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chiwhorei · 4 years

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team spirit

pairing: k. sakusa x fem!reader x a. miya

genre: college!au, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 2.6k

warnings: threesome, semi-public sex, daddy kink, spitting, a spank, a tiny bit of choking, tit-fucking, degradation, a little coercion, curruption, gaslighting, voyeurism, a subtle age gap (freshman vs. senior in college), cum play, cum eating. nothing too crazy and everything is consensual- it’s just pretty dirty lmao

a/n: in a radical act of self care i have given up on kinktober as it was killing all love that i had for writing. i present to you a piece written solely because it made me h-word. thank you to the love of my life @hqbbg for beta reading, you have my soul and share my desire to be mask-man’s little bitch.

hymn: smells like teen spirit by: nirvana

“Didn’t I tell ya’, princess?” Atsumu’s voice is low and sharp against the shell of your ear as he brushes away a rogue strand of hair from where it fell from your high-pony. The action gentle, the tone unmistakingly galled. “I told ya to behave, but ya’ never want to listen to me.”

The grip he has on you is bruising, fingers nestled on your hips, large hands scrunching your pleated cheer skirt and exposing you to the almost empty locker room. Your boyfriend’s hard-on is distinct against his shorts, pressing against your bare cunt. Your hips buck desperately in his hold, but any fight is useless. There’s no way Atsumu will give you more than just minimal friction; only enough to make you dizzy and malleable in his capture.

Atsumu isn’t oblivious. He’s fully aware of how sweet you look every week, cheering on the sidelines of his games, donning his jersey number in a heart on the apple of your cheek. Having the prettiest little member of your college’s cheer squad in his bed every night never fails to fill him with an almost evil pride. Ever since the beginning of the season, your first year in college, Atsumu has been on you. The moment he first saw you, skin sheened with a layer of sweat and workout shorts riding up high enough to see the angelic curve of your ass cheeks, you were his. He totes a fine line, dancing between cockiness at his prize girlfriend when you’re hit on or ogled, and egregious rage.

Game-night started the same as any other: Astumu sneaking away before warm-ups to kabedon you against the wall when you walked out of the girls locker room. You always flush red-hot, no matter how many times he traps you, fiddling with the pom-poms in your hold. He grabs them from you, tossing them without care onto the ground to pull you tightly against his hard chest, your wrist pinned against the front of your uniform top in one of his hands. The rest of your squad walks by the two of you without much thought; the scene unfolding is rehearsed at this point. It seems like the whole student-body ignores the two of you.

“You act more like a horny teenager than a senior in college, Atsumu.” You puff your cheeks out and glare at him from the fringe of your perfectly curled eyelashes. The fake-blond towering above you snorts at your defiance.

“Well, you act more like an old prude than a freshman in college, princess.” His lips dip lower to fan over yours, “And my name ain’t Atsumu.”

Your knees feel weak trapped in his grip, his presence a strange mix of comfort and distress. You’re welcomed home into the den of a lion. You gulp down a painful air bubble trapped in your throat and mumble an apology.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

It seems to please the arrogant setter, earning you a chirpy laugh as he twirls a piece of your hair in his finger. You hate when Atsumu seems upset with you, so relief washes over you at the light gesture. He releases his hold on your wrists and pulls you into a sloppy kiss. You melt into the feeling of his lips, his hands rubbing up and down your arms lazily, causing your body to slack against him. Atsumu’s attention always renders you compliant (often against better judgement).

“I’ve gotta go, but make sure I hear ya’ cheering out there for me, sweetheart,” he says after letting go of your lips with one last nip. So begins the quick restoration of your uniform from where it was misplaced by setter fingers. After you’ve collected yourself under the watchful eye of your senior, you bend at the waist to pick up the stray poms and feel the swift union of Atsumu’s hand against your ass. You scoff at his childishness, even though you had expected it. Game nights are always the same.

The same round of cat and mouse, the same suffocating sexual tension and embarrassing public display.

The only anomaly tonight is the lecherous stare of your boyfriend's teammate on your folded body. A stare that shouldn’t belong to the curly haired man fixes onto you and the view of your tight pair of spandex has turned him into stone.

Pride is a cardinal sin, and so is lust.

“Do ya’ like what ya’ see, Omi? She’s a pretty little thing ain’t she?” Your eyes snap up to meet the gaze of the man in front of your disheveled form. Sakusa’s eyes are dark and cold; his expression reads indifference, but the hard cock in his shorts is clearly seen. He’s frozen in place a few feet in front of the bench you’re displayed on. Your crisp white sneakers are on either side of Atsumu’s built thighs, knees bent and held in place by the man under you. Your uniform top and bra have been pushed up unceremoniously, freeing your tits to bounce slightly with every squirm. Sakusa watches every jiggle of soft, supple skin in front of him. The tent in his boxers is becoming painful with every heave. Both hands are pressed stiffly to his sides, left hand clutching your white, cotton panties. The fabric is damp, sticking slightly against his fingers and making him cringe. Disgusting.

Atsumu’s hand wanders down to spread the puffy lips of your pussy, long middle finger proading against your tight hole. Atsumu growls at the feeling of your arousal, not wasting any time sticking a digit into you with practiced movements. You whimper at the intrusion, legs feeling weak and shaky from their strained position as Atsumu adds a second finger with ease. He always knows exactly how to work you over, rendering you at a loss for words with his prodding against the spongy anterior of your pussy.

“Y/n is always such a little mess on her daddy’s fingers.” His middle and pointer finger are pulled out with a resounding pop and his palm lands a harsh pat against your clit. “Do you like putting on a show for Sakusa-san? He seems to fancy ya’, doesn't he?” You’re asked a question but can only yelp in response as Atsumu’s fingers are shoved back into you, pumping with fervor.

The tall man in front of you is only partially familiar; aside from volleyball games and visiting your boyfriend at practice, you’ve only seen Sakusa at the occasional party or team dinner. He’s never seemed too keen on getting to know you before, but now he’s palming himself at the sight of your most intimate angles completely open for his viewing pleasure. Sakusa’s slightly flushed cheeks and boring stare causes your cunt to clench around Atsumu’s fingers. Ever the painfully observant man, neither the tightening muscles nor the reason behind it is lost on the blond.

“Ya’ like being watched, that’s why yer sloppy pussy’s extra wet tonight, huh?” You shake your head frantically, not wanting to admit that the heat rising in your stomach is due to your voyeur’s deep brown eyes. Atsumu is a prideful man, some would say too much so, a fact he’ll have to atone for later. One thing he isn’t? Greedy.

“Omi-omi~” The singing of the stupid nickname seems to snap Sakusa out of his stupor as he flicks his eyes to meet Atsumu’s. “Don’t be shy, c’mere.” Sakusa is still working long strokes over his confined cock, stepping forward to further invade your personal space. Atsumu’s chin rests against your shoulder, face amused and casual, disconnected from what his hands are holding.

All you can do is look up at the looming figure, black hair falling in front of his face and mouth set in a harsh line. You’re eye level with the bulge in his shorts now, so close you can almost feel the fabric against your lips. Every sense is overwhelmed, crowded in the abandoned locker room with your boyfriend working you open in front of his teammate. Sakusa reaches out and runs his finger over the uniform top that sits wrinkled up above your breasts. His calloused pad runs over the article in a moment of contemplation, before pinching your hardened nipple. A surprised yelp falls from your lips along with the already tumbling whines.

Distracted by your new company, Atsumu’s cock releasing from his shorts goes unnoticed. With the dark, inky stare keeping you hostage, you only realize his fingers are being replaced when the hardened tip is pressing into you. A pathetic squeal rips through your throat at the breach. No matter how many times Atsumu stretches you out on his fat cock, it burns every time.

“I think ya’ should help Sakusa-san out, princess.” Another few inches disappear, your shaky balance is corrected with one of Atsumu’s hands wrapping around your neck, “Since it’s yer dirty little body that’s got ‘em all hard.”

The intonation wracks you with guilt, looking up at Sakusa with bleary, begging eyes. You’re not sure what exactly you’re begging for.

There’s no restraint left in Sakusa, having used most of it up when your panties were ripped off and tossed to him with a cheeky wink from his setter. He shoves said garment into his pocket before pushing his shorts and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free. Your eyes roll slightly at the sight in front of you, impressive in length and pleasantly veiny. Right under his head, you see two freckles, noting they almost mimic the ones right above his eyebrow.

Atsumu’s cock is snugly inside you, buried to the hilt, and you're pulled back into his broad chest by the grip on your throat. Sakusa holds himself at the base, stroking upwards and swirling his thumb against the precum collecting at his tip. He leans over you, slapping his head against your tits experimentally. The reaction Sakusa gets seems to be the one he was seeking, as your whispered cries thump to the same beat of his length against your skin.

“Such a nasty girl. You always look so sweet and innocent cheering for us. Does he fuck you like this after every game?” Sakusa has found his voice, regarding you coolly. Tears prick at your eyes, any retort caught behind your teeth as you stare back dumbly.

“Answer ‘em princess,” Atsumu lifts you up slightly to slam you back down onto his heavy cock; the sound is squelching in the stale air around you, “tell ‘em how you cream on Daddy’s cock after everyone leaves.”

“I- please, I-” You’re cut off by your own mewl when a string of saliva breaches Sakusa’s lips and falls towards your chest, watching as it ascends onto the valley between your tits. As it rolls down your sweat-sheened skin, the black-haired man rubs his weeping cock down the map his spit makes. Your brain is fuzzy at the attention of both men, warming your boyfriend's cock as his teammate grinds himself on your naked chest.

Sakusa grabs your wrists, causing your thighs to wobble weakly from their squatted position, and presses your palms to hold your breasts against his shaft. The pressure has Sakusa’s head falling back as soft, warm skin welcoming his shallow thrusts.

“Such a complaint little pet you have, Miya.” His hand brushes against your cheek and trails downwards to find purchase on your chin. “Dirty little girl,” his voice coos you, “Open wide.”

Your mouth falls at his order, fussing weakly at the nickname. Another sharp putt meets your ears and his warm spit hits the fattest plane of your tongue. Tears escape at the sides of your eyes with the overwhelming presence. Atsumu begins a slow assault on your aching pussy, removing the hand on your throat to pull your hips against his lap. The rhythm is a salacious duet with the cock nestled between your tits and has you clenching even tighter.

“Ya’ better not swallow Omi’s spit until I say so, princess. Keep that wicked tongue out for him to paint.” You do as you're told, as always, tongue lolled out with a pant. At your passivity, Atsumu rewards you with tight circles to your throbbing clit. His cheek presses against your own, peering over to watch his friend’s cock against your chest with wonder. Such a distinct beauty is found in the ruined body on top of him. As much as Atsumu appreciates the sweet, loving moments that he shares with you, the sight of your precious body bent to his will makes his dick twitch acutely. It’s sick how much he enjoys seeing how far he can push you-

“I’m going to cum on your girlfriend's sweet face, Miya. Christ, it’s disgusting how much she seems to want it.”

However, your enjoyment in your own depravity and humiliation is much more sickening.

Atsumu’s pace picks up, skin slapping against your sore pussy with new resolve. He wants to see you break into pieces right on the locker room bench. Your vision is spotting at the pressure on your clit, mixing with the dulled sting of being split open on the blond setter's thick cock. All you can do is produce a garbled squeal from around your dangling tongue. Sakusa pulls his cock from your chest, pumping his hand feverishly against the soft skin. The sight is almost unbelievable: a man who barely allows his teammates a high-five has your hair wrapped around his other fist. Your head is yanked back, eyes entrapped by Sakusa’s. Atsumu’s fingers are unrelenting against the bundle of nerves that now feels more like a ticking time-bomb.

“C’mon princess, don’t hold back on us. I wanna see ya’ cum right in front of Omi. Show’em how much team spirit ya’ got.” Atsumu’s teeth bite down onto your neck, angling his tip to press against that deepest spot inside of you. The fraying cord in your stomach is pulled taught, snapping at the feeling of Sakusa’s hot cum against your face, thick spurts landing on your cheer uniform and splattering against your already marred tongue.

Your own orgasm tears through you, burning deeply through every vein in your body. It’s sinful how your body reacts to the messy splotching of a stranger's cum against you, thrown head-first into release at the ministrations of the men on either side of you. Your tight rings of muscles pulsate around Atsumu’s cock, coaxing his own orgasm out to meet your silky insides. There’s nothing better in the world, Atsumu thinks to himself, than fucking his hot cum into your sweet, submissive body.

As the pair of volleyball players steady their own breathing, another menacing laugh escapes your boyfriend’s mouth. He peers over the mess in front of him, strings of cum drawing random patterns against your chest and cheeks. He turns your face towards him and smiles, finding that you did exactly as he asked. Your mouth wide, tongue still stuck out and awaiting further instruction. Such a perfect girl you are, letting Atsumu’s most debased fantasies play out on your innocent little body. Your job is to motivate his team after all, and there’s no better way to boost comradery after a win than to celebrate the best way he knows how.

“Team spirit, huh?” Sakusa tucks himself back into his shorts, leaning in to swipe his cum against your lips as a parting gift. You watch him with glassy eyes and suck on the digit when pressed against your tongue.

“That’s for sure.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#sakusa x reader #atsumu x reader #sakusa smut #atsumu smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya #sakusa kiyoomi #sakuatsu #tw: coercion #tw: corruption #tw: gaslighting

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hanibalistic · 3 years

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#FFCFF0 | KIM SEUNGMIN.

genre | fluff, childhood best friends au, confession au

word count | 1330

warning | none

note | consider this a writing sample, of sort?

seungmin turned a page of the math textbook he was reading. it was a loud turn—a flap, a swipe, a hit of some kind. and, straddling within his less-than-calming page turn, was none other than annoyance.

all he wanted to do was to study for the upcoming test. his grade wasn't hanging on the edge at the moment, but with the pace the class was going (the morning lectures were often rushed, and trying to talk to the professor was always a futile attempt), he might just end up failing the course at the end, so he needed as much studying time as he could.

but, oh lord, how could he ever do that with your presence constantly looming over him?

you and your spontaneous self, one which he only adored occasionally, had done nothing but serve as a form of distraction to him this past half an hour. you jumped around in his room, looked over the top of his head, asked him insignificant questions, and whined about being bored and hungry.

he tried not to think too much about it. the side sight of your feet dancing around the corners of his room, the touch of your chin when you looked down at his textbook from above, the weight of your hands on his shoulders when you shook him to ask for food.

and, of course, the gathering frustration he felt when you kept going on and on and on about confessing to this boy from your other class.

"what is it again?" he asked, finally arching his neck up to look at you.

the stoic gleam in his eyes fazed you not a single bit. you knew it was just an honest facade he tends to put out before people's faces, but deep down he still wants to hear you out. it was just that he would look very irritated when he does, and you have learned to ignore that in your long years of friendship.

"okay, turn to me," you said as you grabbed a hold of the back of his rolling chair and turned him around to face you. you smiled beguilingly at him when you grabbed his arms and made him stand up. then you took a few tentative steps back, keeping a comfortable distance away from him.

"what is it?" he asked, bored.

"is this the perfect distance to confess to someone in?" you asked instead, ignoring his rhetorical question. putting your feet one step ahead, you raised your brows at him questioningly, and you asked, "or closer? or a step back so it's not too intimidating?"

"who are you even confessing to?"

"what–seungmin! you of all people should know," you said calmly, pointing your finger at him as if your list of crushes was universal knowledge. "of course, i'm confessing to hwang hyunjin."

"oh, yeah, of course," he rolled his eyes, "because you weren't fawning over felix like, what, yesterday? during soccer practice?"

"distance, seungmin! tell me!" you clapped your hands together to change the topic.

he could only frown at you. how was he supposed to know? he wasn't exactly an expert in the department of love confessions. he has neither the knowledge nor the courage. asking for his opinion would be like talking to a cow, probably even worse as the cow might at least entertain you with its fluffy endearment.

"just tell him you like him, [name]," he muttered. "if he doesn't like you, he just doesn't. where you stand won't matter to him."

you huffed out a breath of defeated air, finding seungmin's sudden icy intolerance toward your antics not at all alarming, just disappointing. but you understood, you have been bothering him this whole time as he was trying to study for his test. perhaps you should ask this one question and leave him alone soon.

"okay, fine," you said, standing up straight again, "can you at least hear me confess and give me some opinions?"

seungmin stared at you, not surprised you asked him such an inconsiderate question. sometimes he thought god made a plan to come for his throat when she made you such a dense person, and when she made him fall in love with you. because holy hell, he would have never made the conscious decision to love you like this, the way he has never loved anybody else.

"go on then," he said, gesturing toward you with a pursed smile.

you beamed, clapping your hands together before settling yourself down. you fixed your hair, stood in a better posture, and placed your awkward hands by your side. when you glanced straight into seungmin's eyes, prepared to confess, you felt an unfamiliar rush of nervousness.

"i–i like you," you said.

he frowned. "did you stutter?"

"i was nervous, hold on," you cleared your throat, "let me try again."

you did, much firmer this time. but seungmin didn't seem to be satisfied with your confession, even though it wasn't directed toward him and he should probably feel some sort of giddiness that you weren't doing as well of a job as you would have liked.

"you're too rigid," he mentioned. "it sounds forced."

you pulled a face. whatever that meant! you already relaxed as much as you could, how much more was he expecting. clicking your tongue, you crossed your arms and glared at him. "you try, then. give me an example."

"i don't have to do that," seungmin protested.

"i know, but i am asking you to," you retorted playfully, tilting your head to the side. "come on! help me out! show me support!"

he sighed after a long pause. he was never one to refuse, as long as the cost of the favor won't be detrimental. if there is something he can do for you, and you want the help desperately, he will very likely do so simply because he can.

or because he loves you, but he tries not to think about that too much.

"okay..." he muttered under his breath and shifted his weight so he wasn't leaning off to one side.

licking his lower lip, he raised his head to face you directly. your eyes blinked excitedly at him, watching his every little move as if to learn and mimic, and he felt his chest tighten due to the nervous sweat gathering beneath his heart.

you're so pretty, he loves you so much.

"i lik–"

he stopped, his eyes widening as his heartbeat bounced in his ears.

he couldn't. even if this wasn't real, even if this confession was asked to be made, he couldn't. it felt too legitimate, it was as if he would be getting a response after he spilled those three earth-shattering words.

and he has yet to obtain the courage for it—to face his feelings, to express his affection, and to hear your response.

he couldn't tell you that he has loved you since the beginning.

when he first held your hand at five when you two got lost during the school field trip to the amusement park, and when he scolded you for not paying attention in art class after cutting yourself with the carving knife, all the while carefully putting a band-aid around your finger, and when he wordlessly placed his cap on your head during an exceptionally hot day because you insisted on staying to watch his baseball practice.

and now, at this moment, where he has never been more present in the choices he has made in his life, where time stopped existing across the space in which his heart orbited around you, where he has no pride and no dignity and all his has was affection and love.

seungmin has loved you from the start, and he still does.

"i love you," he confessed instead, squeezing his hands together to hold down the tremors and to force himself to stand there.

and when he saw the light in your eyes flicker, he could just tell—something has changed.

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dragunjk · 5 years

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we're artists, baby | kth

→ synopsis ; taehyung was incredibly, unbelievably talented in any medium you could offer him. y/n ? she couldn't draw a stick figure if she tried.

→ word count ; 2011

→ genre ; fluff ?? angst if u squint ?? idk

→ pairing ; street artist!taehyung x art hoe!reader

→ a/n ; this is for my MF BOYFRIEND TAEHYUNG’S BIRTHDAY bc he's the love of my life my angel my world and he deserves nothing less than the mf best okay okay ik it's late don't BULLY me

There are worse things in the world, Y/n believes. Having your life turned into a Law and Order SVU would be worse, of course. Hoseok could be inviting her over to blindly set her up with another one of his endearing friends who she would much rather be good friends with.

That would definitely be worse.

Unfortunately, Y/n can't help but feel a bit self conscious. How couldn't she, when a masterpiece sat in front of her, nearly taunting her with talent she so greatly wanted to obtain yet couldn't even find in herself. She looked at the mural, an art piece by one anonymous ‘Vante’, the tagging artist that has been taking the internet by storm.

If you ask Y/n, she wasn't jealous. Not at all.

If you ask Namjoon, he could tell you about the nights where Y/n got a little bit too tipsy and poured her heart out about her insecurities and jealousy swimming for the artist she didn't know.

Y/n gazed at the piece again, wrapping her arms around herself due to the sudden chill. Cocking her head, she tried to put the piece together. Hues of yellows and golds sprouted from a detailed portrait of a young child, tall against the blacks and grays sprouting from two parent figures.

What did it mean-

“Y/n, come on we're gonna be late.” Hoseok hummed, shivering at the wind that was picking up. Nodding, Y/n comfortably grasped his hand, letting him maneuver through the large crowd around the new art piece. “You think this movie is gonna be good? People think it's gonna be shitty.” Hoseok turned towards Y/n, who seemed lost in her own thoughts.

“Earth to Y/n-”

Y/n flinched at his loud tone. “Huh- sorry.” She ducked her head sheepishly, and Hoseok hummed, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “It just- how does someone have that much talent? It isn't fair-”

“Stop- You have talent in other places. I’ve never heard someone with a voice like yours, now-” Hoseok tugged Y/n into the movie theater. “-we came here to have a good time.” Smiling brightly at Y/n, she couldn't help but mimic it, as he led her through the crowd. “I hope Aquaman is good, I just want to watch a good DC movie, you know?”

Y/n couldn't help but laugh at her friend’s distress, forgetting about her worries even if it was for a moment.

Yoongi was going to kill him.

Well, kill him, scold him, same thing. But Yoongi doesn't have much room to talk, so Taehyung sneaks out anyway, a backpack filled with spray paint and stencils in tow. Except this time, Jungkook was tagging along for the first time.

One day Taehyung will teach himself not to give into Jungkook’s big doe eyes, but tonight was not that night.

“Hyung- Hyung! Where are we going?” Jungkook whispered, sneaking behind Taehyung with a camera in his hands. Clicking record, the younger man pointed the camera at Taehyung, a little smile on his face as Taehyung shook his head in amusement.

“Kook-ah, I told you not to record this-”

“Hyung why do you hate me.”

A sigh escaped Taehyung’s lips, as they both boarded the last bus at twelve am, the glare of the lights messing with the camera in Jungkook’s hands. “Exclusive interview with the world’s most famous tagging artist, Vante-” Jungkook purposely shoved the camera in Taehyung’s face, causing the elder to laugh and swat him away.

“We're here-” Taehyung hummed, getting off the bus with Jungkook following closely. Approaching Los Angeles’ City Hall, Jungkook gasped.

“You can't paint here, you’ll go to jail-”

Taehyung laughed, pulling out his stencils and placing them properly just before the steps of the building, quirking his eyebrow playfully at Jungkook’s concern. “I’m not afraid of jail.” He stated simply, and Taehyung guesses that was enough for Jungkook, as the younger male found comfort in just recording his work.

It wasn't long before Taehyung was almost done, and Jungkook was actually impressed at how fast his friend could get a piece done. “Wow, hyung-”

Taehyung simply smirked, spraying ‘VANTE’ in sharp, jagged letters.

“Vante?”

Both Jungkook and Taehyung froze, heads rising to meet a pair of eyes that stared back at them. It was a woman, maybe around Taehyung’s age, staring with a mix of awe and surprise. “Oh my god, it's you- Your work is so good! I can't believe-”

Taehyung was quick to stand up, grasping her wrists in his hands to stop her from taking a picture. “Hi, yeah-” Jungkook quickly shut off his camera, gawking at the pair. “-I'm gonna need you to keep this a secret, okay- what do you want, money?” She scoffed, pulling her hands away.

“You don't need to bribe me, I won't tell.” Her eyes shone beneath the dim streetlights. “I would, however, like to be friends with you. I want to know why-” She gestured to the piece before her.

Taehyung hummed. “I can do that.”

She smiled. “I’m Y/n.”

“Taehyung.”

“This is hard-”

A groan escaped Y/n’s lips as she let her head hang, canvas blank as she refused to taint it with her horrid skills. A chuckle escaped Taehyung’s lips as he stood behind her, hands setting on her shoulders as his thumbs rubbed soothing patterns into them. “Just come up with an idea, and bring it to life.” Taehyung hummed.

Y/n scoffed. “Oh, easy for you to say. You're like, the world’s most famous street artist. I can't even draw a straight line.” She groaned, putting the palate aside and setting the brush down. “It doesn't matter how hard you try to teach me. This is the third week, Tae. I’m not going to be good at art.” Y/n mumbled sadly, getting up and throwing herself on Taehyung’s bed.

“You're so dramatic.” He hummed fondly, taking her spot at the easel. Y/n whined in response, shielding her eyes with her arm as she gazed at Taehyung paint. “Maybe art isn't your thing then. But you could be talented in so many other mediums. It just, doesn't have to be something you can see.” Taehyung spoke, strokes of pink coating the canvas with ease. “Like music. Music is an art.” Taehyung finished, and Y/n sat up.

“Yoongi-hyung makes music. He's more of a producer than anything else, but he could rap really well and even carry a little tune. He's filled with musicality. He's still an artist. Or cinematography. Jungkook likes filming and editing things so that the end product is almost like a movie, or a music video. He's an artist too.” Taehyung rambled, eyes never leaving the canvas.

“You don't have to be good at the basic art itself to be an artist.”

Y/n laid in silence, pursing her lips at his words.

“Do you really think so?” Y/n asked after a moment.

Taehyung nodded, and Y/n sighed contently, shifting in his bed to face him. He smiled, that was a much better angle to paint her in.

He looked at the canvas again.

It wasn't too long until Y/n invited Taehyung late over the studio one night, eyes bright with promise. “Okay so, it's really rough but you said art isn't really just paint, and since I’ve seen so much of yours, I want to show you mine.” Y/n hummed, clicking a few buttons before pressing play.

“It's like, kinda a Christmas song because I wrote it recently but-”

A music box seemed to play, and Taehyung quickly closed his eyes, as he often did when Yoongi asked him his opinion on music.

A beat picked up, blending nearly perfectly with the light instrumental of the bells and music box, then a voice flowed in, soulful and sweet. Y/n gazed over at Taehyung as the song played, and she smiled fondly at his state. Eyes closed, head tilted back, a little smile on his face as his fingers danced along to the music.

“Your voice is beautiful-” Y/n ducked her head, and Taehyung smiled, wrapping her up in a hug. “-see? I told you everyone has their little talent. Why worry about something you struggle with when you have such a beautiful talent right here?” Taehyung rested his chin on Y/n’s head, ignoring her protests of ‘stop you sap’ and ‘shut up’.

“Thank you.” Y/n hummed after a few moments of silence, and they pulled away. “Don't you have a mural to put up, Tae? Don't keep your fans waiting.” Y/n hummed, smoothing his jacket over his chest.

“They can wait, I’m here with you.” Y/n flushed at Taehyung’s words, shoving him away slightly.

“Then I’ll come with you, I don't want to waste your time-”

“Ah- you can't come with me. It's supposed to be a surprise to everyone.” Taehyung hummed, smiling slightly. “Even you, Kitten.” He spoke, and Y/n sputtered at the pet name, face heating up quickly. “I knew you’d like it. Now, I’ll go. Don't follow me, I want it to be a surprise.” Taehyung smirked slightly. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, leaving Y/n in silence.

Taehyung left, and Y/n let a sigh escape her lips.

She fell. Fell hard, and Y/n doesn't think she could get out of it.

“Y/n, you have to get up right now-”

Y/n groaned, focus hazy as she pressed the phone to her ear. Waking up to Hoseok screaming in her ear wasn't ideal, but it wasn't like she wasn't used to it. “Hoseok? It's early-”

“Y/n get your cute ass up right now- Vante put up a new piece-”

“Okay I can wait until everyone is gone-”

“Y/n it has you in it.”

If Y/n wasn't awake, she was now. She sat up, eyes widening as she threw her blankets off and slipped on her pink Champion slides. Throwing on her white coat, she brushed her teeth and left, pulling her hoodie over her mess of hair.

“Hobi where is it?” Y/n stepped outside, ignoring the chill on her legs.

“Near the new art museum.”

Y/n hung up quickly, breaking out into a run towards the museum that wasn't too far from her house. It wasn't too long before Y/n was before the museum, out of breath, looking at the piece.

It was her, a replica of when she laid distressed on Taehyung’s bed, lips pursed and eyelashes long. Hues of tans and pinks wove to make her up, the word ‘Kitten’ written in small cursive at the corner of the piece, right beside his usual violent ‘Vante’. A choked laugh escaped her lips as Hoseok approached her, cursing as he tugged off his jacket to wrap it around her bare legs. “Hobi that's me-” Y/n whispered, as Hoseok stood up.

“Yeah, it is. You know Vante, don't you.” Hoseok hummed, and Y/n nodded. Before she could apologize for keeping him in the dark, her phone rang. ‘tae ♥︎’ her phone read, and Y/n sighed, eyes watering.

“Hello?” She answered.

“Do you like it?”

A choked sob escaped her lips, and Hoseok was quick to wrap her in his arms, ignoring the chill on his skin.

“Taehyung, why did you- It's so beautiful I don't deserve it-”

“If you didn't deserve it I wouldn't have made it.” Taehyung hummed, voice rough with lack of sleep. “I wanted to make something for my favorite girl. I figured it's a more creative way to ask you out other than just taking you out to dinner.” He muttered.

Y/n gasped. “Like, be your girlfriend ask me out?” Taehyung laughed softly.

“Like be my girlfriend ask you out, Kitten.”

Y/n sniffled, wiping her eyes. She gazed up at the piece again, and smiled widely, nearly splitting her face. She looked up at Hoseok, who smiled down at her knowingly.

“Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

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