and you return it as you place the garment bag onto the counter. “I’d like to return this,” you say, unzipping the bag to reveal the dress inside.

She nods and begins the process, asking for your receipt. As you dig through your bag, you hear footsteps approaching the counter beside you. Then, a familiar voice. “Uh—same here, actually.”

You freeze for a second before turning your head to the side. And there he is—Felix, standing next to you, looking just as surprised to see you. He’s holding a neatly folded tie, still in its box. His brows raise. “What are you doing here?”

You gesture toward the dress on the counter. “Returning this. You?”

A small laugh escapes him. “Returning this,” he says, lifting the tie slightly.

Before you can say anything else, the staff member turns her attention back to you. “May I know what’s the reason for the return?”

You hesitate, not exactly in the mood to explain the real reason behind it. Instead, you go for the easy answer. “I... don’t really like the cut.”

The staff nods, then looks at Felix. “And how about you?”

Felix grins, eyes glinting with mischief as he shrugs. “Yeah, same. Don’t really like the cut.”

It takes a second for the words to settle in before you both burst into laughter. The staff watches, clearly amused but keeping professional as she processes the returns. You shake your head, still chuckling, as Felix leans slightly against the counter. “Guess we both had second thoughts,” he muses, still grinning.

You and Felix found a cozy café not far from the store, the two of you sit by the window, your drinks in hand, watching people pass by outside.

Felix stirs his iced coffee lazily, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “You know,” he starts, “I’ve been holding myself back from calling you again.”

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your drink. “Oh? Now I can't help but think that maybe returning your tie was just an excuse to see me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Damn, you caught me.” Then, with a small sigh, he leans back in his chair, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “But for real, my mom’s been pushing me to go to these job interviews. That’s actually why she got me the tie.”

You tilt your head. “Job interviews? For what?”

“Office jobs. Boring ones,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The kind where you sit at a desk all day and pretend to care about spreadsheets and meetings.” He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I know she means well, but it’s just not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “So, you didn’t even go?”

“Nah,” he admits, grinning unapologetically before adorablg scrunches his nose. “I told her I’d think about it, but I don’t really want to. I like what I do. I don’t care what people think about it. It makes me money, I enjoy it, and that’s enough for me.”

Hearing that, you feel a flicker of understanding settle in your chest. You know exactly what he means. “Yeah,” you murmur, tapping your fingers against your cup. “I get that.”

Felix props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you. "And how about you? Why’d you really return the dress?" he asks casually before taking another sip of his coffee.

You shrug, keeping your tone light. "Didn’t like the color."

He hums, unconvinced. "All colors suit you. Please find a better answer. "

You roll your eyes at him but let out a small laugh. He sees right through you. There’s no point in dodging the question, so you sigh, setting your cup down. "Fine," you admit. "It’s for a wedding this weekend… my friend's wedding."

Felix nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

"I was supposed to go," you say, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "But I think I'd better not."

His expression shifts slightly, more attentive now. "Why?"

You exhale, looking out the café window for a moment. "I went to their engagement part and it wasn’t exactly a fun experience for me," you say with a wry smile. "People whispering, looking at me like I don’t belong there, some even making comments loud enough for me to hear. I just…" You shake your head. "I don’t want to deal with that again. I don’t want to cause any inconvenience at their wedding."

Felix frowns as he absentmindedly stirring his iced coffee with the straw. "Inconvenience?"

You nod, finger fiddling with the handle of your coffee mug. "It’s their special day. The last thing they need is people gossiping about me in the background."

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, leaning back in his chair. "That’s bullshit," he says, blunt as ever. "If your friend invited you, it means they want you there. You shouldn’t have to miss out on something just because some people don’t know how to mind their own business."

A part of you knows he’s right, but another part still hesitates. You give him a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "It’s easier this way."

Felix studies you for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "Easier, maybe. But is it what you really want?"

Hearing no answers from you, he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his warm brown eyes locked onto yours with an almost mischievous glint. "I think you should go," he says firmly. "Screw those people. It’s your friend’s wedding, not theirs."

You exhale, shaking your head. "Felix—"

"I’m serious," he cuts in. "And if you don’t want to go alone, then I’ll go with you."

That makes you pause and then snort in disbelief. "You’d do that?"

"Of course. I’ll be your date. Your supporter. Your personal hype man. Whatever you need." He gestures at himself dramatically. "I’ll make sure no one says a damn thing to you. And if they do, I’ll just blind them with my dazzling presence."

You let out a soft laugh, but something about the way he’s looking at you—so eager to help, so understanding—makes your chest feel warm. Felix is just that kind of person. Confident, carefree, and unapologetic about who he is. And that confidence? It’s infectious.

You find yourself nodding before you even realize it. "Okay," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I’ll take you as my date."

Felix beams at that until you add, "But," you tilt your head playfully, "I get to pick the tie."

His grin only widens. "Fine. But in that case, I get to help you pick the dress."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Deal."

He raises his coffee cup. "To proving people wrong and looking damn good while doing it."

You clink your cup against his with a quiet chuckle, a strange but pleasant feeling settling in your chest. Maybe this wedding won’t be so bad after all.

-

Lately, there’s been one message you always expect—one you’ve started looking forward to more than you’d admit. You take a slow sip of your smoothie, the cool sweetness spreading across your tongue as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. And, as expected, there it is.

mag.shawn: I can’t wait for your new post. But what I look forward to the most is seeing your beautiful face—it always brightens up my days.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you read it. You type out a quick reply, letting the warmth of his words settle over you.

You: That’s so sweet of you to say. I’ll do my best to keep brightening your days then ❤️

Just as you’re about to take another sip of your smoothie, a sudden knock echoes through your apartment. You stare at the door for a second longer before unlocking it and pulling it open.

Hyunjin stands there, his long dark hair slightly disheveled as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. One hand grips the strap of his bag, the other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. His gaze flickers to yours, then away, before he clears his throat. "Hey," he says. "Can I come in?"

You don’t say anything, just step aside and open the door wider. He takes it as an invitation and walks in, dropping his bag near the couch. Without a word, you walk to the fridge, grab a can of drink, and hand it to him. He takes it with a quiet thanks, cracking it open but not taking a sip yet. Instead, he glances at you, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

"Can I use your laptop?" he asks. "I need to check something."

You raise a brow but nod, grabbing your laptop from the coffee table and passing it to him. As he opens it and starts typing, you settle beside him on the couch, bringing your smoothie to your lips.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the soft clicks of the keyboard and the occasional sip of your drink. You don’t press him for details, simply letting him do whatever he needs to do. Then, after a few minutes, he exhales through his nose and turns the screen toward you.

You glance at him before looking down at the laptop. The moment your eyes land on the screen, your breath catches. Displayed in clear text is the result of his STIs test. Negative.

The confirmation settles something deep in your chest. You had asked him to do this before the two of you could make content together, and now here it is—the proof that he actually went through with it. Your gaze lifts back to his, and for the first time since he arrived, Hyunjin looks directly at you. His expression is unreadable, but his fingers drum against the side of the can in his hand, a telltale sign of his nerves.

“Well?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Well,” you echo, taking another sip of your smoothie, swallowing slowly before answering.

A while later, you set your smoothie down on the table, eyes still locked on Hyunjin as you tilt your head slightly. "I just have to ask you one more time. Are you sure you really want to do this?"

"Yeah," he answers without a beat.

His answer is immediate, but you don’t let it slide that easily. You lean back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other as you study him. "You know there’s no turning back once you do, right?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You keep saying that like I haven’t already thought about it."

"Have you, though?" You arch a brow, unconvinced. "Because I’m not just talking about the content itself. I’m talking about everything that comes with it. The comments, the assumptions people will make about you, the way this could change things—"

"I don’t really care." His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A certainty that makes your stomach twist.

You watch him for a moment, searching for any hint of doubt in his expression, but there’s none. He holds your gaze, unwavering, and it’s only then that you realize—he’s already made up his mind. Still, you hesitate. "...Why?"

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair before leaning back against the couch. "Because I want to help you." He pauses, looking away for a second before glancing back at you. "And maybe I just want to do it with you."

That last part makes your heart skip a beat, but you push past it, keeping your voice light. "You say that like you don’t have better options."

Hyunjin scoffs as he rubs his lower lip with his finger. "You say that like I care about other options."

You stare at him, lips pressing together. He stares back, waiting. Then, finally, you sigh and shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Okay, let's do it then."

-

At this point, Hyunjin treats your apartment like his own, he moves around with practiced ease, pulling the sheer curtains open just enough to let the afternoon light spill into the room. The soft glow is exactly what he wants for today’s shoot—natural, warm, and intimate. He glances over his setup, adjusting the white cloth draped over the couch, smoothing out any wrinkles. The space is nearly ready.

The sound of your footsteps draws his attention, and when he looks up, you’re walking toward him with two cans of drinks in hand. Your hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a relaxed air about you as you offer him one of the cans.

Hyunjin steps forward, wiping his hands on his jeans before taking the drink from you. His fingers brush against yours for a split second, and he wonders if you notice. "Perfect timing," he murmurs, bringing the can to his lips for a quick sip. The warmth seeps into his fingers, and he exhales softly. "Thanks."

You nod, taking a sip of your own before glancing around the setup. "So... everything ready?"

"Almost," he says, rolling his shoulders. "I want to play with the light a little, see how it looks on camera." He steps back, scanning the room, his mind already piecing together the angles and shots. The sunlight highlights the shapes of the couch, creating soft shadows. It’s exactly what he envisioned.

You lower your can of drink and glance at Hyunjin, who is still surveying the setup with a focused look on his face. “So, what’s the plan for today?” you ask, shifting your weight onto one leg.

He turns to you, his dark eyes settling on yours. “I want to use the light as much as possible. It’ll create a really soft effect, like…” He gestures vaguely with his free hand, trying to find the right words. “Like something dreamlike, almost natural. I’ll direct you, but I also want you to move how you feel comfortable.”

You hum, tilting your head as you process his vision. “So, more candid, less posed?”

He nods, sipping his coffee. “Exactly.”

You shift closer, peering at him over the rim of your cup. “And… Do I have your consent for the part after?”

Hyunjin blinks, then a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You have my consent,” he says smoothly, his voice steady, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—anticipation, maybe.

You let out a short laugh, arching a brow as you tease him, “You sound so eager for today’s shoot.”

He rolls his eyes, but the way his fingers tap against his can of drink betrays him. “I’m just committed to making this look good,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

You grin, stepping past him toward the couch. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Hyunjin adjusts the camera in his hands, his fingers instinctively finding the right settings as he looks through the lens. The natural light floods the room, casting soft shadows across your skin. You’re draped across the couch in nothing but a loose white sweater and matching underwear, your body relaxed, effortlessly beautiful.

He’s done this before—countless times now—but there’s something about this moment that makes him pause. Maybe it’s the way the light caresses the curves of your body, or how the sweater slips just enough off your shoulder to reveal more of your skin. Or maybe it’s just you. No matter how many times he’s taken your pictures, Hyunjin realizes he never gets tired of looking at you. Admiring you.

You shift slightly, pulling one knee up and resting your head against the back of the couch. The motion is so natural, so effortlessly alluring, that Hyunjin forgets to press the shutter button for a second. When he finally does, he exhales a quiet breath.

"You’re staring," you tease, your voice light but knowing.

He lowers the camera slightly, meeting your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, but also something else—something softer. He swallows, rolling his shoulders like he can shake off whatever this feeling is. "Why? Are you shy now?" he teases, bringing the camera up again.

Done taking your pictures, Hyunjin moves around the room for the second time to set the cameras to their tripods at different angles, making sure everything is set up just right. He’s meticulous about it, double-checking each frame, making small tweaks to the lighting. When he’s finally satisfied, he steps away and joins you on the couch.

As soon as he sits down next to you, you turn to him, your gaze soft but playful. Without a word, you reach up and tug the hair tie from his dark locks, setting them free. His long hair falls around his face, a few strands brushing against his cheek.

You hum in approval, lifting your hand to run your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back before letting it slip through your fingers. There’s something intimate in the way you touch him, something gentle that makes his breath catch for just a second. A smile tugs at your lips as you look at him. “Are you ready?”

Hyunjin swallows, his dark eyes locked onto yours. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you for a moment before exhaling through his nose, a small, knowing smile appearing on his lips.

"Yeah," he finally says, his voice lower than before.

You lift your hand and rest it on Hyunjin’s stomach, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips. His muscles tense for just a second before he consciously relaxes, his dark eyes still locked onto yours, watching, waiting.

Slowly, you lean in, closing the small space between you until your lips are just beside his ear. You can feel the warmth of his skin, hear the soft hitch in his breath. "Get comfortable," you murmur, your voice soft yet firm, your lips nearly brushing against the shell of his ear. "And follow my lead."

Hyunjin exhales, a quiet, shuddering breath. His hands press into the couch beside him, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to touch you. His jaw clenches for a moment before he gives you a small, almost amused smile. "Alright," he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You move with unhurried confidence, shifting onto his lap and settling yourself comfortably as you straddle him. His hands instinctively find purchase on your hips, but he doesn’t grip—just rests them there, warm and solid. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing over the fabric of his shirt. You take your time, carefully unbuttoning each button one by one, your touch light and deliberate. He doesn’t rush you—he simply watches, his lips parting slightly when you finally part the fabric open and slip the shirt off his shoulders, exposing the lean definition of his torso.

Laying your palm flat against his chest, you let your fingertips trace over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the subtle twitch of his muscles under your touch. Hyunjin exhales sharply, his breath hitching just slightly, and you feel him shiver beneath your fingertips. His hands on your hips flex subtly, his gaze flickering between your face and the way your hands explore his skin. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, voice lower than before when he finally speaks.

“You’re really taking your time with this,” he murmurs, a teasing edge to his tone, but there’s something else underneath.

You simply smile, letting your fingers trace a slow, featherlight path over his collarbone. “Of course,” you say softly. “What’s the rush?”

You tilt your head, watching the way his gaze lingers on your face before dropping lower, his hands still resting on your hips as if he's trying to ground himself. Then, with a soft smile, you murmur, "Aren't you going to help me too?"

His hands tightening slightly before he reaches for the hem of your sweater. His fingers brush against your skin as he gathers the fabric, and he hesitates just for a moment, his dark eyes flickering up to yours as if silently asking for permission one last time.

You give him a small nod, and with that, he slowly lifts the sweater up, savoring the moment as he peels the soft fabric from your skin. His touch is gentle, careful, as he pulls it over your head and lets it slip from his fingers, tossing it aside.

Now bare before him, you feel the cool air graze your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between you. Hyunjin’s eyes trace over you, his gaze slow and reverent, like he's taking in a painting he's never seen before, committing every detail to memory. His breath is unsteady when he finally meets your gaze again. His hands remain on your waist, but this time, they grip just a little tighter, like he's afraid to move too fast.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The only sound is the soft hum of the camera in the background, recording every fleeting touch, every unspoken exchange.

You take Hyunjin’s hands in yours, guiding them up your body, over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, and then higher, letting him feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. His hands are warm, his touch hesitant but eager, and you can feel the way his fingers tremble slightly as you place them exactly where you want them, cupping the underside of your breasts. Then, slowly, you let go.

His hands remain where you left them for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the expanse of skin beneath his palms. When he finally moves, it's deliberate—his hands tracing over you, reveling in the way you feel. He drags his fingertips lightly over your skin, tracing lines only he can see, and the way he does it, so careful, so in awe, makes your breath shallow.

You rest your arms on his shoulders, letting your fingers trail along the nape of his neck, playing with the strands of his dark hair. Hyunjin tilts his head back slightly, his long hair falling away from his face as he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable at first, but then—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing grin, but something softer, something real.

His eyes drink you in, as if seeing you this close, this bare, makes you even more breathtaking to him. And for a moment, he just lets himself admire you, his hands still exploring, mapping out every curve, every line, like he’s afraid he’ll forget how you feel beneath him.

He continues his exploration. His fingers trail up from your shoulders, over the curve of your neck, his touch featherlight. He maps out your skin with delicate strokes, tracing along the slope of your throat, the line of your jaw. His fingertips glide over your cheekbone, then dip lower, ghosting over the bridge of your nose before finally brushing against your lips.

Then, gently, he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smoothing it away from your face. But instead of letting go, he keeps his hand there, holding your hair in place as his thumb idly caresses the side of your neck.

You watch him closely, your own hands moving to explore him in return. Your fingers drift up, brushing through his soft dark hair before trailing down to his face. You trace the arch of his brow, the sharp yet delicate bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone. Then, without thinking, your thumb sweeps across his lips.

His lips are soft beneath your touch, plush and warm, and they part just slightly as your thumb glides over them. You meet his gaze, your own fingers lingering against his mouth as you softly ask, “Do you want to kiss?”

Without answering, Hyunjin leans in, his dark eyes locked onto yours, but just as his lips are about to brush against yours, you pull back ever so slightly. A teasing smile tugs at the corner of your lips as he instinctively follows, chasing after the kiss you’ve withheld. He exhales sharply through his nose, catching on to your game. His head falls back against the couch, and he lets out a dramatic sigh, his bottom lip jutting out in a soft pout. His hands rest on your waist, fingers idly pressing into your skin as he looks up at you with mock betrayal.

Despite his sulking, you giggle. There’s something so endearing about seeing Hyunjin—usually confident, effortlessly charming—reduced to a pouting mess just because of you.

Still smiling, you cup his jaw, your thumbs tracing the shape of his cheekbones. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he holds himself still, waiting. Then, slowly, you lean in and press your lips to his.

Hyunjin kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it more than he’d ever admit. His lips move against yours, soft at first but it doesn’t take long before his desire seeps through. He sucks on your lower lip, teasingly slow, before tugging it between his teeth, just enough to make you shiver. Despite the bite, you sigh into his mouth, the sensation sending warmth through your body.

Hyunjin swallows the sound, his grip on you firm but never forceful. His lips move against yours with a growing hunger, hungry for the taste of you. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His warmth engulfs you, and the way he holds you—tight yet careful—makes your heart pound just as much as his kisses do. His lips move against yours with more urgency now, deepening the kiss, his breath mixing with yours. Then, without warning, he drags his lips away, trailing a path down your jaw to your neck. The first press of his mouth against your skin is soft, almost teasing, but then he sucks lightly on the spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch.

A gasp escapes you as he continues, alternating between kisses and gentle bites, marking you in ways that feel both dangerous and thrilling. His hands explore your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, skimming over your sides, pressing into the small of your back. His touch is everywhere—palms smoothing over your bare skin, thumbs brushing over sensitive spots, sending shivers coursing through you.

The room feels smaller, hotter, as the two of you stay tangled together, lips and hands lost in each other. Hyunjin has his hands splayed across your back as his lips continue their path down your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you as he lingers just above your collarbone. You shift slightly in his lap, adjusting your position, but the movement draws a quiet, unbidden sound from deep within him.

Your hands tangle in his dark hair, threading through the soft strands as he buries his face against you while you decide to continue to tease him, rubbing yourself against his growing erection. His lips brush lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin. The warmth of his mouth makes you exhale shakily, your fingers instinctively gripping his shoulders. As you continue slowly grinding on him, the friction between you both grows, drawing an almost involuntary reaction from him. His breath hitches, his fingers flex against your sides, and when you roll your hips just a little more, a quiet curse slips past his lips.

Hyunjin's hands slide down, gripping you gently but firmly, guiding you as though he wants you closer—if that were even possible. His lips part against your skin, and you feel the soft pull of his mouth, a teasing scrape of his teeth that has you gasping.

For a moment, the two of you simply move together, unhurried yet undeniably in sync. It’s intoxicating—the way he holds you, the way his body reacts to yours, the way the warmth between you seems to build with each slow grind against his swollen bulge.

You kiss him again, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss that deepens with every second. Hyunjin responds just as eagerly, his hands roaming your body, his grip tightening when you roll your hips against him again. His breath stutters when you pull away, but before he can protest, you tilt your head and press your lips to his jawline, then lower—to the sensitive spot beneath his ear, to the column of his throat where you can feel his pulse quicken.

His fingers dig into your flesh as you trail your lips down his neck, your mouth leaving a warm path over his collarbone, his chest. His skin is hot beneath your lips, his breath uneven as you continue your slow descent. You can feel the way his body tenses, anticipating your next move. And then you shift, slipping off his lap with deliberate slowness, your hands skimming down his sides as you lower yourself to the floor. Standing in front of him, you press your palms to his thighs, feeling the subtle tremor in his muscles before you gently part his legs, making space for yourself between them.

Hyunjin looks down at you, his dark eyes clouded with something heavy and overpowering, his lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something—but he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows hard, watching you intently as you kneel between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs. A quiet beat passes between you, charged with tension. Then, you lift your gaze to meet his, your fingers trailing slowly along the denim of his jeans.

"Still comfortable?" you ask, your voice light, teasing.

Hyunjin exhales a soft, breathy laugh, though his voice is rough when he responds. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Very."

Your fingers begin to move, tracing the waistband of his jeans before dipping lower. Hyunjin's breath hitches as you work the button open, then the zipper, the sound cutting through the silence in the room. His hands, which had been resting on his thighs, twitch—like he wants to touch you, to stop you, or maybe to urge you on. But he doesn’t move. He just watches, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly, his lips slightly parted as if he’s forgotten how to breathe.

You take your time, easing the fabric down just enough, and when you finally free his member out of its confine, his head falls back against the couch, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. "Are we good?" you ask softly, fingers teasing, barely touching his erection.

Hyunjin exhales a shuddery breath, his lips curving into a crooked, breathless smile. "Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough.

For a moment, you do nothing—just let your fingers ghost along his hardening length, featherlight, teasing. You hear the sharp inhale he takes, see the way his stomach tenses as you rub your thumb around the crest of his cock. He’s beautiful like this—vulnerable in a way that makes warmth curl in your stomach, his dark hair tousled, his lips red and kiss-swollen.

"You're so hard, so big..." you sigh, slightly tightening your fingers around him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze as you begin giving his cock slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, filled with something heady and unspoken. You take your time, watching him, waiting until he meets your gaze before lowering yourself, you press a kiss to his hip, then another, trailing lower, savoring the way his body reacts to your touch. He lets out a quiet groan when your lips finally brush over the tip of his cock.

The first sound he makes when you take his cock into your mouth is something between a sigh and a moan, his head tipping back against the couch. His hand finds your hair, not pushing, just resting, as if he needs something to hold onto. You hollow out your cheeks and give him a good suck before slowly pulling away. You quickly replace your mouth with your hand to keep the stimulation going.

With your lips wet from saliva, you ask, "Does it feel good?"

"Yeah," he breathlessly answer before letting out a shaky exhale.

You lick your lips before taking him in again, little by little until half of his length disappeared into you. Then, you beging moving, moving your mouth to testing, to tease while watching the way his stomach tenses and his lips part with every careful motion.

"Fuck..." he breathes out, voice wrecked.

His breaths grow uneven, his grip tightening slightly, and when you flick your gaze upward, the sight of him—eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted, completely undone—sends a wave of satisfaction through you.

You hum against him, reveling in the way he shudders beneath you, completely at your mercy. You give him a second to gather some senses and using your hand to pump his cock.

"Don't tell me you're going to come just from this," you tease, dragging your lips down the underside of his length before putting him into your mouth again.

Hyunjin’s breath stutters, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your slow, teasing pace. His body is completely at your mercy, and he knows it—you can feel it in the way he trembles beneath you, in the soft, choked sounds that slip past his parted lips. His other hand moves to the back of the couch, gripping it like he needs to anchor himself, his head tilting back as he exhales a shaky breath. "You're—" He cuts himself off with a groan, his body tensing for a moment before melting back into the cushions.

You glance up at him through your lashes, taking in the way his chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath, the way his brows knit together as he fights for control. There's something intoxicating about watching him like this, unraveling under your touch, his usual confidence slipping away little by little.

"What do you think? Am I doing good?" Your lips graze the tip of his cock as you speak.

"You're too good at this," he finally manages to answer, his voice breathless, rough.

You smile, dragging your hands up his thighs as you pull back just enough to whisper, "Just let it go when you feel like it. Swallowing is not a big deal to me "

His eyes snap open, dark and hazy as he looks down at you. There's a pause, his lips parting slightly, and for a moment, you think he might actually hesitate. But then his fingers tighten in your hair, his gaze burning into yours as he rasps, "I–I can't do that."

A thrill rushes through you at his words, at the sheer need in his voice. You hum in satisfaction, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his hip before resuming your pace, taking your time, savoring every reaction he gives you.

Hyunjin curses under his breath, his hand slipping from your hair to cradle the side of your face instead, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His gaze never wavers, never strays from you, even as his breaths turn ragged, even as his body tenses beneath your touch.

"I'm about to come" he murmurs, his voice strained, almost desperate.

You glance up at him again, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile before pushing him just a little further, just enough to make him lose himself completely.

And when he does—when his body stiffens and his lips part in a silent gasp, his head tipping back as pleasure overtakes him—you know you've won.

You feel his release floods your tongue, hot and distinctly salty, filling your mouth. Then, silence. The only sounds left in the room are your steady breathing and his own ragged exhales.

When he finally dares to look at you, his eyes widen in horror as he sees you sticking your tongue out just enough to show him the white sheen of his seed before you swallow it all down your throat.

The sight stirs something deep within him that he reaches for you and roughly presses a kiss on your lips, his tongue pries open your mouth until you let him taste the remnants of himself on your tongue. Once he pulled away from the kiss, reality dawns on him. His flushed face deepens in color, and he quickly brings a hand to his face, covering his eyes as if that would make the situation disappear.

“Oh my God—” he mutters, voice filled with mortification as he sees a drop of his release landed on your chin. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

You blink at him before breaking into a soft laugh, reaching for a tissue nearby. “Hey, it’s fine.”

But he groans, shaking his head, clearly struggling with embarrassment. “No, it’s not! That was— I should have warned you—”

You smile, dabbing at your skin, before tilting your head at him. “You were a little too lost in the moment. I get it.”

Hyunjin groans again, this time burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this…”

Shifting closer, you gently pull his hands away from his face, meeting his flustered gaze with warmth. “Relax. It’s not a big deal.”

He exhales slowly, still clearly embarrassed, but your reassurance eases him slightly. He watches as you clean up without a hint of discomfort, and for some reason, that makes his heart squeeze a little.

You nudge his knee playfully. “If anything, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You simply grin, standing up and holding your hand out at him. “Come on, let's shower before you start overthinking this to death.”

With a sigh, he follows, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what just happened—but there’s something else in his eyes too. A flicker of something deeper, something more than just physical attraction. And as he watches you head toward the bathroom, he realizes just how dangerous it is to let himself feel that way.

-

It's a successful first shoot with Hyunjin.

Even though he handled the camera like a pro, guiding you through poses and capturing you in the most flattering ways, the moment things shifted—when you turned the tables on him—he completely fell apart. And now, despite how smooth he usually tries to be, he can't stop being embarrassed about how he lost control, especially about how he came in your mouth and your face.

You think about it as warm water cascades down your body, the memory playing in your mind like a highlight reel. The way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled against your skin, and especially the way his face turned crimson afterward, looking utterly wrecked yet so, so cute. You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

Hyunjin—always composed, always confident—reduced to a flustered mess because of you. You’ll never let him live this down.

After finishing your shower, you throw on something comfortable and head out to the dining area, where Hyunjin is already setting the table. His hair escaping the loose ponytail, and he's deliberately avoiding your gaze, focusing too hard on arranging the plates.

You slide into your seat, watching him for a moment before smirking. "You know… technically, I already had an appetizer before dinner."

He freezes mid-motion, his shoulders tensing. He slowly looks up, eyes wary. "Huh?"

You take a sip of your drink, feigning innocence. "I mean, I had a little taste of you before we sat down to eat."

His entire face turns red. He immediately drops his chopsticks, groaning as he buries his face in his hands. "Oh my God."

You burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. "Why are you acting so shy now? You weren’t shy earlier."

Hyunjin peeks at you between his fingers, shooting you a look of pure suffering. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," you tease, grinning. "If anything, you loved it."

He groans again, leaning back in his chair dramatically. "You're not going to let me live this down, aren’t you?"

Despite himself, Hyunjin breaks into a helpless smile, shaking his head. As you both settle into comfortable conversation, the teasing lingers in the air—a reminder of just how much the dynamic between you is shifting, whether either of you is ready to admit it or not.

As you finish cleaning up after dinner, you grab an envelope from the counter and hand it to Hyunjin. "Your pay for this month," you say with a smile.

Hyunjin takes it, grinning as he flips it between his fingers. "Ah, my hard-earned money," he jokes, tucking it into his pocket. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he leans forward slightly. "Since I’m less broke now, how about I treat you to a movie tomorrow? There’s this screening I wanted to check out."

You chuckle at his enthusiasm but shake your head. "I’d love to, but I already have plans for tomorrow."

He tilts his head, curious. "Oh? Where are you going?"

You set your chopsticks down, wiping your lips before answering, "I'm going to my friend’s wedding."

His expression shifts slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Is it the one friend you were avoiding back at the restaurant?"

You nod. "Yep. That one."

He blinks, clearly surprised. "I thought you weren’t going."

You shrug. "At first, yeah. But then I thought… why not?"

Hyunjin nods slowly, as if processing your words. But you don’t miss the way his shoulders drop slightly, or how he suddenly seems more focused on the remaining food in his bowl. He’s disappointed. You don’t point it out, but you notice it.

"Sounds fun," he says, his voice light, but there’s something subdued in it.

You watch him for a moment, then smirk. "You sound like you’re sulking."

He scoffs, sitting up straighter. "Me? Sulking? Never."

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "You’re literally stabbing your rice right now."

He looks down at his bowl, realizing how aggressively he’s been poking at the food. Clearing his throat, he sets his chopsticks down and leans back in his chair. "I just think my plans sounded cooler, that’s all."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I’ll make it up to you, okay?"

Hyunjin pouts slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes gives him away. "You better," he mutters, stealing one of your dumplings as revenge.

-

The morning sun shines through the high windows of the apartment building as Hyunjin walks back from the farmer's market, a bag of fresh produce in one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other. The scent of them—sweet and delicate—lingers in the air, and he glances down at them, suddenly second-guessing himself.

Was this a bad idea?

He doesn’t know what compelled him to pick them up. Maybe it was the way they reminded him of you. Maybe it was just a habit—bringing home something nice, something that adds a little warmth to a space. Either way, he now stands in front of your door, unsure if you've already left for the wedding. A part of him hopes you have, just so he doesn’t have to go through the embarrassment of handing you flowers like some lovestruck fool.

Before he can turn around and retreat to his apartment, the door swings open. You're standing there, already dressed for the wedding, a bright smile greeting him.

"Oh, morning, Hyunjin!" you say, sounding rushed yet cheerful as you step aside to let him in.

He planned to just hand you the flowers and go. But now, with the door wide open and you ushering him in without a second thought, he finds himself stepping inside, still holding the bouquet a little awkwardly.

You move back toward your vanity, where your makeup is halfway done, brushes and compacts scattered across the table. "Sorry, I’m running a little late," you say, adjusting your earrings in the mirror. "What’s up?"

Clearing his throat, Hyunjin lifts the flowers. "I, uh… brought these for you."

You turn, eyes widening in surprise before a teasing smile tugs at your lips. "Flowers? For me? What’s the occasion?"

He shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. "No occasion. Just thought you’d like them."

You take them from his hands, inhaling their fresh scent before flashing him a soft, genuine smile. "They're beautiful. Thank you, Hyunjin."

Seeing you flustered for once makes him feel a little less embarrassed. "I'll put them in a vase for you," he offers, not wanting to stand there while you get ready.

"That’d be great," you say, turning back to the mirror to finish up.

As Hyunjin moves around your kitchen, filling a vase with water, he sneaks glances at you. The way you carefully apply the last touches to your hair, the way the dress hugs your figure just right—it all captivates him. Then, you turn around, smiling brightly at him.

"How do I look?" you ask.

Hyunjin quickly averts his gaze, setting the vase down on the counter as if that requires all his attention. He swallows. "You look… beautiful."

Your smile softens. "Thank you."

Before the moment lingers too long, your phone rings, breaking the air of quiet admiration. You pick it up quickly, saying, "Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute," before ending the call.

Hyunjin assumes someone is picking you up and he also takes that as his cue to leave.

As you both step out of your apartment, he lingers for a moment before saying, "Have fun at the wedding."

You flash him one last grateful smile. "I will. Thanks again for the flowers, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin steps into his apartment, closing the door behind him with a quiet sigh. He toes off his shoes and runs a hand through his hair, shaking off the lingering feeling of something he can't quite name.

But as he walks toward the window, curiosity tugs at him. He tells himself he's only looking to see what kind of car picks you up—maybe a fancy one, maybe not. But when he spots the vehicle pulling up in front of the building, what catches his attention isn't the car at all.

It's the person stepping out of it. Felix.

Hyunjin hadn’t expected that. You’re going to the wedding with Felix?

The thought alone stirs something uneasy inside him, but he pushes it aside, watching as you step out of the building. He tells himself that’s the end of it, that he should look away, go about his day. But then—

You walk straight into Felix’s arms, slipping into his embrace like it’s second nature. Despite the tightening feeling in his chest, Hyunjin watches as Felix leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek before opening the passenger door for you. You slip inside easily, smiling up at him before he shuts the door and rounds the car to the driver’s side.

Hyunjin lets out a sharp breath, rubbing his hand over his face as if to wipe away the thoughts creeping into his mind. What was he even expecting?

A part of him wants to shake it off, to go about his day like this means nothing. But another part of him—one he’s not quite ready to acknowledge—already knows that today, for the first time, he’s feeling something he shouldn’t.

Jealousy.

He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head at himself. Then, without another glance at the window, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the room in silence.

-

✨ Chapter III of Cam is available on my Patreon page ✨

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The 5th house - What kind of lover are you

About me | Masterpost

As the 5th house is 2nd from the 4th house, it's the tangible manifestation of your core, the creation of your inner emotional world, your heart. From it, your heart connects with the world around you. From it, love is given out to the world. The 5th house is generally regarded as the house of "romance", I think more specifically, it shows your "part" or "role" in that romance, your side of the story, who you are in a love story, what kind of lover are you.

♥ 5th house in Aries/ Mars in 5th house - "The Ardent Lover"

The one who sees love as the purest principle, something that needs to be revered and pursued with dedication and passion. No mind games, no dirty tricks, no manipulation, no timid guessing, just an honest declaration of love. To be the apple in your eyes is to be placed upon a pedestal. Once you're in love, you put your all in, it will be their greatest focus and inspiration. Each heartbreak is followed by rising up with a new hope. Love never loses its lustre to you. You are direct, straightforward and impulsive in your advances. Your passion and desire rule your actions. Competitions and the act of chasing make your adrenaline rushing. You want to "win", victories, whether over other competitors or your own lover, is of paramount importance. The need to conquer can make you seek competition where it's not needed. Can turn indignant and defensive when your love and faithfulness are being doubted. You can be perceived as "aggressive" and "rough" by the more sensitive people. Physical intimacy and physical touch, in general, are key to keeping your love burning.

♥ 5th house in Taurus/ Venus in 5th house - "The Indulging Lover"

Love to you is like honey, natural, nutritious, sweet, fragranced, viscous. Something that you want to dip yourself and your lover in, indulge and sink deeper and deeper into it. Love is simple yet eternal, "never let you go". A true romantic, you breathe love to keep your heart alive. Everything looks more beautiful when you have someone to love, and that someone will be the object of your adoration. You don't go out of your way to pursue someone, has anyone ever seen Venus do the chasing? No, lovers come to you, willingly, because they know that it's futile to resist the lure of Venus. You attract, by being your most beautiful self, by subtly sending signals to all the senses of your person. It can be quite a sensory overloaded experience for your lover. It's not easy to please all of your desires, not easy to turn your heat all the way up, but once it's ignited, it's not easy to snuff it out, fierce devotion. To an impulsive lover, you can seem to be slow and passive, to a patient and passionate lover, you're the forest they want to get lost in.

♥ 5th house in Gemini/ Mercury in 5th house - "The Exploring Lover"

The one who loves with their mind, you can be confused all the time about whether you're attracted to someone simply because you have interesting conversations with them or if there is anything more to that person. Love is a mental pursuit, a chess game, a word play that you want to go on and on. Love is light and exciting. The longest conversation. You show your love by communicating with your lover, to keep the connection line going. Teasing, asking questions, about them, about everything that comes to your mind. "Is there anyone willing to look at my mind and be willing to let me look at yours?". A simple smirk, two hands brushing each other, entwined fingers, a sparkle in the eyes, a hearty laugh and then giggles, those things can melt your heart and in turn, you can melt other's hearts with those. You take your lover to a wonderland, where your minds can be free to play, but also calm enough to rest. Life and love is an endless adventure, and you need a companion who can tag along, who can play juggling with you. Being held down and bored, in any sense, are your greatest nightmares. You want to have sweet dreams only, but nightmares can grab you if you don't focus and pay attention.

♥ 5th house in Cancer/ Moon in 5th house: "The Enveloping Lover"

Love is like a flood that washes over both you and your lover. The shared experience of being enveloped by emotions of all kinds, both the highs and lows, nothing is spared. You search for a lover who can allow you to feel safe enough to experience a love that can feel so engulfing at times. It's that emotional safety, knowing that you can reveal your full heart to somebody, to be spontaneous and moody without being judged. Being loved by you is like being wrapped in nostalgia of a time when everything was simple and pure, when everything was safe and taken care of, there's a childlike playfulness and simple quality to your love. To someone who didn't get to have those actual memories, you can create that memory for them, as if you created an alternative past for them. "Love" is synonymous with "Protection", you want both of you to protect each other, from the harsh world, from the demons inside, to create a home so safe that one doesn't want to get out of, one yearns only for it wherever they go. It's hard for you to let go of a lover, and it's also hard for them to let go of you. The hold may wax and wane, but never disappears completely.

♥ 5th house in Leo/ Sun in 5th house: "The Shining Lover"

Love, the warm sunlight that nurtures your heart. You are like a tree when in love, while artificial light can sustain you. You truly thrive only when you can have the most natural light source, the strongest and purest of them all. Authenticity, a love that doesn't hide or shy away, no hidden motives, no twisted desires, just pure exhilaration, basking in the glow of love. The love you give is unfiltered, as if you're giving your own heart away. Not everyone is capable of taking care of it properly, you learn the lesson of protecting your own heart and be more discerning of whom you can let in. Even then, the natural impulse is to spread whatever goodness inside you, out into the world. Being in love makes your life feel more colourful and lively. And you, in turn, wish to inspire your lover just like how you're inspired, it pains you to see a sinking spirit. You instil vitality into your lover's heart, making their heart beat to the rhythm of life. Some can feel your love too bright and burning, shying away from it, trying to darken it. This leaves you puzzled, you might even attempt to dim your light, but your dignity won't allow you to do that for long. No tree stops blooming just because one or two humans didn't appreciate it.

♥ 5th house in Virgo/ Mercury in 5th house: "The Devoted Lover"

Love is the quiet thunder that rumbles beneath the cool, serene surface of your heart. You want to build a lasting love, yes, "build", love doesn't strike you like lightning that makes you busted into intense fireworks, love is like knitting, one stitch at a time, stitch by stitch, line by line, until you get a cosy sweater that keeps you warm for many years to come, it takes skill and dedication. You also extend that comfort to your lover. To love is to worry, to care, to be there for that person. You would want your lover to thrive, to be spared of the burdens of responsibilities, you're willing to take on those burdens for them, to make their life better. But a truly fulfilling love is when you can receive that same devotion from your lover. You also need to be cared for just as much as you care for them. But sometimes, your lover's love doesn't measure up to the "silent" standard that you have, in a way, no one can love you perfectly like how you want them to. While knowing that, you still choose to be by their side, because you accept their imperfections, their imperfect love, because that's how you love.

♥ 5th house in Libra/ Venus in 5th house: "The Ideal Lover"

Venus's mirror, love reflects back at you all the beautiful things about the world and yourself. You also want to reflect them back on your lover. You can find yourself mirroring your lover, encouraging their shining qualities, making them aware of their own virtues, and simultaneously erasing their vices. You can turn your lover into a prince charming, a lovely princess, because you're one. You want you and your lover to be two beautiful human beings, both inside out, to walk on this Earth hand in hand. The words "we" and "us" have enormous significance to you. You seek to beautify everything, everyone you touch, to let them see the goodness in this world, yes, you're an optimistic lover, never one to lose hope for an ideal love. Love is like a harmonious melody that plays soothingly everywhere you go, everywhere you look. Harmony, peace and indulgence, the gifts you offer your lover, uplift their spirit, inspire their creativity, soothe their soul, and spoil them rotten with sweetness. You find yourself more alive, more beautiful when you're in love. You can fall in love with love itself. You seek harmony with your lover, nothing should be one-sided, everything should be equal give and take, a delicate dance.

♥ 5th house in Scorpio/ Pluto in 5th house: "The Burning Lover"

The molten volcanic soil underneath the calm and cool lake, whose soul is brave enough to venture there? Love for you is an all-consuming force that sweeps away all commonsense. You want love to be a devouring force, swallowing whole both you and your lover into the pit of the unknown. You push for more, to feel more, to be more. The word "mild" can't find a long-lasting place in your dictionary. Everything, joy, pain, longing, existence, all have to reach a boiling point in order for you to feel truly in love. A love too safe, too soft, too peaceful might get ignored by you. You chase the extremes, sometimes along the way, get burnt yourself, but often, you leave behind burnt lovers. You want to be your lover's only one as they're to you. You want to be the only existence that your lover seeks. There can be the issue of who dominates who, who has the upper hand, love can feel like a power play. You're vigilant against betrayals, you need absolute loyalty, making your lover jump through endless hoops to prove their love to you. Sometimes, you could feel so exhausted by the all-or-nothing love, but you would rather be like that than to be content with a "good enough" affection.

♥ 5th house in Sagittarius/ Jupiter in 5th house: "The Expanding Lover"

Have you ever felt like there's an infinite well of love you can give? not just to your lover but to life. You love someone because they're part of life, to love is to live. Love for you is like a ray of sunshine that wakes you up in the morning, or the breezy wind stroking your hair when you're standing in the middle of a field or on top of a mountain, a piney scent that lures you wandering deep into the woods. Love makes you want to move, explore, enjoy, and celebrate. So you can't feel fulfilled in a relationship that makes you feel small, that shackles your feet, that makes you lose hope. "Potential" is the word, as long as you can feel a potential for a future, you want to give your all, to take a gamble. Fortune favours the bold, you will find your luck in love when you're free and adventurous, when you inspire others. A benevolent lover who wants to help, guide, to protect their lover. Grand romantic gestures, spontaneous expressions of love, laughter that makes your cheeks hurt, deep conversations that stirs your mind, those can be the secret ingredients to capture your heart and also what you use to capture others.

♥ 5th house in Capricorn/ Saturn in 5th house: "The Steadfast Lover"

The life investment you make with your heart, love seems like a tangible thing that you can touch, that you can nurture and turn into a masterpiece of a lifetime. Things of value should be able to last for eternity, that's your motto and your belief in love. Love for you is not fickle like the wind or soft like a cotton candy, love is the steady heartbeat, the more you take care of it, the healthier it is. Thrilling adventures, passionate proclamations of love, over adorned for attention, those things pass right out of your vision, what is that? definitely not what you expect from your lover. You expect commonsense and predictability, you expect constant loyalty and devotion, quiet touches and deep gazes, the hand that holds yours when you're in pain, the silent smile that says "I will be here for you, with you". You stoke your fire with unwavering effort, never letting the flame burn out of hands or die from neglect, just enough to keep both lovers warm and safe. Some say you're picky, that you should loosen up and just give yourself to love, but you're a visionary, you look for love that you can work hard for, that can last the test of time, so no rushing.

♥ 5th house in Aquarius/ Uranus in 5th house: "The Whimsical Lover"

"Love at first sight" probably was invented by you. The sensation of being pierced by Cupid's bow, being struck by lightning, being hit by love out of nowhere is not something you're unfamiliar with. Love visits you like a summer downpour, a breeze that sends fragrances from afar to your nose, a sprouting that grows overnight, a laughter that bursts out amidst deadly silence. Love comes to you unexpectedly, and you find love in unexpected places. To love is to be free, the greatest gift you can give your lover and yourself is freedom, to be yourselves, to find safety in the ever-changing current of life. Who can say staying still is safe and stable? For you, movement is what nurtures a connection. You don't let your love stay stagnant, the novelties are your stable diet. Your love is not for the stubborn of heart, though you can be pretty stubborn and rebellious yourself when you're in love, it's a contradiction that perplex and vex your lover, but it's also the allure that they want to get a hold of, not that they will be successful, but they will try anyway. Like trying to catch lightning, trying to grab light. The only way they will ever get close to you is to be themselves and hope that one day, you two will stumble upon each other as fate wills it.

♥ 5th house in Pisces/ Neptune in 5th house: "The Dream Lover"

This is someone who can elevate the experience of falling in love and being in love to the height of poetry, of songs that lovers sing together. Love is art, art is love, love is the soothing balm that erases all the pain, but also the blind that covers your eyes. Oh, the extent you're willing to go in the name of love. Everything seems to take on more vivid colours, music seems to accompany you everywhere you go, you hear your love through the songs that randomly play in the mart, through the absentminded remark of a stranger, through the flowers that sway gently in the wind. You hear your heart echo back at you through the eyes of your lover. While your eyes hold an ocean that promises blissful abandonment, endless treasure and a subtle warning of being drowned, but others are too busy getting mesmerised by you to stay lucid enough to heed your warning. How many lovers have you drowned? How many seas have you swum alone, longing for a rescuer who can take you to land and keep you warm? You need a love story that feels like a fairy tale, but you also need a love that is real.

[anantaru]

synopsis. you got alhaitham to tutor you, although he uses a method you weren't quite expecting, ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ cw, fingering, soft dom alhaitham, petnames used: good girl, fem! reader ᰔ

"repeat that paragraph, that one, read it to me," shuddered and twisted, you weakly nod back at alhaitham's words, the veil of lust drawing across his face.

you admire his honed jaw and poised tone, the perfect shade of red on his cheeks, no trace of imperfections except a lustre ignite of fire shaped inside the yearning in his eyes.

for now, you were only capable to re-read half of the paragraph as he digs the finger deeper inside before curling it, curling it hard, nudging your puffy cunt as you close your eyes at the impact, alternating between squeezing his hand with your thighs and parting your legs in obvious invitation.

alhaitham continues to lightly stroke over your searing walls, tracing his way further until you squirm at the mind-altering press on your cunt, your hole clenching around the digit, holding the finger in for him to never leave you, "yeah, good girl— ugh, but what else? that's not all," he grins as you sneakily ride his hand, his cock hardening inside his pants.

you rest your head on his shoulder, your focus forced on holding onto the book as good as you could.

you attempt to continue, founding it to be futile when he fucks you with a precision that quickened your blood.

"what else do you got for me?" he repeats.

"c-can we just forget about studying already?" you attempt to reason, stuttering over your words, "you know i can't— i want more," as you cough out and squirm, your hips shifting forward so your clit could grind against the heel of his hand ever so often, "i can't focus like this,"

you were correct, in fact, you were certain no one in all of sumeru could ever focus on a single task when a man such as alhaitham himself, no matter how aggravating at times, would look at someone with such hunger in his eyes, a gaze filled to perpetual sharpness.

you do not want him to stop, you want him to do more.

"you seem to enjoy it," the confidence in his tone could not be any clearer, "very much."

he tilts his head to look at you, the brush of his lips against your cheek making you whimper, the following scrape of his teeth hovering against your jawline tempting out a shiver after such tenderness.

a sensual thrust of his hand repeatedly curls and digs into you, knocking the air from your lungs as you clench as strongly as you could around a single digit, his finger rubbing just so against the furthest, most delicious spots of your walls that it increased the force and pressure on your tight belly from the inside.

how long until you break?

his finger wiggles inside, the touch exquisitely precise, awfully confident, and you found yourself in an inescapable position, impossible to hold yourself back from sinking into the sensation of feeling him. just having him touch you.

"you want me to put another finger?" he kisses your cheek tenderly.

your skin holds against sweat and desperation, tickling the hairs on your skin as a satisfactory pleasure could be felt ebbing and flowing through the entirety of your body.

"yes, please another," you breathe, greeting the scribe with a little more than soft excitement in your voice— but you sounded so angelic to him, your voice silk alike, drowning in a river of solace.

shameless in his doings, alhaitham smirks against you, his lips a hairbreadth away from your ear, "really? you think you got that?"

you nod in certain ecstasy, keeping one hand wrapped around his wrist as he pleasures you, stretching and burning into your hole.

the scribe remains confident in wanting to embed his touch, all of it, on you— not only that but his scent too, he needs your body to pick it up until his aura webs all over your most delicate spots naturally, nothing comparing to the feeling of fullness he gives you.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[eyenaku]

FOOL MASK (GITM BY @venomous-qwille)

Handbuilt porcelain with slip, overglaze, glaze, and gold lustre accents. Paint and lacquer detailing added post fire. Handsewn fool's cap and bells added post fire.

This mask is a part of a (loosely connected) mask series, all hand-built and fired using a range of different temperatures and techniques.

My favourite mask to date, Fool from Ghost in the Machine by the wonderful @venomous-qwille !! GITM is absolutely incredible and I cannot put into words eloquently how much I adore it and Fool so instead I made this mask! Hi!

My word was this mask a struggle to make. The mask itself is entirely one piece, and entirely porcelain!! That's right, those long thin rays are solid porcelain!! The eyes and tips of the blades are done in 22 carat gold lustre. All colouring save for the black and the satin sections of darker red on the face were done with only slips and underglazes. The red colour was correct without the paint, but I thought a contrast from the rest of the gloss would look nice :)

Made to scale, the mask measures 50.8x60.96cm without the hat, and 50.8x116.84cm with it! (20x24in without hat, 20x46in including hat). He is Large, but turned out absolutely lovely and I send my many many thanks to the kiln gods for producing him unscathed.

(naku & wall for scale)

(he's so big guys i have large walls (the top of my head is only slightly above the top of the bookcase beneath him) look at him at the wall it's nuts)

[starshipsofstarlord]

honey suckle

summary. daryl gets lost in eating his favourite meal between your legs

warnings. smut, oral (female reader receiving), fingering, squirting, swearing, pet names (babydoll, darlin’), some and implied aftercare

divider credits. @cafekitsune

It was one of those excruciatingly delicious nights when Daryl had returned home from a long run with Aaron, he was ravenous to be as close as possible to you, and so here he was, large hands splayed on your thighs as his head lay between your legs. His hair was tousled to a haphazard degree, the waved brunette locks splaying in every direction as your fingers sunk into their roots, tugging at the strands in your grip, which only egged him further on.

His face was practically buried in your centre, tongue sliding relentlessly through your folds and swirling with educated concentration around your throbbing clit. You were sure his cheeks were smothered in your aroused essence, however you couldn’t see as he didn’t lift his head once, caring not for breath, his only priority was to taste you for as long as you could handle it.

If he had all the options that rotated the planet at his hands, he would never let up, he would die a happy and breathless man from suffocating himself in your addictive cunt. But even then, after he was a corpse from being delirious to be drowned in your sweet juices, you would be angry at him, needing more from his chapped lips and sinful tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The fall was enclosing at your dispense, your heightened pitch indicated so, as did the clenching of your walls that his tongue thrusted in and out of.

Each of his taste buds were consumed with your aroused honey, and even as you came, he lapped without hesitancy, cleaning up your wetness only to create more to flee from your slick entrance. Your mouth was agape in sensational and pure distress as you thrashed your legs around like a maniac, until you wrapped them around his head, feet locking at the back of his neck.

“Need one more from ya babydoll.” His gruff voice that carried the dry lustre from his smoking habits vibrated against your lower lips, causing you to release an elongated squeal. You weren’t entirely sure if you had one more in you, this felt like it had been going on for hours, and although you were never complain about such circumstances, your body was growing exhausted.

But you would do it for him; one more couldn’t hurt, so as he settled three fingers into your walls, your hips bucked at the intrusion. He’d only been using his tongue the entire time, although it seemed you were drenched enough for them to slide in without much effort, he held them still so that you could adjust to the full feeling, peppering languid and wide kisses against the heated skin of your thighs.

His kisses moved left, closer to your stuffed mound, as he began to rotate his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist as your eyelashes involuntarily fluttered, and deep mewls of pleasure surpassed from your bitten lips. Until finally, his mouth transcended you to another planet, far beyond the reality that you had harshly adapted to, as his lips suckled around your clit, his fingers scissoring in and out of you.

You were hypnotised in the sensations that were floating from your head to your curling toes, you were starting to feel dizzy, a heavy feeling that left you practically unconscious, as you faded in and out of your surroundings. Even when you opened your eyes, straining them to do so, the bedroom was blurry to your sights, and you bit at the air, failing to warn Daryl of the pressure that was growing by the second.

“Ah fuck.” Daryl groaned as a gushing stream that you hadn’t been aware was on its route to escape from your aching cunt, the liquid bursting in Daryl’s direction and coating his face. However he didn’t let up, even as he removed his fingers, leaving your walls clenching from the empty feeling, as he stroked his tongue in long lines up and down your pussy. “Gotta clean yer up.” He muttered almost to himself, as he dared not waste a drop.

You just laid there, breathless and cross eyed even as he finally removed himself, leaning up to stroke your face. “Yer did real good darlin’, so fucking good for me.” The starving man spoke, licking his lips as he started down into your eyes. He reached down, grasping your hips that had invisibly restrained themselves against the bed, as he picked you up, treating you like porcelain as he carried you in his big arms to the shower. He turned the water on, grasping a cotton rag from the side as he sturdied your weight against his, your back facing his front as he began to clean you up whilst the water was warming up.

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You’ve Got Sleeping Issues

ᶻz Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

‎܂ ｡ ༢ medicine isn’t enough i need someone to knock me out with a shovel (for all my insomniacs <3)

Ghost

Oh, what do two insomniacs do with each other on restless nights?

He used to be alone on these nights, listening to the ticking of the clock as the hours cruelly pass by without granting rest

Now you both sit in silence watching the reborning sun and it’s kind of enjoyable now

Pulls out a bottle of NyQuil and takes turns taking shots until either you or him or both simultaneously pass out

Soap

When he’s with you he wants to do everything with you; including sleeping

He’s visibly upset that you can’t sleep but he’s not mat at you, he’s mad at whatever prevents you to cuddle next to him under a heap of blanket and pillows at night

You’re often tossing and turning in bed, fidgeting with your hands as you pace around the bedroom that it wakes him

You try and coax him to go back to sleep but he’s up and determined to stay up with you bingewatching tv shows, trying weird snack combinations, etc…

Gaz

Tries out everything to get you to sleep

From adjusting your routine to diet choices before bed

He knows you hate taking pills and it’s the last thing you resort to by doctor’s orders

He adjusts your pillows and blankets on your side of the bed, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep

Gently cradles your head as he lays you down on your back

And doesn’t sleep until he hears your breaths change and the pulsation of your heart, at ease knowing you’re finally resting

Alejandro

You have terrible nightmares that prevent you from getting a peaceful sleep

Anytime you awaken in a panic; cold sweat, hands seizing and tugging at your shirt, feeling your heart thumping wildly in your chest

He wakes up right away upon hearing your quickened breaths

“It’s alright, I’m right here cariño”

Touching foreheads, light touches on your arms and neck to sooth you, holds you close to him, intertwining fingers

Taking you to the window where you can observe the moon, “see the moon? Look at how she shines… focus on her lustre.”

Phillip Graves

Turning over in bed, his arms searching for you only to find you in a slouched position

“Hard time falling asleep doll?” He drags out his words, words slurring together from having just woken up

When you whimper and nod he pulls you down with him, his hands pulling you against his chest and placing sweet and comforting kisses on your head as he caresses your hair, softly humming

Spooning you is one of his fave ways to feel your body against his, wants to feel as if he’s protecting you and wishes he could lull your mind

Keegan

Knows you’re likely to fall asleep at random times of the day due to fatigue

With a tap of his finger on your wrist he’ll signal for you to rest your head on his lap

He’ll take to trailing his hand up and down your back, following the outline of your spine with his index finger, slower and more deliberately

Speaks very low and softly to give you reassurance he’s there, leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek once you’ve fallen asleep

König

He takes one look at you and immediately knows you did not sleep

And yet, even if you watched the moon descend and the sun rise your cherub eyes are as loving and warm as they meet his

Whilst he was asleep, you inched closed and wrapped his strong arms around your body

Now he’s awoken to holding what he considers dear, you, enfolded in his arms gently

Cuddles and stays curled up next to you until you drift off to sleep, even if it’s only for a little bit

Horangi

At night, before bed he prepares teas, warms milk and anything else he can think of to get you to sleep

As daybreak enfolds he finds you yet again with dimmed eyes, signaling you did not sleep

You feel as if a river rushes through your bones as he strokes your back in circles, whispering softly in your ear

The soft, golden glow of the sun makes this scenery seem dreamy as your eyelids feel heavier

He watches until you fall asleep and subtly slips out of your arms, tucking you into bed and closing the curtains to let you sleep in and catch up on your sleep

Nikto

He’s either out like a rock or is tossing and turning unable to quiet his mind

In the silence, thinking you’re asleep, he reaches out to your form to engulf in your warmth only to find you awake when he glances at your face

You open your eyes and he freezes, already starting to retreat before you clutch his hand close, not letting go

“Sorry…for waking you” he mumbles, before you tell him you can’t sleep either

He’s silent for a moment before he softly says, “come closer” so he’s spooning you as you inhale his scent and fall asleep, your body rising with every breath; you’re like his stuffed animal 〜(⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝)♡

[clare-875]

Habits of Touch pt.2 (Ace, Law, Shanks)

_____ Pairings: (Separate) Ace x Reader; Law x Reader; Shanks x Reader Summary: His favorite time/way to share physical affection with you. Warnings: Fluff, Slightly suggestive, Alcohol, Female Reader [One Piece Masterlist] [Part 1: Luffy, Sanji, Zoro] _____

- Ace - Long days and Warm Hugs

When Ace loves it’s like you’re almost blessed with the comfort of a warm blanket wherever you may go. No matter if you had the most fulfilling or horrid day, Ace will seek you out; seek out your smaller form that also blesses him with a comfort only you could provide.

You could hardly deny the man.

How could you say no, when all you see is that wide, warm smile? How could you resist the hold he so easily provides, especially on days that seem to have no end? His hands were always gentle, his arms always wrapped around you tight. It was a sense of security and safety you would find yourself turning to every moment of your life.

Ace loved it.

Deprived of love in his early life, he now craves the ease at which you provide affection within his embrace. You gave a sort of comfort and a sort of love that he thought he would never find in his lifetime, but there you were every day of his life, so alluring and so utterly perfect. He adored your sweet scent that filled him as he went to embrace you. He adored your breathless laugh that reached his ears as he swung you around suddenly in his arms. He adored your gleaming eyes as you turned to him, full of devotion.

If he could, he would never let go.

Ace didn't see anything wrong with PDA, you were his and he was yours, and he would make sure that the whole world knew. Even as crew members often teased and laughed at his love-lorn state, all he could hear were your endearing words and laughter and joy. So even as his friends grinned provocatively all they would receive were passive words to leave the both of you be, they would never receive his eyes though, they were locked solely on you in his embrace.

The times when your form meant most to him, however, were on long and draining days that made fatigue creep up on him. On days that maybe didn't go the way he hoped, or on days when darker thoughts swept the depths of his mind, you were the only one who could get him out of his forlorn state. Even his crewmates knew of this and sought you out whenever they saw the second division commander lose his usual lustre for life and adventure.

He would do the same for you.

You adored how his murmured words and you, buried within him were all you needed to lose sight of a long and tiring day.

If you could, you would stay in his arms for eternity.

"[y/n]"

His breath is mumbled into your form as warm hands inch their way slowly around your body. Suddenly you are engulfed by his arms and his heat and the scent of him. You laugh gently as he buries his head deep into the crook of your neck and breaths you in, while you reach your arms around his larger stature too.

"Babe, 'm tired."

You smile at his drowsy words and the childish charm that reached him after a long day. However, before you can reply, your world is suddenly turning as Ace falls to the bed by his side, pulling you with him as he does. You let out a slight gasp but he merely holds you tighter and you are trapped within him.

"Let's stay here a while."

You barely have any time to reply to his uttered words as he drifts to sleep, at peace knowing you are in his arms. "You'll be the death of me Portgas D. Ace." You say with a sigh, but your smile lingers within your words and his smile grows, even in his sleep.

- Law - Late nights and Caresses

The entire crew knows of Law’s incessant need to be working until the early hours of the morning. The late nights spent on whatever research or stressors he deals with often taint his eyes dull and dark with lack of sleep. However, the crew also knows of the one cure to his constant exhaustion, the one cure to the irritation that brims throughout the day or evening and the headache he often harbours.

You.

If there’s anything Law craves more than peace from his thoughts, it is your touch that gives him that peace. Your fingers that carve through his hair are heavenly and as he is blessed by the ease of your touch, you are blessed by the sight of him in love. He wonders how a simple caress can rid of the stress he thought was endless as Captain of his crew, but your hands were divine as they raked through his hair.

You were the centre to all he sought, and whenever he saw that the stress that lingered caught onto you too, he would find himself doing the same. During late nights when you needed comfort, his strong hands would carve themselves through your hair, providing release from a long and tiring day. However, Law would be lying if he were to say he didn't prefer it the other way around. He loved the way you provided comfort and care in silent recognition of his turmoil and the silent movement of your hands.

Tonight was no different.

You hear the creak of the door and look up from atop your bed unsurprised to see the dishevelled man that walks through it. It had been about an hour since you had last checked up on him, and now it was late into the evening, evident by the exhausted man before you. You sigh half-heartedly, slightly in concern, slightly in exasperation at how you can not get him to stop overworking himself. He groans as he quickly goes about the room getting ready for bed, and once he does, he all but collapses to your side.

You put down the book you had been lazily skimming and turn to the man who is now lying next to you, eyes already closed. But you see the stress that still lingers, creeping up to him. Your hand moves as if on instinct to his soft raven locks, and your fingers gently thread through his hair. Almost instantly you see his reaction, as the etches of his face finally relax as though finally at peace.

You continue and he moves into your gentle movements letting out a low hum of contentment. You smile at the sight of his ease, but, you then feel his fingers gently take your hand and you look down, surprised to see he has turned to you, his grey eyes looking at yours.

He guides you down to his side, and suddenly you are beside him, lying down and facing him, your book forgotten on the bedside table. You meet his gaze, surprised to see the deep emotion that shows itself in the late hours of the evening. His face is soft, and your hand still reaches out to him, caressing the depths of his hair. Momentarily you see his eyes close but one hand is still wrapped loosely around your free one.

"Good night, love"

He mutters, drowsy words almost slurred out to you. You feel your lips upturn at his gentle words and actions.

"Good night Law, I love you."

You are surprised further when before you drift off to your own sleep, you hear the same devotion softly muttered back to you.

- Shanks - Drinks and Waists

Shanks often finds himself among his crew, laughing and drinking as another day of success brings about another reason to celebrate. His allies also know this well, as oftentimes times when old friends would come by, they find themselves enraptured by the red-haired pirates' lustre for a party. However, unbeknownst to them, Shanks is never satisfied by the drink in his hand, never satisfied by the thrumming of music or the laughter of comrades unless a certain someone graced him with their presence.

That someone?

You.

Unlike the allies that may come to join in on their celebrations the crew know of this all too well. Once alcohol has touched Shank’s bloodstream it only takes an instant for his eyes to wonder and his voice to call for you through the crowd. He will sulk like a child if you are not there beside him to celebrate the night with him. No matter how important the guests at the party were, or what occasion they were raising a beer to, his utmost priority was making sure you were by his side, his hands on your waist.

"Babe"

You smell the taint of alcohol on his lips as his hands roam to your waist before you are gently guided to his lap. You sigh and turn to your partner, who now has a slightly pink tint on his cheeks.

"Shanks, I thought I told you, no more."

You try to pry away the drink he looks to but you are surprised when he lets you move it away from him so easily. Instead he starts causing you to fluster as he places gentle kisses on your neck and pulls you tighter to him. "S-Shanks." Your words tremble in the air but he continues to hold you around your waist, and you are now almost straddling him.

"Hmm, don't worry so much."

His words are slurred against your form as you roll your eyes, but when you look up to meet his gaze, you are surprised to see them clear, as though sober.

"You are beautiful, do you know that?"

He whispers to you in the quiet of the slowly dying crowds within the bar. Your eyes widen momentarily at the sincerity of his words but you gently smile, caressing his hair as he thumbs gently circles against your hips. "Only because you remind me, like every minute of the day," you say teasingly, and are pleased to see the rising of red in his face at your words; the captain of the Red Haired Pirates, putty in your hands.

"Allow me to remind you, once again darling."

His words are uttered gently before you meet his lips with yours, the lingering alcohol now meeting you fully but doing nothing to betray your trust in his gently murmured words. By the end of the night, you are unsurprised to have to almost haul the Captain back to the ship, but his hands are still wrapped around your waist and pulling you close.

"I love you, do you know that?"

He whispers to you so bluntly and suddenly in the depths of the cool evening, it makes soft laughter erupt from within you. "Only because you tell me, every second of the day," you say softly, as the two of you finally make your way to where the ship is harboured. He then turns to you, eyebrows almost furrowed as he turns to you.

"And you? Do you love me too?"

He asks so softly and almost hesitantly, that you are caught off guard. You turn to his sincere but drunken gaze, still held tight next to him. You smile as your hand caresses his face gently.

"Of course I love you."

A grin enraptures his face before he leans onto you heavily, and you let out a heavy sigh knowing the alcohol has now lured him to sleep.

Just what will you do with him?

_____ @trinitrinitrini

[p0orbaby]

Born to Love You Back

summary: a very important question is on the horizon

warnings: none

a/n: some rich!reader for you all

word count: 1.7k

-

The jeweller’s salon is tucked into a narrow street in the 1st arrondissement, down a street so narrow you almost missed it, the kind of place that doesn’t need signage because everyone who matters already knows where it is. The building itself is unassuming but pristine, a five-storey townhouse with cream-coloured stone, wrought-iron balconies, a double door painted a deep charcoal with brass fixtures that gleam in the waning afternoon sun. Outside, a delivery van idles, spilling faint notes of Edith Piaf from its radio as a man unloads crates of flowers: cyclamen, lilies, eucalyptus branches arranged in bursts of green and white. They’ll likely find their way to the salon’s interior within the hour, arranged with almost mathematical precision to evoke a studied nonchalance.

Inside, it’s quiet—museum-like but less sterile, hushed but alive. There’s a balance between the soft hum of conversation from another room and the faint, barely perceptible scent of lilies and leather. The floors are a herringbone parquet, polished to an impossible sheen, and the walls are panelled in dove grey. Everything about the space is designed to whisper money. Even the receptionist, stationed behind a desk lacquered to such a high gloss that it might double as a mirror. She’s mid-twenties, probably just out of university—Sciences Po, perhaps, or one of the Grandes Écoles—wearing a black crepe shift dress that hits just above the knee. Chanel, you’d bet, though it’s hard to tell from here. Her hair is sleek and straight, parted sharply in the middle, her nails painted in Rouge Noir, a colour so iconic it’s practically shorthand for Parisian sophistication. She greets you in French first, then switches to English the moment she hears your accent, though her tone remains precisely the same—warm but not too warm, deferential but not subservient.

Aurélie is waiting for you on the stairs. She’s maybe late thirties, tall, with that certain froideur that women in her line of work cultivate like a second skin. Her blazer is Saint Laurent—black, sharply tailored, peak lapels—and her silk blouse is an ivory so fine it catches the light in a way cotton never could. Her trousers skim the tops of her Louboutin heels—black patent leather, red soles so subtle they barely register. Her jewellery is minimal but deliberate: a single strand of Mikimoto pearls, their lustre so perfect they almost look artificial, and a pair of matching studs. She smiles when she greets you, her lips painted a nude so neutral it could have come from any number of Tom Ford palettes, but you’d guess Casablanca.

“This way, please,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs with a hand that’s manicured in a soft ballet pink, not a chip in sight. You follow her up, noting the faint scent of her perfume—Chanel No. 19, not a popular choice but a discerning one, with its crisp notes of galbanum and iris that feel both professional and unapologetically feminine.

On the landing, there’s a painting—a still life, maybe Cézanne, maybe a very good imitation. You don’t stop to look, but it catches your eye enough to linger in your mind as Aurélie opens a door to the second-floor where Its quieter, darker. The walls are a deep navy—Farrow & Ball, maybe Hague Blue—and the rug beneath the central display case is thick enough to swallow the sound of your footsteps. The case itself is glass-topped and backlit, the kind of lighting that renders diamonds almost supernatural in their brilliance. The rings are arranged by cut and carat, each one nestled in its own velvet slot, the symmetry of the display both calming and slightly overwhelming.

Aurélie steps aside, giving you space but remaining close enough to anticipate your needs. She stands with her hands loosely clasped in front of her, her posture immaculate.

“Take your time,” she says, standing back with the same attentive grace she’s shown since you arrived.

You nod, your gaze already falling to the rings. You’ve thought about this for weeks, maybe months, but standing here, it feels more real, the weight of the decision settling in your chest. Not because you’re uncertain—you’re not—but because this is a moment you’ll remember, whether you want to or not.

The first ring is a cushion-cut diamond, two carats, set in a band of pave diamonds. Platinum, naturally. The proportions are flawless, the craftsmanship impeccable, but as you turn it in the light, you know immediately it’s wrong. Too ornate. Too eager. Alexia would hate it. You imagine her wearing it for a moment, and the thought feels so ridiculous you almost laugh. She doesn’t like excess, at least not in the obvious sense. Her taste is clean, modern, unfussy.

The second ring is pear-shaped, slightly smaller, but with a brilliance that draws your eye. The stone feels alive under the light, its facets catching every subtle movement of your hand. For a moment, you hesitate, thinking about how it would look on her hand, but then you remember something she said once, flipping through a magazine in bed: “Pear cuts are too delicate. They look like they’re trying too hard.”

You sigh, not quite aloud, but enough for Aurélie to notice. She steps closer, just enough to offer a quiet suggestion. “Does she have a preference?” she asks, her tone light, neutral. “For the setting, or the cut?”

“She likes things simple,” you say, the words coming out more clipped than you mean them to. It’s not her fault, this unease you feel. “Classic, but not boring”

Aurélie nods, her expression unchanged, and steps back again. You wonder if she can sense the weight of what you’re doing—if she’s seen enough of this to know the signs. The third ring catches your eye before you reach for it. A round brilliant diamond, 1.8 carats, set in a plain platinum band. No pave, no halo, no embellishments. It’s striking in its simplicity, the kind of ring that doesn’t need to assert itself because it knows what it is. You pick it up, holding it to the light, and as you turn it, something settles in you. This is the one. You don’t need to overthink it.

Aurélie smiles faintly, as though she already knew. “Shall I prepare it for you?” she asks.

You nod, handing it back, and she takes it with both hands, disappearing into a back room.

While she’s gone, you pull out your phone. You shouldn’t call her—she’s probably still at training, her mind on drills and tactics—but you do it anyway. She answers on the third ring, her voice steady but soft, with that familiar cadence you’ve missed more than you’d care to admit.

“Hey,” she says, her voice clear, grounded, with just the faintest lilt of distraction. In the background, there’s a low murmur of voices, the familiar thud of a ball meeting turf, maybe a coach shouting something that’s swallowed up by the wind. You imagine the sun slicing through the Catalan sky, the kind of relentless brightness that makes the whole city shimmer.

“Hey,” you reply, smoothing nonexistent creases from your blazer out of habit, though no one is watching. Your reflection in the polished glass of the display case looks composed, disinterested, but the sound of her voice pulls something taut inside you. “How’s training?”

“Same as always,” she says, and there’s a pause—just long enough for you to hear her exhale softly, almost imperceptibly. You know she’s stepped aside, moved to some quieter corner of the training complex where no one will overhear. She’s careful like that, never careless, always aware of her surroundings.

“Still exhausting?” you ask, and she laughs under her breath—a low, warm sound that lingers longer than it should.

“Mhm,” she hums, the sound of it makes you smile despite yourself. “But it’s a good kind of exhausting. You know how it is”

“Not sure I do,” you tease, leaning against the edge of the display case, its surface cool against your hand. “I can’t say I’ve run laps around a pitch lately. Unless you count running several businesses as exercise”

“Of course,” she says, dry but affectionate, “such an athlete. Truly inspiring”

The corner of your mouth twitches upward. “I aim to impress”

There’s a faint rustle of movement on her end—maybe she’s leaning against a wall, maybe adjusting the strap of her training bib. You picture her in that effortless way she carries herself: shorts sitting just right, socks perfectly rolled down, hair tied back in that half-loose, half-styled way that only someone like her can pull off.

“Where are you?” she asks, not because she doesn’t know, but because it’s the kind of question you ask when you want the conversation to last a little longer.

“Near Rue de la Paix,” you say, keeping it vague. “Finishing up a meeting”

“You’re always finishing up a meeting,” she says, and there’s a lightness to her tone, but it doesn’t quite hide the subtext.

“You’re always training,” you counter, matching her tone, and you hear her chuckle, soft but genuine.

“Buen punto”

There’s a brief pause. In the background, someone calls her name, a voice you don’t recognise, and she responds with a quick, sharp “Un momento.” The way she switches languages so fluidly—it’s seamless—and yet it reminds you, in a small but certain way, that her world is different from yours. Barcelona, with its golden afternoons and relentless sun, its terracotta rooftops and restless streets, feels a thousand miles away from the polished stillness of this Parisian jewellers.

“You should,” you encouraged knowing full well she’ll make no move to end the call herself.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks, and it’s a question, but not really.

“Of course,” you say, without hesitation this time.

There’s another silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence you could live in, one where nothing needs to be said because the words are already understood. Finally, she says, “Te quiero,” and you hear the faint click as she ends the call.

Aurélie returns with the ring, now nestled in a velvet box so pristine it looks almost untouched by human hands. You slip it into your pocket, the weight of it grounding you, and leave the salon with a nod of thanks.

Outside, Paris feels sharper, brighter. The air smells faintly of rain and burnt sugar from a nearby crepe stand, and the light is just beginning to soften as dusk approaches. For the first time all day, you feel steady.

[d0llcuries]

HIIII 🫶 i wanted to ask if i could request a neteyam x omatikaya readerrr where she’s caring for him while he’s healing from the bullet so it’s like just a bit after the war (bc in my head he didn’t die 😔😔😔) and she’s checking up on him making sure he’s okay distracting him from pain/the situation hopefully that makes some sense just some cute stuff like that hehe. (im delusional 💓)

THANKS BABE

KISS YOU BETTER

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: healing is a process. a slow, lonely and frightful one. you do what you can to be there for him, forever thankful to eywa that he still has breath in his lungs.

author's note: i am the world's fattest dillydallyer, i fear. bear with me folks please and thankss!!

neteyam’s chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, his skin too warm under your palm where his heartbeat drums, faint, beneath layers of gauze and healing paste. the evening light, watery and red through the fibers of the marui pod, filters down over him, casting a glow that makes his blue skin look brighter.

a faint lustre of sweat lies at his temples. you can’t tell if it is the heat or the strain of healing that makes him look fragile, but it is unsettling. it feels like months have passed since that day. the bullet. the blood. the scream that ripped from your throat like you could tear the world in half with it.

he's been in and out of it for days. sometimes, he wakes with a shudder, his fingers twitching as if he’s reaching for his knife or his bow or something to hold onto before his muscles relax and he lays dormant once again. you wonder, not for the first time, what he dreams of now. if he’s still out there, somewhere between life and death, between the stars and the ground, or if he’s here, with you, feeling the soft pressure of your fingers on his skin, the warmth of your breath on his neck. you wonder if he feels the way your hands shake, if he knows how scared you are, even though you don’t say it.

“yawne,” he murmurs, voice raspy, cracking around the edges. it’s the only word he seems to have the strength for lately. my love. you could hear it a thousand times, and still, it would twist your insides in knots, the feeling churning beneath your ribs like roots digging into soil that’s too dry to give way. he says it like it is his only bind to the world.

the air inside the tent is sticky, thick, a little too sweet with the musk of old herbs and the iron tang of blood. you can taste it on your tongue as you breathe, cloying, like when you bite too hard into a mango and the juice drips down your chin, half-spoiled, but still too good to stop. the world is settling outside the night drawing in like a slow breath and inside, the hush of it, the weight of it, sinks into your skin, pools behind your eyes, heavy and aching.

his lashes cast long shadows across his cheeks, his lips chapped and parted as he pulls in uneven breaths. you move carefully, your hands trembling just a little as they skim over his ribs, up to his face, cradling his jaw in your palms. he feels fragile. your body aches in ways you can’t describe, the knots in your muscles from sleeping beside him, always curled up in awkward positions, always watchful. your knees are sore from kneeling too long, your neck stiff from leaning against the wooden posts of the tent. but all that discomfort it feels so small, so inconsequential, in the face of his suffering.

you stroke his hair back, letting the braids slip through your fingers one by one. the roots are damp, curls matted against his scalp. you hum a little under your breath, some half-forgotten melody your mother used to sing when you were small, when the days felt longer and the nights less lonely. the sound barely reaches your ears, swallowed by the thick air, but neteyam stirs, just a fraction, his lips twitching like he's trying to smile, trying to remember how.

dried blood like rust staining the fresh bandages you’ve wrapped around him. your hands know the routine now. the careful unraveling of cloth, the soft hiss of his breath when the cool air touches the wound, the gentle pat of the herbs pressed to his skin. you move like you’re in a trance, like this is a dream, and maybe it is. maybe none of this is real.

you press another kiss to his lips this time, barely more than a whisper of touch, but it feels like a promise. i’m here. i’m staying.

you trace the lines of his collarbone, the curve of his jaw, your touch light, as if you’re afraid he’ll shatter under your hands. you won’t leave me, you think, pressing your lips to the hollow of his throat, you can’t.

you kiss him again, soft, featherlight kisses that brush his skin like a promise, like a prayer. and with each one, you hope—this one will heal him. this one will be enough. but hope is like the wind, you think. it slips through your fingers no matter how tightly you hold on.

so you lie there, listening to the sound of his breathing, the faint rustle of the tent, the hum of the forest, and you wonder how many more kisses it will take before he’s whole again.

his presence is a tether, thin as it may be, binding you here. holding you together, even though the world outside feels as though it has unraveled completely. you sit beside him, legs curled under you, skin tingling with exhaustion. your bones feel like they might fold in on themselves, but none of that matters. wake up.

a sound escapes him. his lips move—just the faintest twitch, but it is something. he is here.

“neteyam,” you whisper. saying his name and it aches to let it out.

his lips part, a dry rasp of breath slipping through, and you reach for the gourd beside you, lifting it to his mouth. the water pools in the curve of his lips, slow and steady.

“drink,” you murmur, your voice catching on the word.

he drinks, the water moving down his throat in quiet gulps, each one easing the tightness there, smoothing the lines of strain from his face. you watch the way his throat moves, the tension softening just a little. when he is done, you lower the gourd, your thumb brushing against his lips, catching the drops that linger there.

your breath catches in your throat as neteyam’s eyes flutter open, the softest sliver of gold peeking through the lashes you have been watching so closely, day after day. your heart leaps before you can even stop it, a wild, untamed thing in your chest, and you do not know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. your hands hover above him, trembling with the need to touch him, to pull him into you, but you stop yourself, knowing how fragile he still is. every fiber of your being is vibrating with joy, your body a live wire of emotions, but you hold yourself back, afraid of overwhelming him, of hurting him.

“nete!” you breathe, the word coming out as half-laughter, half-sob, and you are trembling with the effort it takes not to throw yourself into his arms. your fingers brush his cheek, feather-light, as if he might disappear if you press too hard. the ache in your chest is too much, too bright, and all you can do is smile down at him, wide and breathless, blinking back the tears that blur your vision. he is here, really here, and you do not know how to contain it, how to quiet the storm of happiness that surges through you. you lean down, your forehead just barely touching his, and whisper, “you are awake!” your voice shaking with the weight of all the things you cannot say, all the joy you cannot express without breaking apart.

“you should be resting,” he says, and the sound of it makes your breath catch again. you have heard this voice so many times, but now it feels new, fragile.

you let out a soft laugh, half surprise, half relief, your fingers drifting through his hair, catching the strands that have come loose from his braids. “so should you,” you whisper, feeling the way his body hums beneath your touch, the way his presence pulls you in like the tide, slow and unrelenting.

he makes a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and it vibrates through your bones, quiet and deep. his hand tightens on yours, just a little, but enough. enough to remind you that he is here, that you are tethered to him still.

“i missed you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them, too heavy with meaning. it is not just the missing of these last few days, these long, aching hours. it is the missing of something bigger, something that stretches across time. something that you cannot name.

he hums again, and you feel it in the space between your ribs, that soft agreement. you missed him too, even though you were never really gone. his breathing slows, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there is peace on his face.

“you are going to get better,” you whisper, as if saying it out loud might make it true. as if the words might stitch him back together, might pull him from the edge of whatever dark place he has been hovering near. you press your lips to his brow, kissing the smooth skin there, untouched by the pain that has tried to claim him.

another kiss, this one softer, to the tip of his nose, then his jaw, your lips trailing down to the place where his pulse beats steadily beneath the surface of his skin. he is still here.

you press your mouth to that spot, feeling the rhythm of his life under your lips, and you think, “you know,” you murmur against his skin, “if kissing you could heal you faster, you would be running by now.”

his chest moves with a low sound, something between a chuckle and a breath, and it fills the space between you like music. it makes you smile, makes your heart stutter and swell, and you nuzzle into him, your face pressed against the warmth of his neck, your hand splayed over his chest, trying to anchor yourself in this moment.

“you are doing a good job, then,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but it is full of something light, something playful.

your heart leaps at the sound, and you lift your head to look at him, to see the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. his eyes are still closed, but there is life in him now, a flicker of the boy you know—the boy who makes you laugh, the one who makes you feel like the world is not such a terrible place after all.

“then i will keep doing it,” you say, pressing another kiss to his cheek, your smile wide and soft, full of too much feeling.

“do not stop,” he murmurs, and it is almost playful, almost light, and you can feel your heart swelling again, pushing against your chest like it might burst.

you press your forehead to his, your body melting into his warmth, and the world outside feels so far away now, like it cannot reach you here.

“i will not,” you promise, the words slipping from your lips like a vow, like something sacred.

the silence returns, but it is full now, heavy with the weight of everything you have not said, everything you do not need to say. his breathing steadies, slow and rhythmic, and your body sinks into his, your exhaustion finally easing, replaced by something softer. something that feels like peace.

and in this quiet, in this small, fragile moment, you feel it—the hope that has been hiding in the corners of your heart. you feel it blooming, slow and tentative, but there, growing in the space between you.

because he is still here. and you are still here. and that, somehow, is enough.

the sun was unforgiving, but you dug your fingers into the sand anyway, letting it gather beneath your nails, small grains cool against the heat that pressed down on your skin. the ocean sang before you, waves rolling softly toward the shore, brushing against your toes before retreating, almost shy in their touch. you tilted your face up toward the sky, letting the light cascade over you, trying to soak in its warmth, trying to let it chase away the heavy ache in your chest.

you didn’t know how long you’d been sitting there, but it didn’t matter. you came here often now, to this spot just beyond the village, where you could hear the water breathing, feel the sand shift beneath you, and pretend, for a moment, that everything was right. you dug your fingers in deeper, the sensation grounding you, pulling you back from the thoughts that threatened to drag you under.

neteyam was healing. slowly, carefully, but the wounds were still fresh, the memory of his blood staining your hands still too sharp. there were nights you woke with that same metallic scent in your nose, the image of him falling, so still and quiet, burned behind your eyelids. even now, as the sun beat down on you, your mind circled back to it—over and over.

you curled your fingers into fists, the sand slipping through them, leaving nothing but the feel of it sticking to your palms. you hated this. this waiting, this stillness. but you hated it more for him. neteyam wasn’t made to lie still. he was built for movement, for the hunt, for the wild freedom of the forest and sky. now, he was trapped. and in a way, so were you.

your eyes flickered toward the horizon, where the sea stretched out in endless blue. there was a celebration tonight—the metkayina’s way of welcoming a new season. you remembered the last one, how the village had come alive, vibrant and wild. you’d danced with neteyam then, under the stars, laughing as the ocean crashed around your feet. everything had felt light, easy. before.

now, the thought of going felt… wrong. how could you join in their joy when so much of yours was tethered to him, back in that marui, lying still and quiet? how could you celebrate without him by your side?

you pushed yourself up slowly, your body resisting the movement, as if it too was reluctant to leave this spot. you wiped the sand from your hands, shaking your head at your own thoughts. no neteyam, no joy. it was simple, really. without him, nothing felt complete.

the marui was bathed in soft light when you returned, the warm glow of the afternoon filtering in through the slats. it was quieter now, the village settling into the rhythm of evening. inside, neteyam lay where you left him, though his eyes fluttered open as you stepped closer. kiri and tuk were still there, but kiri shot you a small, tired smile, relief evident in the way her shoulders sagged.

“thank you,” she murmured, barely audible, as she stood, tugging tuk up gently. tuk looked up at you, her eyes bright as she offered a tiny smile, her fingers brushing your leg as she passed by. “he’s all yours.”

you nodded, giving her a grateful look before she slipped out of the marui, tuk trailing behind her, the sound of their soft footsteps disappearing into the distance. and then there was only the quiet. the kind of quiet that settled easily between you and neteyam, comfortable, familiar, as if it had always been this way.

you knelt beside him, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, studying the way the light played over his skin. his breathing was slow, steady, and for a moment, all you could do was watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitched slightly as if he was reaching for something just out of grasp.

“they are gone?” his voice broke the silence, soft and low, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“they are gone,” you confirmed, your hand instinctively reaching for his cheek, fingers brushing over the warmth of his skin. it was a simple touch, one you found yourself craving more and more, needing the reassurance of his presence, of his life beneath your fingertips.

he leaned into your touch, his smile widening just a fraction, though it didn’t quite chase away the exhaustion that lingered in his eyes. “good.”

for a moment, you just sat there, letting the quiet stretch between you, not needing to fill it with words. you had said everything already, in the days following his injury, in the long hours spent by his side, watching over him while he healed. the words weren’t important. this was. being here. being with him.

the soft hum of the village outside broke the stillness, the faint sounds of preparation for the celebration beginning to drift into the marui. laughter echoed from somewhere far off, the rhythm of drums picking up in the distance, the promise of festivity hanging in the air. but you didn’t care for it, not tonight. not when neteyam was still here, still recovering. the idea of leaving him behind, of being anywhere without him, felt impossible.

“the festival,” he murmured suddenly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. his eyes opened fully now, locking onto yours with a quiet intensity. “you should go.”

your brow furrowed in confusion, tilting your head slightly as you searched his face. “why?”

“because you should,” he replied, as though the answer was obvious, his gaze flickering with something you couldn’t quite name. “you have not been out… you have not done anything in forever.”

“i do not need to,” you said simply, shrugging as though the thought had never occurred to you. because it hadn’t.

he shifted slightly, discomfort flashing briefly across his face, though he hid it well. “you should nkt miss out because of me. it is not fair.”

you blinked, the frustration flaring just beneath the surface. how could he think that? how could he even suggest that any of this was his fault, or that you were missing out on anything at all? he was here. and that was enough.

“neteyam,” you began softly, your fingers brushing over the curve of his cheekbone, trying to soothe the tension you saw building there. “i have fun wherever you are. it does not matter what is happening outside.”

his frown deepened, like he didn’t quite believe you, like he was still carrying the weight of guilt for everything that had happened—for being hurt, for making you stay. but you didn’t press him further. you knew he needed time to understand. you weren’t missing anything. the world could celebrate all it wanted outside; you’d remain here, tethered to him, with him.

the rest of the day unfolded in small moments. the kind that didn’t need words to fill them. you stayed by his side, sometimes talking, other times letting the soft sounds of the village drift in from outside, the lull of the ocean a constant, gentle presence. he watched you in those quiet moments, his eyes following you as you moved around the marui, his gaze lingering as though he needed the reassurance that you were still there, still with him.

the sun was low in the sky now, casting everything in hues of gold and pink. the sounds of the festival had grown louder, laughter mingling with the rhythmic beat of drums, the clinking of shells as decorations were strung along the walkways. the energy outside was palpable, the village alive with celebration, but inside your marui, the quiet remained.

neteyam shifted again, his body protesting the movement, though he masked the discomfort as best he could. his eyes flickered toward the entrance of the marui, the faintest trace of music filtering through the air.

he turned back to you, his gaze more focused this time, more determined. “go get something to eat.”

you blinked, your brows knitting together as you stared at him. “what?”

“food,” he repeated, his tone light but insistent. “from the festival. go grab some.”

narrowing your eyes, you studied his face. he hadn’t let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes in the past days, and now he was practically urging you to leave. “what are you planning?”

“nothing,” he replied. “i am hungry. go. please?”

your lips pressed into a thin line, clearly unconvinced, but you rose to your feet anyway, giving him one last look before slipping out of the marui. the air outside was cooler now, the night settling in around you, and you could feel the pulse of the village as you made your way toward the center, where the celebration was in full swing. your mind already drifted back to neteyam, wondering what he was up to, why he was so adamant about sending you away. it wasn’t like him. not now, not when he needed you.

the food spread along the long, low tables is almost too much to look at, piles of bright fruits and roasted fish, grains and herbs twisted into fragrant shapes, everything vibrant and rich, as though the night itself has bloomed into this feast. your fingers brush over the cool surface of a carved bowl, feeling the delicate grooves, the weight of the work that went into every small detail. you carefully fill your basket, trying not to disturb too much of the display, slipping a few extra pieces of fruit between the flatbread and smoked meats, thinking of tuk’s bright eyes when she sees what you have brought back. the thought brings a smile to your lips, but it is fleeting, tempered by the pull of responsibility that sits low in your stomach. neteyam is still weak, and you know he will not eat unless you bring him something.

“you are not staying?” tsireya’s voice is soft but lilting, a note of surprise carried by the night air as she steps toward you, her hair catching in the lantern light, strands of it glowing like spun copper. her eyes are wide and kind, her arms laden with shells strung together on thin threads, swaying with the easy grace of the ocean. she leans in, “you are always leaving so quickly. you should enjoy yourself tonight.”

you smile at her, tucking the basket closer to your side. “i wish i could,” you say, and it is the truth, though it feels like a half-formed thing on your tongue, like something left out in the sun too long. even as you speak, you feel the quiet distance between you and the festival, like you are watching it all from the other side of a glass wall. tsireya’s face softens, a flicker of understanding passing through her eyes, but before she can say anything else, tuk comes bounding up, her small hands tugging at the hem of your skirt, her face lit up with excitement.

“you have to stay for the dancing!” tuk’s voice is bright, her breath coming quick from her running. she looks up at you with such earnestness that it tugs at something in your chest, the way only a child can, her wide eyes reflecting the shimmering lights around you like she is holding the stars themselves. tsireya gives you a look, one that is all gentle encouragement, a soft nudge in the direction of the night’s festivities, and for a moment, just a moment, you consider it. staying. letting the music and laughter carry you for just a little while, letting the world slip away for a few hours. but then the weight of the basket shifts in your hands again, grounding you back to reality, and you know you cannot. not tonight.

“another time,” you say, your voice softer now, tinged with a quiet apology you hope they will understand. you brush a hand over tuk's cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin. “i promise.”

you returned as quickly as you could, stepping back into the marui with the scent of roasted fish and fruit clinging to the air. but the moment you walked inside, the food forgotten in your hands, you froze.

neteyam was standing.

his body was trembling slightly, one hand gripping the wall for support, but he was standing, his eyes bright with determination, his grin wide and boyish as he watched your stunned reaction.

“neteyam,” you whispered, barely able to speak, the shock freezing you in place. “what are you doing?”

“we are dancing,” he said simply, his voice soft but firm, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. as though this wasn’t a miracle.

you shook your head, taking a hesitant step forward, torn between wanting to scold him for pushing himself too far and being so overwhelmed with love for him you thought you might burst. “you should not be standing. you—”

but before you could finish, he reached for you, his hand catching yours gently, pulling you closer. “come on. just for a while.”

the music from the festival floated through the air, the soft, distant beat of the drums like a heartbeat, slow and steady. you let him guide you, your hands finding their way to his waist, careful not to press too hard, not to disturb the bandages still wrapped around his middle.

he moved slowly, his steps tentative but deliberate, and you moved with him, letting the rhythm carry you both, swaying gently in the small space of the marui. his breath was warm against your skin, his forehead resting against yours as you danced together, the world outside falling away.

“this is all i need,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “just you.”

you pressed your face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the warmth of his skin against yours. your heart swelled in your chest, the love you felt for him spilling over, too big to contain.

“you are all i need too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, your arms tightening around him.

and as the faint music played on, you stayed there, swaying together in the dim light of the marui, the world outside forgotten, everything you needed right here, in this moment, in each other.

[marvelimaginesyesplease]

Hermes X Reader

You sniffled, nose crinkling as you stared up at the large building. Bushy ferns and large, stone pillars speckled with gold stood before you. Any other day, you might have found it beautiful, stunning even, but today it left your chest tight, a pit sinking into the very depths of your stomach.

“Nervous?”

You turned, startled. You hadn’t even heard anyone come up beside you. Some hero you’d been.

“Uh-” You paused as you took in the man standing to your right. He was handsome, with sharp almost elfish features and a mop of dark hair. His blue eyes seemed to shift in the morning sun, almost as if he were planning something mischievous.

He smiled, wolfish canines exposed as he tilted his head towards you. “Hermes,” He offered his hand, the other coming up to rest casually on his hip.

Of course, you thought to yourself as your eyes flicked over his robed figure. He seemed so casual despite the way the off white cloth draped across his shoulders. It stopped at the tops of his bronzed thighs, wrapped perfectly around his lean figure, and your eyes widened ever so slightly at the brown leather sandals that adorned his feet. Feathered wings sprouted from his heels, and they shifted and flexed slightly, moving as if they had minds of their own.

“Nice feet,” You offered lightly, almost as if you were mesmerized.

A warm chuckle escaped him. You were cute.

“Thanks!” He chirped, reaching down to take your hand in his own. He shook it lightly, and you flushed as you realized you’d completely ignored a God’s greeting. “Don’t mind the formal attire, it’s not very often people are indicted into the Hero’s Hall of Fame anymore. Casual dress felt too…blah, for such an occasion.” He winked as he spoke, and you couldn’t help the grin that threatened to escape you.

“Hero’s hall of fame…” The words escaped you slowly as you turned your gaze from him, staring up at the building once again. Hero. Had you been a hero? You must have been. But you’d been in battle, sword drawn-

So you’d died.

Oh.

Hermes must have seen the way your expression shifted, because suddenly his warm fingers were gently pressing against your arm.

“I’m the one who fetched you,” He offered quietly. His voice was oddly comforting. You supposed that made sense, since he delivered souls. “You were quite the warrior. Rather ferocious. Ares would have been proud.”

The compliment might have meant something to you if you hadn’t been going over the life you’d left behind, the people you had been trying to save.

“They won because of your sacrifice,” Hermes spoke again, and your gaze shifted from the columns before you to his own swirling, blue irises. They were mesmerizing and entirely in-human. “I was there. I waited for you.”

You felt the way your brows drew together, the thin line of your lips as you pursed them, how your fingers flexed at your sides. He was trying to be nice, but that was easy for someone who couldn’t die. He never had to face his own death.

“Well,” You started. You sounded dry, lack lustre. “Thanks I guess.”

Hermes studied you for a moment before he began to laugh. It sounded like wind chimes-soft and musical. It was beautiful. Your expression softened.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever come across a mortal who was so unimpressed,” He managed through his laughter, casting his gaze back to you. Were all of the gods this laidback? They must not have been. You couldn’t imagine Ares being this kind. Or maybe he would be, since you’d died a warrior.

“It’s refreshing,” He finished, before offering his arm to you. “Are you ready to meet the council? Hear about your great victory and where you’ll be enjoying the rest of your immortal existence?”

You stared down at his muscular arm, shoulders warm as the sun glared down at the two of you. Your immortal existence…so very different than the life you’d lead down below. Or was it above? Where even were you? Olympus? The underworld? You weren’t entirely sure.

“I…suppose so,” You spoke slowly, gingerly looping your arm through his own. You’d never touched a god before, and you marveled at the way his skin seemed to crackle with electricity against your own, almost as if there were a live wire held beneath the surface, like his body was barely containing the energy force that was Hermes. It felt electric, exciting.

You looked up at him, memorizing the way his eyes crinkled and the sharp curves of his cupid’s bow. You understood why mortals fell for god’s: they were beautiful. He reminded you of the man you’d fallen for on earth. He’d been calculated, brave, giving…and the knowing look behind his eyes, the warmth he seemed to emanate was incredibly reminiscent of Hermes’ energy right in this moment. You could only hope he’d lived, that maybe one day you’d see him again.

“I’m ready,” You finally spoke. “Lead the way.”

Hermes nodded, before he began to ascend the steps to his family’s throne room, ensuring you were tucked securely against his side. He could barely admit it to himself, but his heart was thrumming against his ribs, body itching to explode due to your proximity. You looked nothing like you had when you’d been on the mortal plane last-and he was thankful for it.

Do not fall in love with humans, his sister had warned him. They’re fragile beings. They die. And it will only break your heart.

I won’t! He’d laughed.

I would never, he’d tried to convince himself as he’d delivered letters between armies.

I can’t, he’d said again when you were the one who’d been waiting this time instead of the abrasive man who usually met him.

I couldn’t, he’d said again when he’d witnessed how kind you were.

I can’t be, he’d tried to convince himself when he noticed how often he found himself hiding amongst mortals, kept close to your side.

I am, he’d finally confessed, when he’d found himself tangled in your bedsheets, naked limbs intertwined with your own as you’d slept.

He’d looked a little different then, careful to keep his identity hidden. He wasn’t supposed to get involved in mortal affairs, especially ones that could impact wars, change their history, rewrite their future. He wasn’t his father; he didn’t have that sort of power. He’d had to keep it to himself, disappear to attend to his immortal duties, reappear when it wouldn’t look suspicious to you or your comrades, try not to let himself get too distracted as he’d fucked himself into you, completely lost to himself as you’d cried out in his arms.

Even now, he wanted you.

And when he’d seen you collapse in battle, silent as you died, he’d nearly wept. The wail that had escaped him-he almost lost himself. He’d slaughtered men to get to you, sent the Titan’s creations to his uncle’s domain without thinking about the implications, the trouble he’d cause. He was meant to deliver souls, not destroy them. But he’d loved you. Foolishly, recklessly, adored you.

A hero, Zeus had bellowed. Hermes remained stoic, expressionless as your soul lay in his arms. Bring her to Olympus for her trial. She will be celebrated before she is sent to Elysium.

Elysium.

Where Hermes could not go.

Where Hermes could not see you freely.

Where Hermes could not touch you.

Where Hermes could not openly love you.

A sharp pain rippled across his rib cage as you began to ascend the steps. Images of you beneath him, wide eyes meeting his, lips parted as he braced himself above you, praising you as you took him danced across his mind. The way you’d arched your back, head tossed back as you’d cried out his name, nails raking across his skin.

“I love you,” He’d breathed into your mouth, pupils blown wide as he watched you.

You’d cried out, voice soft as you met his gaze. “I love you.”

Hermes wanted you now. He wanted you in every way for as long as he could have you. He wanted to be selfish too, to steal you, to hide your soul from prying eyes and keep you to himself.

But he continued to ascend the steps, arm linked through your own.

He’d find a way, he swore to himself, watching you from the corner of his eye. He had to.

[acynicalsweetheart]

LOVE IS A LOSING GAME

pairing: pre-tulpar!curly x fem!reader

word count: 3.0k

content warning: 18+, age gap, established relationship, daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, sex, tummy bulge, mentions of pregnancy, mild obsession/dependency, sort of sappy and soft here and there… canon events of mouthwashing do take place after this

author's note: hi… still nervous to death about posting even if i already shared this on my ao3. i think i yapped enough there so yah. first fic + smut ever btw LOL that's why it's so.. lack lustre. supposed to be the last day before his tulpar departure. any interaction appreciated! inspired by softer softest from rimqueen on here .

It’s the last day.

The last day, if your star-crossed streak strikes again, you’ll ever see your Curly. You don’t want him to leave, why would you? Most importantly, why would he? His job is proclaimed to be your full-time daddy, not up in the galaxy, not in the middle of spacefuck nowhere. 

It’s five minutes past seven pm. Five minutes past the time he was supposed to be home. Of course you’re worried sick, what if he left early? To the ship, that is. You’re just pacing, anxiously turning your engagement ring left and right, the one Curly got you. The one that sits painfully cold and tight around your finger, not pleasant the way it does when he’s home—a reminder of his promise. Right now, it’s your only comfort, worrying with you as you overthink, flipping through all the reasons of why he isn’t home yet. 

You don’t trust that strange guy he always hangs out with, that shady type. His name leaves a bad taste in your mouth every time you say it. Every time you hear someone else say it. What if Jimmy’s the one who took your Curly away? He looks like he would. You can’t stand the way he looks like a wet and grumpy street cat living amongst dumpster trash. Your daddy is nowhere near dumpster trash, you truly don’t understand what he sees in him. He’s fond of Jimmy in a way that makes this dark-black cloud of jealousy settle snugly in your heart. 

The fact that he’s going to be up there with him and not you, for twelve and a half months—more than a year, that isn’t right. If you got pregnant today, you’d have to raise your baby all alone. Curly says he’s going to marry you when he gets back. All you hope is just that he does get back. 

You’ve got a Curly-shaped itch between your legs that only his dick can reach. 

Seven minutes past seven pm is when you hear keys jingling outside the front door. Seven is certainly not your lucky number. You’re on him the second he steps in, jumping up into his lap, lips smashing onto his before he can even inhale. Curly grabs onto you like it’s his instinct to do so. Has it been seven minutes or seven years? 

“Daddy!” You cup his face in your hands, stubble grazing your palms, almost wanting to shake some sense into his head, eyes searching for his. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry, honey, I—“ Curly’s voice is quickly muffled by your lips again, you just couldn’t resist shutting him up with another kiss. 

In your defence, he shouldn’t have come home looking that kissable and that fuckable. 

“Thought I’d lost you...” it’s a breathy admission, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones like he’s the most precious porcelain doll. You hug him tightly, gripping onto the fabric of his clothes and hope that maybe, just maybe, you’ll both be frozen like this forever. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he chuckles reassuringly, bouncing you up and down the way he should be doing on his cock. “Daddy was getting fitted for his new suit, took a few more minutes than expected.”

You hadn’t even noticed that he was wearing it. Frankly, you don’t care what he’s wearing—you need it off, and you need it off now. 

“Yeah?” You ask as you pull back, taking another moment to look at him. 

“Yeah, fits like a glove,” Curly replies, seemingly way too proud. 

Like he is completely oblivious to the fact that he’s a walking, talking, living and comically oversized sex doll. Makes your stomach pool with the most uncomfortable cocktail of worry and arousal. How many people are gonna see him in that? Either way, you need to fit him like a glove. Right now, as a matter of fact. 

“Well, I missed you.” You pout, absentmindedly smoothing down the collar of his uniform. 

“Missed you more,” Curly noses at your cheek, saying that like he’s sure of it. 

“Then take me to bed,” it’s but a simple phrase, yet it makes Curly blush all the same, even at his age. 

“Alright, baby. As you wish.”

You drench Curly’s face and neck in kisses while he carries you to bed, hopefully getting him just as turned on as you are. Although you think you take the cake, you’ve been pining for twelve hours straight, since he left for work this morning. It’s hard, not being able to last one day without fucking the shit out of him. 

Curly sits on the edge of the bed, but you want him in the middle of it. You want it to be special, to honour the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that keeps telling you it might be the last time. You want it to be your very own, personal romance movie—starring nobody else aside from you and Curly. 

You straddle him, legs struggling a little to fit on each side of his, hovering over the spacious and sparsely golden-haired expanse of his thighs. You’d like to ride them sometime, feel what it’s like to get them sticky with your juices. There’s so many things you want to do with Curly, do to Curly. So many things you might never get the chance to do.

His hands settle on your hips for the moment.

You unbutton his uniform, actively working against your lack of self-control to not just rip it off. You unbutton it like there’s time, like Curly isn’t leaving tomorrow, like it isn’t fully probable that this is the last time you’ll ever see each other. 

Button after button, the blond tufts of ocean waves on his chest reveal, getting sparser and darker to the trail down to the marbles of his stomach. You can’t get enough of him, his majestic fucking stallion face, flushed cheeks, huge tits, ridiculously big dick; everything that makes Curly, Curly. 

You need him so badly you can almost taste it. Taste him. Somewhere in your reddening, quickening heart, you hope that he needs you just as badly. 

“Daddy,” you start, but he’s already undressing, tugging the uniform down his legs. 

“I know, baby.” Curly leans in to peck your cheek, makes quick work of taking off your nightie. 

He unclasps your bra the same way he’s done a million times before, leaving it on top of the pile of shed clothes. He pulls your panties off, helping you lift one of your legs after the other. Curly even takes off your fuzzy socks. 

Your pussy’s crying out for your daddy, leaking onto his boxers and darkening the fabric. You’re soaked to the bone, stripped to the bone, all for him. 

You’re the one who leans in to kiss him again, shivering when he moves a hand to the nape of your neck, keeping your hair from spilling onto your naked frame. Curly’s other hand smooths down your side before his roughened fingertips find your swollen clit.

If your pussy could talk, it’d be screaming how badly it needs daddy. 

Curly touches you gingerly, his kisses swallowing every noise you make. He never outruns the achingly slow and gentle way he touches you in, doing it all so softly as if you’d break if he did it in any other manner. 

He buries his face in your neck, peppering kisses up and down, lips lingering on the spots he knows feel good for you. But Curly doesn’t bite, doesn’t suck, doesn’t leave a mark like you want him to. He doesn’t leave anything to show that you’re his—that he’s yours. 

The circles against your bud are doing numbers even if his touch is nothing but ghosting, tickling the nerves. Your hips buck to meet his touch, craving the feel of his fingertips on every millimeter of your clit the same way anybody craves anything.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers knowingly, lips brushing against your ear. “Cum for daddy.”

It twitches under the pads of his fingers, eyes fluttering shut at the tingles starting in your toes and making their way up to your loins. Your blunt nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent moons. Something little to show that he belongs to you. 

You tense up, head hanging low as you cum with a needy whine, translucent stickiness dripping down your daddy’s fingers and your thighs. Your legs are trembling, but it’s not nearly enough. 

“Need you inside, daddy,” you state the obvious before Curly even has time to tell you how much of a good girl you are, movements a little clumsy as you start pawing at the giant bulge underneath you. 

You can’t really tell if the wet spot on the midnight fabric is caused by him or you. 

“Shh... I’ll give it to my baby.” Curly places a tender kiss to your temple, his bigger hand covering yours, pulling down his boxers and finally letting his cock spring free. 

He tugs them all the way off while you gawk at him as if it’s the first time you’ve seen him naked. It’s thick all the way around, sticky in a way only pussies are—pink like his lips, his nipples, his cheeks when you embarrass him or kiss him in all the right places. Curly’s tip is reddish in moments like this, the colour creating the most erotic opalescent transition to his base and patch of golden curls. 

You take Curly in your hand, smiling at the heaviness weighing it down. His breath hitches once you give it a few idle strokes, sliding his leaky head against your leaky slit before lining the perfect pair up. 

The stretch never gets old, it’s painful yet familiar—something you’re used to after all this time. Curly helps you slowly sink down onto his fat cock, guiding you inch by inch, grunt by grunt, with his hands on your waist until he’s all the way inside you. He’s so big that his tip nearly breaches your cervix.

You feel him all too well, every vein, every ridge, every shape no matter the size. Every pulse and heartbeat—consuming your love through the tightness enveloping him, milking him for all he’s worth. 

But you fit around him like you were made for him. 

You waste no time starting to move your hips, the slick, slick, slick already echoing throughout the room from your wetness, watching daddy’s dick bulging through your tummy. 

Curly’s hands shift around your body, keeping you close to him by your shoulders one moment, guiding your hips back and forth the other. It’s not long before he starts humping you back. 

“You’re taking me so well, princess,” he pants, voice whiny as he places open-mouthed kisses all over your chest. “Taking daddy’s cock so deep.”

You brush his hair back, the shorter curls falling onto his damp forehead, take in his kiss-bruised and red lips as he keeps panting—and you think Curly’s never looked prettier. Never looked more like your daddy, yours and only yours. 

Tilting his head up to meet your eyes, you can’t help yourself, “I need you, Curly.”

The only time you ever call him Curly is in public. The only eyes watching are his, taking in your expression—your brows that are pinched together and tears that are threatening to spill over your waterlines. 

“Baby, don’t cry, ‘m right here.” He pulls you impossibly closer, sweaty bodies sticking together in a naked and tangled lotus flower. 

“Don’t go,” it comes out shaky - unsure if it’s ‘cause of the way your clit keeps brushing against him for every hump, or if it’s the sadness that sits just as snugly in your throat the way his dick does in your pussy. 

“I’m sorry,” Curly’s moans leak into his voice, “I have to. You know I’d never leave you.”

“What if it’s the last time, Curly? What if you don’t come back?” 

“Fuck, baby,” his cock stirs inside you, rubbing against your sweet, spongy spot. “Don’t talk like that, won’t be the last time. I’ll come back, you know I will.”

It’s a momentary comfort, words he can’t even be sure he’ll keep, your pussy squeezing him tighter than ever at the thought. You feel your second orgasm slowly building up in the confines of your tummy, the white-hot rush you can’t be sure is adrenaline or neediness running through your body. 

“Promise me, Curly.” Your legs tense shut around him. 

“I promise,” from him is all it takes to send you over the edge, waves of pleasure washing over you like a tsunami, sucking him in deeper as the coil in you snaps. 

You whine in tandem, noises blending together in a pornographic orchestra. Only difference is that Curly’s desperate to cum. You’re desperate for him to stay. He moves his hips up, you move yours back and forth.

“Oh, baby...” he says under his breath, struggling to maintain a steady rhythm. “I love you.”

“I love you, Curly.” You press your clammy forehead against his, breaths mingling as you pant into each other’s mouths. 

It makes his thrusts stiffen momentarily, his dark blond lashes fluttering like butterfly wings as he tries his best to keep his eyes on yours. Curly’s moans are breathless, his cock twitching against your walls, followed by the sticky, long-awaited warmth of his cum spilling into you. 

You keep up your pace, not wanting to let a single drop go to waste, hips grinding against his like you’ve got something to prove—which you do. “Want your babies, Curly.”

He winces, holds back another whine, you kind of feel bad for wearing his dick out like this, wringing his balls of every single last drop of seed. But he doesn’t tell you no, not ever, he’d beat around the bush if it meant not seeing the look of a kicked puppy on your face after not getting what you want. Regarding everything apart from his work, from tomorrow. 

“You will, honey. We’ll have as many as you want, okay?” 

Curly holds you until your movements go slack, bonelessly slumping against him. He lays you down, pulls out with a quiet, sticky pop, his cum trickling out of you - much to your dismay. Your pussy feels empty without him inside you, like it’s missing a crucial part of its anatomy. 

You’re both staring at the wall, his head resting against your chest, fingers tangled in his post-sex messy curls, massaging his scalp. You wonder what Curly’s thinking of, if he’s thinking of you. You wonder if there’s a certain spot that’d act like a key if you massaged it good enough, make him unlock and tell you all his secrets. All the things running through his mind. 

“Don’t leave me, Curly. Just another day, okay? Tell them you’re sick or something... don’t wanna lose you.” 

You stick out your pinky finger for him to grab, dwarfing it when he does. Curly doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a promise, doesn’t look you in the eyes. Just holds onto it, silently—like he knows he’ll let you down just as well as you do. 

And so you get dressed together, cook dinner together, sit bunched up on the couch together watching a shitty vintage drama about the Civil War just to make him happy. The question is if it’s all enough. 

He’s so okay with everything. 

It’s probably light on Curly—not having to see your worried face, quivering lips, stressed-out state. You wonder if he’ll even call, if they’re even allowed to call, if he even wants to call. 

You have a bad feeling about all of it. Not just that he could get lost in space, floating amongst the junk up there like that’s all he’ll ever be. It’s not only jealousy that sears in you, it’s this inexplicable feeling that you’ll never see him again. Like he might die. Or like you might die. From Curly withdrawal.

Who could go more than a year without seeing the love of their life? 

You wait for Curly in bed, wait for him like he is a million miles away already, somewhere in the galaxy even if he’s just in the other room. 

Your gaze drifts to the pile of clothes on the floor, memories of you and him tangled right here, on this very bed, flooding your mind in a way that is all too welcome—mildly bothersome. Your panties, his suit. 

That stupid fucking pony and its Pony Express logo ironed to the chest of his uniform. 

You want to hide it, tear it, incinerate it. If you did, Curly wouldn’t have anything to wear to work tomorrow. Knowing him, he’d probably show up regardless, but you wish there was a sliver of hope that he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t put it on, leave you, show up. 

You just let it lie there, on the floor—where it belongs. 

But he holds you all the same, lets his big arms lull you to sleep when the room’s pitch black and the smell of sex lingers faintly in the air. 

“Sweet dreams, my darling girl,” is lazily murmured into your hair, the scent of Curly comfortably overbearing as his frame eclipses yours. Is that going to be the last you ever hear of him?

“Night, daddy.” 

You dream of him, not unlike every other night. You’re married, you have babies, Jimmy’s out of the picture. Curly’s a baker, brings you home stupid and puffy pastries, and he’s too good at it. Too good at being your husband, at making you feel loved, at being homely in the way that suits him so perfectly. You fall asleep with this empty feeling imprisoning your heart—keeping it locked up behind bars until he’s unconditionally yours. 

The entire thing is too good to be true. 

Curly’s gone in the morning, he left you with nothing besides a dull ache between your legs and a pink post-it stuck to the bedside table. The cold metal of your ring sits mockingly mean and tight around your finger, strangling it so tight it cuts off your blood circulation. It’s a brazen reminder of your Curly, his promises. The fact that he may never come back. You wonder if he’ll ever be your daddy again—if he’ll ever be anybody else’s daddy. 

Your pregnancy test lies face down, two stripes for positive in the trash.