#I WANT TO CURATE AN EXHIBITION | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

f1daydreamers · 9 months

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𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏]

gif credits: @u-u-piastri81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Oscar is a visitor at your first art exhibition – not exactly his scene – but it's one that he contributed to financially to help you out, an upcoming artist he's taken a bit of a liking to.

Warnings: criticism but not always constructive, fluff, Reader and Oscar being cute, this man in a suit (audience may faint from the gifs), angst, maybe Oscar is a little out of character but I just upped his rizz by a solid 20% because I love him but he's way too shy to do any of this methinks :)

A/N: I know nothing about this profession icl but I got major black tie and exclusive event vibes from the gifs so this is what came out of it. I did a ton of research to make sure it wasn't too unrealistic but experience beats knowledge so if you guys read any things that need some correction, lmk!

Yeah, I never expected this to be so long but once I got to writing, I couldn't stop so hey, enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k words (17 mins reading time avg)

…

Safe to say, this wasn’t Oscar’s scene.

Standing among collectors, art enthusiasts, curators, and industry professionals meant feeling a little out of place was a tad understated.

But he wanted to be here tonight. Of course, being invited is one thing but accepting the invitation comes with a whole new world of formalities he hadn’t prepared for.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, busy greeting and socialising with what looked like a few critics and journalists.

The notebooks in their hands were a dead giveaway but your hand drumming on your leg was another. You were anxious.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, the one he was offered when he received an entry pass coming through the venues' doors. He knew how much this evening meant to you, both in the months of planning and the dreams that preceded it.

Initially, the idea seemed farfetched, but as you dove straight into creating the collection, photographing it, staying up late to create statements that wholly captured the essence of your creative process, the once exciting prospect of submitting it to a gallery felt somewhat dissatisfying.

In a few conversations with Oscar, you’d shared your aspirations of seeing your portfolio bask in the limelight. However, the reality of organising a self-funded exhibition in a rented space would blow your budget out of the water.

You don’t know at what point but he’d made the decision to donate a significant sum of money to your artist fund, covering a major portion of the exhibition's expenses.

It helped you realise all those curious questions about possible venues, dates, and basic costs weren’t just to fuel his enthusiasm, but to sincerely offer his support.

You were grateful beyond what words could describe, and the least you could do was ask him to be here today.

You were nervous partially because you had critics and community leaders alike wandering around the space, conversing about your work you’d spent years dedicating blood, sweat and tears to.

But you were also nervous because he was here tonight.

Even if you’d drawn a squiggly line on a blank canvas, Oscar would marvel at it like it was the most beautiful thing on this planet, but tonight was when he was finally seeing your work in all its completion.

He brought your vision to life and the last thing you wanted to do was make him think his investment was a waste.

Last you’d checked, you hadn’t seen his brown wavy hair anywhere around the venue, his innocent smile playing on your mind even when you were entranced in conversation with fellow artists.

You stepped in front of a painting no one else currently seemed to be trained on, focusing on inhaling and exhaling your breaths, fidgeting with your fingers by your sides.

Tonight, was the most important day of your career by a mile.

“Excuse me.” Someone spoke up behind you and you inhaled a deep breath before whisking around to greet them. But your eyes grew soft, and your smile grew amicably at the man glancing downwards back at you.

“Do you know where I could find the host of the evening?” He asked, his smile mirroring yours, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

"Oscar," you breathed out, and the F1 driver had to force himself to disregard the palpable sense of relief that accompanied the utterance of his name.

The way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue, it left him wanting to hear you say it repeatedly.

“You made it.” He nodded his head, “I did.” Initially, he had doubts about attending, but considering the venue was conveniently located close to his hotel near Silverstone and his flight to Budapest wasn't until Monday evening, he managed to find the time to come.

You drew in a breath, "you look good." Your compliment was genuine, whenever you'd met up with Oscar or came across photos on Instagram, he was either in racing gear or in casual outfits. To see him in a suit was different. A good different.

"Thanks. Pretty sure I should be counting my breaths though." You chuckle as he looks down at himself, the shirt was a little smaller than he would've liked.

A testament to how life in Formula 1 was like and that his neck size had grown exponentially.

"Each one could be your last," you joked, adding on and he nodded.

"Exactly." His laugh culminated into a final chuckle, melting into a warm smile.

When you looked away, seeing the waiters you'd hired tonight refilling cups as people wandered around, Oscar took the opportunity to let his eyes drag over your figure.

"You look beautiful," his compliment drew a smile from you.

You briefly cast your gaze downward before lifting it to his chest then finally up to his eyes. "Thank you, Oscar."

He responded only with a curt nod; his eyes trained on your face before he tore them away to have a look around him.

"How's it going?"

You hummed, thinking about your answer. "It's okay. There's a few paintings that are getting lots of attention, others a little less."

"Did you expect that?" He asked and you reasoned, you knew when you began this collection that people would naturally gravitate more towards some pieces anyway, that's the advice you were given everywhere you went.

"Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I didn't." Oscar took a sip of some liquid courage before pointing at the painting you'd just been standing in front of with the rim of his glass.

"I like this one." You turned as he took steps towards it, his shoulder grazing yours. "This is the last one." You mentioned as he skimmed over the statements planted on the wall next to the artwork.

"I think it's an elderly couple, and the mirrors all around them are portals into a specific memory of their relationship." He said undisputedly. You look up at him, your mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Yeah, how did you figure that out so quickly?"

"It's almost like you were brainstorming ideas to me on call a few months ago." You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately impressed by his memory.

He hadn't spoken much during that phone call, so you'd assumed he wasn't paying much attention to your endless rambles.

"I never realised you were actually listening." You softly said and Oscar turned his head to look at you.

"Every word." He reassured, and a warm feeling encompassed your chest at his affirmation.

His gaze traced over the painting once more. While he had never hesitated to express his belief in your talent, seeing your artwork displayed in such a way stirred a whirlwind of emotions inside of him.

He was proud of you and excited for you, knowing that you had undertaken this journey for your own sake, garnering an array of artistic admirers. It's no mean feat to organise an event like this, take a risk so early on in your career.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you." You snap him out of his thoughts, turning your body towards him, standing a few feet away.

Oscar mimicked your movements, turning so he was facing you, and placed his now empty glass on a bar tray that a waiter had extended to him, refusing a refill.

"Why do you think you need to repay me? Remember, it was a donation." He said matter-of-factly. You let out a sigh.

Despite his repeated assurances that he expected nothing in return, you couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness that lingered in your thoughts.

You found yourself dwelling on the late-night conversations, wondering if your eagerness to discuss your plans had inadvertently conveyed desperation.

Your gaze drops and without hesitation, he reaches his hand out and gently slots it into yours, his thumb caressing over your skin in a soothing gesture. Your heart skips a beat or two, the warmth of his hand was relieving.

"This is the best way you can repay me. Living the dream." He smiles and you nod, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. His voice was a calming anchor amid your thoughts.

"I'll never forget how you made it possible though," a small smile graced your lips, and he let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you never miss a chance to mention it," he quipped, his eyes dancing with amusement. You playfully rolled your eyes, a good-natured sigh escaping you as you did.

Oscar's hand retreated to his side, and a subtle longing for his touch flickered within you. Nevertheless, you mask it with a smile that grew as you exchanged a couple more jokes.

...

He courteously held the door ajar, giving a nod to a man entering the bathroom who appeared to appreciate the gesture. Letting the door close behind him, Oscar took out his phone to check the time.

Absentmindedly, he began scrolling through his notifications: a mix of sports updates, a message from his mum, one from Mark. Yet, none seemed particularly urgent.

Just as he was about to tap on one of the notifications, his attention was drawn upward to the sound of your voice.

You were engaged in conversation with a man, his journal held in his hands, and sunglasses perched atop his head. Oscar's gaze briefly went back to his phone screen; he made no overt effort to eavesdrop.

Despite this, fragments of your conversation found their way to his ears anyway.

"I must say, your work is quite disappointing. The lack of technical skill is evident in every piece." Oscar's eyebrows furrow as he observes openly, a marked departure from his earlier disinterested demeanour.

You clear your throat as you try to collect yourself, bringing your fingers up to your mouth to hide your quivering lip.

You had previously cautioned yourself that not everyone will like your work, but experiencing such candid criticism directly was far more destructive than you could have expected.

"Um, okay. What sort of things did you not like about it?" You asked, trying to find some sort of valuable insight from such a respected critic in your community.

"The colours are garish and clash horribly. It's clear that you have no understanding of colour theory or composition." You nod, gathering some form of strength to just take his words on the chin but you were failing rather miserably. Your stomach was sinking, and your eyes were watering slowly.

"It's a shame that your efforts have resulted in such subpar creations." Your jaw tightens and as you scramble for the right words to respond with in your mind, a hand presses into your lower back from behind.

"Excuse me. I want to purchase a piece, but I can't seem to find your sales assistant." The accent is unmistakable, and you muster a smile as you turn to face him.

"I'll help you." Your voice is unsteady, your emotions deflated.

"Thank you," Oscar responds, though his gaze carries a hint of concern. He moves to follow you but before he can do so, the critic extends his hand to grasp his arm, waiting until he's certain you're out of earshot.

"Coming from a collector, don't bother." He smirks, his conviction clear. Yet, the F1 driver's face remains impassive.

"Sorry, I don't remember asking you. Now, if you don't mind." He looks down at the grip on his arm, his fist clenching by his side. The critic seems taken aback at the blank expression looking back at him, devoid of any gratefulness.

He swallows before loosening his grip.

Oscar rounds the pillar just as you press down on the handle to the fire door exit at the distant end.

He contemplates whether he should grant you some space, but he wonders if doing so will only make matters worse.

Pausing briefly, he contemplates his choices before deciding to make his way toward the fire exit anyway. His hand firmly grasps the handle, and he proceeds to push open the door.

With your back turned towards him, you're unaware of his presence. Your palms are pressed against your face as a means of stifling your sniffles hence the closing of the door registers faintly, the sound hardly penetrating your thoughts.

It's only when the crunching of gravel beneath someone's shoes reaches your ears that you realise you're no longer alone. But oddly, you know there's only one person who it could be.

The combination of embarrassment, distress, and sheer exhaustion was what left you feeling so overwhelmingly emotional.

Aware that you don't want Oscar to witness you in this state, you quickly swipe at your cheeks, hastily erasing any traces of tears from your face.

You whisk around, smiling up at him and nodding your head. "I'm good Os. It's not always going to be a perfect score, right?" His heart swells at the nickname you called him, very few people did so, but hearing it from you felt special in a way.

"He's a dick," the F1 driver bluntly responds, his tone carrying a hint of anger.

You chuckle softly, but the sigh that follows is slightly shaky. A wave of heaviness crashes over you again as the critic's hurtful words echo in your mind, your stomach sinking in response.

Oscar picks up on the shift of emotion and his eyes soften at your teary and lowering expression.

Without a word, he opens his arms and pulls you into an embrace. You don't resist; instead, you bury your face in his shoulder, your shoulders trembling as silent tears escape your eyes.

His arms encircle you tightly, offering a comforting refuge as your emotions spill over again.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm providing you with some comfort despite how irritated you're getting at yourself for letting one conversation bother you this much.

As he holds you, his chest aches both for your vulnerability and the anger he feels towards the critic who provoked it. You reluctantly pull away after a minute or so, a mixture of gratitude and sadness in your eyes.

But in the moment, you can't help but feel that the money he donated for the exhibition might have gone to waste, that your efforts fell short.

Disappointing your clients is business but disappointing him felt personal, he was the reason you even had a chance to do this, and it'd turned out horribly.

"I let you down," you say quietly, and Oscar's eyebrows knit together as he studies your expression.

"How? Every piece I love, Y/N." He responds, placing his hand on your forearm, his touch warm. It sends a flurry of goosebumps over your skin which you're sure he would've picked up on considering his attention to detail.

He positions his index finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes which you do. Your legs suddenly feel like they're incapable of keeping you upright, your face warming under his gaze.

"You didn't let me down." He whispers.

Oscar's concern remains palpable as his hand doesn't fall back to his side. His eyes hold a depth of emotion, the colours in his eyes becoming more distinct.

The connection that you can sense increases, and it's as if the unspoken understanding between you becomes more profound in that moment.

His cologne surrounds you but it's his gaze that flickers to your lips, a fleeting but unmistakable gesture. You realise that he's leaning in closer and there's a fraction of a second when it feels like the world around you fades.

The possibility of his lips meeting yours feels tantalisingly close.

But just as the moment deepens, you're both interrupted by one of the assistants, their voice breaking through the charged atmosphere.

"Sorry," the assistant interjects, sounding somewhat hurried. "There're a few clients waiting to speak with you Y/N."

Oscar slowly pulls back; he tucks in his bottom lip between his teeth and his expression shifts from one of intimacy to one of polite neutrality.

He offers you a subtle smile, the connection lingering between you even as the assistant's words redirect your attention.

"Of course," you reply, your voice steady despite quite the hurricane of emotions storming inside of you. You look to the assistant, ready to face the responsibilities of the exhibition once again. As you move away, you steal a glance at him, his gaze locked onto you for a moment longer before he nods.

That damned connection between you and Oscar remains, but now only punctuated by unspoken possibilities.

...

"Thank you, ma'am." you say with a warm smile as the elderly woman clasps your hand, offering kind words about your artwork while draping her shawl over her shoulders.

Once she'd left, you looked around to see if there was anyone else remaining in the space. Oscar had left a while ago considering he was on a flight tomorrow to Budapest.

Though a tinge of disappointment lingered within you, you understood and bid him goodnight.

You wrapped up a little later than you would've liked, a couple of your pieces had sold so you had to coordinate transport for them.

For the remaining few, you'd wrapped them up, gathered the papers for each one before loading them into the van to have them delivered back to your studio.

Oscar eventually made it back to the space he'd rented on Airbnb, staying in a hotel for a week definitely wasn't something he was fond of doing, a neatly packaged box of takeout planted on the small table.

He threw the crumpled paper bag into the bin and settled onto the couch, his phone in hand. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his feed to pass the time it'd take for him to get sleepy.

As he tapped through the stories, your profile picture caught his eye. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched it whole. The familiar scenes of the exhibition unfolded before him – videos capturing the venue, the artwork.

His gaze lingered on the art as if he hadn't been there tonight, his mind wandering into the world you had created. It wasn't just the work itself that interested him; it was the glimpse they offered into your mind, your perspective, and the emotions you poured into your work.

The admiration he felt for your creativity was intertwined with the growing fondness he was developing for you as a person.

Once you'd reached home, you dropped on to the couch with a sigh of relief that the day was done.

So, when your phone started vibrating besides you, you groaned and brought it up to your ear, not bothering to take a look at the caller ID.

"Y/N," you closed your eyes and waited for the other person to respond. They stuttered first before speaking up, "should I - should I reply with my name, or do we just get into the conversation?"

You lightly gasped, chuckling and straightening up on the couch. "Oscar, sorry. I'm still in work mode I think." You rubbed your forehead and the F1 driver poked through his food with a fork on the other end.

"No harm done. You back from the venue?" He asked and you stretched your legs out in front of you, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Yeah, only just. Perfect timing, Piastri." He smiled at your response, "I pride myself in that."

"I'm sure you do." You joked teasingly and fell back on the couch again. The similar onset of warmth and goosebumps from earlier bubbled up again inside of you.

"I thought you would've knocked out by now." Oscar hums, swallowing his food as he traps his phone between his ear and shoulder, throwing the now empty box on to the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah well, I needed to eat. Luckily for me, there was a long queue at every takeaway place tonight." He retorted sarcastically and you scoffed, "typical London."

He agreed wordlessly before shifting his body horizontally, propping his head up on the armrest, his legs splaying over the leather sofa.

"What did you end up getting?" He made a humming sound as he reached for the receipt he'd tossed carelessly aside, bringing it up to eye level.

"Caribbean chicken curry." He said slowly, squinting to read the half-printed letters. Your stomach rumbling beneath you helped you remember that you too hadn't eaten for majority of the day. Your last meal was breakfast with a few snacks you always have on hand.

"Sounds good. I'd kill for some chicken curry right now." You mumble and Oscar's head turns to look up at the clock hung on the wall above the television.

"How 'bout I bring some?" He asks nonchalantly and your heart skips, you stutter in your response, glancing at the digital clock blinking at you from the corner table.

"You'd do that?" You say, a little more high-pitched than you would've preferred.

He smiles, refraining to say something corny. "Yeah, well I mean it's not my bedtime for another hour so..." He trails off thus leaving you to make the decision.

You don't even care about the food anymore, your stomach is doing somersaults from the mere thought of seeing him twice in one day.

"Only if it's alright with you. If you need to sleep, please sleep." You insist and there's a pause, you could swear you hear keys jangling on the other end of the phone before Oscar confirms.

"I'll be there in a bit."

...

You're changed into some slightly more flattering pyjamas than your regular animated giraffe ones when you hear a knock on your door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walk the length of the hallway and reach for the doorknob.

Giving it a couple of moments, you open the door to find Oscar standing there, a warm smile on his face that mirrors your own feelings.

He's holding a paper bag up and you smile, "my saviour. Come in."

He slides past you, toeing his trainers off and pushing them up to the wall so they weren't in the direct pathway, allowing you to lead him into the living room.

He places the bag on to your wooden dining table and you sigh in delight, the smell of the food faintly wafting out of it.

"How much do I owe you?" He shakes his head, letting you take the box out of the bag.

"Only your eternal gratitude," he replies, his lips curving into a smile as he takes in the sight of your light expression, your eyes lit with appreciation.

"You already have that." You chuckle.

Eventually, you begin eating, all the while holding a conversation. With each passing minute, a subtle worry creeps in - that he might decide to leave soon. Not that you're against him getting his rest, but your own enjoyment of his company is growing stronger by the second.

The idea of the evening ending prematurely becomes less and less appealing. The warmth of his presence, the humour in his words, the hesitance you initially felt about him leaving transformed into a silent plea for him to stay, at least a little longer.

"I'm going to go up and use the bathroom, head over to the couch, make yourself comfortable." You insist and Oscar nods. His feelings he was aware of when he reached back to his place had tripled since he'd got here.

His leg had been bouncing the entire duration he'd been talking, he was nervous but albeit not understandably. He'd visited your place a few times now, he'd known you for nearly a year.

Nothing about the fluttery sensation in his belly, the excitement prior to seeing you, the attraction, the thoughtfulness, made any sense to him.

But at the same time, they made perfect sense. He likes you. A whole lot.

Realising he was getting a bit warm, he pulled the hoodie over his neck to reveal just a plain white tee underneath.

Tossing it on to the dining room chair he was previously sat on, he plops on to the couch, bringing the calf of his right leg up to rest on the knee of his left, his arm outstretching on the back of the couch.

You eventually return, having brushed your teeth since the aftertaste of the curry wasn’t a very pleasant one in your mouth.

“Do you piss for that long?" Oscar asks curiously, locking his phone and sliding it on to the table.

You scoff and feign offence as you sit next to him just a few inches away. "I don't actually, even if I did, what's it to you?" You tease and he shrugs, his lower arm draping off the couch casually, his fingertips brushing close to your shoulder.

"I was bored," he admits, his explanation falling a bit flat.

You raise an eyebrow, a mockingly sympathetic expression on your face. "Poor Oscar, suffering from boredom in my humble abode. My heart aches for you." He smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head at your antics.

His eyes sparkle with amusement, "Well, I must say your empathy is truly heartwarming."

"That's just me, a paragon of compassion," you quip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. His proximity has your heart racing, and you're acutely aware of the playful tension that's building between you.

He tilts his head, his gaze holding yours as he leans in slightly. "You know, I was half expecting you to beg for my forgiveness."

You roll your eyes, your gaze locked on to his, you didn't mean for them to glance down to his lips, but it didn't skip past his notice either.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and the silence that followed afterwards definitely gave Oscar enough time to be able to pick up on it.

"Please forgive me Oscar, please?" You reduce your words to a whisper and he smiles, refusing to waste another second and he instantly ducks his head to catch your lips in a fervent kiss.

His actions catch you off guard, the sensation electrifying and sending a jolt of surprise through your system.

Your thoughts scatter as the world seems to narrow down to the point of contact between your lips. The kiss is eager and filled with a mixture of longing and curiosity, as if both of you have been dancing around this moment for far too long.

Your heart continues racing, and time feels suspended as his touch sends shivers up and down your spine.

The sudden intimacy of it all is exhilarating, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your fingers instinctively finding their way to his arm, your body moving a fraction closer to his.

A soft moan escapes you, and Oscar slides his hand beneath your top, pressing his palm against your waist. A squeeze of your skin hints at you to move back slightly, creating the room needed for him to push you down on to your back.

Your lips detach for a moment as he positions himself over you, lowering his head seconds later to press them together again.

His face was level with yours when he eventually pulled away to catch his breath, and let you catch yours, his arm propping him up besides your head.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" He chuckles softly, his fingers toying with a few strands of your hair.

"I'll just have to use the plane's naptime feature." You laugh, bringing your hand up to push his hair out of his eyes.

His gaze flickers across your face, capturing the traces of your faint smile lines and the tiny beauty mark adorning your skin.

He leans in, planting a tender kiss on the mole. Meanwhile, your fingertips journey to the nape of his neck, exploring the contours of his hair.

He grins boyishly when he picks his head up again. "I think I could stay here forever," he admits, his voice a soft confession.

You playfully raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? What if the plane's naptime feature gets jealous?"

He chuckles, a low, melodious sound. "Well, I guess it'll just have to deal with a bit of competition," he remarks before his lips find yours once again.

...

Masterlist

#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #formula one #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #mclaren #formula 1 #f1 2023 #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri imagine #formula one imagine

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dailyrothko · 2 months

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Scans ( a little long)

When I ask people not to steal my scans I assure you it has nothing to do with my ego. I have relationships with a number of people that trust me to provide full credits and copyrights and supervise, as much as possible, how things are used. And it gets a little complex, like some people will give me a photo I can only use on instagram. I have to honor these agreements.

And, Rothko paintings are copyrighted so, unlike some artists, if you make tee shirts or use it in a movie or something , it's actually illegal (without permission) They are not going to come after you for casual use of you own, but I know of many examples where people were hit with a copyright notice for trying to profit in the work.

It took me a long time to build these relationships and get all of these scans, including many i have done myself. I gave myself this Rothko job I do, and because of that I didn't have background to give me things or answer questions. It was only after years of doing it that people started to reach out to me in a bigger way and help.

The art world is strange, I was talking to a museum curator recently and there several questions I had that I was told they were not at liberty to answer. In the case of Rothko, there's nothing really cloak and dagger about it, it's just the family (who I think are great) fought really hard for these rights and spend a lot of time trying to control how the work is used and seen. It's a good thing because we get things like the Paris exhibit which took an insane amount of planning, loans, insurance etc. All the paintings had to be inspected before they were shipped over seas, in case damage was done to them over there. These paintings are BIG and in the hands of many different people, so it really took tons of effort and (sadly) money to do it, but it's something like (can't recall exactly) 179 paintings. The biggest Rothko show since 1978.

People on tumblr do sometimes (as we all know) take stuff from here or from my other social media accounts and I know it's typical social media behavior, as people like the credit and notes to their own blog, but I mention this now because I have some things coming up that almost no one has ever seen and I don't want to lose this privilege because I won't be able to show you cool stuff and big scans.

So, sorry for the ponderousness, I just thought a little background might explain that I'm not just being grumpy about it. I think people may see it as "It's the internet get over yourself" but I honestly feel a responsibility to do the best I can for people following these accounts and I am just trying to keep doing it and hopefully, expand as I go.

This blog started on out tumblr and it was the support of all of you that made me continue it, I will be 10 years in July. I can't take a lot of credit for it, it's not my art. My only idea was the once a day aspect. However, I try to do my homework and striving for accuracy is part of that, including copyrights and credits.

So thanks for everything too, people participating in this has been very valuable and educational for me.

#mark rothko #markrothko #rothko #daily rothko #dailyrothko #abstract expressionism #modern art #abstraction #colorfield #ab ex #colorfield painting #mid century #personal

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woman-for-women · 11 months

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So I went to a museum recently and saw this photo collage exhibit on natural variation.

Some observations:

The female mouths pictured are wearing lipstick/lip gloss/lip tint

The male mouths pictured are not wearing any makeup

The female eyes pictured have mascara/eye shadow/eyeliner/plucked brows/filled in brows

The male eyes pictured are not wearing makeup

Since there's no photo credit, I'll charitably assume these are stock photos and that most female stock photo models wear makeup to photo shoots, leaving the museum with limited options.

Even so, this leaves me with a few things:

These photos unnaturally exaggerate the dimorphism of male and female faces. A female eye with dramatic smokey eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara looks strange when juxtaposed with a male eye that just… is.

In an exhibit on "natural variation" and the beauty in the genetic variance of the human population, why can't the women express their "natural variation" like the men and remain bare-faced? Why is the "natural variation" of billions of female people limited to only those who wear makeup in these photos?

Why do these supposedly natural women's faces look like shots out of a makeup commercial? What does it say about our attitudes towards beauty and women that a team of museum curators were able to put together these done-up faces of women next to a plaque about natural beauty and variance and nobody objected? Were any women even part of this decision-making process?

What does it mean when a science museum geared towards families and young children display women's done up faces as "natural"? How does this essentialize beauty products and rituals as "natural" to women? What messages do young girls internalize when looking at women's done up faces next to men's natural faces? What is so offensive about women's bare faces?

I wrote an email to the museum with my thoughts, but I wanted to share them here as well. Even supposedly neutral and objective science isn't free from sexism and bias.

#sexism #misogyny #w4w speaks #feminism #feminist

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munsonslove · 2 years

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Make It Up to You

(18+ only) (read part 2 here)

summary: After Eddie’s van stalls when he tries to leave your party, you invite him to stay the night.

wordcount: 5.3k

tags/warnings: fem!virgin!sub!reader (18+ and a high school graduate), softdom!Eddie, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, praise kink, sharing a bed, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dacryphilia, teasing, begging, use of pet names (baby, babygirl, pretty girl, sweetheart, sweetie, good girl), no use of y/n

a/n: first fic! kinda set it up for a part 2, so let me know if you want one~

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?” Eddie asks as he ever so slightly grazed his fingertips up your thigh. You think back to where you were at the start of your day and wonder how you ended up here.

After unexpectedly learning that morning you would be home alone for the entire weekend you wasted no time calling up all your friends and telling them to come over after dark. Most of them were your fellow band nerds at the high school you graduated from a month prior, along with a handful of tutoring clients that you had kept in touch with. The first person you called was your best friend of the past four years, Robin Buckley. She, of course, is more than excited to hear the news, and tells you she’ll cover letting ‘the gang’ know.

‘The gang’ she’s referring to is the rather surprising group of friends she’s accumulated this past year. Steve Harrington’s been around the longest, having worked with Robin at the ice cream parlor in the mall that burned down last summer, and now at Family Video. Though you were skeptical at first that spending time with the former King of Hawkins High would be enjoyable, you quickly came to see why Robin loved him so much. Your duo with her became a trio, and despite the sneaking suspicion that the two were hiding something from you, having him as a friend made you happier than planned. The next unanticipated friendly addition was Nancy Wheeler. You didn’t know much about her back in school, just that she was head of the newspaper and Steve’s ex. Getting to know her now, she’s impressed you with her tenacity and cleverness. It’s clear why someone like her would get along so well with your Robin, but you still wondered how this relationship even came to be. Whenever you questioned them they gave vague answers and changed topics, so you ultimately decided to just give up on the subject.

Then there was Eddie.

Eddie Munson may have been the most unpredictable out of all of them. Sure, being in the marching band meant you and Robin rolled with the outcasts, but he was a different breed of outcast. His bold personality- often resulting in causing scenes in the halls and outbursts in the cafeteria- has always intrigued you. And though most wouldn’t have suspected it from someone like you, you found his personal aesthetic very attractive. You didn’t live in a strict household by any means, but that was only because you never exhibited the type of rebellious nature that made it necessary. Still, the lure of loud music, drugs, and taboo role playing games (that may or may not have to do with Satanism) was too tantalizing to ignore completely. You often found yourself gazing his way during your time in school and daydreaming, even back in freshman year when he was a junior. Coming back from spring break to see your best friend laughing at her locker with the super-super senior of your desires was definitely a shock.

Pretty soon it was nightfall and your backyard was packed with 18-20 year olds drinking lukewarm beers, happy to have a distraction from their impending dooms of adulthood. Luck was on your side tonight, seeing as your neighbors to the left were out of town, and the ones to the right were so old they wouldn’t hear a fire truck’s siren if it was directly outside their window. The tape playing from the boombox was a mix specially curated by yours truly to appease as many party goers as possible. So while it included Bowie, Blondie, and Beatles, it also had Black Sabbath. Every time a song came on that you picked out with Eddie in mind he would lock eyes with you, throwing a knowing and toothy smile your way. The confirmation that something you did pleased him brought butterflies to your stomach, and filled your mind with ideas on how to see that smile again.

Just to be on the safe side, you still kept the music as low as you could without hearing complaints from anyone. And by anyone, you meant Eddie, who liked his radio blasting so loud he could feel his eardrums vibrate. He did, however, turn the volume down out of courtesy whenever he picked you up for group hangouts. The gesture of that alone caused your heart to flutter more than it should have, and left you feeling like you were floating in his passenger seat. Him placing his hand on your knee while he drove would always bring you back down to Earth, though, along with migrating the fluttering feeling to a different part of your body. Distracted by the memory of his skin on yours, you don’t notice him making his way over to you until you feel his arm snake its way around your torso.

He stays by your side the remainder of the night, even as the crowd starts to thin out by around 2am. You’re left completely alone with him when Nance and Rob get into Steve’s car and drive off. You try to tell him he doesn’t need to stick around to clean, but he insists and helps pick up the crushed aluminum cans and red solo cups from your lawn. It doesn’t take long, much to your disappointment, and the easy conversation and inside jokes come to an early end as you walk with him around the side of your house. You both drop the trash bags filled with proof of a successful night of partying on the curb by the garbage bins his van was parked next to, and he pulls you into a hug. With a kiss to the top of your head (a habit he picked up early on in your friendship), he says his final goodbye and slides into his front seat. You wait patiently to see him off, but the stalling of his engine puts those plans to rest. He gets back out, returning to your side with a sheepish grin and explains that his engine’s been acting up recently and he hasn’t had the chance to get a look under the hood quite yet. Just as he’s about to ask if you have a toolbox laying around somewhere, you suggest that he should stay the night, since it’s already so late anyway.

“You sure you don’t mind? I didn’t mean to back you into a corner or anything, baby,” he asks, using his favorite pet name for you.

You roll your eyes and scoff, “Of course I don’t mind. We’re friends!”

The word ‘friend’ brings a soft smile to his face that confusingly doesn’t reach his eyes. The reassurance does calm his nerves about intruding, however, and he allows you to lead him to your house. Once you're both a little closer, he walks ahead so that he can open the front door and gestures for you to enter first.

“So,” he starts as he shuts the door behind himself and locks it, “do I get a tour of your bedroom before you send me to the couch?”

The sudden surge of audacity you feel comes out of the blue. In the past, the only time you’d been this forward with Eddie was when you were at the very least tipsy, but neither of you had had more than a couple beers tonight. So it was as much to his sober surprise as it was yours when you responded, “You don’t want to sleep with me?”

His eyes widen, jaw dropping to bring his mouth to an ‘O’ shape, but he quickly recovered to his signature smirk. “Well I certainly wouldn’t say no to that,” he chuckles, tone dripping innuendo on the final word.

The implication of what you said hits you like a freight train, and you scramble to correct yourself. “I just meant- I don’t mind sharing the bed! The air conditioning in the living room isn’t as good as mine, and it’s such a hot night-“

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interjects, using his second favorite pet name for you. “I’m just teasing. Trying to make you blush.” You suspect he succeeded in his attempt, if the warmth in your cheeks has anything to say about it.

Turning on your light, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He skims over your music collection, runs his fingers along the spines of your books, laughs quietly at the small collection of stuffed animals you still had from when you were a kid. Usually you would have felt embarrassed, but his laughter held no malice. He wasn’t making fun of you, simply reacting. You waited for his comment about your cuteness- a common adjective he’d use that you’d at first confused as mocking until realizing he meant it as a compliment- but it never came. Your room is slightly chilly, but it feels good on your skin after spending hours in the humid summer air. It even wasn’t that messy, thankfully, and the inviting softness of your bed was tempting you like a siren call despite your doubt that you’d be able to get any sleep with Eddie laying beside you. The man in question catches your attention again, tearing you from your racing thoughts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans.

“I sleep in just boxers, is that a problem? I mean, you know I don’t have a change of clothes or anything,” he explains.

“Yeah, totally fine!” you assure, trying not to be too obviously excited by the view of his tattoos on full display, “No big deal. Like really, it’s okay.” Admittedly, the reassurance was more to convince yourself than him.

He nods and takes his pants off- balling them up and tossing them to the side, then pulls back your duvet and crawls into bed, leaving enough room for you to get in as well. He lays on his side, one of his hands supporting his head as he stares at you expectedly. His unabashed behavior while undressing soothed your anxiety slightly, encouraging you to yank down and kick off your own jeans. You make the choice to actively ignore Eddie’s amusement at your eagerness. Normally this is when your bra would come off, but you decided instead to just leave it on, nervous that removing said item would be viewed as a step too far. Turning off your light, you slide in under the covers next to the boy you’ve had eyes for since you were 14.

You only have a full size mattress, so although the both of you fit it was unlikely the night would pass without making contact. The thought of even accidentally feeling his touch in your bed, in the dark, with neither of you wearing pants… It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. You didn’t know if you should hope for or avoid it. Logically, in the long run it would be better for your own well-being to not let yourself fall too hard for someone who only thought of you as a friend, so you chose the latter. You tried to give him plenty of space and hoped he didn’t notice your slinking away from him. He noticed.

“What’s wrong pretty girl? Scared to touch me?” he jokes. If only he knew the truth in his statement. You deny it with a curt head shake, and he shoots you an unimpressed look at the obvious lie. Knowing he wouldn’t drop it, you exhale a shaky breath and scooch more toward the center of the bed. He still persists though, and your mind short circuits when he leans in close to whisper, “If you’re not scared, how about you let me hold you?”

He’s challenging you, and you’re not about to back down. You nod and roll over to face away from him before that little voice in your mind can tell you this is a bad idea. He wraps one of his arms around your torso- hand resting against the underside of your boob, his pelvis pressed firmly against your behind, and his leg found its way to be sandwiched between yours, thigh warm against your core. With the humiliating realization that there’s only a single layer of fabric between your growing wetness and his bare skin, you try to discreetly position yourself in a way where he might not be able to tell you’re practically dripping just from cuddling alone.

“Why are you squirming, baby?” he hums in your ear, breaking the silence in the room as he flattens his palm against the area just above your belly button and holds you tighter against himself. “Are you not comfortable?”

He’s not hard, but the thin materials of his and your underwear isn’t enough to stop you from feeling his length settle in between your ass cheeks. You hold back a moan and force out “I am comfortable, I just… Um…”

He props himself up on the arm that was previously under his head and scoots away just far enough that he can take your shoulder and roll you onto your back, urging you to look at him. The light of the streetlamps outside filter in through the thin slots of the blinds on your window and illuminate your face, allowing him to see you clearly.

“Aw sweetie, you’re blushing so pretty for me,” he murmurs, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. With a start, you realize from the gleam in his eyes that he’s teasing you.

You angrily push his hand away and accuse him just that. He doesn’t even try to deny it. Throwing the blanket off of you, you sit up and glare at him. He simply says that he ‘couldn’t help it’, and that ‘you just kept getting cuter the more and more flustered you became’.

“Is this a joke to you? I’m just some… some…” you struggle for the right words, clearly upset. “Some dumb girl for you to play around with when you know you have no intention of returning her feelings?”

His teasing sneer immediately fades as he follows you into a sitting position. “No sweetheart. Believe me, I never saw you that way,” he promises, “You’re so important to me.”

Your annoyance dissipates, hope blossoming in your chest. “Do you swear?”

“On my guitar.” he replies, smiling with you when you let out a small chuckle. A moment of quiet passes, the both of you just looking at each other. His flirtatious tone returns as he lightly caresses your thigh and says, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, baby?”

You’re brought back to the present when his hand on your bare thigh slipped underneath the hem of your baggy t-shirt and crept up the softness of your hips to pause at your waist.

“I could feel how hot you got against my thigh,” he whispers, dragging you closer to him then continuing the path of his hand upward until you could feel his calloused, guitarist fingertips along the underwire of your bra. “I could feel your pulse,” he practically growled, and you gasp out the air you were unconsciously holding, shocked by his statement. He pulls you closer even still, until you're nearly on his lap. His lips are almost touching your ear, and the hot breath released with his next words send a shiver straight through you.

“Just say yes, baby. That’s all I need from you. A yes.” You turn to look at his eyes and see no trace of humor.

“Yes.”

He removes his hand out from under your shirt so that he can take either side of your jaw. “If at any point you want me to stop, say the word and I will,” he tells you. Before you can question why you would ever want him to stop, he leans in and connects your lips.

The kiss is slow but firm, and you have to stop yourself from thinking about the women that frequent the Hideout on Tuesday nights, wondering if they have something to do with his supposed expertise. There’s no time for jealousy right now, not when Eddie’s brushing his tongue against your lower lip, wordlessly asking for entry. You grant permission, and when you feel the foreign muscle flexing next to your molars, you moan into his mouth. Eddie stops the kiss and laughs when that causes you to whine.

“Come here,” he says. “Straddle me.” So you do.

Sitting astride his lap with your knees bent and tucked beneath you, you place your hands on his shoulders. His own hands slip underneath your shirt once more, palms pressed flat against your lower back as he kissed you again, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, biting gently, and pulling away. You hear a quiet ‘plop’ noise as it snaps back into place. He starts kissing just below your jaw and navigates his hands to your sides, latching onto your waist. His grip tightens as he starts rocking you against himself.

You gasp, feeling his dick harden. “Oh Eds-“ but cut yourself off with your hand to your mouth.

His kiss leaves your jaw and his touch leaves one side of your waist as he roughly pulls the guilty hand away from your mouth, holding it raised beside your head. “Don’t try to be quiet,” he demands with an authoritative tone. You’re surprised by the sudden ordering, but the domineering was not unwelcome. His expression lightens and he relaxes as he explains, “It’s just us here. Let me hear all the pretty noises you make. The ones I've been imagining every night for weeks.”

The confession startles you even more than the ordering. “You think of me at night?” He hums in confirmation, letting go of your hand. It stays frozen in the air though, the shock from the image of him touching himself and getting off to the thought of you causing your brain to go blank.

“At night,” he presses a kiss to your neck, “the morning,” one to your collarbone, “afternoon,” another to the small bit of shoulder he can get to from where your shirt slid down. He looks up, his nose brushes against yours. “When I'm watching TV, playing guitar, planning campaigns... all the time. You don’t know what you do to me.”

Hearing that he’s been feeling the way you’ve felt for years drives you crazy. You grab his face and kiss him greedily, groaning when you feel him smile against your mouth and pull away yet again.

“I know you think about me too, babygirl. I know you’ve been thinking of me,” he accuses. Your embarrassment is ignored as he continues, “I see how you look at me. I see how your eyes bulge outta your head whenever my shirt rides up and you can see my happy trail.”

“What?” you yelp, “You knew you were turning me on?” He starts laughing, and presses his face into the crook of your neck. “Eds, I thought I was a perv! I felt dirty!”

His humor vanished abruptly. He raised his head and stared directly into your soul, before growling, “Oh, I can make you feel dirty.” A shiver went up your spine as he started rocking you against him again, “I can make you feel really dirty. Do you want me to, baby?”

“Please.”

He grins widely. “You begging sounds even better than I imagined. Keep moving your hips for me, okay?” His hands stop guiding your movements as they leave your waist to travel up your front, bunching the fabric as he groped your chest over your shirt. You moan wantonly and do as he says, grinding on his cock without any direction.

“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart,” he praises, “Good girl.”

He’s never used that before. You’ve heard ‘pretty girl’, ‘babygirl’… never ‘good girl’. You like it. A lot. You never realized how much you wanted to be a good girl for Eddie. How much you wanted to be his good girl.

“Raise your arms,” he commands, and you obey without question. You hold still for him as he pulled your shirt off, but once the cool chill of your air conditioned bedroom finally hit your heated skin, you immediately continued grinding against him. Despite this, his nimble fingers were able to skillfully undo your bra, and he ripped it from your body like it was a personal offense. He quickly seized the opportunity to take one of your nipples into his warm, wet mouth. One hand found its way to the flesh of your ass, fingers digging in and probably leaving marks, while the other massaged the breast not being attacked by his tongue. Your movement grew desperate, hips aggressively meeting his as you threw your head back in pleasure and made ridiculous lewd noises that you never even knew you were capable of. After a while he switched sides, making sure to give the other nipple the same amount of attention.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned when his lips finally left your chest, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He was mesmerized by the sight of your tits bouncing in his face as you humped him. Your vulgar wailing never stopped as his lips went on with their assault to the delicate skin of your neck, in fact it impossibly raised in volume. “I bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you? Before I even get my hands on that pretty pussy.” You glanced down at him and nodded dumbly, lost in the feeling. “God, you're so responsive. No one’s ever made it feel this good before, huh?”

Your grinding stutters momentarily before picking back up again, and you look away, trying to keep your expression as unreadable as possible. His brows furrowed in confusion before it finally clicked. “Sweetheart,” he says, taking your waist and halting your movement, “you’ve never been with anyone else?”

You hesitate to answer. “Are you going to make fun of me if I say I haven't?”

His disbelief is palpable, but he shakes his head no anyway. “Of course not, silly. I just wish I had known. I got you doing all the work and it’s your first time.” He lifts you off of his lap, his voice going from comforting to seductive as he says, “Lay back for me, baby. I'm gonna make it good for you. I don't want you thinking about anything except for how amazing it feels, understand?”

You bit your lip and nodded, climbing the rest of the way off of him and laying down lengthwise on the bed as Eddie stood up. You expected to get on top, but to your surprise he instead cupped his hands under your armpits and manhandled you so that you were horizontal across the bed. He grabbed your hips and positioned them on the edge of the mattress, your legs hanging off the side, with knees bent and feet on the floor. Then, he got down on his knees in front of you.

You pushed yourself up just in time to see his awestruck face when he spread your thighs apart. “Jesus, baby,” he gushed, “you soaked through your panties.” You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed when he presses the pad of his thumb to where your clit is under the fabric. Your elbows give way under you and you fall onto your back, moaning loud. One of your thighs involuntarily twitches, rising up above his head as your calf tucked in and your toes curled. “All worked up aren’t you? Poor thing. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” He holds your already raised leg in place, then slides his hand under your other thigh, hoisting that one up as well. With both of your legs elevated, he dips his fingers under the elastic of your underwear. “Up,” he instructs.

You dig your heels into the edge of the mattress and use them as support so you can do as he says. Once your hips are off the bed, he slides the panties off and down. You lower yourself and lift your heels, and Eddie finally pulls the last of the clothing off of your body. He tosses the garment to the side, not caring where it lands. After your feet lowered to rest on the floor again, he took your knees in both hands and spread you wide open, putting your drenched folds on full display. He kissed his way up to the apex of your thigh and you tensed, preparing yourself for his first contact with your aching center, only for him to turn his head and repeat this gesture on the opposite side.

“Pl-please Eds,” you disturb his actions with a broken voice, head thrown back again, this time in frustration instead of pleasure. “Please touch me. Please. I can’t- I’m so- Fuck.” Desperate and pathetic, you grasp both of his hands in yours as you look back down at him. “I'm so horny, I think I might literally, actually explode,” you exaggerate. “Please make me cum. Please, I can't take it.”

He stares back at you slack mouthed and expressionless as you finish shamelessly begging. Your eyes bore into his, absolutely pleading. Finally, he smirks and leans down to lick a single straight line directly up your pussy. You squeeze his fingers- letting out a relieved groan, and he finds it so sweet sounding that he wished he brought a tape recorder.

“So good for me, telling me exactly what you need and asking so politely,” he praises as he frees one of his hands from yours and starts rubbing slow, lazy circles on your clit. “Such good manners. Behavior like that should be rewarded, don't you think?”

“Yes. Oh my god.” It’s dark in your room, what with it being nearly 4 in the morning and the only source of light still being what little is coming in through your blinds. It does cast a slight glow as it bounces off your walls though, so despite the darkness Eddie swears he can see glistening in your eyes as you carry on rambling aimlessly. “Oh my god, thank you. Please, Eds.”

Eddie truly did mean to stop teasing you and get on with it, but the sight of you being so desperate to cum that you were reduced to tears shocks him so much he goes still. You sob out pitifully as you let go of his other hand and throw both of your arms over your face, hiding in the crooks of your elbows. He almost feels bad, but he can’t deny the deep throbbing it causes in his lower region.

“Are you crying baby?” he asks as he begins rubbing his hands up and down your thighs as if trying to console you. “You’re crying for me? I got you that needy?” You start squirming on the bed, and your feet stomp on the floor behind him.

“Watch it now,” he chastised, his hands stilling and his grip tightening, “Remember what we said about good behavior being rewarded? Throwing a temper tantrum will get you nowhere.” You removed your face from its hiding spot and threw your arms back dramatically on the space of the bed above you. Your eyes strain, trying to force your vision to work better in the dark, and you can just barely make out Eddie’s stern expression. His eyebrow raised, “You want to be my good girl right?”

You feel a tear roll down your cheek as you try and fail to keep your voice steady. “I do want to be your good girl! But I've been so patient-“

“I’ll decide when you’ve been patient,” he interrupts strictly, cutting off your complaining. You almost protest, but think better of it and say nothing. “Tell me who’s in charge,” he demands.

“You are,” you comply willingly, stopping your squirming, “You’re in charge. I’ll behave.”

He smiles and loosens his grip “There we go,” he goes back to rubbing your clit, this time faster, with more pressure. You let out a whimper, your moaning starting up again. “Now was that so hard? Since it’s your first time, I’ll forgive your little outburst. Be grateful I’m feeling nice.” He can almost make out the ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s hidden in between your whines.

Pulling his thumb away, he puts his tongue to work. He massages your clit up and down and side to side, until coming to the conclusion that spirals get the best response out of you. “Oh, found the way you like it, did I?” he asks between licks, “Is this the way your fingers do it when you’re all alone and thinking about me?”

You nod vigorously. Your eyes squeezed shut at some point, and you might draw blood with how hard you’re biting your lower lip. Reaching down, you comb your fingers through Eddie’s hair as he swirls his tongue in circles. Pretty soon, you are grasping at the bedsheets, heels dug into his shoulder blades, toes curling. You’re loud, but speaking no words. Your head is completely empty and all you can focus on in the coil inside of you growing tighter, and tighter, and tighter. Suddenly, you feel Eddie slide two fingers into you and curl them upwards. You gasp so hard you nearly choke.

He lifts his mouth from your clit, quickly moving to continue the motions with his thumb, the fingers on his other hand working their way in and out of you fast and hard. “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You look down at him with pleading, teary eyes. “Can I?”

That response causes his actions to falter ever so slightly, then he carries on with even more force than before. His fingers speed up, pumping in and out of you and hitting you just perfectly in the right spot every time, and your moans get impossibly louder. “So well behaved for me, asking permission. Fuck babygirl. You can cum. Whenever you want to, you can cum.”

He returns his mouth to you and sucks in while circling his tongue. That was all it took for you to start spasming underneath him. You came so quickly after Eddie giving the okay that it was easy for him to tell you’d been holding it back for a while. He keeps his fingers inside of you during your climax, wanting to feel the way your walls tightened and clenched around them. The assault on your swollen clit never ceases, helping you to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible, and he only eased off when the sensitivity caused you to push him away. He pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean before standing and kissing his way up your trembling body as you struggle to catch your breath. Picking you up from under your armpits again, he drags you to the middle of the mattress, lays you longways, then lifts his knees onto the bed to crawl on top of you. When he sees your blissed out face he can’t help but kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. In between pecks, he strokes your hair and whispers comforts like ‘I got you’ and ‘Breathe, sweetheart, you did so well’. After about 5 minutes, you begin to regain your composure slightly, or at least enough to look at Eddie and see the adoration in his eyes. The sincerity in his expression makes your stomach flip, and it honestly almost feels like a small wave of aftershocks. He kisses at your neck again, sucking and biting slowly as he starts grinding on your thigh. You glance down, face full of lust as your eyes travel past his tattoos and body hair, until finally settling on the impressively sized tent he was still sporting.

“I want to make you cum, too,” you proclaim as you slide your hand down his abdomen until you reach his boxers and lightly graze his bulge.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he says, taking your chin in his hand and pulling you into a slow kiss. “We’re not done yet. Just letting you have a little breather.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic

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niqhtlord01 · 4 months

Text

Humans are weird: Never put a human in a zoo

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The sudden extinction of the Dre people was as sudden as it was unexpected to the galactic community. They were one of the oldest and most technologically advanced races in the universe. Heavily isolationist by nature, coupled with their inherent self-sense of superiority they viewed much of the other space faring species as little more than savages by comparison as none of them presented a credible challenge their rule. Yet within a month they had lost nearly 99% of their population across multiple worlds.

The worst hit was their homeworld of Belnuck situated at the heart of their empire which became an empty husk of a world seemingly overnight. Ancient and powerful cities of technological wonder now were little more than ghost towns to be picked clean by scavengers.

There were no signs of civil strife or unrest, no exterior threat from military forces, not even a record of natural disaster on their homeworld. Nothing was found that could give a clue as to what could have erased such a prominent power as the Dre, and so it was written off as a deadly unsolved mystery and the galactic community went on.

At least, that was what the public report stated.

It wasn’t until a group of Kreen scavengers came upon a set of personal journals that the shroud of uncertainty was lifted. Only to be then shortly locked away and sealed under the highest security restrictions to ensure the truth never saw the light of day.

These are those journal entries: ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757931 Head curator Migu

The benefactors are requesting we add new exhibits to the zoo again.

I thought they would have been content with the Draxic specimens we captured last month but it seems the general public no longer find giant lizards fascinating to observe. One of them suggested we allow the Draxic to mingle with other exhibits for inter species interactions for potential science research; but I could tell right away that what they really wanted from this was to have guests pay to see those lizard savages rip apart our other attractions like a Frong in a Skitch field.

I wish they could at least try to hide their greediness behind some semblance of rationality. At least then it would be easier to stomach.

I’ve scheduled a discussion with our head capture specialists to go out and find new attractions for the people later today. I don’t have much hope they can find anything as fascinating to revive interest but one never knows. End Log Entry. ---------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757935 Head curator Migu

Capture team theta appears to have acquired something of value.

The specimens were caught will transitioning into real space at the edge of a system and were removed from their vessel shortly after.

Their technology was primitive in nature, but from the recordings the capture team sent back their esthetic design choices appear to be unique for such a low species. Accessing their data banks was a trivial matter and provided a wealth of history to them.

They appear to call themselves “Humons”, and have only recently begun intergalactic travel.

From the data we have gathered these humons are a highly warlike society repeating cycles of great conflict to great resurgence throughout their history. During war time they have fought with everything from sharpened wood stakes to low grade thermo nuclear devices.

While lacking the physical exciting traits like armored skin or shape shifting qualities, I believe their nature as a self-destructive race will make them a comedic addition to the zoo.

Theta team is on their way back now with them and I’ve already given instructions to create the new paddock for them in the east wing. With any luck the benefactors will find them as amusing as I do and calm down. End Log Entry. ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757940 Head curator Migu It could not have gone any better. The public loves the new attractions and the benefactors love the increase in profits. Theta team captured roughly a dozen of these humons and when coupled with their historical data we were able to depict several invigorating habitats. We injected them with the standard nano machines to provide feedback on each of them for both the caretakers and the guests. I do have some concerns about handing the medical needs of these humons as none of our handlers know how to treat them, but I have tasked them with dissecting the gathered data for any relevant medical information. They seem very energetic and many of them have not stopped trying to escape their exhibit since they woke up. A few of them have already begun crafting crude weapons to defend themselves while forming mini factions. The largest group has created a primitive wooden fortress by sharpening sticks and creating walls with them. The smaller group has kept their distance from the larger groups while the remaining few have decided to remain in isolation from both groups. Guests love it when they start banging on the windows and try to talk with them. The children in particular I overheard already picking out their favorites and rooting for them to survive should they begin fighting. We’ve not had this kind of engagement since we brought in Bengols with their psionic abilities. ------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758021 Head curator Migu

It’s been several cycles since my last entry and we’ve had a few snags. Our lack of medical knowledge regarding our latest exhibits has proven costly. Despite our best efforts to decrypt the remaining data from their ships it appears medical information was damaged beyond recovery during the capture process. This has left us unable to properly care for them during medical emergencies; which have happened far sooner than expected.

After several days of captivity several of the humons began showing signs of rapidly deteriorating mental stability. They’ve displayed signs of paranoia, societal breakdown, and an increase in aggression levels to the point they murdered other humons in the enclosure.

We’ve never had this problem before with our other exhibits, at least within such a short timeframe, and now the benefactors are calling for my head. They are upset that their most prized money generators are murdering each other risking their profit margin.

I’ve suggested applying mild sedatives to calm them but was denied. They insist that curbing their more primitive tendencies would cause customers to lose interest in them.

The suggestion of capturing more of these humons was strongly advocated for but it was my turn to deny that request. Deploying a capture team was an expensive endeavor and if the humons continued killing each other the costs would overturn any increase in profits.

I’m putting together alternatives now for my next meeting with them. Hopefully something will come along and save our hides. ---------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758043 Head curator Migu

The problem for the time being has resolved itself via an unexpected avenue.

One of the capture humons was seen treating the few remaining humans; providing basic medical treatment and care.

Ordinarily we would have written off such behavior but because of our current medical situation we decided to bend regulations and reach out to the subject directly.

A translator unit was acquired and we were able to speak directly with the humon. It took several minutes to calibrate, thankfully much of their speech was unrecognizable. They would not stop trying to speak with us while it was being adjusted and went on and on about wanting to be set free and demanding answers. Honestly you think these humons would be grateful that we are lowering ourselves to speak with them.

When they finally calmed down we explained the situation to them. In exchange for their cooperation they would be given special privileges to treats and comforts for the duration of their stay. They wanted to be let out and freed from the exhibit but I quickly shut that down as a non-starter.

It eventually dawned on them that this was going to be their new existence for the remainder of their life and could live in comfort or watch as their friends died one by one; and they accepted the offer. -------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758117 Head curator Migu

While unusual the negotiating tactic with the humon has resolved the issue for us and the benefactors are happy once more.

With the medical humons help they were able to stabilize the injured humons while also negotiate a form of agreement between the humon factions in the exhibit. They could still maim and injure each other while guests were present but would not kill and then would be treated afterwards before the next day’s opening.

Interestingly enough the medical humon has proved very useful. They’ve been able to communicate with the rest of the humons and get them to fall in line. What’s more they’ve been minimalistic in requests with the biggest being to be taught some of the basics of our medical equipment so he can use it himself.

Ordinarily we don’t allow this but it would have freed up some of the medical wing so we allowed it with extensive supervision.

I must admit I am rather proud of myself for resolving the situation, and with such little expenditure. Things now are running smoothly once more and the profits are seeing ever increasing margins. Maybe now the benefactors will get off my back. Though honestly I think it’ll only last one or two months before the humons are worn out and they want something new.

---------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-758135 Head curator Migu

Oh gods it burns!

Everyone at the zoo is screaming and clawing their own skin!

Gods damnit make it stop! MaKE IT Stop!!!!!!!!!!!

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

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue.

I am not sure what planet or system we’re in, but hone in on this signal and you will find us. I will be repeating this message every hour on the hour for as long as this place has power.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been in this god forsaken hellhole. The automated day/night cycles have made my attempts at record keeping near impossible.

Maybe a month? Two? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

We were kidnapped from our ship after exiting a jump and woke up to find ourselves in some sort of alien zoo. The aliens refused to speak to us at first, instead watching us from windows and laughing at us while we struggled to find out what was going on.

They’re all dead now. The aliens that is.

I never knew what they called themselves and I don’t really care.

They treated my friends like animals, so I took their precious tech and turned it on them. Made the nano machines they injected us with register the alien DNA as a deadly virus in need of immediate eradication.

First one I got was the one who was so smug about our capture and display. They changed their tune after I spat in their eye and their face started melting as the nano tech spread. Two others came in after the screaming started and they got infected as well before fleeing the room.

I stood up and went to my comrades “habitat’ and let them out as every alien around us began screaming and melting away. That was at least three days ago now and I haven’t seen one of them yet. Their whole planet now is like one massive ghost town.

We’ve enough provisions to last us and the other freed captives for some time, but please do hurry. I want off this fraking shit hole as soon as possible. --------------- Message repeats:

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue. ------

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #ai generated art #stable diffusion

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atalienart · 4 months

Text

Does Al also make you paranoid?

Look at this picture. Is it art or is it an Al generated image? Look at this text. Is this useful piece of information or Al gibberish? Look at this video? Is this real or fake?

I stare at drawings, analysing every line, I go through people's social media to see if they're artists or thieves. I look for references and take a close look at every image because I don't want to reference distorted reality. I show someone a video of snow falling somewhere and instead of "look how beautiful" I go "do you think this exists?" and I read something and then give up recognising dry like a summer desert language of a robot. I hate it here.

Today's no different. I see a picture that looks kinda nice but I immediately notice there's something wrong with it. I go to the source and there's more. Every day the person adds a new fully finished piece. Under every piece people (because they can sense something's off) ask the owner of the account what medium he uses. The answer is: "I've been using the computer to create my art since 1980, and then I print it with a vintage ink on my epson printer". The fuck? Sounds like the printer does more work that he does on the computer. They guy's old, I give him the benefit of the doubt, his bio says he's a curator of art in some institute. One of the commenters says he posts regularly and his "style" didn't change much. I go through his feed. In fact his "style" changes a lot. But oh, most of the images he posts belong to other people who have their own exhibitions and no online presence, and it's all Al shit, clear as day. I scroll down and it turns out the guy used to be into abstract art, there's tons of it before Al started to ruin everything. In another life I'd scroll past that pretentious fuck without losing 12 minutes of my life. I hate it here. I see another artist and they seem legit but even when I see their art with all the human imperfections I can't shake the feeling they reference Al images. I see their process video but I cannot tell if they're just new to digital art and they use traditional methods or it's a bit shady. Am I paranoid or their video is just recorded that way, because I've already seen the erasing liars and pretending idiots.

It's exhausting. Constant vigilance! I don't want to waste my time on something people didn't bother to spend their time creating. They don't care about their thing, why should I?

#jabbernaty #before anyone attacks #no I don't think abstract art is pretentious #the guy who pretends he doesn't use Al and promotes other thieves calling himself a curator of art definitely is #with his antique ink and epson printer #am I too negative lately? perhaps #I need a hug or something idk

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cravetive · 4 months

Text

THE MESS WE LEAVE BEHIND

❈ Pairings: Namjoon x F!reader , Jimin x F!reader

❈ Genre/Au: M (18+);smut;Marriage Au;Namjoon x Jimin best friends! Cheating! Angst.

❈ Synopsis: Falling in love with your husband’s best friend was not at all how you imagined your life to go, and his return has you unraveling under the lies you’ve created to keep your family.

❈ Warnings: smut, dirty talk, thigh riding, foul language, mentions of cheating, fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex (don't do it), pregnancy, Namjoon is a angel from above, Angst, riding, Y/n is a mess, pet names ( baby) , Angst with no alleviation, spanking, orgasms , mentions of arousal, did i say angst?

❈ Word Count: 8.0 K sumthing brief

❈ Authors Note: I don't know how to feel about this, but I was compelled to write it so bone apple teeth Y'all! btw, i did not proofread this.

“As for the dog, he’s still riding that log” Namjoon read from the child book in his hand as he brushed his other hand through his daughter's hair. “What a crazy dog” Namjoon chuckled at his daughter but as he looked down, he noticed the now-sleeping child resting peacefully on his chest. He observed closely as his daughter snored softly, a smile rising to his face. Namjoon recalled the first time he had heard he was going to be a father, he remembered how nervous he had been, fear quickly consuming him and filling him with doubt.

He didn’t think himself capable or worthy of ever filling the role of a father but as soon as he saw her little face for the first time, he knew he didn’t want to be anything else but her dad.

Now she was 6 months old, and he couldn’t even understand why he had been so nervous in the first place. She was his entire world, and he was hers. Before her arrival, he looked for meaning in everything, trying to find something missing in himself but now, having his daughter asleep peacefully on his chest, he discovered it was all that he needed.

He carefully laid the book down and proceeded to softly move her into her crib, covering her with a blanket and leaving a sweet kiss on her forehead. He walked towards the door and held onto the light switch, looking at his sleeping child one last time before turning off the lights.

He took a deep breath and walked towards his kitchen, softly humming a lullaby to himself.

“You know, I think I'm going to open a daycare in the museum” he spoke as he stepped inside the kitchen. His wife giggled loudly from where she stood putting away the dishes. “a daycare? In the art museum?” she asked, a laugh pouring out afterward. He chuckled as he reached her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and planting a kiss on top of her head.

“I just think it will allow me to see Harumi more” he explains, leaning his chin on Y/n shoulder. He closes his eyes as he breathes in her scent. Finding comfort in the familiar smell of her Coco Channel perfume. “Namjoon, it’ll be hard for her to incorporate herself into her daycare if you keep this up” Y/n whines.

“Fine, but it's not easy for me” he replies, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

“I can't imagine not seeing her chunky cheeks for 8 hours every day” he continues “It’ll be torture!” he chuckles.

“We have to go back to work eventually, Joon” Y/n responds.

“6 months is not enough time” he exhales, looking up at his wife.

“Joon, you are the best curator they have” Y/n voices “I know they have been in shambles since you left.”

“well, what about you? how do you think they have been doing without their top exhibit designer?” he mocks, a mischievous smile forming on his lips.

“oh god, please try to make this easier for me” she groans “If we are both reluctant to return to work, how will we feed her?” she asks, a giggle pouring along with it.

“Fine but I'm talking to the board of directors regarding this family leave thing, it should be way more than 6 months” he pouts whilst Y/n nods in agreement.

He reaches for her glass of wine and takes a gulp. “Hey!” she protests, slapping his arm playfully “That’s my wine.” “What do we say? Sharing is caring Y/n” he says, side-eying his wife. She rolls her eyes and turns on her feet, snatching the glass of wine from his hand.

“How was bedtime today? Did she give you trouble?” she asks, taking a drink from her glass.

“I gave her the dad special” he brags, wiggling his eyebrows which causes another laugh to fall from Y/n’s mouth. “I read her a bedtime story and she was out like a light” he smiles, recalling his daughter sound asleep in her room. Y/n joins his smile and leans into his chest, burying her cheek against it. He moves his arms around her, pushing her into him and swaying side to side.

“You know, I’ll miss this” he comments, looking down at her. She pushes herself slightly and looks up at Namjoon. She doesn’t speak, only admiring the man who towers over her, and she swears she has never felt more loved by someone in her entire life. “Me too” she hums, pushing herself on tiptoes and planting a warm kiss on his full lips.

“But as we promised, despite our busy schedules we will make a habit of coming home before 5 pm and making dinner” she reminds him, pulling away. He gives her his famous dimply smile and leans forward to plant another kiss on her lips.

“Do you think I can take her to the museum?” he insists, and Y/n laughs and shakes her head.

“Absolutely not, last time I let you take her Jin almost kidnapped that poor child” Y/n answers, giving him a disapproving glance. They both join in loud laughter that echoes inside the room. “In his defense, she is very cute,” Namjoon says with a fond look.

Once the laughter subsides, they stand in silence. Namjoon stares into Y/n’s admiring his wife. To this day he tokens himself as the luckiest man alive for being able to call her his, he loses himself in her eyes.

“You know I love you right?” he hums, brushing her hair back and giving her a small peck on her forehead.

Y/n giggles and moves away from Namjoon's embrace, setting her empty wine glass inside the sink.

She leans onto it for a moment, pressing her lips together. She ponders on the question she has wanted to ask for some time now but has been hesitant to. She looks over at her husband and observes as he types away calmly on his phone. “babe” she calls for him, he hums in response, but his attention remains on the screen.

“When will Jimin be back?” she asks, her voice a mere whisper almost as if she doesn’t want him to hear her ask.

He removes his eyes from the screen in front of him and looks over at his wife, a sigh leaves his lips. “Uhm, I'm not too sure really” he answers “He’s been touring all of Europe, he’s in Spain now actually” he notes which makes Y/n nod slowly. She diverts her eyes back to the sink where she has sat her wine glass, and she proceeds to pick it back up.

“More wine?” Namjoon asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Y/n offers him a cheeky smile and goes to grab the half-empty bottle of cabernet.

“Just a bit more” she giggles.

She pours herself another glass and hums when the burgundy liquid touches her lips.

“Alright, I'll head to bed now” Namjoon whispers, laying one more kiss on her wife's lips and disappearing through the door.

It is only when she hears their bedroom closing that she allows herself to unravel in tears. She grips onto the counter, attempting to not collapse on her knees.

It has been like this for months, even before she had Harumi and married Namjoon. She feels like she's walking on needles every day. The burden of the secret that she carries weighs her down, making it impossible for her to enjoy the life she has created for herself. She has wanted to come clean, has wanted to be brave enough to tell someone, anyone about what has been happening to her but she's unable. She isn’t capable of breaking Namjoon's heart.

She’s unwilling to take away from him that he has yearned for all this time.

So, she pretends. She contains all these feelings in her chest, and she carries on with her days as a happy wife and mother all while she collapses inside. She is a good person, an honest person. but somehow, she has found herself in this crippling situation. Withholding the truth from a man who deserves the world, crying herself numb when he leaves the room.

“I'll meet you at the entrance” Namjoon spoke excitedly, almost running through the halls of the museum. “Joon, please relax” Y/n giggles through the phone. “I want to help you with the stroller” he huffs, nearing the lobby of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Being the persuasive man he was, Namjoon had been able to secure a daycare ward in the museum, making it possible for all employees to bring their children to work during their shifts.

“I don’t even want to know how you were able to get this done” Y/n speaks whilst Namjoon jogs towards his wife and daughter. He gives her a wide smile and raises his brows. “it's best you don’t know” he replies, reaching for Harumi and pulling her out of the stroller. He carries her in his arms and gives her a soft kiss on her plump cheeks.

“I’ve missed you, Haru” he sings into her little ears.

He looks back at Y/n who struggles with closing the stroller in her hands.

“All alright, come on let's switch” he chuckles, handing Harumi over to Y/n and beginning to close the stroller. “6 months and I still don’t know how that works” Y/n hisses. Namjoon laughs, looking back at his family. “it’s really simple, Yn” Namjoon advises. “Simple for you” Y/n retorts.

They join hands and begin to walk into the halls of the museum. “I have a meeting soon with one of the investors, but I should be done by 3 pm and then we can have lunch together” he informs Y/n. “Joon, I'm not sure I’ll be done by 3 pm, it's my first time walking into the office again” Y/n replies. Namjoon frowns and gives her a quick saddened glance.

“Fine, then I'll have lunch with Harumi” he then smiles, making a silly face at his daughter which causes her to gift him a gummy smile.

“I don’t know what I will do with you two” Y/n laughs.

“What else but love us” Namjoon responds, laying a quick peck on Y/n’s cheek.

“Hey Namjoon Hyung!” a voice calls, Namjoon looks up and his eyes widen.

“No way!” he almost yells. “Brooo you’re back!” he leaves Y/n’s side and jogs up to the man, embracing him in a tight hug.

“How was Spain?” he asks.

Jimin chuckles and nods his head “It was beautiful, I couldn’t get enough” he replies. “I can tell you have been gone for a year, we’ve missed you around here” Namjoon confesses, slapping his friend's shoulder softly.

Whilst engulfed in his conversation, Namjoon doesn’t notice the way Y/n tenses or the way that she tries to direct her eyes elsewhere but at the 2 men catching up in the hallway. She holds onto Harumi tightly, holding her breath. Her daughter coos up at her but she can't focus. instead, her eyes try to find the closest exit.

“Hey Y/n, guess whose back!” Namjoon cheers and she curses under her breath. She turns and her eyes grow panicked as the two men approach her. She wears her best fake smile and attempts to act natural. “I see, welcome back Jimin,” she says halfheartedly.

“Hey Y/n, nice to see you again” he answers. She shuts her eyes for a moment, begging for someone to stop the dumpster fire that’s about to occur. Y/n’s breath becomes labored the closer he gets; his voice sounds soft in contrast with the way Y/n’s heart beats Uncontrollably against her chest. She musters a small smile, blinking uncomfortably.

Jimin smirks, a taunting stare taking over his eyes as he takes her in for the first time in a year. Her skin appears to glisten under the dim lights around them, her cheeks becoming flushed at his sudden appearance. He looks her up and down, noticing the small changes she has gone through since the day he last saw her. This only makes Y/n grow uneasy as she notices the way he is unable to remove his eyes from her.

“Is this?” his eyes widen, noticing the child she holds in her arms. “Yeah bro, Harumi” Namjoon interjects, causing Y/n to jolt in place. “Wow, she’s huge” he rejoices, reaching forward to touch her small hand. “What is she? 6 months now?” he asks, his eyes looking into Y/n’s for confirmation.

She doesn’t say a word as their eyes collide, his stare provoking her to remain completely still. he gives her a smug smile and then looks back at Harumi. “Yes, can you believe it!” Namjoon says proudly from behind him. Jimin nods knowingly and glances back at Namjoon. “she’s gorgeous” he grins, sharing another look with Y/n. “I’m sure she gets it from her mother” he speaks, dragging his words.

“Oh, come on, give me some credit” Namjoon protests. “I'm sure I gave her some of my good genes.”

“Did you now?” Jimin taunts, his eyes remaining locked with Y/n’s.

“w-well, I have to go” Y/n interrupts, taking a step away from Jimin. He lets go of Harumi's hand and stands up straight, another smirk appearing on his lips. He notes the way Y/n nervously adjusts the strap of the baby bag around her shoulder and turns in the other direction.

“See you around!” He calls after her, lifting his hand and waving.

He remains there, even after Namjoon calls out his name. his eyes stay on the spot where Y/n stood only seconds ago holding her child. His smirk falls and he takes a deep breath before turning to face Namjoon again.

“Ready for the meeting?” Namjoon asks, pointing towards the other direction of the hall.

“Ready as I’ll ever be” Jimin responds, moving towards Namjoon.

“fuck” Y/n mutters as she steps into her office, she throws her purse onto one of the empty seats in front of her desk and runs her hands through her hair. “fuck” she repeats as she unbuttons her blouse and falls back onto her chair. She feels like the room is spinning and the suffocating feeling she has grown so accustomed to, returns. This was not the way she had pictured her first day back at all.

She is unraveling and she knows it. she buries her face into her hands and warm tears begin to pour down her cheeks. She doesn’t know what she has done to find herself in this predicament, but she isn’t brave enough to get herself out of it either. She looks back at a picture framed on her wall. It is a shared photograph between Namjoon, Jimin, and herself. They both look down at her with big smiles as she stares into the camera with a smile of her own.

Her eyes narrow as she slips her hand down to her mouth, covering the sobs that escape it.

| a year and 2 months ago |

“If you aren’t quiet, they will hear us” Jimin pants into Y/n’s ear.

But She's deaf to all reason, overcome with her own pleasure as she moves her clothed pussy against his thigh. Her dress has risen above her ass, soft moans pouring like symphonies past her lips. Her cunt pulsates as she continues grinding herself against him, Jimin’s hands travel to the top of her dress which he rips open causing her to hiss.

He skillfully undoes her bra, his eyes admiring her now-exposed breasts in complete awe. He licks up her chest onto her neck as she throws her head back in pleasure. “God, you are gorgeous” he compliments, bringing one of her nipples into his mouth. He laps his tongue over her sensitive nub while his other hand softly rubs against the other.

“Jimin” she pants, the sensation she is feeling is overwhelming, but she has no plans on stopping, the feeling of his hands and tongue alone giving her a high she never wanted to come down from. She feels Jimin’s hand wander down her body, stopping at her hips where he guides her movements.

“You like that baby?” he moaned breathlessly.

She can’t respond, small whimpers erupting from her mouth whilst she remains in complete euphoria. “You like the way it feels when you rub your hot wet cunt against my thigh, baby?” he purrs, earning another loud moan from Y/n. he smirks, his eyes focusing on her hooded eyes and plump lips. “You want more?” he hums, moving her hips a bit faster against him.

Jimin’s cock pulsates painfully against his pants, begging to be released. He moves forward, trying to find quick relief from the agony of the restraint. He wants to turn her out, to have her screaming his name repeatedly. it is all that he has ever wanted and having her here, dampening his pants as she fucks herself on his leg feels like a complete dream, he just wants to savor this exact moment. He wants to engrave this so deep into his memory that he is never capable of forgetting it.

Y/n slides her hand down to the front of his pants, getting hold of his hardened cock. She glides her hand smoothly, feeling his throbbing head through the fabric. Jimin moans loudly, gripping her waist tighter.

“shhhh” she mutters into his ear, planting a wet kiss below it.

He can feel her quicken her movements, seeking out her release. He captures her mouth into his, his tongue intruding past her lips and dancing against her tongue. His hand moves down to her ass, gripping her skin there.

“Nice and slow baby, I want to see you cum all over my lap” he breathes, pulling away from their kiss. Her scent brings out a certain animalistic surge from him as he watches her eagerness to satisfy herself. “Look at you leave all your juices on my pants, you naughty girl” he chuckles lowly.

“Jimin” she responds, her voice a mere whisper. She’s unable to concentrate as his words bring her closer to her orgasm, her hand moving up and down against his hardened member. His pants are drenched in her arousal, but Jimin adores it, he can't get enough of watching her and he can swear that this is his purpose, that he was brought onto this earth for this exact moment.

“You want to ride me, baby?” He hums, his hand holding onto her face which he brings closer to his, his other hand pushes back loose strands of her hair that have stuck themselves to the sweat forming on her forehead. She nods, eagerly. “Look at me” he commands. She breathes out, her mouth agape. She struggles to keep her eyes open as they look into Jimin’s in complete pleasure.

“Yeah, you want to ride me?” he asks again.

“I wanna ride you, Jimin” Y/n answers, whimpering as he lifts the leg which she straddles.

“How bad do you want it?” he purrs, his thumb pressing against her lips.

She takes his digit into her mouth and sucks, which causes Jimin to whimper painfully.

“Real bad” she moans out.

“Fuck, you look beautiful like this” he notes, his eyes narrowing on her. “I want to fuck you” he groans.

“Fuck me, Jimin” she begs and he almost cums from those words alone. Her voice is soft and raspy and it's enough to disconnect Jimin from all rationality. she’s unable to catch her breath, her hips buckling down on his thigh as his hands come down to grip her ass harshly.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long” he confesses, his eyes devouring her state. The way her breasts bounce with every one of her movements, her flushed cheeks, and clammy skin which glistens under the lamp above them.

“How long?” she asks, mustering a smirk on her lips.

“Since the day I met you,” he groans, going back to guide her hips against his lap.

“Steady baby, I'm not in a rush” he hums which brings her to slow down her movements. She feels her panties sticking to her soaking cunt, her hips rotating leisurely. He wanders his hand behind her head and takes a fist full of her hair, pulling back with little force.

He kisses down her throat and continues down to her breasts, he licks along them. giving each of her nipples his undivided attention.

“I'm Cumming, Jimin” she blurts, urgency in her voice.

“Are you?” he asks, teasing her.

“Y-yes” she whines.

“Hold it, baby, I want you to cum on my cock instead” he instructs her whilst pulling her off his thigh. She hisses at the absence of pressure between her legs but allows him to lead her. He remains in his seat, her wet-clothed pussy in front of his face now. She looks down at him, her mouth agape in anticipation of what he will do next.

He can feel his dick quivering as he takes in how engorged she had become. “Look at you baby, you’re drenched” Jimin announces. He runs his fingers against her clit, causing her to jolt towards his touch. He takes the digits away and puts them in his mouth, where he licks her arousal away.

He unbuckles his pants and pulls them down to his knees, Y/n drools at the sight of the imprint of his dick against his underwear. His cock appears painfully constricted and the tip oozes pre-cum which leaves a wet spot against the fabric.

“Come on, baby” he reaches for her waist, bringing her closer. “Be a good girl and come sit on my lap.”

Y/n does as told, lying face down over his lap, her ass in the air.

His hands rub softly against her ass cheeks, the motion causing her legs to squish together, giving friction to her pulsating cunt. She moans loudly, her hands holding onto his leg. Jimin dips his fingers in between her folds, moving them against her cunt. She can feel the blood flowing to her head. The combination of that and his touch, causing her to grow dizzy.

“Do you hear how wet you are for me?” he groans, the sound of her juices lathering his fingers echoing inside the small room. He inserts his pointer and index finger inside her and moans at how warm it feels.

He holds a quick pace, moving his fingers in and out and her pussy begins to cream over his fingers. Y/n yelps, unable to contain the burning feeling in the pit of her stomach. He can feel her wetness dripping onto his bare leg now, the scene in front of him enough for him to nut in that very moment but he holds himself together. He’s more than determined to cum into her pretty pussy and that’s exactly what he will do.

“Oh Jimin” she purrs, closing her eyes in pleasure.

“Wish it was my cock, right?” he asks, his free hand coming down hard against her left ass cheek, leaving a red imprint on the skin there.

“All you have to do is ask,” he says, his fingers moving at a slower pace now.

“Please Jimin” Y/n cries out.

“Please what beautiful?” he teases, licking his lips in admiration.

“Please fuck me Jimin” she begs.

“That sounds delicious coming from your mouth” Jimin coos, his dick continues to twitch against his underwear, and he can't hold out anymore. He wants to fuck her senseless, have her screaming his name at the top of her lungs.

“Come here” he mumbles, removing his fingers from her dripping cunt and guiding her off his lap. He notices how her legs shake while she refrains herself from Cumming. She's such a good girl for him and he wants to reward her.

He removes his boxers and his cock springs out, resting rock solid against his lower abdomen. She straddles him, bringing the head of his cock between her folds, her juices wetting the tip of his dick. He throws his head back in complete rapture. “Oh fuck, fuckk” he groans out. He can feel the heat emitting from her cunt and her arousal leaking down the rest of his shaft.

She moves her hips skillfully, rubbing herself against him. his hands fall onto her waist and his lips search for hers, moaning into her mouth as he slips inside of her smoothly. Her warm and sleek walls push him over the edge as he begins to pound up into her whilst she grinds down onto him.

“Just like that baby” he moans loudly “Just like that, don’t stop” Jimin voices, cheering her on. “Fuck It feels so good” he continues. He closes his eyes shut and hisses fall from his lips. Y/n feels so good, so tight and warm against his palpitating cock. He had been right all along, from the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she would rock his world and oh, how good was she doing it.

Her tight walls gripped his cock masterfully, his mouth falling open and his brows pushing together as he becomes immersed in complete lust. He never wanted to leave, never wanted to pull out. Soon the sound of their skin slapping together filled the room along with their whimpers and moans that created a melody he never wanted to stop hearing.

He buried his face into her chest, unable to withhold himself from fucking into her hard and fast. Their sweat-clad bodies moving in unison, Y/n embraces him as he rests his hands on her back.

“You feel so good, Jimin” Y/n yelps, his thick cock pushing against her walls. Jimin bites down on his lip, pounding into her uncontrollably. “Fuck uh,” he groans, losing himself in the sensation. He doesn’t care how loud they are or who is listening from the other side of the door. All he cares about is how good her hair smells and about the way she grips his shoulders as she fucks herself on his dick. The sound of her soft moans and the feel of her clammy skin against his becoming his favorite things.

He continues to drill into her, her small whimpers turning into full-blown screams, and he smiles in satisfaction, knowing that he’s the one causing them. Y/n’s legs ache at the tempo, almost collapsing against him. She buries her nails into the skin of his shoulders.

“Jimin, oh Jimin I can’t” she calls out like a prayer.

“Take It, baby, don’t stop now, take all this dick” Jimin growls. his hands gripping onto her waist tightly, Keeping her still as he moves his cock up into her dripping core. He can feel the familiar tingling in the pit of his stomach and he knows he's going to cum soon but that only makes him pick up his pace. He looks up at Y/n, her eyes shut as she throws her head back.

“Jimin, shit I can’t” she yelps, moments later he feels her walls contract around him, and her body spasms as she becomes undone on his dick. Her vision blurs and there's a faint ringing in her ears, her mouth falling open as her orgasm blocks all her senses.

“so fucking sexy” he moans out, admiring how vulnerable she looks under the dimmed light.

His movements begin to falter, unable to hold back anymore. Her walls are still tight around him, urging him to cum into her throbbing cunt. His breath becomes uneven, and he digs his fingers into the skin of her thighs around him trying to keep some of his control but it's too late, he thrusts into her one last time before hot strings of cum shoot into her. Y/n moans at the feeling of his milk filling her up and her legs tremble as both their orgasms leak down her inner thighs.

There's silence as they both struggle to catch their breaths; she looks down at him and it is only then that realization hits her. Her lips tremble and she begins to move away, trying to cover herself with what remains of her torn dress.

Jimin sits up quickly, watching her closely.

“Hey Y/n” he calls out to her softly.

She turns away from him, warm tears pouring down her cheeks.

“What have we done, Jimin” she cries.

Y/n would be lying if she said it was the last time that it happened, that she didn’t become a skilled liar in order to receive the pleasure only Jimin was able to bring to her. She would kiss her boyfriend goodbye under the pretense of work meetings, girl night outs, and a busy schedule all whilst sneaking away to any dark corner available with his best friend. It was wrong and she knew it but that didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered was the way Jimin made her shudder under his touch. He knew her body like it was the back of his hand, and she was addicted.

Now she was condemned to carry this guilt everywhere. The better Namjoon treated her, the heavier it became. She wasn’t capable of ruining what she had built, even if the foundation was shaky. She had a home and a family, and she was happy.

But Jimin’s return threatened it all, threatened everything she had, and she wasn’t too proud to admit that it scared her.

Perhaps, the pleasure she sought was never worth the pain it would cause.

There’s a light knock on her door which causes Y/n to quickly wipe her tears away, she runs her hands through her hair, and buttons up the blouse she wears. “Come in” she instructs, attempting to gather herself before the door opens.

But once it does and she sees who is stepping through it, Y/n regrets the words that have just left her lips. Her heart drops to her gut and she stares wide-eyed as Jimin closes the door behind him.

“Hey,” he says calmly.

Y/n shuts her eyes, throwing her head back in frustration.

“Listen, Jimin I don’t have time right now” she utters, rubbing her temples in an attempt to ease the pounding headache she now has. He blinks, narrowing his eyes as he takes in her disarranged appearance.

“Are you okay?” he asks, quickly moving towards her desk.

She removes her hands against her temple and holds them up in the air.

“don’t, I'm fine” she mumbles.

“you don’t look fine to me” he states. Y/n lifts her head and looks over at him, her gaze holding a certain enmity. “why did you even come here?” her lips tremble as she asks, her eyes filling with tears that she blinks away, aiming to appear okay. “I wanted to come see you, to check up on you” he answers, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“no” she replies, closing her eyes for a moment and then opening them just as fast. “why did you come back here, why didn’t you stay in Europe” she clarifies. He lowers his gaze and steps away from her desk. “I had to return Y/n, my entire life is here” he answers.

She admits it's true, she knows that his return was inevitable but to say she was prepared for it would be a joke. She thought she would have more time to get her affairs in order or to at least grow some balls and own up to the things she had done.

Namjoon loved her and of that she was sure, but he didn’t know her, not all of her at least.

“I didn’t come here to cause you any trouble, Y/n” Jimin assures her, holding her gaze. He feels his heart ache whilst noticing the way she has become undone in the time he has been gone. If perhaps he hadn’t run like a coward, leaving her to carry their secrets all on her own, she would be less subdued.

But hearing her say she wasn’t able to continue with their affair a year ago had proven to be too much for him to bear because even if he couldn’t tell her he loved her, at least he was giving her a bit of himself in those sheets. Being told he could no longer have access to her, that he couldn’t hold her like he only ever yearned to, well it had hurt him beyond comprehension.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jimin” she sobbed, covering her face in shame. “But I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth either.”

He wanted to reach over and console her, but he doubted that it was something she wanted. she had made that very clear the day before he had booked the first ticket out of South Korea.

“Jimin, we need to stop, I can’t see you anymore” she sobbed. “What we are doing, it's fucked up.”

The memory of that conversation replayed in Jimin’s mind as he stood in silence. It tormented him in the night when he tried to sleep. Pain and guilt tearing him to pieces. He didn’t know what was more fucked up, the fact that he betrayed the man that was like a brother to him or the fact that he never felt bad for it. in his mind, she was worth that and much more. for her, he was willing to betray even himself.

“Which truths are you hesitant to tell?” he asks.

Y/n uncovers her face, her glassy red eyes staring back at him with confusion.

“What do you mean?” she sniffs, rapidly cleaning her tears with the sleeve of her blouse.

“Well, which truth can’t you tell him” He repeats.

“That you and his best friend went behind his back and had sex for an entire 3 months or that Harumi is my daughter?” He leans his head to the side, tears streaming down his cheeks now.

“Because both truths are going to destroy his life” he states, a sob escaping his lips.

Y/n is at a loss for words, her throat becoming dry. She can only stare at him whilst growing mortified. Indeed, she had become a professional at harboring secrets. Once she had begun lying to Namjoon, the lies quickly began piling up, leading her to a point of no return.

“H-how did you know?” she musters to say, her eyes widened in panic. He looks away, his eyes falling on the framed picture of Y/n and Namjoon on their wedding day. “She has my eyes” he whispers.

Y/n follows his eyes, her chest tightens at the image on the wall and more sobs escape her. she’s unable to contain herself and she knows she’s fucked up. She never meant for this to happen. She was happy with Namjoon until one day she just wasn’t and Jimin was there, to help her with all her grievances.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, he’s in agony and Y/n can see that. She remains motionless as the truth begins to unravel in front of her eyes. She feels relief and immense pain all at the same time, so she stays silent, conflicted with her emotions.

“I’ve missed so much” he states. He reaches over to her desk and picks up a picture of Harumi. He admires his child, tracing his fingers over her gummy smile. The woman who sits in front of him has taken something from him, has hidden the most precious thing away. Yet, he can’t bring himself to hate her. instead, he understands. From within his anger and resentment, he digs out his compassion.

“He’s a good dad, Jimin” she cries out. He lifts his stare towards her, sorrow flashing through his eyes.

“I could’ve been a good father too, Y/n” he affirms.

“I know Jimin, I'm sorry” she weeps, she stands up from her chair and approaches him but Jimin backs away, holding the picture of his daughter to his chest. “Please Jimin, I just couldn’t just throw away everything that I had” Y/n attempted to justify.

“you left and I-“she began. “No!” Jimin shouts “No you pushed me away!” he shakes his head, frustration seeping through his mind.

“What we were doing was wrong and I had to put an end to it” she yells back. “Please, try to understand” Y/n tries to catch her breath as the sobs that rip through her leave her shaking in anguish.

“How wrong could it have been when this came out of it?” he asks, holding up the picture of Harumi. Y/n stares at it, her lips pressing together. He leans in closer to her, his hand lifting her chin so that her eyes could meet his.

“How could it have been wrong when we loved each other?” he asks, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Jimin, he's your best friend” she whimpers, closing her eyes in an attempt to ignore the pain that she sees in his eyes which only causes her further torment.

“Either you tell him, or I will, but I'm not missing out on my daughter’s life on account of your happiness” he whispers, he leans back and leaves the room, taking the picture of his daughter with him.

Y/n collapses onto the floor, becoming a heaving mess. “I'm a good person” she bawls onto the floor as she holds onto her aching chest “I'm a good person” she repeats to herself.

Yn drags her feet across her front door, shutting the door quietly as she enters. She drops her work bag on the floor and slips her heels off. She’s met with the sweet aroma of baby lotion and baby wipes, and for the first time since the day began, she smiles. She glances over to her living room, taking in the TV that plays Harumi’s favorite show and her teething toys that are sprawled around the couches. She lingers on the pictures that hang on the wall; she can’t help but admire her happy family as tears begin to sting her eyes.

She takes a moment to look around, to try to engrave this sight into her mind because soon she will be destroying all of it. her heart pulls while she watches Namjoon appear from the hallway, holding her daughter in his arms. “Long day, my love?” he asks, approaching her with a full smile. She hums unable to form any words at all.

The knot that forms in her throat is painful and as she swallows, she realizes it doesn’t budge.

“Uff, yeah very long day” Namjoon jokes taking in her glassy eyes and messy hair. He embraces her with one arm, holding Harumi with the other. “Have you been drinking?” he chuckles. She nods absent-mindedly looking up at the man of her dreams. “Yes, the girls wanted to go out and celebrate my return” she lies again. Namjoon smiles “Good, it’s been a while since you went out with your colleagues for a few drinks,” he says, kissing the top of her head.

Her chest aches at his words, bringing back the memories of the lies she had spoken to him in the past. she is reminded that she could live a thousand lives and she would still never deserve a man like Namjoon.

“You think you can put Harumi down for a bit? We need to talk” she sighs, unable to withhold much longer. He furrows his brows in concern, noticing how Y/n shifts in place.

“y-yeah sure, babe” he walks towards the living room and sits Harumi in her booster seat, passing her one of her toys. He groans as he stands up and approaches his wife.

“Can you give me a massage after this?” he requests, rubbing his back.

Y/n looks up at her husband and nods slowly, sure that after the conversation they will have he will want her to be as far away from him as possible. They walk together into the kitchen and Namjoon notices the uneasiness that pours from Y/n’s aura. He frowns, worried that something bad has happened.

“Okay my love, what’s going on I'm getting a bit worried here” he warns, following behind her as she stops in front of their dining room. She turns to face him, and tears are already pouring down her cheeks. Namjoon panics, taken aback by the sight before him.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong?” He scans her face and reaches forward to try to hold her, but Y/n holds up her hand which stops his movement.

“Please, just let me speak” She shakes in place, her mind wanders endlessly on how to approach the truth, she tries to find a way in which she can break his heart painlessly, but she knows it's impossible. Once she delivers him the truth, she knows everything will be over, but reflecting on the ultimatum Jimin offered her a few days ago, she can't let him find out through anyone else.

“I uhm I’ve been lying to you” she mutters which only gains her a puzzled look from her husband. He takes a step towards her, wanting to stop her tears. Namjoon has never liked to see her cry and seeing her like this only brings him discomfort.

“What are you talking about, Y/n” he tries to reach for her once again but Y/n steps back, shaking her head. “Please, Namjoon” she implores, trying to distance herself from the man she knows loves her.

“Please let me just explain” she continues, he nods but his heart aches. He wants to bring her into his chest and whisper words he knows will soothe her. He has never seen her like this before, she has always been happy by his side and in this moment all he wants to do is protect her.

“About a year and a half ago while you were away in France, Jimin and I met up in my old apartment” Y/n swallows as she looks at her husband, Namjoon nods still holding a puzzled expression. “Initially it was just to hang out because we both missed you and we thought that since we were both alone then it would be okay for us to keep each other company.”

“Okay babe, there's nothing wrong with that,” Namjoon says, a smile appearing on his lips. “you guys can be friends too, I trust you” he continues, taking a step closer towards Y/n. She shakes her head and looks down; she can feel Namjoon’s arms wrap around her.

“Why are you crying, Y/n?” he asks, reaching for her face which he brings up to look at. His brows are furrowed, and he doesn’t understand why she's making such a huge deal out of something so small. He knows his wife and he knows her heart.

“Jimin and I slept together” she trembles, pushing back on his chest.

Namjoon leans his head to the side in confusion, he blinks looking down at her, but his arms stay around her, unable to move from where he stands.

“And not just that night, we slept together for 3 whole months” she continues to confess.

“Y/n,” he says, his voice beginning to grow shaky.

“And Harumi” she begins but cuts herself off as the knot in her throat begins to choke her. She feels the room spin around her and she is trying to hold herself together but she's shaking, and her heart is pounding painfully in her chest.

“And Harumi isn’t my daughter” he finishes her sentence, looking down at her with such compassion that she feels like throwing up. She stares up at him wide-eyed, unable to register the words that he has just spoken. “I know” he whispers, nodding his head. “I've always known” he finishes, he reaches for her cheeks, wiping the tears that slip down them and he presses a kiss on her forehead.

Y/n is shocked, blinking quickly as she comes to terms with what he means, she leans back staring at him in complete disbelief. “w-what?” she asks, he holds no reaction or hatred in his eyes as he looks at her and that only makes her guilt grow. “What do you mean?” She studies him, unable to understand why he isn’t shouting or berating her.

“From the moment I saw her I knew she wasn’t mine, Y/n,” he says, his tone calm and he stares at her in complete adoration. “But I love you and I love Harumi and I wanted this to work,” Namjoon says.

“Why would you do something like that, Joon” she hisses. She shoves him away and steps back, distaste in her expression.

“I don’t care that she's not mine, I've raised her” he answers, attempting to hold onto Y/n again but she pushes his hands away as tears continue to flow past her cheeks. “I’ve been holding this secret for so long Namjoon” she sobs “And you’ve known this entire time?” she asks, fury burning through her at the revelation.

“Since when do you know? Since when!” she shouts. Namjoon flinches and his eyes fill up with tears. If she has been harboring this secret, then he has been harboring some of his own. The moment he laid eyes on the child he knew that she didn’t belong to him but he had to make this work, he wasn’t going to lose the love of his life, he’d rather die than let that happen.

“I didn’t know Jimin was the father” he tries to step to her but Y/n moves, the expression on her face only breaking his heart further. “But I was sure I wasn’t” he contemplates, recalling the day he first held Harumi in his arms.

“let's just forget about all of this please” he begs, and he begins to cry. He is desperate and he just wants this conversation to end, He is reluctant to admit that their relationship might be coming to an end, he can't imagine a life where Y/n isn’t by his side and that breaks his heart more than any truth she has concealed from him.

“No, I'm tired of not facing reality” she responds “Of hiding so many things, Jimin and I are to be held accountable” she continues to shout. “Why? Because you think that will help you feel less guilty for what you’ve done?” he asks.

Y/n goes silent, she now notices the tears that spill down his face. She looks away, unable to hold his gaze because he’s right, the fact that he knew all this time was not the problem. She needed him to be angry so that in some way she could feel better about all of this.

“I forgave you a long time ago, Y/n” he whispers.

“I don’t want you to forgive me Namjoon,” she says “I want you to be angry, to be resentful” because only then could she stop feeling so fucked up, only then can she free herself of the fact that she fucked over a good person. A person who even now can keep empathy in his heart, one that she never had whilst she slept with his best friend.

Namjoon was being merciful, and she couldn’t bring herself to understand why.

“I can’t be angry at you Y/n, not when I love you and if forgiving you means that I get to keep my family then that’s exactly what I will do” Namjoon fights back but he doesn’t realize that there’s nothing left for him to grasp.

“I'm in love with Jimin,” she says, and it is only then that his composure falters. He sighs and looks away.

“No, you don’t” he declares, his eyes hold anger, but he is unable to direct them at her.

“don’t say that” he continues, he feels his heart shatter and the truth finally consumes him. He can’t admit to himself that the woman who stands destroyed in front of him will never be his. That even whilst she lay on his bed every night, her heart belonged to someone else.

“Joon, I'm sorry” Y/n voices, he glances back at her, and Y/n lets out a sob. She’s aware of the way she has broken down the man whose only intention was to love her, and she feels herself crumble under the culpability of the mess she has made.

“I know” he mutters.

should i turn this into 2 parts? please let me know

i might just leave it like that

hope you guys enjoyedd!

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