#i have become suddenly obsessed with them in the past couple days

[detentiontrack]

Random sashannarcy headcanons because I’m obsessed with them and why not

They do NOT drift apart after amphibia. Anne and Sasha hang out frequently in high school and they have weekly zoom hang outs with Marcy (or more if one of them is having a rough time)

Amphibia only made the relationship between Sasha & her parents worse, so she spends a lot of time at Anne’s house.

All three of them get back into music. They play together and separately

Sasha doesn’t try out for cheerleading in high school and becomes less popular because she cares less about status

When Sasha cuts her hair, Anne is the one who cuts it for her and continues to trim it for her

They take turns visiting each other during school breaks

When they’re old enough, Sasha and Marcy get jobs to pay for plane tickets to visit each other (Anne continues working at thai go)

Marcy copes with her trauma through art. She draws pictures from amphibia and what she saw while her body was possessed by the core

Anne goes vegetarian because she can’t stand the smell of cooking/burning flesh after Marcy getting impaled by Andrias’s flaming sword

Sasha and Anne actually give creatures & caverns another chance, and they all play together!

Marcy frequently calls Sasha and Anne to infodump about her interests. They actually listen and ask questions and validate her this time.

Marcy has a phobia of being submerged in water, and even showers or rain are difficult on bad days. She didn’t remember being in the rejuvenation tank and didn’t know why she had this phobia until a couple years after amphibia when she suddenly remembered.

Sasha is the first to come out as queer after she realizes she’s bisexual during a therapy session about her past relationships. Marcy is the second to realize and comes out as a lesbian during high school. Anne always knew she liked girls, but didn’t accept it herself and come out to others until her senior year of high school.

Marcy graduated high school early and did her first year of college as an architecture major, but she was miserable and realized she wanted to pursue art instead towards the end of her freshman year.

Sasha started therapy immediately after amphibia, took an AP psych class in high school, and knew she wanted to go into psychology after that.

Anne didn’t plan for college at all during high school because she was busy having an existential crisis about literally becoming god after she dies, and she takes a gap year after high school. During that year, she gets really into studying frogs and realizes she wants to go into that field, and enrolls in community college close to home.

Them starting to date wasn’t really a huge thing. After amphibia, they were constantly talking and expressing their love to each other and taking every opportunity to cuddle and hold hands and all that. One summer, during a late night sleepover, they’re talking about their feelings and all come to the conclusion that they’re in love with each other. They have a moment of “do you guys want to be together? Yeah? I guess we’re in a relationship now” and then they move on to talking about creatures and caverns or whatever

Anne continues to do tennis in high school and community college, and that earns her a full athletic scholarship to the university of her choice where she continues to study herpetology.

Sasha continues going to therapy after she gets into a relationship with Anne & Marcy, and even brings them into a few sessions so she can make sure they don’t repeat the same mistakes.

After sashannarcy moves in together, they bring domino and adopt a kitten

During rainy days that trigger Marcy’s trauma, they cancel work or school and have a movie night with soft blankets and good snacks.

Anne can cook very well. Marcy can follow a simple recipe. Sasha is banned from cooking without supervision after the kitchen fire incident.

Mr & Mrs Boonchuy try and fail to act surprised when Anne tells them she’s a lesbian, and then don’t even try to act surprised when she tells them she’s dating Sasha & Marcy (they’ve known she’s a lesbian and in love with them for literal years. They just didn’t want to force her to tell them when she wasn’t ready)

Anne & Sasha go to the public high school instead of St James High School so they’re not known as “the girls who went missing”

They all have to take summer school and catch up classes because they missed so much school

Sasha has chronic back and leg pain from her injury while fighting Darcy. She also has a huge scar from her shoulders to her lower back.

Marcy still has a huge scar on her chest from being stabbed, and she has chronic lung problems and chronic pain as well from her injuries.

Whenever Sasha is anxious, she does Anne’s hair because the repetitive motions are calming to her. It always works out because Anne’s hair is always a mess. Sasha even gets really into curly hair maintenance and learns how to properly care for and style Anne’s hair (as long as there’s no leaves or sticks in her hair, Anne doesn’t care about hair care and won’t do it herself)

Sasha tried to cover up her face scar with makeup for a long time, but finally gave up and accepted it as a part of her

Sasha frequently gets scared of accidentally being controlling or manipulative again, which ends up in her being too passive or adapting people pleasing tendencies.

Anne gets really connected with nature after amphibia and goes on hikes and gets into gardening

Sasha gives up on trying to control her body. Back in her cheerleading days she strived to stay slim and athletic, and in amphibia she wanted to stay strong and tough. But after amphibia, she only exercises when she genuinely wants to, eats anything she wants, and ends up gaining a bit of weight (she’s insecure about it at first, but works through it in therapy and with her girlfriends)

Marcy dyes her hair fun colors often. It’s her way of regaining a sense of control over her body after possession.

Marcy struggles heavily with disassociation, specifically depersonalization after being possessed

They all have nightmares about amphibia for years.

Anne & Sasha are the first people Marcy shows her art to, and if she’s stuck with art/writers block, she talks through it with them. They give her suggestions, but usually she figures it out after talking through it

Sasha cannot handle any type of spicy foods, Anne is constantly trying to build her spice tolerance (it never works and Anne always pulls Sasha’s portion out before adding in spicy ingredients when she cooks for them)

Anne has pet frogs at home and gives them a life of luxury. She spends more on items to care for her frogs than she does on herself.

Sasha gets a dog and accidentally trains it to be a service dog for her chronic pain and PTSD

Sasha & Anne force Marcy to take breaks when she overworks herself on her comics.

[glittergoats]

Mods are asleep post SolAxl

[moonjxsung]

Visions of You in Solitude

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: erotic painting, mentions of masturbation, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), breast/nipple play, dry humping, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (fem receiving), cum eating, use of pet names, drinking

Synopsis: You were hired to paint him- not fall for him. But intentions quickly shift when Hyunjin finds himself infatuated with you and learns the secrets you harbor.

18+. Mdni!

•

There’s something to be said about the loneliness that comes with being an artist. The repetitive cycle of translating tangibility to canvas or paper in whichever chosen medium. Fleeting muses you draw inspiration from, which quickly become burdensome as you’re faced with them every waking second of your day. Obsession with perfecting your craft, the anxieties that come with criticism of your life’s work and sometimes even succumbing to changing it entirely at the hands of someone else’s advice.

It’s very seldom even your craft at a certain point, only existing to satisfy the visual demands of others and turn a profit when displayed at a show. And it’s certainly not for everyone, not when it’s this lonely and rooted in the discomfort of personal solitude.

*

From this proximity, the blinding white walls that span the perimeter of the waiting room feel like that of a prison’s- coupled with the glossy laminate flooring and glaring white lights, you feel completely entrapped.

“They’re almost ready for you,” your boss says abruptly as he enters the room and occupies the gray folding chair next to you. “You have everything you need?”

Headcount- your black leather briefcase of oil paints, brushes, charcoal, pencils, paint thinner, old rags and your painting palette.

“The canvas is already set up,” your boss chimes in as if he can read your mind. “And there’s a seat for you. Just relax, and don’t push yourself.”

You take a deep breath, doing your best to follow his advice- but a part of you wants to get up and leave, to run away from all of this. Painting is your passion, it’s your forte and it’s been your life’s work for as long as you can remember. But being commissioned like this, for men much richer than money you’ll ever see, it feels suffocating.

They don’t tell you their names these days, nor the name of whatever organization they’re from. Last month it was an elite group of stock investors, the month before, it was a famous violinist from Japan. And today, it’s a male group, eight members with net worths that look like telephone numbers, or so you’ve been told. And it’s not that you’re intimidated, but you do get self-conscious at the prospect of people watching you while you paint. At some point, it’s like you become the model, their eyes boring into your flesh as you paint long strokes across the canvas and order them to hold still.

“Five minutes,” your boss now says, checking the time on his silver watch and adjusting it so that it sits a little higher up on his wrist.

You wish he wouldn’t count the minutes. You wish he’d stay quiet, allow you to sit with your thoughts and ruminate the day ahead of you. And yet he taps his heel in syncopation with the second hand on the clock above you, the echoing click of both driving you up the wall.

“I need a breather,” you state suddenly, sitting up from your chair and smoothing down your smock. “I need to go outside.”

“Three minutes,” he responds sterly, tapping at the glass lens of his watch and motioning to the door.

You shove your way past the double doors, past the white tiled hallway and just in front of the double doors that lead to freedom again. Two minutes.

It’s like your body is giving out on you involuntarily, your knees buckling as you grip the stair railing and steady your breathing. A quick glance around to ensure no one’s caught you heaving so nervously- and you’re too late. A man saunters down the hallway past you, his hands shoved casually in his pockets as he cocks his head to stare at you, his long black hair falling loosely around his shoulders as he does. He’s tall, and slim, with an elongated torso hugged by an expensive denim coat, his slender legs on display in black slacks and complemented by a sharp pair of boots. You don’t catch a very good look at his face, his figure blurring by as you check your watch, to the second now- you’re supposed to be inside.

You waste no more time jogging down the hallway past the figure and back into the waiting room, where your boss is angrily tapping his heel and scanning the room for you.

“There you are,” he says frustratedly. “No more breaks if you can’t manage your time. They’re waiting for us.”

And with a deep breath, he helps you gather your art supplies, motioning in front of you to the brightly lit room. You take one breath, and then two, as you finally begin into the painting room, eight men already seated and ready for you.

*

The crowd is nothing like the stock investors, or the violinists you’re used to. They’re rowdy, and loud. They very seldom sit still, cracking jokes amongst themselves and shoving each other off the wooden stools every other minute. You do your best to keep your gaze away from them when you don’t need to look at them, trying to memorize their features in intervals so you can focus on just the canvas in front of you as you paint. But it’s nearly impossible, their melodic voices pressing you for answers and insights into your artist career.

“What’s the hardest painting you’ve ever done?” One asks, his baritone voice sounding almost startling in contrast to his bright appearance.

“There’s lots,” you reply quietly. “I’m not sure I can pick one.”

You give him a small smile, trying to memorize the freckles on his face before turning back to the canvas, hoping you won’t have to glance back over at him for the next minute or so.

“Let’s take five,” your boss says as he enters the room again, two iced coffees balanced in his hands. “Thanks, guys.”

And the men scatter to their break room, where neat trays of food are already set out for them to choose from. As the doors swing closed behind them, you watch them select from a variety of pre-cooked noodles, assorted fruits and vegetables, packs of chips and trays upon trays of desserts. They’re fed as though they’re the ones doing all the painting.

“Coffee,” Q says, setting down a plastic cup in front of you, the straw already conveniently placed for you.

“Thanks, Quinton.”

Your boss, Quinton, or Q, is a brutally honest man when he wants to be, quick to comment on your work and keep you in your place. He runs your calendar like the military, never missing an important appointment and opting you in for every profitable painting session possible. He’s another thing you find suffocating at the worst of times, always somewhere breathing commands down your neck and dragging you to every private event under the sun.

“Let me see,” Q states plainly, gesturing to the canvas with his cup of coffee. You shyly angle the canvas toward him, hoping he won’t scrutinize anything about your pacing- you’re trying to get out of here as quickly as possible, and you silently pray the art doesn’t reflect that sentiment.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t, swiping a few stray eraser shavings off the canvas and giving you a nod.

“Looks good. Remember, we just need the skin tones and facial features. The clothes and all that can be filled in later with our reference pictures.”

You nod in response, taking a generous sip of your coffee, realizing this is probably the worst beverage you could’ve picked to calm your nerves. The caffeine pulsates through you, making your heart flutter even more than it already is, and the bitter taste leaves little to salivate over.

“How much longer, do you think?” You inquire, chewing on the tip of your straw nervously.

“No more than an hour, if you keep up this pace,” Q responds. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick, have everything ready again for when I get back. Don’t make me wait.”

You watch as he gets up from his own wooden stool, placing his cup of coffee where he sits, and exits the room to the corridor once again.

You’re alone in the painting room, the white sheets that line the floors staring back at you with little eyes in the form of paint splotches. From behind the door, you can still hear the eight men shuffling about, laughing loudly and downing their snacks. And you want to leave again, the feeling instilling another sense of foreignness inside of you. Like you don’t belong here, even though you’re the painter. You feel small, cramped, even useless, as you stare down the painted flesh outlines across from you.

A click of the door closing beside you garners your attention, and you look up expecting Q to return and resume the session. But it’s not Q- it’s the same figure from earlier in the hallway, slowly making his way inside and hoisting himself back up on the wooden stool. He keeps his head down as he gets comfortable again, two hands running through his black hair and slicking it back out of his forehead.

And then he looks at you- or stares, rather, two hands resting on the exposed wood in front of him as his legs balance on the wooden beams below. You can feel his eyes burning into your figure, and you do everything in your power to avert his gaze and keep your eyes locked on the canvas in front of you. But he remains like that, staring, for several minutes, until you nervously tilt your head to catch his gaze.

You feel your heart race as you do, catching a glimpse of his flawless features as he furrows his brows in concentration. His silky black hair isn’t the only striking thing about him- he has piercing brown eyes, which narrow with such intensity as he remains seated there, unmoving and confident in his stance. His plump lips contrast beautifully against his chiseled jawline, and his lanky figure makes him look like the contemporary art statues you’re so acquainted with, like he’s formed from wire and positioned to slouch so artistically in his spot.

You say nothing to the man, opting to give him a little nod, before focusing back on the beverage in your hands. And despite his clear fascination with you, he doesn’t reciprocate, instead pulling a cell phone out of his back pocket and preoccupying himself again.

You can’t quite tell if he’s rude, or strange, or even just unaware that his presence is so uncomfortable when he’s choosing to speak through cold stares instead of words. As you watch him through your peripheral vision, you hear the familiar sound of Q’s boots click through the doorway, gesturing rapidly at you and at the canvas.

“Let’s continue,” he orders, clasping his hands together with such purpose. “Where are they?” Q then questions, his eyes darting over the quiet man’s indifferent posture. And the strange man finally gets up from his stool, making his way through the break room door to usher the others inside once again.

They follow like a row of ducks, back to their respective seats, some of them with drinks in hand as they share whispered laughter amongst themselves and make little effort to sit still. You have no trouble picking up right where you left off, the innate talent to mirror figures in front of you coming in handy as you race the clock to complete their flesh-colored outlines.

Most of them converse lightly amongst each other, holding your gaze with a more serious expression when they catch you looking over at them.

Except for the strange man.

He’s relentless in his ways, continuing to stare so impolitely at you, his eyes piercing daggers right through your soul as he cocks his head to the left, and then the right, studying your face as you study all eight of theirs. What his intentions are exactly, you have no clue, simply opting to avert his gaze when you can and keep busy with your painting.

One hour later, the canvas illustrates all eight outlines of flesh and distinctive features, highlighting the beige freckles on one man’s, the toned biceps of another, and all other features that set them apart from each other. True to Q’s reminder, their clothes are traced in outlines, but color is void of their stencils, as you still have to bring the canvas home to complete the finishing touches. When they’re dismissed for the day, the gentlemen are all led by a sculpted man with a big smile who introduces himself as the leader, orchestrating the bows and applause that are held for you.

And as he ushers them out one by one, the strange man who’s been watching you all day is the last to leave, lingering a little bit too long with his hands shoved in his pockets like he wants to say something. He loiters by the canvas for several minutes, but you make no move to angle the painting at him, usually maintaining a certain extent of confidentiality in your work to keep the surprise.

He seems to take the hint, almost nodding indirectly at you and more toward the wall, as he finally saunters out of the room with his hands still in his pockets, his strides painfully slow as he disappears from your sight.

And when you look back to the painting, you cock your head at his outline, trying to gauge whether your art properly captures the sheer sense of unnerve he instills in you with his features alone.

*

Painting sessions are burdensome. They require a lot of planning ahead of time, stocking up on supplies, scheduling around the hours-long timeframe and of course, the mental preparation of having to be stared at by rich men for several hours.

But perhaps critique sessions are even worse these days.

Your paintings are typically set in stone after the initial outlines, considering there are usually a few important figures who review your work and give you the go ahead to take it home and finish it.

Yet sometimes, you still have people complaining, pointing out unimportant features like the color of their sneakers which aren’t to their liking. It’s normally Q who fights these battles for you, refusing to allow you to make any changes since the payments are made upfront, too. But sometimes, even he caves, ordering you to pull out your briefcase and mix a darker shade of green or add more volume to the subject’s hair.

It’s the worst with investors, who put their audacity at the same level as their incomes. But with boy groups like this, you’re unsure, having never done a painting for a band prior to this one.

The finished canvas is transported in a nylon zip-up bag, held by yourself and Q as you fit it inside the truck and secure it with metal prongs. While the drive there is just an hour long, it feels much longer than the last time you traveled there, perhaps because you’re much more nervous.

And perhaps also, it’s because of the same strange man as last time, who you already know is going to have a mouthful to say. The way he lingered by your work station a little too long, wouldn’t stop staring and even excused himself from his own break early to resume his insufferable task of making you uncomfortable. You reckon it’ll be a comment about his hair, asking for a longer length or more volume. Maybe something about the stage outfit you were presented with and how it doesn’t make his legs look long enough. Or knowing his douchebag tendencies, maybe he won’t hesitate to ask for a fucking bulge in his pants at this point.

When you arrive, Q calls over the building staff to help transport the collosal work of art, while you wait awkwardly on the side with your hands shoved in your pockets. You take a moment to crane your neck and look up at the building, a tall glass monument with blue-tinted windows and cobalt text that displays the company name. It’s just as intimidating as you remembered it, instilling the same unnerving feeling that a hospital might.

When the building staff are finally making their way inside, you follow reluctantly, making yourself as small as possible behind them while they navigate the long blinding corridors. It’s an unusual feeling to be at the top floor of the building that you were just looking up at from the street below, and as you pass the windows that line the hallways, you can make out the rows of cars and people that now resemble ants from this high up. It’s as though you were never down there to begin with, like the world is different from up here, much more secluded and shut-in.

And seeing the pin boards that line the walls, with photos of successful artists and flyers for company events, it very well might be, this haunting building where dreams either go to flourish or decay.

Into the last door on the right, eight chairs lined up for eight artists who definitely seem to have flourished. The building staff set up the canvas at the front of the room, securing it into its wooden easel, and Q occupies himself setting up a recording camera which points directly at the painting and captures all eight chairs in the frame. It’s common protocol for events like these to be filmed, not always for public consumption, but for the staff to archive important commemorative moments in the artist’s name. Once the camera is rolling, Q gives you a thumbs up, gesturing to the staff to permit their exit as you make your way to the front with him.

“Ready?” He asks, clasping his hands together as he eyes the camera nervously. You say nothing in response, giving him a small nod, before taking your spot on the other side of the canvas and folding your hands behind your back.

For a few moments of complete silence, the two of you keep your gazes fixed on the clock that lives on the wall across you, the hands ticking with the passing seconds as you await the arrival of the band. Q turns to say something, seemingly disregarding it as he turns back to the wall and shifts his eyes to the door every few moments.

You wish he wouldn’t be so… anticipatory. You wish he’d just stand there, like a rock, indicating nothing of importance, so that you could put less weight into this and unveil the painting to them without any reservations.

Here’s the painting, you want to say. It took me forever, so don’t criticize it. You guys are shorter than my usual subjects. Except for the weirdo- and he stares too much.

You smile to yourself at the thought of being so candid with them, before an abrupt push of the door startles you, and you instantly straighten your posture at the sounds of boots clicking along the floor, leading the eight men who live on the canvas behind you.

One by one they take their seats, dressed to the nines this time in black slacks and collared button ups. They even flaunt ties, mirroring the businessmen you’re used to painting, and the fancy attire quickly makes you nervous as they fold their hands in their laps and fail to joke around like they did the last time.

“Welcome,” a booming voice says, as other important looking figures stand around the room and eye the covered canvas. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, and we’re eager to see what you’ve come up with.”

Applause fills the room, inclusive of the members of the band, which you finally allow yourself to look at. They sit properly, hands folded in their laps and serious expressions painted on their chiseled faces.

Except for the strange one, again, whose gaze is locked on yours. He cocks an eyebrow curiously, as though you’re the one doing the staring. And you quickly turn your attention back to Q, hoping that disregarding the men will calm your nerves a little.

“… she’s paid particular attention to detail,” Q continues, and you realize you’ve missed half his speech already.

“And we are so excited to hang her work in this renowned building as a commemorative piece for the members. Without further ado, please let’s unveil the artwork.”

As he finishes, two members of the staff tug on the beige cloth, letting it fall to the tiled floor beneath it and expose the giant portrait.

Their faces light up instantly, little “woah’s” filling the room as they rise from their seats to take a better look. They laugh at their own figures, they point out each other's and most of them even pull out their cellphones to snap photos of your art. It’s always a gratifying feeling, having a crowd admire the fruits of your labor this way, especially when you aren’t immediately met with verbal protest against your creative choices.

You take a few steps back to give some room to them, the staff talking amongst themselves and gesturing to the building where you presume they speak about where the painting will live.

“It’s a hit,” Q says, coming around to tap you lightly on the arm. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Quinton,” you respond. “I’m glad everyone enjoys it.”

And the staff applaud you once more, bowing to you and lining up to shake your hand as they begin to file out of the room again.

The members stick around for a good while, unable to take their eyes off the painting as they point out each other's features and admire their own. And as they begin to leave, several of them thank you personally on the way out, giving you a bow and shaking your hand.

“Thank you, really,” the man you remember being the group leader says to you. “We are so honored to have worked on this with you.”

Another clasps your hand in his, bowing several times before speaking. “Seungmin,” he states his name politely. “Thank you, I think you really did our old group leader justice.”

“Hey!” The leader calls, and you can’t help but laugh a little in response.

The others share similar sentiments, bowing and shaking your hand as they exit, chatting excitedly amongst themselves as they make their way down the hall for their next schedule.

And when you turn to face Q, you’re met with the last member, who folds his arms in front of him coldly and eyes the painting with raised eyebrows.

Like clockwork. He doesn’t like it, he’s going to request a change be made to it and he’s going to berate you in front of your own boss.

“It’s nice,” he chimes in casually from where he’s standing.

“Thanks,” you reply, Q gathering the cover from the floor and zipping it up again.

“Just one thing,” he says now, turning to face you.

“Oh, we normally don’t make changes after-”

“I have a freckle under my eye,” he finishes. “The left eye. You didn’t catch it.”

Your eyes scan the painting, where his chiseled face and long hair stare back at you, a serious expression in his eyes like he wears in person. And then you glance at him standing in front of you again, a small brown mole under his left eye, just like he speaks of.

“Go ahead and add it,” Q says, as he zips up the cover. “That should be on there already.”

And you nod your head at both of them, unzipping your briefcase again to retrieve your paints. He’s watching you like a hawk again, towering over your bent figure as you pull out a thin tube of brown paint and squeeze just a miniscule dollop onto the back of your hand. You retrieve your thinnest paint brush, dipping it into the paint and swiping it across your skin to rid the excess from the fine hairs.

It feels as though you have to paint it with his permission, as you bring the brush to his face and glance over at him for instruction. He gestures to his eye, motioning for you to start, as you bring the brush to his canvas flesh and tap on a tiny, single dot.

He stares at it for a moment, cocking his head as though a brown dot somehow won’t be to his liking. And even Q holds his breath while he waits for a comment from the man. You begin to say something, your lips parting silently, stuck on what to remark as you await his feedback. And then with bated breath, he finally speaks, giving a small nod as he does.

“Good,” he says simply. “It’s me now.”

Q nods at him, nods at you, and then gathers your belongings as you cap the loose tube of paint.

“Do you have a card?” The man asks suddenly, and Q pauses his shuffling about to retrieve one from his coat pocket.

“Here’s her card,” he says, against your silent protests. “She’s available for commission any time. Payments are up front and scheduling is through me only.”

The man nods, thumbing the gold foil cardstock in his slender fingers, and then shoves it into the pocket of his slacks.

“Hyunjin,” he says curtly, reaching his hand out to yours. “I’m the main dancer.”

And you just nod, placing your hand in his reluctantly as you shake once.

“Y/n.”

His hands are cold to the touch, the metal of his rings feeling like blocks of ice in your grasp. He holds it there for a moment, his narrowed eyes shooting daggers into yours, before he finally pulls away and pivots to leave with the rest of the band.

And you can only catch a glimpse of the back of his head when he’s halfway out, before Q turns to speak to you.

“Looks like we may be back very soon,” he remarks, latching your briefcase once more. “I’d hold on to that brown paint if I were you.”

*

Exactly four days pass before you hear from Hyunjin again. In fact, you’ve all but forgotten about the little run-in, until Q barges into your studio while you add the finishing touches to another client’s piece.

“I have a proposal for you,” Q voices, setting an iced coffee on the table beside you while you dip your paintbrush in a muddy cup of water.

“What is it?”

“Well financially, a massive opportunity. Career-wise, much of the same thing you’re already doing.”

“Businessmen?” You question, working your paintbrush in thin strokes to add hair to the figure on the canvas.

“Band,” he replies simply. “The same band you did last week. Just one member, though.”

And you know instantly who he speaks of, your face contorting into an expression of disgust as you wash your paint in the cup of water once more.

“Hyunjin?” You query.

“That’s him,” he says, snapping his fingers as the name comes back to him. “He’s offering double what we paid last, and just for an individual piece. That’s a massive markup from what we usually charge.”

“I don’t know,” you reply hesitantly. “I’m pretty busy with this, and we-”

“I already said yes,” he states simply.

“You did? What- I thought this was a proposal.”

“Yeah,” he says with a scoff. “A proposal to get your stuff ready. We start tomorrow. And he wants you to bring every color you’ve got.”

“Tomorrow? Don’t we already have a prior commitment?”

“Already moved them out,” Q says, sitting on the chair across from you.

“Look,” he begins, sighing deeply. “I know you’re hesitant about these things. But this is the best move you can do, career-wise. Painting these famous figures is a gold mine for us. One day you could be commissioned to paint royalty, and then we’ll be reaping three times our salary.”

And you sigh, too, knowing very well that he’s right. Being a painter who gets commissioned to commemorate important characters, you know the best thing you can do for yourself is say yes to every opportunity. You’re very seldom able to, which is why you have Q in the first place. But the prospect of spending another day with Hyunjin scares you, and you’re not sure Q would consider it a legitimate concern if you brought it up to him.

“I’ll be there, too,” Q interrupts, almost as though he can read your mind. “It’s just him. One day, max, and then you can pick up your other projects.”

It doesn’t seem like there will be a way out of this one, no matter how much you pray that things will fall through eventually.

“One day,” you echo. “And then I’m tunnel vision on the rest of my projects.”

*

You can tell Hyunjin’s thought about this very carefully, judging by the way he saunters into the room with purposeful strides and slings a bag off his shoulder.

He’s dressed a little more casually today in a denim jacket and jeans, with layered silver jewelry that contrasts nicely against his jet black hair.

“Like a model headshot, but painted,” he describes his vision to you, gesturing with his hands as he speaks.

“I want it to look really serious. And maybe a cool-toned color palette.”

He’s meticulous with his requests, and you wonder briefly if he dabbles in art, himself.

“Sure, we can do that,” Q responds, jotting down a few points in a small notepad.

You say nothing, letting Q do all the talking, but Hyunjin’s eyes glance over at you briefly like he wants you to acknowledge the request. So you just nod graciously, giving him a thin-lipped smile, and begin to undo your briefcase.

Hyunjin assumes his same spot on one of the wooden stools, dragging it closer to you by its leg and propping it within eye-view of your big canvas. And then he sits on it, or rather slouches, adjusting his gaze to look straight at you and maintain a cold, serious expression.

It’s just as unnerving as you’d remembered it, having this model-looking figure pierce daggers through your soul while you mix your paints- cool-toned ones, at his request, and prepare for the hour-long trek of capturing his essence.

At least you won’t have to talk to him- or so you’d assumed from the last session you completed with him.

“What’s your process like?” He asks, his sultry voice perfectly matching his features.

“Oh,” you remark, mixing a set of paints to mirror his even skin tone. “I don’t know, I just paint what I see.”

He nods, satisfied with your less-than-wordy answer, and then he begins to prod you with more questions.

“What are your favorite art supplies?”

You cock an eyebrow at this, well aware that you have a long list you can indulge him in, but not wanting to share your secrets with this complete stranger.

“I dunno,” you reply softly. “Oil paints, and graphite pencils really.”

Hyunjin nods again, and then he glances at Q, who gives him a thin-lipped smile much like yours, trying his hardest to remain polite with Hyunjin. You know Q is likely frustrated with you for not entertaining this conversation in a more lively manner, especially considering what he paid for this session, but you’re not going to indulge him in anything except painting him- and only for this one session, like you promised Q.

And the rest of the session is uneventful, Hyunjin poking you with questions about your personal favorite paintings or inquiring about a time you messed up on an important piece. All questions which are answered with brief “I don’t know’s” or “there are so many, I can’t choose.”

And although you are trying hard to keep Hyunjin at a distance, nothing seems to faze him, his head nods and little hums serving as indicators of his satisfaction with all of your answers. He doesn’t get pushy, like your other clients often do, and he even presses Q for a few answers as he makes sense of your work.

At just past 5, the session draws to a close, as Hyunjin rises from his stool and announces he has to tend to his evening dance practice.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” Hyunjin says as he approaches you, giving a small bow as Q waits off to the side.

“Thank you,” you voice back, glancing at Q for a push to leave.

And Hyunjin extends a single hand, gesturing for you to place yours in his, as he towers over you with a curious expression.

You reluctantly place your palm in his, letting the cool metal of his rings graze your skin as he clasps his thumbs over your fingers and rubs them in gentle back and forth motions. He doesn’t bring it up for a cordial peck, he doesn’t shake it- he simply caresses your artist hands tenderly, before letting go again and turning to give Q a small bow as well.

“Take care,” Hyunjin says, pivoting to exit the room into the corridor.

And as Q pesters you with orders to clean up your workstation, you examine your own hands, rotating your own fingers around, like they might somehow be changed by his touch.

*

ON HOLD- The notes under your projects on the big calendar in Q’s office read, written in dark red pen and underlined twice across the pages.

You furrow your brows in confusion, setting your bag down as you enter for the day and ready your art supplies.

“What’s going on?” You ask Q, who’s busy sorting through a stack of invoices.

“Have a seat,” he replies plainly, gesturing to one of the leather chairs that accompany his grand wooden desk. And you do, sitting on the very edge of the chair as you await further instruction from him.

“A gift came for you,” Q says, slinging a large box on the desk in front of you.

You stand up once again, peering inside at the myriad of oil paints, sharpened charcoal pencils, new smocks, palettes and even books about artists and their works. You dig through the supplies, heart racing at the expensive choices, feeling undeserving of all the presents the box contains.

“This is all for me?” You question, baffled at the prospect that anybody could care enough about your career to indulge you in such a fine assortment of goods.

“Read the card,” Q then says, his arms folded in front of him as he nods toward the top of the cardboard box, where a simple yellow envelope is taped to the cover, cursive text scribbled on the front. Hyunjin, it reads.

You undo the seal, pulling out the small card inside, which only contains a short, cold sentence, in contrast to the warm gift.

“For the next few”, it says, not so much as a sign off or even a simple “thanks”.

“Next few?” You repeat, meeting Q’s gaze with a confused expression.

Q sighs, sitting across from you, folding his hands out on the wooden surface where you can see them.

“His manager called this morning,” he begins. “And commissioned us for another one. Except this one has a long set of rules. He wants you to use these supplies, he wants to visit your studio instead of occupy the company building. And he specifically asked me not to accompany you.”

“What?” You exclaim, angered at the sheer audacity he has, and knowing very well that you only agreed to one painting.

“That’s completely against our rules,” you continue. “Did you tell him no?”

And Q gives you a sheepish grin, gesturing to the stack of papers he flipped through earlier. “They’re offering quadruple the pay,” he says sternly. “He’s obsessed with your work.”

“So what?” You argue. “I have a ton of other projects to finish. And I’m not throwing all of that away because some guy wants time alone with the artist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting alone time with an artist,” Q emphasizes.

“This is a huge sacrifice, Quinton. I wish you would’ve run this by me earlier.”

Your eyes meet the calendar above his desk again, counting the number of projects with a big ON HOLD scribbled below them. Q sighs, evidently feeling a little guilty for his own actions, and then pinches his wireframe glasses between his fingers, pulling them off his face and tucking them into the pocket of his blazer.

“I’m willing to give you 10% more than what you already make from these.”

Your gaze snaps to his, a bewildered expression on your face as you process his words.

“What- seriously? Quinton, that’s-”

“His company’s loaded” he says with a shrug. “The guy is so much bigger than I thought he was. People love him.”

And your gaze flickers between the calendar and the big red text, Quinton’s hopeful stare and at the box of new art supplies you’ll be required to work with.

Q doesn’t need to press you for verbal confirmation, knowing that the caress of your fingers over Hyunjin’s name on the envelope serves as answer enough.

*

Your studio is particularly messy on Wednesdays, housing all of the project paraphernalia from the days prior. Today is no exception, canvases that sit on easels lining the walls and cans of paint thinner spread out on the tarps. You make your best attempt at shoving everything against the wall, creating a clear pathway for Hyunjin to stride into the way he always does. And you set up your canvas prior to his arrival, getting all of your necessary supplies in place to avoid the awkward few moments of setting up while he watches you so intently.

He’s a punctual idol if you’ve ever met one, arriving at 5pm on the dot, expensive-looking sunglasses shielding his eyes from the barely visible sunlight outside, and a black beanie pulled over his head. He looks like he could be a security guard of his own, the all-black attire even more unsettling as he makes his way inside.

There’s a reason you never house clients in your own studio- the reason being it’s small. It’s office-sized, large glass windows on one side of the wall that overlook a sea of greenery that’s now overgrown with all the recent rains. The floor is gray concrete, stained just about everywhere with swatches of paint and charcoal pieces. And the two tabled surfaces that are available are covered in art supplies, the color of the furniture now indistinguishable as they house tubes of paint, brushes and cans of thinner.

“You can put your bag on the chair there,” you say as he walks in, his hands still shoved in his pockets.

He does as told, setting a designer crossbody on the folding chair by one of the tables, and then he stands confidently, observing the room as he awaits further instruction.

He takes long strides around the perimeter of the room, leaning closely into the existing canvases to study your techniques. But he says nothing, remaining much quieter than last time, the only sound coming from his heeled boots as he moves elegantly around the studio.

“I’m ready,” you say, and Hyunjin turns around to face you. He cocks his head slightly, and then he brings one hand up to pull the beanie off his head, letting his brown tresses fall loosely around his handsome face, not requiring much adjustment as they seem to fall in disarray so perfectly. He pulls his sunglasses off as well, folding them between his plump lips before tucking them into the pocket of his jeans as he finally stops to look at you.

He looks as handsome as he always does, his unreal features looking as though he was modeled by a painting and not the other way around. You feel small in front of him, and unimportant, as he approaches you and stops just in front of your much smaller figure.

“How do you want me?” Hyunjin asks, cuffing up the sleeves of his black knit sweater.

“It’s up to you,” you reply to him, giving a small shrug as you speak.

“This one’s your call,” Hyunjin retorts. “I want it from the artist’s vision.”

And you can’t help the blush that creeps up on your cheeks, feeling embarrassingly flustered at the idea of someone caring even slightly about your vision. Everything’s from your client’s vision- the outfits, the poses, even the adjustments they request following the painting’s unveiling. It’s very seldom that you’re able to provide any directions to the standard of your vision, and though it’s unexpected, it’s a little endearing.

“My vision?” You echo, tapping your fingers on your chin.

You glance around the room at the supplies you have on hand, nothing special, but definitely materials you can work with.

Without replying to him, you pull forward one of the folding chairs, setting it down in front of your easel and gesturing to it.

“Could you sit on the top part? Like, on the back of the chair?”

Hyunjin nods, climbing up onto the chair and balancing as he takes a seat on the back part. It’s a little unstable looking, but Hyunjin seems to manage just fine, spreading his legs casually and running his hands through his hair.

“Your hands,” you chime in, taking note of the silver watch he flaunts on his left wrist. “Could you rest them on your knees?”

“Like this?” Hyunjin questions, sprawling his palms out over his kneecaps.

“Not quite,” you reply. “A little more like…”

And then without warning, you take both his hands in yours, positioning his elbows to rest atop his kneecaps so that his hands hang loosely in front of him. He cocks his face up to meet your gaze, the same intense expression he always houses, and you take a step back to admire the position.

“Exactly like that,” you say to him. “Tell me if you get uncomfortable and we’ll take a break.”

Hyunjin shoots a small smile, perhaps more of a smirk at you, as he sits still and watches you begin to paint in long strokes along the canvas. Your movements are fluid and impetuous, but every stroke proves itself more robust than the last, painting a clear outline of Hyunjin’s seated figure as he keeps his eyes on you. And maybe it’s because you’ve chosen his pose this time, or because it’s your third time doing this with Hyunjin, but you don’t feel nearly as uncomfortable anymore, keeping your attention on the painting and disregarding any implications that might derive from his cold stare.

“I wasn’t sure which brand of oil paints you preferred,” Hyunjin says suddenly. “So I bought you three kinds.”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply softly. “Thank you for the gifts. You really didn’t have to.”

“You have a talent,” Hyunjin voices. “I hung the last one up in my own studio.”

“You have a studio?” You question, remembering Q had previously mentioned something about him being an artist.

“I do,” Hyunjin answers. “It’s nothing like this one, just some canvases in the shared dorm we have. But I paint in all my free time. If I wasn’t here right now, I’d probably be painting.”

“That’s interesting,” you reply. “I’d love to see your work someday.

And Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate to pull his phone out, navigating to his camera roll to show you some of his pieces. He flashes you a painting of a bouquet of roses, placed in a glass case atop a table. Another showcases a city street, scribbled cars and people that line the pavement. And a whole gallery of them depict people- couples, in particular, in all sorts of romantic poses. Kissing, hugging, embracing with such passion and force, almost consuming each other with their visible desperation for one another.

“They’re beautiful,” you say, in awe at the technique of his art. You weren’t expecting him to be so good, for someone who doesn’t paint as a full-time career.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin replies, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve learned so much from you.”

“Me?” You retort with a small chuckle. “I highly doubt that, your stuff is very unique. But I’m flattered that you’d say that. Thank you.”

Hyunjin keeps his gaze on yours for a moment, cocking his head to the side as though he’s observing your features. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes narrowing and widening again as he takes in the sight of you dabbing a little more olive paint into his complexion. And then he straightens his back, steadying himself on the chair with two hands gripping the sides.

“When was the last time you left this studio?” He inquires with a smug expression. He sounds a little more serious now, and his tone of voice makes your heartbeat race.

“I don’t live here,” you reply plainly. “I leave every day.”

“When was the last time you escaped?” He then clarifies. “When was the last time you weren’t confined here for the purposes of work?”

You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep busy with your task and avert his gaze.

“This is my job,” you say sternly. “I don’t want to escape.”

“I’m a dancer,” Hyunjin states matter-of-factly. “I don’t live in the studio at the building. Sure, the bright lights and the walls of mirrors help with the choreography. But sometimes I dance in my dorm. And sometimes I dance in a big grass field when nobody’s watching.”

You pause your brushstrokes for a moment, finally meeting his gaze as he stares down at you. He raises one eyebrow, waiting for an answer, which you fail to provide him with as he leans forward once again and clasps his hands together.

“You feel trapped here, don’t you?”

And suddenly his words infuriate you, the sheer audacity of him to walk into your studio demanding all these rules from you, like your boundaries can be overlooked if they’re bought. And who is he to pry into your life like this, knowing next to nothing about you except that you’re a painter? It’s blasphemous- offensive, even.

“I’m not trapped,” you say, standing from your stool and backing away from him a little. “I love my job. I can quit whenever I want to, and this is my passion.”

“Who are you when you’re not painting these portraits?” Hyunjin inquires, and your eyebrows contort into a much angrier frown.

“Who are you to imply any of this, anyway? You’re an idol. You’re the one who’s trapped in the confines of a million rules- are you even allowed to be here right now? Who are you when you’re not putting on the mask of a completely different persona?”

You exhale frustratedly as you finish, taking a moment to catch your breath, and trying your best to avoid his gaze. But when you meet his piercing eyes again, he’s smiling, a wicked expression on his face like he’s amused at your lashing.

“I’m glad you asked ,” he says simply.

“What?”

“I’d assumed it was part of your vision, to maybe scratch below the surface of the flesh outlines you paint. I know there’s more than meets the eye to your work. You have this passion about you.”

“Passion?” You reply nervously, now fiddling with the brush still in your grasp.

“Mhm,” Hyunjin responds casually. “Like you want to lash out. Go on, get it off your chest. I won’t mind.”

And you say nothing again, shrinking back into the confines of your wooden stool as you swirl the brush around in the same mug of water and dip it back into a dollop of paint.

“I’m sorry,” you voice to him. “I don’t treat my clients like this. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders sag a little, as though he was waiting for you to keep the chaos alive in this little studio. He just nods, and then he assumes the same position as earlier, his knees spread in front of him and his hands resting comfortably on his knee caps as he slouches forward.

You resume the task of shading in his skin tone, adding highlights to the elevated portions of his face and glancing over at him in intervals to confirm where the light hits him.

“I’ve learned so much from you,” Hyunjin says for the second time tonight, and you’re still unsure what he means by it. “I think we could learn a lot about each other.”

And the studio falls silent for the remainder of the session, as he allows his eyes to bore into your soul while you translate his being onto the canvas in front of you. Or at least the parts that are able to be translated.

*

Your calendar is blocked off for the remainder of the week for other clients, Hyunjin rescheduling his sessions as he prepares for a performance overseas.

Your heart sinks a little when Q announces the schedule change to you, secretly praying you haven’t completely ruined your artist/client relationship with Hyunjin. He’s definitely a little odd, and he can be pushy when he wants to be. But he’s undeniably more intriguing than the investors you’re used to housing at the studio, telling you stories of his dancing and inquiring about all your favorite techniques every chance he gets.

He’s the first client who’s ever uttered the word “vision” when it came to yours, and not his, and you can’t let go of the value it added to your last session with him. You had yelled at him, ordered him to stop projecting his thoughts onto yours and asking personal questions. But it was the first time you felt alive, somewhat visible to a client as you painted them. His eyes pierce through your soul, every tangible inch of it, and not just the empty shell of who you are when you’re not existing so loudly. And Hyunjin seems like the only catalyst that allows you to exist loudly these days, even Q walking all over you like you’re an extension of his tedious ways.

Although your last conversation didn’t go quite as smoothly as you’d hoped it would, Hyunjin’s words continue to circle your mind relentlessly, your heart trying to make sense of them no matter how hard you try.

“Who are you when you’re not painting these portraits?”

It’s a fair question, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be a discourteous one, either. Maybe he’s genuinely curious about the woman you are when you’re not following Q’s orders. But where has Hyunjin pulled the implication from that you’re anyone except for the person assigned to produce these portraits? You’ve given him no reason to think anything of you besides the well-mannered, focused painter you are. And to imply anything else would also, by extension, imply he knows something about you.

“I’ve learned so much about you,” he had also said to you, twice in the same session. And can one really learn from two, three sessions of watching an artist paint? Sure, if he was more focused on your technique and your mannerisms rather than staring at you so intensely. But he hadn’t seemed to be interested in much else, simply keeping his gaze on yours and asking base-level questions about your artist career.

If anything, you could learn a lot about Hyunjin, who has the whole world at his disposal and walks around this place like he owns it. He speaks of you like he’s trying to study you. He wants to learn from you, despite being the one wielding much more knowledge and wisdom than you could even begin to fathom. True, you don’t escape this studio- and you don’t utilize it without the intention to work. In fact, your work consumes you most days, your personal life just a microscopic dot in the grand scheme of this arrangement.

But Hyunjin seems to think otherwise, his generous gifts and his fascination with returning seeming to imply something else. Like he wants to learn from you, or like he’s convinced he already has.

In apprehension, like he knows you.

*

“Where are we going?” You query when Hyunjin arrives next, quickly ordering you to gather your supplies and ushering you to the door.

“We’re not painting here today,” he says plainly.

“What? No, Hyunjin I don’t paint anywhere except for-”

“The studio or a company,” he finishes. “That’s the issue. I want to take you somewhere more lively.”

“I can’t be around people,” you respond. “I don’t… it’ll just mess up the whole process.”

“Do you trust me?” Hyunjin asks suddenly, his hand extending out to yours for the briefcase you grasp.

What a simplified question- absolutely not. You don’t trust him, that’s the issue with leaving the studio. You’re still not sure of his career as a whole, you’re not sure why he’s so adamant about breaking all sorts of rules and you don’t know anything beyond his name.

“No,” you reply. “I don’t think I trust you at all, actually.”

And Hyunjin just smiles, stepping forward to take the briefcase from you.

“Good,” he replies, the same amused smile plastered on his face. “That means there’s still a lot I can teach you.”

He watches you slip on your coat, undeniably confused, but in a trance-like state obeying his commands, like your heart won’t let you hear your brain’s protests.

Hyunjin doesn’t drive. He doesn’t need to, having his own personal chauffeur at his beck and call, able to go just about anywhere in the evening during his allotted hours of free time. Ones he normally spends in the studio, watching you paint.

You sit quietly on one side of the fancy black car, your hands folded neatly in your lap and staring at the passing blur of city lights out the window. Hyunjin occupies the other, one of his slender hands resting atop the briefcase in an attempt to steady it whilst the driver makes sharp turns and brakes a little too harshly.

You watch as the city roads turn to one long paved road, surrounded by tall grass and trees. And this path goes on for a while, maybe 20 or 30 minutes, as you remain in comfortable silence. The driver seems to be acquainted with the road, turning every way he needs to, no form of navigation telling where to go, simply having memorized the route. And Hyunjin doesn’t seem tense in the slightest, humming softly to himself as he taps his fingers along the leather surface of the briefcase.

The fork at the end of the road signals the stopping point for the driver, who hits the brakes, but doesn’t turn the car off. The keys remain in the ignition as he comes around to open your door, guiding you out with one hand and bowing graciously to the both of you.

“One hour,” Hyunjin says to him, sliding him a generously folded bill.

The driver nods, occupying his spot in the driver’s seat, and you watch him make a U-turn before driving off down the path again.

The environment is quiet, much quieter than any spot back in the city. It’s nothing except for trees and tall grass that sway with the gentle evening breeze, the sky swallowing up a now orange sun as nighttime begins to over both of you. If you squint, you can even see the mountains from here, some of them lined with little yellow lights, probably vacant buildings or farm workers. And the birds sing their last songs of the day, mellow tunes that harmonize with the growing chirps of crickets.

“It’s pretty here,” you remark to Hyunjin, who stands looking out at the view with his hands tucked in his coat pockets.

He doesn’t reply for a moment, his long hair swaying with the breeze. And then he tilts his head in the direction of the briefcase, nodding once.

“Paint what you see,” he orders.

You nod reluctantly, scrambling to open the briefcase and set up your supplies.

“Do you want to stand there? Or… do you prefer something else?”

He smiles, a little amused at your rushed state, and then he shakes his head.

“Not me,” he clarifies. “The view. Paint what you see.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, stopping your movements and pondering the words for a moment. You haven’t painted a view in god knows how long. Your skills are rusty, your techniques are skewed and the whole concept of it makes you shudder.

“The view?” You question back. You take a moment to look at the view again- there are possibilities everywhere. Green grasses that resemble paint strokes themselves, a deepening blue sky with strokes of blues and blacks, stars like paint splatters and trees with sponge-painted bushels. The art is everywhere, the possibilities are vast and endless with a view like this one.

“The view,” Hyunjin echoes. “Don’t take it too seriously. This isn’t some company's order to paint me. I just want to see the world through your eyes.”

And you nod, once, Hyunjin helping you latch your sketch pad to the easel as you mix a myriad of blues and greens together on your wooden palette.

He flips through your sketch pad for a little while before stepping away, nodding at the pages upon pages of art unlike any of your portraits. When you think he’s going to move, he doesn’t, remaining in the same spot and nodding his head at the works. And you feel a little shy, a little confused at why he’s taken so much interest in the work you complete on the side, work completely unrelated to any of your portraits. When he reaches a blank page, he meets your gaze with a small smile, nodding his head once at you as he finally moves out of the way.

And then you finally begin, hesitantly, as Hyunjin finds a spot in an undisturbed part of the grass, sprawling his long legs out in front of him and pulling out a sketch pad from his own bag. He angles it away from you, beginning to make long, generous lines with his charcoal pencil, peering over at the trees every now and then to gauge their shape. And you remain there, a comfortable silence among both of you, as you both capture the view in your respective visions.

The technique comes back to you instantly, like motion memory, quickly sponging leaves into the trees and pulling the dark sky from its draped position over you to plaster it onto the canvas you work on. Blues, greens, glittering whites for the night stars and fantastic shades of chartreuse and viridian find their homes on the canvas, so carefully placed and mirroring the view you overlook. You emulate the shadows, the waning glints of light, even the sounds seem to live on the picturesque view where time stands still in the confines of four walls.

Hyunjin doesn’t disturb your work flow- in fact, for most of the time you remain there, you cease to remember he’s even working on a sketch of his own, his delicate figure disappearing among the trees as your peripherals shut him out and bring nature to the forefront.

It’s only an hour you’re there, like Hyunjin had promised, before he’s returning to your spot and standing behind you to look over your shoulder.

“Beautiful,” Hyunjin states dramatically. “Beautiful, and spectacular, and shining.”

You chuckle lightly, wiping the brush on your smock and tucking it away in one of the front pockets.

“Will you sign it?” Hyunjin asks, cocking his head a little to try to find where your signature currently sits, but finding nothing.

“Oh, yeah,” you respond, bringing a charcoal pencil to the bottom right and scribbling a quick signature.

He scans the painting once more, tracing a finger over the corner where you’ve added your signature, and then he gives a small nod before meeting your gaze.

“This one’s my favorite,” Hyunjin tells you. “Because it’s entirely your vision.”

“The ones I make of you are my vision, too,” you explain, and Hyunjin shakes his head with a small smile.

“I like how you see the world. Not how you see me. Or anybody else, for that matter.”

And you find yourself blushing again, unsure if his intention is to fluster you with his poetic words, but well aware that he’s having the effect on you regardless.

“Thank you,” you echo politely. “I like this one, too.”

Your gazes remain fixed on each other for a brief moment, the grass now standing still as the night falls over you, stars glittering in the black sky and the crickets singing their nocturnal songs.

For the first time since meeting him, Hyunjin looks less cold at this proximity to you, his entire demeanor exuding softness and comfort as he smiles at you. Maybe it’s the black puffer coat he wears, the collar pulled up to his chin to keep warm from the frigid winter night around you. He wears his glasses, too, these ones a thicker black frame, pushed high up on his face and a little dorky, admittedly. But it’s also because he seems kinder, more warm and welcoming. There’s no existing rush to capture him any which way- in fact, there’s no pressure to capture him at all. And maybe when you’re not translating his model-like appearance onto canvas, you’re able to step back and admire that he’s soft under his hard exterior, he’s so gentle and human.

At first, you debate telling him, a sudden urge inside of you to apologize for your presumptions of him and admit that he’s slowly become your favorite client to be around. Maybe he’s right- maybe you do have a lot you can teach each other. He lives a life of lavishness, entertaining varying aspects of his idol career and serving a role of great importance to those who know him. And he is certainly of importance to your career, being your highest-paying customer and the one you’ve painted the most now. But he plays a role in other parts of your life too, allowing you to try new techniques, entertain your vision, circling your mind with his poetic words and his strategic motions. All lessons which allow you to grow outside the confines of your studio, too.

But you settle on silence, not wanting Hyunjin to think too boldly of you. Maybe he’s like this with everybody he crosses paths with. Choreographers, vocal coaches and painters alike. Maybe he’s simply as fascinating as he looks.

As you study him again, the sound of a car engine interrupts you, and you turn around to find Hyunjin’s driver has returned as promised. You bring a hand up to shield your eyes from the bright headlights that illuminate the whole field, as Hyunjin helps you gather your supplies again, securing the canvas in its case and transporting it into the backseat of the car with the driver’s help.

Hyunjin holds the door for you this time, ushering you inside, and then he comes around to slide into the backseat next to you.

“I think it’s going to rain,” the driver says as he puts the car in reverse.

You crane your neck to look at the sky through the tinted windows, dark blue clouds that loom overhead and seem to make the night even colder.

“I have one more place we need to stop at,” Hyunjin says suddenly, sitting forward to make eye contact with the driver through the mirror.

The driver nods in response, as if the last location is a secret kept between them, as he begins down the dirt path again in silence.

*

“Ever been here?” Hyunjin questions, as he holds out a hand to guide you up the stairs. The steep concrete stairs lead to a grand crested marble doorway, a bronze statue out in front and dimly lit lamp posts that illuminate the sign overhead.

Museum of Modern Art.

“Once, a long, long time ago,” you respond. “I think I usually steer clear from galleries since I don’t show my work at them.”

Hyunjin chuckles softly, stopping at the front door and meeting the gaze of a security guard, who promptly strides over and opens the door just an inch.

Hyunjin pulls out an ID, and a folded paper of some sort, and you watch as the security examines it briefly before nodding. It’s only then that you realize the museum is closed for the evening, the only person around behind the night security, but of course that rule doesn’t apply to Hyunjin, who can get in just about anywhere with the flash of a smile.

“It’s the only way to visit with no one else around,” Hyunjin says, confirming your theory. “They let me stay as long as I want. Sometimes I draw here.”

You nod at his words, giving a small smile as the security eyes you intensely, and then he opens the door to guide both of you inside. Hyunjin removes his coat, slinging it over a nearby coat hanger, and he flaunts a white knit sweater with his dark jeans, looking cozy in contrast to the dark winter night outside. He holds your sketch pad tucked under one arm, and then he skips excitedly to a room behind a curtain.

“This one’s my favorite!” He exclaims, giggling softly like a child might. “Do you know they’re all made out of recycled materials?”

And you brush the curtain aside, being met with the sculptures he speaks of, neutral-toned figurines that appear to be made of paper mache, all resembling people. Their forms hold each other, mimic ballroom dancing, and even embrace each other in a tender kiss as they stand tall in the center of the room.

You watch as Hyunjin snaps a few photos with his cellphone, craning his neck to view them at a better angle, and then he turns to face you.

“What do you think?” Hyunjin asks.

“They’re beautiful,” you reply. “They kind of remind me of your drawings.”

He shoots you a flustered smile in response, touched that you’ve even remembered what his drawings look like. And then he graciously bows as he ushers to another room.

“I think you’ll like the next one.”

The next room behind another dark curtain is a gallery of paintings, all of them abstract forms of art that experiment with different colors and mediums. You take a while in this room, sauntering down the row of canvases and observing how each one captures something completely different from the others. Some include only cool-toned shades, their strokes much smaller and overall more somber. Some play with warm tones, long generous strokes that capture passion and heat. And some mix both, two stories dancing in harmony on one canvas, contrasting light with shadow and love with regret.

As you cock your head slightly, observing the way the colors are so evocative from this proximity, Hyunjin comes to stand next to you, cocking his head in a similar fashion and taking in the same details that you do. And if someone were to stand behind you, maybe both of you would mirror the painting, too, two hues of life and recluse working in perfect harmony alongside each other.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Hyunjin asks, and you hum in response.

“Yeah. I love these colors.”

Hyunjin nods, giving the painting a last once-over before nodding in the direction of another curtain.

“Come on, I want to show you this last one.”

The last room houses a little bench, where Hyunjin occupies the left side and pats the spot next to him. You take a seat, your hands folded neatly in your lap, as you observe the colossal painting in front of you.

It’s a watercolor painting, one amorphous shape at a far distance, yet at this proximity, the tangible outline of a figure, sat with legs pulled to the chest and crouched in a position evoking such sadness.

The cold blue hues highlight the shadows which define body parts among the pile of limbs, the curve of a breast, the almost indistinguishable outline of a leg, aspects you have to really squint hard to make out. But the colors complement each other so artistically, and the figure in the painting looks so melancholy, so longing for something more than the confines of the canvas she lives on.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hyunjin voices, and you nod, swallowing as you remain quiet.

He pauses for a moment, his voice hitching in the back of his throat, before speaking again.

“The artist was a child prodigy,” he begins. “Apparently they painted all their life and then became a sort of recluse into adulthood. No one’s seen a painting from them since. This was their last big project.”

“Interesting,” you remark quietly.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin replies. “And their art is always titled around themes of loneliness and solitude. Every painting kind of feels like a puzzle piece leading up to their disappearance from the art world.”

Hyunjin says nothing as your eyes dart around the room, swallowing nervously as you ponder what to say. And nothing comes to mind, nothing that won’t make you seem crazy, or irate.

And then before you can protest his actions, he flips open your sketch pad he’s kept tucked under his arm all this time, flipping through a few pages until he’s nearly at the end. He stops at one of your paintings, cool aqua hues filling the paper in the same manner as the one hung on the wall.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Hyunjin finally says, and you realize he’s turned to face you now.

You stand up at this point, smoothing down your blouse and turning away from his gaze.

“Sorry, I have to go-”

You search for an exit, unable to locate one amidst the dark curtains and the dimly lit room. And the only thing you can think to do is walk back the way you entered, beginning back through the abstract painting gallery as Hyunjin follows behind you.

“They’re amazing,” Hyunjin says. “You have a talent. Your paintings were always my favorite-”

“Please, stop,” you interrupt, your heart beating erratically as you make your way past the paper mache sculptures.

“Why did you stop making them?” He asks, now standing still in the entrance, the security guard on high alert as he watches Hyunjin’s stressed demeanor.

“Sorry,” you voice to the security guard, bowing to him. “I have to go, thank you so much.”

And without turning to look at Hyunjin, you push the doors open, making your way out of the museum and onto the concrete steps. It’s raining now, hard, like the driver had predicted, and you march right past his parked car to one of the taxis parked by the curb.

The cab driver takes an address from you, punching it into his navigation system as he begins to drive down the street, and you pray he can’t hear the quiet sniffles coming from you in the backseat.

As he pulls away from the curb, you glance out the window at the museum, where Hyunjin’s now shoving past the door and standing still, his hands dropped at his sides and a hurt expression on his face.

His hair falls damp around his face as he lets the sheets of rain wash over him, his driver exiting the vehicle in a rush to get Hyunjin back into the safety of the car.

But he remains there, unmoving, his hurt gaze fixed on yours, as you turn a corner and fall out of his sight.

*

And just like the sessions were uneventful before Hyunjin, they’re much more uneventful after him, too.

Putting the sessions on hold for Hyunjin is nothing, his life full of vibrancy and color when he’s not spending an hour or two with you in the evening posing for a painting. It’s time he fills with extra dance practice, vocal training, spending time with his members and even doing art of his own.

But for you, it means returning to a life of mediocrity, requesting stock brokers to angle their big heads in a more appealing manner so you can capture every one of their unsightly features. You’re ogled at by salesmen, disrespected by accountants and not a single one of them could give a shit about your vision.

A part of you wants to call Hyunjin and apologize, to explain that he was out of line in his approach to identify you and catch you so off-guard. But you’re mostly angry at him, for having ruined something so beautiful you took pride in every week. Now he’s gone, the sessions put on pause until further notice and your life forever changed by Hyunjin, though he’ll keep living his life of lavishness despite being the source of all your pain.

“Now that we don’t have Hyunjin on the books after this week, I need you to resume the work on Mr. Lee’s painting. Let’s not lose sight of the ones we started prior to his pieces,” Q says, as he flips through a clipboard of printed schedules.

“This week?” You echo in question. “I thought sessions with Hyunjin were put on hold until further notice.”

“They were,” he responds. “After your last session this week. He’ll be here tomorrow evening. He’s your last client of the day.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeat, pausing your brush strokes as you turn to look at him. “He requested to come in tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Q replies with furrowed brows. “Why, is there a problem? I already told him yes.”

“No, that’s fine,” you reply, rotating the brush around in your fingers as you think over his words. “Tomorrow works fine.”

Despite the sessions being put on hold, you’ll still have a moment to explain yourself to Hyunjin and make amends. It might not get you exactly where you were before all of this, but the thought of letting Hyunjin part ways thinking you despise him makes your stomach turn. You’ll still get a moment alone with him to rekindle the state of your friendship.

… Or so you thought. When you arrive at the studio the next day for your last session, Q is still there, organizing papers at one of the tables and still dressed in a fancy blazer and tie like he never left from this morning’s session.

“Quinton?” You call, setting your purse down and toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Yes?” He responds, not looking up at you.

“Are you… don’t you normally sit these sessions out?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he says casually. “I’ll be sitting in on this last one. I know they were put on hold pretty abruptly, and I wanted to be around for your last one.”

You give him a small nod, protesting his actions mentally. You won’t get a minute alone with Hyunjin after all- not with Q watching you like a hawk. You want to scream at him, to tell him he has to leave and that he’ll be permanently disrupting the client-artist relationship you’ve developed with your highest-paying customer if he stays and taints the room with his overwhelming presence. But he largely determines the success of your career, whether you like it or not. And requesting Q’s absence will most certainly point to something more going on between you and Hyunjin.

“Right,” you reply. “That’s fine.”

You wish Quinton wouldn’t be so… mechanical. You wish he could trust that you’ll get the job done, despite any existing tensions between you and Hyunjin. You wish he wouldn’t pretend to care about being present, when in reality you know he just wants to make sure it wasn’t you who screwed something up. And you wish he would leave you alone with Hyunjin to make amends the way you know you need to before you part ways with him.

When the door opens once again, you both turn your heads to look at Hyunjin, who strolls in with casual strides, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His gaze falls on Q, and he furrows his brows together, finally looking at you, with a confused expression on his face.

“Welcome!” Q says obnoxiously. “I’ll be sitting in for this session, I hope you don’t mind.”

Hyunjin shoots him a thin-lipped smile, giving a subtle nod as he slings his bag off.

“Sure,” he replies. “That’s fine.”

He assumes his spot on the same wooden stool, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, and then he turns to meet your gaze.

“How do you want me?” Hyunjin asks. He sounds more somber than the other times he’d asked the same question, his voice trailing off a little as he waits for a reply.

“This is good,” you say, taking your own seat and beginning to work light strokes across the canvas. You start with his jawline, the same chiseled jawline you’ve gotten so used to painting, working a robust angle where the crook of his neck meets his cheeks. Then his eyes, the piercing intensity of them, narrowing involuntarily as he poses with such skill, the same eyes which have graced the covers of magazines and album covers. His lips, plump and rosy, forming a small pout as he remains silent. And the outline of his luscious brown tresses, which fall beautifully around his face and soften the rest of his features.

He looks so enchanting this evening, like he’s straight out of one of the paintings at the museum. And your anger feels almost completely dissipated once he’s in front of you like this, just a pressing urge to be alone with him so you can communicate properly.

“Looking good,” Q says as he comes up behind you, his hands folded behind his back.

Hyunjin’s eyes dart over at Q’s standing figure, glancing over at you again while you paint. You attempt to shoot him an apologetic expression, wanting to tell him it wasn’t your idea to have Q here watching your every move. But you can’t properly convey your emotions to him with Q practically breathing down your neck.

“Beautiful work”, Q chimes in, nodding as you add the color to Hyunjin’s hair.

You can feel yourself getting frustrated with him, wishing so badly you could at least ask him to wait on the other side of the room like he normally does. But he remains there, crowding around you as you work and filling the room with his awkward presence.

“I’ll drag up a chair,” Q says with a small chuckle. “So I don’t have to stand.”

And both you and Hyunjin watch as he pulls up a folding chair, dragging it along the floor in one painfully slow motion, the sound of the legs screeching against the concrete floor as he places it next to you and takes a seat.

Hyunjin’s eyes meet yours again, cocking his head slightly as though he’s asking why you’ve allowed Q to be so overbearing today. But none of this is according to your plans, either.

“Go on,” Q urges. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

You hadn’t even realized you’ve stopped painting, grasping your brush between your fingers as you watch Q adjust in his seat and gesture to the painting.

“I think we should take a break,” Hyunjin says finally. “My leg is cramping a little.”

“Of course,” Q echoes back. “We can take five. There’s a vending machine out by the front door. And the bathrooms are on the right, by the-”

Q can’t even finish his sentence before Hyunjin’s shoving his way past the door, taking long strides away from the studio and waiting outside. He pinches the bridge of his nose in deep annoyance, letting out a deep sigh as he ponders the evening’s events so far.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” you tell Q, setting your brush down and following Hyunjin. “I’ll be right back.”

And you follow his footsteps, pushing on the door to meet him outside, where he stands with one hand on his hip, the other massaging his temples frustratedly.

He looks angry, as you predict he would be, but you approach him anyway, fiddling with your thumbs as he stays quiet for a moment.

“I organized this last session to speak with you,” Hyunjin says in an annoyed tone. “I should’ve known you’d invite him.”

“I didn’t invite him,” you say quickly. “I didn’t even know he’d be here, I swear. He just stayed, and he was insistent on sitting in.”

Hyunjin finally drops his hand at his side, meeting your gaze, a softening expression on his face.

“I didn’t mean to scare you off,” he finally says. “I overstepped my boundaries. I’m just here to pay you for art. Not prod into your personal life.”

“I know,” you say back. “I wanted to explain to you, but…” your voice trails off, remembering this is technically your last session with him. And judging by the way everyone speaks of him, it’ll be near impossible to contact him again after this.

“It seems like I missed my chance,” you finish, referencing Q’s persistence.

Hyunjin glances around for a moment at the overgrown plants that line the studio windows, still damp from the evening rain. It looks like a jungle out here, the plants providing no clear view through the windows and instilling such a peaceful sense of privacy.

“Could you stay a little longer?” Hyunjin questions. “After he leaves. I just want to talk to you before I go.”

You think over his proposal for a moment- Quinton is punctual at leaving right past the hour mark. He never stays longer for hours than he needs to, but he’s no stranger to you utilizing the studio to finish up some of your work after hours.

“Sure,” you say finally. “Just pretend you’ve left after the session and I’ll tell him I need to stay longer. Don’t wait near the parking lot or he’ll see you.”

A somber smile grows on Hyunjin’s face as he nods in response.

“I’m going to call my driver and tell him I’ll be longer than the original session. Meet you back inside.”

And you make your way back into the studio, where Q is busy shuffling through papers at the table.

“Ready?” He asks, already taking strides back to his stool, positioned far too close to your canvas and Hyunjin’s seat.

“Yeah,” you reply, sighing a little as he occupies the seat next to you and glances around the room for Hyunjin.

“He’s taking a phone call,” you explain to Q. “Just give him a minute.”

And Q pushes his glasses further up his nose, humming in response as he observes your painting again.

“You’ve really mastered his features,” he comments, scanning over Hyunjin’s painted outline. “Even his eye mole is already there.”

And you scan the painting too, at the little mole painted just below Hyunjin’s left eye as he requested.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I guess I have.”

You wouldn’t forget it, because everything about him occupies your mind, much like his figure lives on your canvases.

*

It’s just half an hour more before you’re finished with Hyunjin’s painting. It’s still lacking some detail, like the contours along his face and the buttons of his cardigan. But they’re all details you give yourself time to finish later, before you wrap up your final piece and gift it to Hyunjin.

Q is relentless in his micromanaging for the remainder of the session, making useless comments about your techniques and asking Hyunjin about his own work. Hyunjin’s answers are all short and echo his clear annoyance, desperate to finish the session in order to speak with you privately. But you both remain collected in your manners, graciously conversing with Q and reaching the end of the session.

Q reviews his invoice documents as Hyunjin slings his bag on once more, standing by the door as though he’s ready to leave.

“Payment was finalized today, and your sessions are on hold until your tour is completed.”

“Thank you,” Hyunjin responds, bowing graciously. “It was a pleasure to work with both of you. I’ll be back when we’re done overseas.”

“Don’t hesitate to reach out!” Q calls, as Hyunjin makes his way past the door. He waves Q off with a small smile and then turns the corner until he’s out of sight.

“Well, there goes your best-paying client,” Q remarks with a deep sigh. “We have a lot more to pick back up on. I know Mr. Lee’s paintings are still in progress-”

“Thank you, Quinton,” you voice to him. “We’ll talk scheduling tomorrow. Please just get home safely.”

“You’re not leaving yet?” He queries, already pulling on his canvas bag and hanging his clipboard from a thumbtack on the wall.

“I’m going to finish the details while I still remember them. I’ll only be an hour longer.”

Q shrugs, making his way pivoting on his white canvas sneakers and giving you a small wave.

“Call if you need anything,” he says plainly. “Make sure to lock up.”

“I will,” you echo, craning your neck as you watch him finally exit past the door and jog down the stairs. You can’t see Hyunjin anywhere, but Q doesn’t seem to notice him if he’s still around, starting his car and speeding out of the parking lot.

And not even a full minute passes before Hyunjin makes his way back inside, shaking water off his hands.

“I stood under one of the gutters,” he says in a disgusted tone. His hair is stringy wet with rain water, and he chuckles when you meet his gaze with an amused smile.

“You’ll have to let me paint it like that, someday,” you respond, and he laughs lightly.

You take a seat on the folding chair previously occupied by Q, and Hyunjin assumes his same spot on the wooden stool. For a moment he says nothing, observing your face as you tap your fingers along the metal of the chair below you. There’s not a sound in the room between the two of you, with the exception of a small creak coming from the wooden stool as Hyunjin adjusts his long legs. He runs his hands through his hair nervously, and then he licks his dry lips with his tongue before speaking.

“I have something for you,” Hyunjin says suddenly, his voice echoing around the empty room.

He stands up to pull his bag off the floor, and then he digs around in it for a moment before pulling out his sketchbook. You watch as his slender fingers open the spiral-bound cover, flipping past pages upon pages of sketches and paintings. He flips close to the end, and then he stops, bookmarking the page with his index finger before turning the book to face you.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it,” he says, keeping the book shut in anticipation. “It’s just something I drew.”

And then with bated breath, he opens the book out to you, adjusting the page in your view to give you a clear sight of its contents. It’s a carefully drawn sketch, of you, standing in front of an easel with a brush in your hand. Painting, like you always do. You recognize the scenery around you as the spot he took you to the other day, the long charcoal streaks perfectly capturing the grass that surrounded you and the tall trees that overlooked the hills. Although it’s a sight familiar to you, it also feels so foreign, seeing yourself through somebody else’s eyes. It feels peculiar to remember people also perceive you while you paint. It makes you feel less unimportant, a little more visible.

“Wow, Hyunjin, this is…”

“Do you like it?” Hyunjin interrupts.

“It’s so lovely. Really. I feel like I don’t deserve this.”

“You do,” he’s quick to respond. “You’ve drawn countless ones of me. And of so many other people. I wanted to gift you one of your own.”

You run your fingers along the thick paper, watching as Hyunjin tears it along its perforation and hands it to you.

“Please, keep it,” he urges.

And you bow once in response, turning to set the drawing along with your bag so you won’t forget it.

“Thank you,” you finally say. “I love it. I’m going to hang it with all my favorite art.”

Hyunjin smiles in response, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips, and then he shoves his hands in his pockets again, leaning against the wooden stool as a silence falls over you both.

For a moment, you ponder what to say to him, wanting to explain the events from the other evening, but unable to verbalize anything amidst your nervousness. Any way you think about it, you fear Hyunjin is going to get mad, especially considering you’d just walked away from him in the face of confrontation. But you also couldn’t help it, his accusation coming so suddenly and so boldly, regardless of it being based on any sliver of truth.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin breaks the silence. “I don’t know if I was right or not. But it wasn’t my place to ask you.”

You nod at him, initially planning to divert the topic. But you can’t any further, a growing urge inside of your chest to unveil the truth to him, knowing he’s already pieced this much of it together.

“It is my painting,” you say finally, your voice shaking a little. “I specialized in those ones before portraits. They kind of gained traction when they were first unveiled, and a lot of galleries picked them up. But they drew a lot of criticism, and it became so draining to be the topic of people’s judgment. I think being perceived so heavily just kind of… scared me off. So I shifted to portraits instead, and I no longer do public showings or galleries.”

Hyunjin doesn’t react in a shocked manner, nor does he press you for questions immediately. He just nods, taking in your words, and then he meets your gaze with a concerned expression.

“I learned so much from you,” he explains. “When your paintings were unveiled at the annual art show across the city, I was so mesmerized. They’re why I started painting, too.”

You chuckle lightly, shrugging at him as you slouch back in your seat.

“Yeah, well, I don’t do them anymore.”

You think over your response for a moment, and then you stand up from your seat, too, furrowing your brows together.

“How did you… know it was me?” You question, cocking your head slightly.

“I had a hunch when I first saw your painting techniques. But I also knew it the moment I saw your other paintings in your sketchbook,” he explains. “My favorite painting of the series is printed out and taped to my locker in our dance studio. It just felt like you. I paid attention to your art for years. I was bound to know it when I saw it.”

You nod for the umpteeth time tonight, making sense of his words as you think back to the signature you drew in front of him back in the field.

“I’m sorry I figured it out,” Hyunjin says finally. “I know this was an elaborate plan to remain anonymous and shift your focus to a new form of your work. And your portraits are amazing. But you have a real talent for those older ones. And the whole series just… it changed me.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you tell Hyunjin, looking up to meet his gaze at last. “If anyone was going to find out, I’m glad it was you.”

“You are?” Hyunjin questions, and you hum in response.

“As a client, you have this really interesting way of making me feel seen. When I’m around you, It feels a lot more comfortable from the businessmen I’m used to. It’s like…” your voice trails off as you struggle to finish your sentence. “I feel like I did when I was painting my old stuff. I can see the world beyond just portraits for a little bit.”

Hyunjin says nothing, his eyes flickering down to your lips and back at your eyes once more, which are wide with curiosity and passion as you speak. It’s such a sight to see you talk about your art with this level of devotion again, color in your face once more as you attest to your life’s work.

“Tell me,” Hyunjin begins. “Why are all your paintings so lonely?”

You chuckle softly, shrugging up at him.

“I am lonely,” you say simply.

“I’m lonely, too,” Hyunjin remarks.

And your expression turns serious again, your eyes not leaving his intense gaze as he flickers over your parted lips and takes one step closer to you. He’s towering over you at this point, a strand of hair falling into his face as he lets himself lean into you a little more, just barely grazing his lips over yours.

“Can I please kiss you?” Hyunjin asks so politely, his voice coming out in a whisper as he stops himself from pressing his lips to yours while he waits for an answer.

“Yeah” you finally reply in a whisper of your own, almost on your tippy toes to match his towering height.

And then without another second to waste, Hyunjin closes the gap between both of you, leaning down to press his plump lips to yours and embrace you in a tender, desperate kiss.

He tastes like mint, his lips working against yours with no particular rush, yet his mind still running rampant with thoughts of having you as close as possible. It feels so wrong kissing him here, in the studio you strictly use for the purposes of completing your work-related tasks and nothing more. But with Hyunjin’s lips on yours and his slender hands snaking around the small of your back to pull you closer, it also feels so thrilling, instilling a sense of desire deep within you that can only be fulfilled through acting upon the emotions rooted in your innate fascination with Hyunjin’s entire being.

And you feel visible right now, so tangible when Hyunjin’s nimble hands are running down the sides of your waist and sprawling his delicate fingers along your flesh. It’s you kissing him here, not some shell of who you are when you’re capturing the essences of millionaires on canvas. You’re not the scribbled outlines in Hyunjin’s sketches of couples consuming each other with such passion, though you mirror them. It’s you, child prodigy artist turned portrait specialist, and Hyunjin, in all his fame and splendor, who chooses to spend his free time with you in this studio teaching you about yourself the way you learn from him, too.

Hyunjin’s hands move to tug off the fabric of your cardigan, slouching it off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, where it piles in disarray among the white tarp that houses loose paints. You’re pretty sure there may still be wet paint on its surface, but you don’t care, your body desperately arching into Hyunjin’s tall frame as his hands cup your cheeks to kiss you even deeper.

You can barely reach him while his frame looms over you, only able to reciprocate his kisses on the tips of your toes as he takes full control of you with his mouth. And Hyunjin seems to take notice of this, intertwining his hands in yours and pulling you down with him as he sits among the tarp and sprawls his legs out in front of him. You bestride his lean figure, balancing yourself on his lap as he adjusts himself on the concrete floor, and you both laugh when you take note of the admittedly uncomfortable positioning. It’s not meant for lovers, this dinky studio and its cold, concrete flooring. But it’s nothing that can’t be overlooked when his lips are back on yours, kissing you breathlessly and tucking strands of hair behind your ears. You can feel him smiling into the kiss, an indication by Hyunjin’s definition that he’s wanted this so badly. And he knew it from the moment you walked into the company building the first time, nervously preparing yourself out in the hallway like you weren’t going to be an absolute pro at your craft the way he now knows you are. He also knew it every time he observed your paintings, both your old ones and the newer ones that capture Hyunjin with such ease, every minute detail that builds up his intense stare only to break him down and soften him, translating this multifaceted version of him only you seem to visualize. And he gains confirmation of it when he’s finally acting upon his urges, your hands snaking around the back of his neck and moving in tandem with his hungry kisses against yours, grasping at his flesh like you’re trying to prove to yourself he’s real, too.

His sweater is the second article of clothing to go, your bodies only separating from one another briefly as you guide the knit fabric off over him and discard it beside you in the tarp. Your hands find his torso reluctantly, running your fingers along his flesh as though asking for his permission. And Hyunjin smiles when you do, placing his hands over yours and pressing down a little firmer for you, so that you can feel every inch of his toned body. He wields the body of a dancer, delicate curves that run along his sculpted obliques and highlight the years of intense training he’s done. His body feels strong underneath you, but he still feels soft, his touches exuding the gentle fondness he possesses for you.

And you’re kissing him again, all while his hands find your tank top and he separates to undress you, pulling it off over your head and tossing it aside. His hands are quick to find your breasts, splaying them over the mounds of your chest and massaging gently as his kisses turn hungrier. You can feel him getting hard underneath you, and you can hear his breath hitching in the back of his throat as he struggles to contain his growing bulge while you straddle him. But you indulge him even further, undoing the clasp of your bra with your own hand as you continue kissing him. Hyunjin doesn’t notice until your hand reaches out to toss your bra aside, a gentle rustle emitting from beside you as it joins the pile of discarded articles of clothing. And he separates to take in the sight of you, raised goosebumps along your bare skin and your nipples aroused for him, the cold air grazing over your chest as you wait for him to resume his touches. Hyunjin gasps a little, leaning forward to take one in his mouth, and then he begins to suck harshly as his tongue swirls around your bud generously and trails saliva along your skin. You moan at the sensation, Hyunjin digging his fingernails into the small of your back and leaving little crescent marks as his sucking resumes harshly, soft moans bubbling from the back of his throat, too, as he stays latched to you. And then he pulls away to give attention to the other one, his teeth grazing the tip of your nipple before sucking again, his eyes shutting as he relishes in the taste of your skin in his mouth. Hyunjin’s hips rock gently against you as he does, chasing the friction of your legs around his crotch as he grows even harder beneath you, desperate for some release. And then he pulls away finally, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with lust and a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You bring a thumb to his forehead, swiping the bead off his blushed skin, before cupping your hands around his cheeks and bringing him in for a kiss.

“Please let me fuck you,” Hyunjin says sheepishly against your lips, groaning lightly when he feels you squeeze your thighs once against his crotch.

“You want to?” You ask teasingly, massaging your hands up and down the sides of his neck as he nods eagerly.

“I really, really want to,” Hyunjin responds, shutting his eyes as you squeeze your legs again and pepper his face in kisses, trailing from his forehead, to his cheeks and down his neck. Hyunjin leans back on the palms of his hands in a state of pure bliss, taking in the sensation he’s only dreamt of until now. And when you nibble down on his neck, beginning to suck a small bruise into his skin, he sits up suddenly, his hands finding yours and pushing you away gently.

“Wait,” Hyunjin says. “I can’t… do hickeys. Company’s orders,” he admits, a little defeated, and you nod your head quickly.

“I’m sorry,” you remark. “I totally forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin almost cuts you off with a kiss, leaning forward and sitting up on his knees. He guides you down onto the tarp, hoisting himself up over you so that his figure is now hovering over yours, and then his hands find your pants.

“You can do hickeys though,” Hyunjin says in an amused tone, trailing kisses down your neck the same way you did him, and latching his teeth onto your flesh to suck a line of purple bruises. You chuckle underneath him, the sensation tickling a little, but still adding to the generous pool already formed between your legs. And as Hyunjin presses into you with his kisses, you can feel his erection graze your upper thigh, once more seeking the friction of your body for some sense of relief as he longs to feel you around his hardened cock.

“Hyunjin,” you voice as he kisses you, and he hums quietly in response.

“You’re hard,” you remark, your eyes flickering to the tent pitched underneath his jeans.

“Sorry,” he replies, pulling away with a worried expression in his eyes, and you shake your head quickly.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure. “I just want to take care of it for you.”

And your hands find your own jeans, pulling them off your legs and tossing them aside. Hyunjin’s eyes skim over your lace panties, the trim almost see through with delicate feminine patterns, and he begins to undo the button of his jeans, too.

He kisses you as he snakes off his own pants, not wanting to separate from you any more as his eagerness grows to be as close to you as possible. And when he’s finally letting his hard cock rub against the fabric of your panties, moaning softly at the sensation, he knows he won’t be able to take it much longer if he doesn’t make love to you right here in the studio.

So his hands work to pull off his boxers, finally freeing his erection against his abdomen and gasping with the cool air grazes the tip of his cock. You slide off your own panties as well, tossing them aside and letting his cock rest against your bare flesh now, his precum painting your clit with his preemptive arousal as he ruts against you. Your flesh is slick with his arousal and yours, the existing lube between both of you allowing your skin to glide upon one another so effortlessly, the same way your lips work against each other. And he continues to push his hardened length against you until he’s halfway inside of you, your cunt taking him with no struggle as he thrusts inside of you now. You adjust to his thick girth easily, his length seemingly never ending as he pushes deeper and deeper into you. And then he gives one particularly hard thrust, bottoming out inside of you and coaxing a fervent moan out of you.

“Is it okay?” Hyunjin asks, wincing at the sensation of your walls hugging his erection.

“So good,” you whine, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Feels so good.”

And he begins to move in and out of you at a slow pace, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s already close to reaching as he fucks you, filling your cunt entirely with his long cock and bottoming out every time he thrusts himself back in.

And he tries to kiss you, but he can’t, his mouth simply looming over yours in its parted position as he echoes his moans into you and lets his saliva-coated lips graze over you. He looks like the subject of an erotic painting himself, eyebrows arched up so artistically with every thrust, melting into your touch as you run your hands through his hair. His initial dominance over you is quickly shifted to that of submission to your mind and your body, little whines leaving his lips as he lets you consume him whole and mold him between in your touch, like he’s made of clay and you’re the sculptor. His lanky body seems to extend as he sways his hips into yours, little dips from the pads of your fingers embedding into his pale skin. He folds effortlessly above you, the points of his elbows jutting out as he steadies his body over you, like he’s made of wire and positioned to balance over you so perfectly, not very sturdy, and yet bent and snapped just right so that he can remain glued to you. And if you were to climb out of your body and paint this exact moment, all you would see are an indistinguishable, amorphous set of limbs that seem to dissolve into each other like hues of paint on a palette. Two colors swirling around to make one, the two of you like primary colors that create endless possibilities when mixed together like this, offspring of a hundred different shades, painting the darkened studio around you with your yearning for one another.

And as Hyunjin brings a hand to stroke your cheek gently, a smile grows on his breathless lips as he realizes he’s brushed a thick stroke of wet paint along your skin. The indigo stripe contrasts coldly against your flesh, still glistening in its freshness like he’s just begun on a blank canvas.

“It’s paint,” Hyunjin says as you gasp at the cold sensation, smiling too, when he swipes it again with his thumb and flashes it down at you.

And you chuckle lightly below him, taking note of the bright orange streak that lines his neck, just below his adam’s apple. You’re not sure when it got there, or whether it was from you or him, but you run a finger through it too, bringing it to his cheek to rub your thumb lovingly across his face and paint it there, too. And in one swift motion, Hyunjin swipes the palm of his hand along the tarp, coating it in hues of indigo and deep violet and gray, cupping a hand around your breast to coat it in the same wet substance. And you do the same, your hand dipping generously into the myriad of reds and fuchsia paints that live below you, running a hand down his chest and painting a long stripe along his toned torso.

You both laugh, as he picks up his pace again, pushing himself to the hilt inside of you, the paints melting together with your sweat as he fucks you rhythmically again. And like two blank canvases finally being put to use, new colors blossom between the two of your longing bodies, shades of magenta and blue-gray making themselves known across your breasts and his torso. The colors are vibrant and robust, transferring life from the dull tarp of the studio floor onto blank slates of skin. You wish you could step out of your body and capture the colors forever, mix paints together into little jars and name every shade after every feeling Hyunjin’s ever given you. Longing, lust, fear, fascination, infatuation, obsession.

“I think I’m obsessed with you,” Hyunjin breathes into your mouth so desperately. “It’s indescribable, the things you do to me.”

He lets his hands intertwine with yours again, giving them a small squeeze as he fucks you a little faster now and lets his groans shift into small whimpers that escape his lips.

“Please let me cum inside you,” Hyunjin begs, his cock slipping against your cervix with ease as wettened noises of his arousal pooling against yours fill the room. “Please, please, I promise to take care of you, baby. I feel like I belong here.”

He’s a whimpering mess for you now, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he fucks you and lets his hands explore every inch of your body. You want to cry, too, at the realization again that this all feels so tangible, that he makes you feel so seen when he’s hovering over you, placing open-mouthed kisses onto yours and letting his melodic moans fill your ears. The paint between you serving as proof that he’s touched you so desperately and wholly, creating art together in the confined space of your otherwise dull studio. And you want to feel him cum inside you, too, as a final reminder that you’re visible to him, that you’re no longer a fleeting, anonymous artist when you’re with Hyunjin. That he sees you for exactly you are, he knows your deepest secrets, and yet still he holds you, whispering words of permanence in your ear and letting you mold him like art. He’s an artist on his own, and he’s art at the hands of you, both of which draw you to him in ways you can’t begin to fathom, unlike anything you’ve felt before. And he teaches you that you’re an artist on your own, and art at the hands of a lover, both of which you hadn’t considered before Hyunjin, deeming yourself invisible in your comfortable solitude to the vast world around you. But the two coincide to echo the same sentiment that he teaches you exactly the way he also learns from you.

“Cum inside me,” you breathe desperately, grasping his hands a little tighter as he fucks you at a faster pace now.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin confirms, still staving off his orgasm until your verbal consent is heard.

“Yes,” you respond, wrapping your legs around his waist and making your best attempt to kiss him through his release. And you do, your lips moving against his in labored breaths, as he finally twitches inside of you and paints the inside of your listless body, hues of glazed white arousal filling your aching cunt as he whimpers through his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin, breathes, giving a few more thrusts as he slows, his arousal dripping onto the tarp below you as he pulls out. And he rolls over to lie beside you, a mess of paint streaks sprawled out along his skin as his chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. The two of you say nothing for a moment, your eyes glued to a blank canvas housed on an easel in front of you.

It’s an almost blinding shade of white, begging for an ounce of color like the shades that now live on your skin. And through your heavy breaths, you picture the endless possibilities that can fill in the empty spaces above you. Grasslands, trees, oceans, clear waters and a vast, endless blue sky…

*

There is no overseas schedule Hyunjin has to tend to. You’re already aware of this, Hyunjin explaining to you that he made it up to put the sessions on hold and to keep Q from pressing him with questions.

But he resumes the sessions after a few weeks of putting them on pause, because he can’t seem to stay away from you any longer.

Hyunjin reckons he has a couple dozen of your paintings in his room now, all similar portraits of his face, portraits you capture in your signature formal essence, his face staring straight ahead or off in the distance, complete with the fine details of his long dark hair and the mole under his eye.

Only now that Hyunjin is back, Q is present at nearly every appointment. You’re not sure why things changed, and Q maintains a new stance to Hyunjin that the guidelines are based on adjusted company policies. But Hyunjin will do just about anything to be close to you- even if it means putting up with your obnoxious boss breathing down your neck every minute while you paint him.

The sessions are somehow even more unnerving than they used to be, Hyunjin still making every valiant effort to convey his obsession with you through intense stares and little gestures only the two of you can read. Q is obstinate in his ways, his gaze constantly flickering between you and your paintings to ensure everything is going swimmingly. But Hyunjin wishes so badly he could spend the entirety of these sessions alone with you, getting to break down your walls and see you for the person he knows you are when you’re not doing portraits under Q’s all-seeing eye.

With every passing day, and every passing session, Hyunjin grows a deep hatred for Q, despising the way he watches you work and chimes in to converse with the two of you. And he knows he shouldn’t, aware that Q is just your boss and nothing more. Something you’ve reiterated to him time and time again, but he can’t help it, desperate to have you all to himself every second of the day, a deep-seated longing to protect you from the hurt you’ve been dealt and wanting so badly for you to break free from the monotonous cycle you’ve confined yourself to of painting for anyone except yourself.

You can tell Hyunjin hates Q, judging by the way he doesn’t so much look in his direction when he arrives for his sessions. But you can’t convey the slightest bit of reaction in front of either of them, too scared of the prospect of what would happen to your career if anyone were to find out you’re fucking a client.

You maintain a professional composure around Hyunjin, despite the knowing stares he gives you and the sketches you catch him slipping into your purse when Q isn’t looking. At times he’s not around, you complete your daily tasks, well-mannered and organized to the clients who hire you, shooting them kind smiles and complimenting their black business attire when they show up for the evening. When the days draw to a close, Q is punctual as always, leaving just minutes past your last appointment and taking his work home with him.

And when his sleek black car turns out of the corner of the parking lot, Hyunjin slips inside like a mere shadow on the wall, quick to seduce you all over again and gift you with all of his recent sketches. Some of them are portraits of you, smiling or focused on your work. Some of them are erotic nude shots of you, lying on the tarp of the studio or touching yourself the way he pictures you do when you’re all alone. And some of them include both of you, your bodies tangled desperately into each other and drowning in your yearning and love. Sometimes nude, his hands on yours and fucking you mercilessly. Sometimes fully clothed, his lips on yours and bundled up in winter clothes. But always together, always desperate in your touches and always so tangible. You reckon he’s persuaded you into being fucked you on every surface of the dingy studio by now- against the canvases, on the tarp- several times, on the table Q typically occupies and just about every stool available to the two of you. And while Q is oblivious about why you stay a little longer every night, Hyunjin is both calculated and persuasive in returning so you two can get some time alone, time that always ends with his seed dripping out of your still-aching cunt, bodies entangled somewhere within the studio and covered in fresh swatches of paint.

He may have somewhat of an obsession with you, but life is teeming around the studio when Hyunjin is near, the colors and shapes of your work much more robust and vibrant when he’s striding around the space commenting on all his favorite pieces of yours. And you relish in stories of his days, typically spent at fan events or at dance practices. Having him return feels like having your physical figure return home to you, the world in complete equilibrium when he’s near, much less lonely than the one you’re used to.

“I could watch you do this forever,” Hyunjin remarks, watching you glide a brush along your canvas, filling in the shadows of a figure on the canvas in front of you.

And this one’s not a portrait- it’s a watercolor figure, much like the ones you used to paint back then, the technique coming back to you with ease as you highlight the convexes of a body mirroring yours and add varying hues as highlights.

Per Hyunjin’s request, you paint the figures occasionally, only because he’s repeatedly expressed his fascination at watching you complete the process in a live session. The paintings reminiscent of your old work aren’t for sale, nor are they critiqued by anyone except for yourself. And they’re certainly not done with the knowledge of Q, who would turn irate at you utilizing the studio’s supplies for anything but portraits.

They’re just for his viewing pleasure, a little exchange you indulge him in as he continues to gift you with sketches of his own.

Hyunjin’s arms snake around your waist as you paint, his head resting on your shoulder as he watches you dip your brush into a mug of water and dilute the caramel shade that taints the bristles.

“Will you add a second one?” Hyunjin asks in a curious whisper, his lips grazing your ear as you paint.

“A second one?” You echo.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, working a trail of kisses down the shell of your ear. “This one’s you. Will you add me?”

You chuckle lightly, dipping your brush into a warmer shade of brown and swirling it around to gather the color on the fine hairs.

“So they can resemble us,” Hyunjin says, his kisses traveling even lower. “Paint me fucking you the way you like it.”

You chuckle softly again, not missing the way Hyunjin’s hands travel to your skirt, flipping it up to graze his hands along the mound of your upper thigh.

“Hyunjin, I-” you begin to say. But you can’t answer him, shutting your eyes in pleasure as you hear him unzip his jeans behind you and position himself.

“Keep painting,” he says in a sultry whisper, pumping himself lightly behind you as he pulls your panties down.

And you try, bringing your brush to the canvas to add a second figure like he’s requested. But you can hardly make it past the first few strokes before Hyunjin’s sliding into your dripping cunt, letting his hands grip your waist to steady himself as he begins to move.

“Go on,” Hyunjin encourages, as his hips thrust in and away from your trembling figure, your hands trying their very best to keep hold of the little wooden paint brush and fill in his form.

You manage to add a subtle few streaks, beginning the amorphous outline of Hyunjin’s hair, his tall lanky figure towering over yours and taking you with such desperation.

But you don’t get very far before Hyunjin is angling your face to kiss your drooly lips, his hands now finding purchase on your breasts as he continues to fuck you. And all of this is wrong, you know very well. You’re not supposed to be sleeping with a client like this, much less one this powerful, this rich and who wields so much he can hold against you. One slip up and Hyunjin can go tell the world about how you’re the artist who disappeared to sell yourself out to rich men for all their selfish needs. And any option you have to defend yourself would never hold up against his wealthy corporation and all its investors.

But you also can’t help but give into his urges when he’s around, his lips so tantalizing on yours and his cock filling you so fully and completely when he has his way with you.

Maybe it’s not even just about the sex for you- maybe it also has something to do with his stories you live through vicariously, listening to tales of the outside world while you’re trapped in this studio or at the businesses of wealthy men. It’s also the drawings he makes for you, ones you find yourself staring at for hours after he leaves, like proof that he was here and he touched you. The drawings are you in your most tangible form, his hands on yours and his lips on the curves of your neck. It’s like a glimpse into a version of yourself that ceases to exist when he’s absent. And it’s the late hours of the night he spends asking so politely to watch you paint your older work, always so fascinated with the way your mind conjures up varying lonely figures crafted from watercolors and a nylon bristle brush. Older work you hadn’t realized you missed so dearly until you began producing it for Hyunjin again.

But you know that to Hyunjin this is just a exhilarating idea for him, to view your art the same way he carves out a couple hours each week for a museum tour or to sketch in one of his books. He probably finds it more convenient to fuck you here where nobody’s around than to stroke himself in a dorm he shares with three other men. And you can feel it in the way he so desperately pleads you to paint for him or cum for him- that his obsession with you is less about you, and more about the thought of you.

Maybe this is just the result of Hyunjin uncovering a secret nobody else paid close enough attention to connect you to. Or the thrill of you being his favorite artist for years, and realizing you’re finally tangible in front of him, real, and not disappeared like he previously took you for. You reckon it must be the same phenomenon other girls feel toward him, getting intimate with somebody they idolize, desperately cupping his face like it might dissipate if they don’t grasp hard enough. But just the thought of somebody doesn’t imply love. It doesn’t imply a mutual understanding, and it certainly doesn’t imply permanence for either party involved. When he’s gone again, you’ll cease to be real like you already are when he’s not around. And then every vision you have will be rooted in unfaltering solitude once more, your anonymous life resuming again.

“Will you cum for me?” Hyunjin asks, and you snap back to the feeling of his cock twitching in your dripping cunt as he grips your waist. “God, you don’t understand what you do to me.”

You can’t give him an answer before you feel him reaching his release inside of you, shooting thick white ropes of his cum into you and slowing his pace again as he moves your hair away from your face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” Hyunjin says sheepishly as he pulls out. “Sit down for me,” he orders between kisses to your neck, trailing down to your shoulder, grazing his hands along your waist and groaning against you.

And he’s already guiding you back to one of the stools, kneeling between your legs and spreading you for him, your glistening cunt on full display for him to taste.

“Want you to cum for me,” Hyunjin whispers, before positioning one of your legs on the wooden dowels of the stool. You can’t verbalize anything to him before his tongue is darting into your entrance, lapping his own release out of you and trailing up to give attention to your swollen clit. He works you in such desperate motions, tongue working your core like a starved animal and eagerly trying to coax an orgasm out of your trembling body. When his arousal is effectively brought out of your tight cunt and painting the tip of his tongue white, he coats your clit in it, giving kitten licks to your bundle of nerves as he hums against your flesh and whispers little pleas for you to let go.

And between your pussy still clenching down around the sheer memory of his cock inside of you mere minutes ago, and his plump lips kissing all over your wettened core, you do let go for him, dribbling cum down the edge of the wooden stool and threading your fingers through his hair as he trails kisses down to your thighs in encouragement.

“So good,” Hyunjin murmurs as he comes up for air, intertwining his fingers in yours as you get cleaned up. You shoot him a little “thank you”, and Hyunjin presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand as he nods, getting dressed once more and tucking his softened cock back into his boxers.

“Come here,” he states. “I want to ask you something.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“It’s exciting,” Hyunjin retorts.

He guides you to his same wooden stool, where he climbs upon the seat and then takes your hands in his again as you stand in front of him, pressing a small kiss to your palm before speaking.

“You know I care about you, right?” He begins, his eyebrows raised curiously.

“You’ve mentioned it,” you reply.

“And you know I love your art.”

“So you’ve told me,” you say, and Hyunjin brings your hand up to press another kiss to your palm.

“I have a proposal for you,” he then says. “And I just want you to hear me out.”

Your heart sinks at his words, already fearing the worst as you wait for him to elaborate. You pray he hasn’t done anything to reveal your identity, or to make these secret erotic sessions public, knowing you’d both never live a normal life again at either of the instances occurring.

“What is it?” You ask Hyunjin, heart racing in your chest.

He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand soothingly, trying to calm you down before he speaks.

“I privately sponsor the art gallery every year,” he begins. “I put some funding toward a painting of my choice and it allows those artists to have their pieces displayed for the winter show and make connections,” he continues.

“Okay…”

“And I want to sponsor you this year,” Hyunjin finishes, giving your hands a little squeeze.

“Hyunjin, there can't be an installment of your face at the art museum. People will get suspicious.”

“Not my face,” he says reassuringly. “Your art. Like the ones you used to do.”

And you feel your throat dry up at his words, the exact thing you’d feared coming to fruition.

“I can’t,” you’re quick to say.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t do those paintings anymore. I can paint you, or another person or whoever. But I can’t do one of my old ones.”

“But your old ones are beautiful,” Hyunjin says. “It doesn’t have to be your old series. You can start a new one. Do something entirely different.”

“I don’t want to do something entirely different, Hyunjin. It’s a chapter of my life that’s been closed already. You know I don’t do those anymore.”

Hyunjin maintains his collected composure, his eyes softening as he speaks to you.

“You’re not happy doing portraits. I know you. You have a spark in you when you’re painting for yourself, and people love them. You deserve to be doing what you love.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, letting go of Hyunjin’s grasp and shaking your head. “I’m so grateful for the offer, but I can’t put myself back out there again.”

“You can still be anonymous,” Hyunjin offers. “Some artists I’ve sponsored choose to remain anonymous and only reveal to serious patrons of their art. I can make sure they don’t find out who you are.”

“It’s me and my art I don’t want to be seen,” you emphasize.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything now, rising from the wooden stool and reaching for the iced coffee he’s placed on the table beside you.

“Okay. I won’t press it any further.”

He swirls the cup of ice around in his hand, and then he hangs his head in defeat.

“Hyunjin, seriously. Thank you for the offer. It’s sweet of you to consider it. But I’m not ready yet.”

He shoves a hand in his pocket and cocks his head slightly.

“Is this because of Quinton?”

“What? Hyunjin, I already told you our relationship is strictly professional-”

“Not romantically,” Hyunjin continues. “You’re like a slave to him. You do everything he tells you to do. He probably doesn’t let you leave this studio.

You’re quiet again, not answering him immediately. No, you don’t stay here at Q’s behest. But it just feels safer to follow his advice. He was just a client when you met him, but he took you under his wing to get you where you are now. He runs all your schedules, he books your appointments for you, he even gives his say on most of your work. He’s the only part of your old life that’s remained the same, despite your transition to portraits, and cutting him off would be stepping into a world completely unbeknownst to you.

“No,” you say finally, but you don’t expand further upon your stance.

“You’re so lonely here,” Hyunjin responds frustratedly. “And yet you follow orders from the same person whose job it is to keep you invisible.”

“Why should I follow your orders?” You retort.

“Because I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Hyunjin,” you reply frustratedly, finally feeling the anger overtake you as you continue your angered speech. “You love the idea of me. You love the idea of escaping your crazy rich life to try and resolve the tortured artist you’re so infatuated with. You love the idea of fulfilling somebody’s life with your presence because it’s all you do for a career. I’m not the person I was when I was doing those paintings- I do portraits now, and I work under somebody who knows what’s best for me. And you’re just a client I’m sleeping with.”

Hyunjin purses his lips, amused you would stoop that low for the purposes of declining his offer. And then he shakes his head as he speaks again.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I’m just some client you’re sleeping with. I never tried to push you out of this line of work you hate so much, or drew you on every page of my sketch book or made love to you in every square inch of this goddamn studio. I’m not proposing this because I care about you and I want you to do what you love, it’s because I’m just a client you’re sleeping with.”

And he pivots on his heel to exit the studio, taking rushed steps toward the door as tears brim the corners of your eyes.

“Hyunjin, wait,” you call desperately.

“I see you,” Hyunjin says suddenly, turning around to face you. “I see all of you. Your work didn’t just materialize by some anonymous form. You’re a painter, a really talented one, and I don’t want you to feel this all-consuming solitude anymore. I say that because I love you, not just because I’m sleeping with you. If you want to remain invisible to everybody except Quinton, then be my guest. Just know that I tried.”

And without another word, the studio is empty again, the tip of your brush still dripping with the remnants of the warm brown color and every intention to add a second figure to your painting.

*

You don’t speak with Hyunjin any more that evening. Or the next day. Or perhaps for a whole week following the conversation, for that matter. The reality is that you want to partake in his offer, the thought of it candidly piquing your interest to paint something other than another rich man. And it would be nice to watch your art be displayed for people to see just once, rather than to live on the walls of a company where only people within a certain tax bracket will ever grace your work. But what you reiterated to Hyunjin still stands- you’re scared to venture out into the competitive world of art galleries again. Your old series was a hit, sure, but it was also torn down relentlessly by those who didn’t understand it and those who simplified it down to its medium. And it was a much harder endeavor to make people understand your watercolor forms, unlike the portraits Q advises you continue producing.

But you can’t seem to stop thinking of Hyunjin’s proposal as a whole, understanding very well that his offer is one of the kindest things he could propose to you at this place in your life. He sees you- all of you, and subsequently he knows that you’re unhappy in this monotonous abyss of adding new features to the same faces every day. The way a change for you is determined only by a shift in a client’s pose or even just an addition of their pet- it’s all so repetitive, exactly what art isn’t supposed to be.

Maybe you’re just scared of getting rejected again, or perhaps it’s that you’re scared of finally being seen again, anonymous or not, putting yourself on the map again and being perceived.

*

“I want a painting,” Hyunjin says as he saunters into the studio one evening, throwing off his bag and dragging a stool to the middle of the room.

“Oh- Hyunjin, pleased to see you again,” Q remarks, bowing and giving you a nervous look.

Hyunjin doesn’t even acknowledge him, keeping a stern gaze locked on yours as if he’s challenging you.

“We have the evening booked today,” Q begins. “But I’m sure we can accommodate something for next week-”

“I need it now,” Hyunjin replies. “I’m willing to pay five times your asking price.”

And you narrow your eyes at Hyunjin, knowing he’s making his best attempt to provoke you and disrupt the work you’re completing per Q’s orders.

“How do you want it?” Q then asks, not hesitating to put aside your entire evening for Hyunjin’s offer.

“I want to be in a suit. And I want to be holding a wad of cash. I want to look like an investor.”

“Interesting,” Q says, his gaze flickering to yours. “She can do it though.”

Q turns to face you, giving you a knowing look as he raises his eyebrows. “I’ll clear your calendar for today and we can stay and work on this piece.”

And Hyunjin looks to you, too, waiting for you to protest, to say something along the lines of a refusal to partake in the outlandish task. But you avert both of their gazes, readying your paint palette and gesturing to one of the stools in front of you.

“Have a seat,” you say plainly, void of any emotion or desire to fulfill the task. And by the way Q hovers over you, void of autonomy, too, Hyunjin concludes.

“How are things at the company?” Q asks Hyunjin, leaning in a little too close to you as you begin painting long strokes on the canvas.

“Fine,” Hyunjin says, not taking his gaze off yours. His eyes are narrowed like he’s challenging you, yet you don’t give him the reaction he searches for.

“You must be busy,” Q remarks, his hands folded behind his back. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re running her schedule like the fucking military,” Hyunjin retorts, cocking an eyebrow at him. Q takes a sharp breath, but he doesn’t argue, doing his best to keep in line at your highest-paying client.

“She’s pretty busy,” Q replies reluctantly. “But it’s nothing she can’t handle.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, again waiting for you to chime in, but you still don’t, working on adding details to Hyunjin’s tresses on the canvas.

“This will be my final session,” Hyunjin then says, and your head snaps to meet his gaze.

“Is that so?” Q questions. “Going overseas again?”

“Indefinitely,” Hyunjin replies. “Not overseas, I’ve just no need for the paintings anymore.”

Your lips part as though to ask if he’s serious, but you can’t, not with Q here alongside you.

“I have so many of them now,” Hyunjin remarks, not taking his eyes off you. “It’s been a lovely time with the two of you, but I won’t be returning after this evening. I hope you understand.”

“Please don’t hesitate to reach out if there’s anything we can provide you with,” Q voices. “I hope we’ll remain connected with the peers at your company.”

“Oh, you will,” Hyunjin replies. “I’m sure the investors and the senior managers will love portraits of their own. She’ll have a lifetime of portraits to complete when I’m gone.”

You can feel a pit forming in your stomach, queasy at the thought of carrying on this task of capturing rich businessmen and ceasing your sessions with Hyunjin. He’s unmoving in his attempts to make you revisit your old art. But his begging has also been eye-opening, making you realize just how much you hate this line of work and having Q breathe down your neck.

Hyunjin has a point, you’re unhappy doing portraits. You love the watercolor figures you paint, you love your time with Hyunjin and the feeling of unending curiosity he instills in you. There’s no solitude when he’s around, filling every aspect of your life with such color and vibrancy like the figures you paint. And you learn from him just as much as he learns from you.

But the fear remains, the feeling of hopelessness remains, the perception that Hyunjin is only obsessed with an idea of you and that your career is far gone from the watercolor figures you painted so long ago.

And of course, that you require Q’s uncompromising presence in your life to be even close to successful. He’s the one who transitioned you to a successful career of portraits after your previous line of work fell through. And you’re not sure you can shift to a new focus without him to guide you.

“Hyunjin,” you say suddenly, garnering the attention of both he and Q.

“What is it?” Q replies, as though you’re referring to him. And you wish he wouldn’t be so… disruptive, making you lose your train of thought as Hyunjin waits for your words with bated breath.

“I’ve completed the initial outline,” you settle on saying. “It should be sent over to you in a couple days.”

And he nods, a somber, thin-lipped expression on his face as he understands you’re never going to divert from this path of fear you walk, one you’re forcing yourself to stick to.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin responds, getting up to leave again. “I’ll see you around.”

*

Private events are seldom actually private for Hyunjin. The interior of the gallery is organized accordingly so that patrons can mingle with their respective artists and all of the prestigious guests invited.

But the exterior is only private up the crowd control stanchions, where beyond it live hordes of people wielding all sorts of fancy cameras and cell phones, snapping photo after photo and analyzing every one of Hyunjin’s movements.

Hyunjin’s attending an art gallery today, the crowds murmur amongst each other, the message echoing all over the city and overshadowing the art itself, which hasn’t even been unveiled yet.

His departure from the black limousine he arrives in is met instantly with deafening screams, the repetitive click of camera shutters and commands for him to angle his face every which way. The people stop to stare at his fitted black suit, the long black hair he sports styled slick out of his face and expensive jewelry he flaunts as a clear indicator that he’s a sponsor of the evening’s show, alongside a long list of other wealthy individuals.

His hands remain tucked in the pockets of his black slacks, giving a gracious bow to the fans before making his way inside to the main event.

And the gallery is significantly more packed than he’s used to, people crowding every square inch of the marbled floors and admiring the intricate pieces of art. The curtains are pulled back neatly so that guests can roam freely among the halls, easels set up in neat rows and canvases mounted on walls to display all the sponsored works of art.

Hyunjin is quick to gravitate to the long white table pushed against the wall by the entrance, set up with generous servings of hors d’oeuvres. And in a bout of nervousness, he’s sampling the cheese platters and the varying flavors of wine, sighing as he swirls a glass of cherry merlot between his slender fingers.

He was supposed to be here sponsoring you tonight, unveiling your paintings for the world to appreciate once again, and so that he’d finally put forth the notion that you’re more than the halls of law offices your portraits exist in.

But that was three weeks ago now- three weeks in which Hyunjin failed to visit you like he’d warned he would. And three weeks in which neither of you reconnected, letting the temporary affair between you dissipate like the sketches he stopped producing of you, like the portraits he finished collecting from you. And like the hope he held onto that maybe you’d come around and entertain a life in which you aren’t so comfortable being invisible and inhibited at the hands of your Q. But that never came around, and although Hyunjin is frustrated with you, he misses you just as much, knowing very well he could spend a lifetime learning from you if only you let him. Now in the gallery he once dragged you to, where he admitted to having learned the secret you hid, he can only pray you know that he sees you for who you are, and not some invisible producer of your static portraits. That a life lived in complete solitude doesn’t have to be the answer to succumbing to your fears, even if it feels more comfortable than the perception and the critiques of others. And that although the idea of you was a lovely one indeed, he loves every part of you, not just the concept of you- and pushing you to grow was his way of making it known.

The gallery hosts are quick to introduce the paintings and their respective sponsors, a variety of them being under anonymous titles and names as they choose to remain hidden, too. But Hyunjin doesn’t wait around to listen to much of it, examining the paintings on his own in between nervous trips to the snack table, where he gets tipsy off a little too much cherry wine. It’s his first time not being a sponsor to a specific painting, instead having opted to donate a large sum to the gallery in his company’s name. But after you declined his invitation to be sponsored, Hyunjin didn’t see it fit to highlight the work of any other painting. It’s you he wants to see up there, proudly showing off your work and making a name for yourself in the industry again the way he knows you secretly want to. And he so badly wishes he could stop by your studio one last time to tell you that he’s not sure he can ever sponsor another painting again if it’s not one of yours. Your art circles his mind relentlessly, as do your words, your heart, your body and your real, tangible presence.

“Nice, isn’t it?” A voice says from beside Hyunjin. He almost jumps, the wine making him a little tired at this point in the evening, not having socialized with many people while he stands in the corner of the room and takes in the sight.

“Quinton?” Hyunjin voices plainly, scowling at his uptight demeanor as he leans against the table beside Hyunjin and crosses his legs.

“So nice to see our former highest-painting client,” Q responds. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’ve never seen you at one of these,” Hyunjin chimes in. He then looks around the room frantically, thinking maybe you’d accompanied him to the event tonight.

“Don’t bother,” Q says, as he takes a sip of wine. “I’m alone. Just scoping out the competition.”

He’s quiet for a moment, swirling his glass of wine around in his hand before speaking again.

“She never had a portrait at one of these gallery shows. Said they felt too commercial. Of course her old stuff was shown just about everywhere. I think she was just scared.”

“You mean- you knew?” Hyunjin questions.

“Of course I knew. I led her career’s entire rebranding. Of course she didn’t love the portraits, but the money came to us like you wouldn’t believe. And coupled with her fear of these gallery walks and important figures, we had no choice but to compromise. I got her the opportunity to paint people like you. And she did all the work.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, simply shaking his head and crossing his legs, too.

“She had a lot of people who believed in her art.”

Q shrugs. “She was free to walk whenever she wanted. Her fear kept her controlled, not me. I’m just another businessman for all she cares.”

And Hyunjin gives a small nod, finishing the last of his wine.

“Look, I can’t help but feel like I owe you an apology,” Hyunjin says finally. “I was just a little jealous whenever you were around. Not that there was anything going on, I just mean-”

“You think you’re the first client to have taken a liking to her?” Q interrupts. “I’ve seen it a million times. People want to take advantage and they get obsessed, and they start pulling crazy shit like offering five times the pay for a simple portrait.”

Q looks down to examine his leather shoes, adjusting the glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose. And then he sighs frustratedly before speaking again.

“I would know,” Q then says, doing his best to avert Hyunjin’s gaze. “She’s a tough one to crack. She loves her paintings, and being alone and I don’t think she’d ever give the time of day to a good man. Not even if he followed her to her next endeavor.”

Hyunjin nods at the marbled floor, and then his head snaps in the direction of Q’s somber gaze.

The way he speaks of you, the way he gets a little too close to you for Hyunjin’s liking- Hyunjin finally thinks he understands. It’s not just the fear of being perceived that keeps you from picking up your old life again. It’s the fear of abandoning Q, who so arrogantly feels like he’s owed something for helping get you back on your feet after you shifted your work’s focus.

He’s the only other person who knows your secret, and he holds it over you like it makes him more important than anyone else in your life. He reduces you to a lifetime of following his orders, likely because he’s bitter that he was never the solution to your loneliness. A wealthy businessman himself, it was Q who kept returning for paintings once not long ago, accumulating piles of your work and making every last effort to pursue you. But when he wasn’t successful, he convinced you that you were right about your fears, that it was your best move to take his advice and he’d keep you turning a generous profit as long as you stuck by him. Q was so hopelessly devoted to an idea of you, and when he couldn’t help you overcome your fears, he became the catalyst for your fears, instead.

“You and I are a lot of the same,” Q voices. “Two rich men with dreams just out of our reach. It seems money can’t buy you everything, after all.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, swallowing nervously and looking at Q. And then Q shakes his head as he sets his glass of wine down on the table.

“Only I’ve never seen her willingly paint the same client so many times the way she does with you,” he finishes. “I guess she really liked being seen, after all.”

Q adjusts his glasses once more, and Hyunjin feels his heart sink at Q’s words, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly guilty for not having contacted you again.

“Could you tell her I stopped by?” Hyunjin inquires.

“Me? Oh no,” Q begins. “I can’t get in contact with her. No one can.”

“You- what? What do you mean?”

“Exactly that,” Q responds. “She told me she was done, and she walked out on me with a single watercolor palette and a notepad. She didn’t say anything else.”

“Did she say where she was going?” Hyunjin interrupts to ask, and Q shakes his head.

“She just left, and it’s been almost a month and she’s still MIA. Maybe she’ll come crawling back when she needs another rebranding.”

Hyunjin can feel his heart sinking deeper and deeper with every passing word that leaves Q’s lips.

He’s tried your cell phone- twice since leaving, and you never answered. But he assumed it to be a fleeting argument that would eventually make amends in due time when he could stomach visiting the studio again- not you running away from all of this for good.

“I have to go,” Hyunjin says frantically, chugging the rest of his wine and slamming his glass on the table.

“It was me who found her the first time,” Q says, not taking his eyes off the art across the room.

“What?”

“It was me who chased after her. After she disappeared. Don’t be surprised if she shuts you out when you finally do find her- I think I’ve already scarred her enough with my relentless attempts at persuasion.”

Hyunjin nods nervously, watching as Q cocks his head at the art, still averting Hyunjin’s gaze. And when he finally does turn to look at him, his eyes are glossy with tears, guilt painting every feature on his face.

“Could you just tell her I’m sorry?”

Hyunjin nods, though he makes no verbal promise to relay the message to you.

“Don’t do what I did,” Q emphasizes. “I think you’re the one person who makes her feel like art, herself. Don’t ruin this.”

*

“I forgot my ID today,” Hyunjin remarks to the security guard in the late hours of the evening. He’s met with a gracious bow, the same security guard opening the door and ushering him inside anyway.

“Don’t worry about it. Take as long as you need.”

The security guards all know Hyunjin very well now, taking note of the way his visits increased tenfold following your departure from the city.

At first he felt as though maybe he was searching for you when he’d come out here, any ounce of proof that you had indeed existed the way he remembered, and hopeful for the confirmation that you moved on to something new.

But as paintings cycled through their respective artists, and exhibits cycled through varying themes, it was a confirmation he never received, never finding a hint of you among the gallery. Thus, Hyunjin drew the hopeful conclusion that you’d escaped to a nicer city, worked on your old paintings again and made a new life for yourself, independently instead of under the overbearing presence of any other man. It’s what he wishes, at least, feeling disheartened every time he remembers you’ve very seldom lived any part of your professional career for yourself only.

The gallery is quiet at this hour, akin to the silent gray evening beyond its walls, and Hyunjin’s shoes squeak along the floors as he makes his way over to the curtains that veil the artwork.

New sculptures, by the same artist who had formed the paper mache ones. These ones are formed from wire and clay, the figures once again embracing each other in tender touches and dances. Hyunjin studies every careful bend and arch, making a mental note to sketch some of them when he gets a chance.

Another room houses a similar spread of modern art from before, these ones all coinciding with the warm lighting that hangs overhead, strokes along the canvases all housing similar warm-toned hues. He knows you’d love this installment and its careful attention to making use of color.

And the last room, the same little room behind a curtain, a small bench in front of a colossal canvas and just barely lit for his eyes to make out the scene.

Hyunjin’s seated before he can even examine the artwork, squinting carefully at the painting to get a better look. He even makes a conscious decision to put on his black frame glasses, making every attempt to get a proper look at the artwork in front of him.

Diluted hues of paint and water dance along the canvas, figured outlines he’s very familiar with, and the essence of solitude radiating from every brush stroke. Only this one isn’t one figure- it’s two, a warm-toned figure and a cool-toned outline holding each other in a tender embrace, their faces indistinguishable, true to the mystery of your work.

And between them, bright hues of paint, yellows, blues, magentas, fantastic mixtures of chartreuse and vermillion, all painted like brush strokes along their yearning bodies and illustrating a profound sense of togetherness, much more robust than the ever-present solitude.

“Visions of you in solitude,” reads the small bronze beneath the canvas.

As he cocks his head to make sense of the painting, he feels the leather of the bench dip beside him, indicating the presence of another patron. And at this hour, he doesn’t need to turn his head to understand who it is.

“There’s two,” Hyunjin says with a small smile, not averting his gaze from the painting.

“It felt incomplete without one.”

“Is that…”

“You?” You question quietly.

He nods in response, eyes scanning the swatches of paint between their bodies. It has to be me, he thinks. It has to be us.

“Maybe it is,” you reply. “I don’t disclose my processes to just about anyone. But you’re welcome to make your assumptions how you see fit.”

Hyunjin gives a breathy chuckle, finally turning to meet your gaze.

You look lighter- happier, as though you have the weight of your fears and reservations off your shoulders for once. Hyunjin can’t help but lean a little closer into you before stopping himself, knowing he can’t come in here to mirror the same thing Q once did long ago.

“You’re doing galleries,” he settles on saying.

“And they scare the hell out of me,” you respond, huffing a little at the end of your sentence. “But, it is nice to be seen again.”

He gives a little nod, and then his mind goes back to Q, who had asked to relay his version of an apology to you. But Hyunjin hesitates to speak of him, not wanting to taint your new art with the mentions of the old businessmen who took advantage of you.

“I’d have kept my distance if I knew how this went down the first time,” Hyunjin explains, hoping you’ll get what he implies. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask you to shift your focus. I just wanted you to be happy.”

You sigh for a moment, scanning the painting across from you, too, before turning to speak to him once more.

“Of all the clients I’ve painted, you were the first to ask about my vision. I think you do see me. And I think it was easier to say you loved an idea of me, because I couldn’t understand why you’d love any other part.”

Hyunjin nods, not taking his eyes off of yours.

“I learn from you the same way you learned from me,” you continue. “And you make me feel so seen. But I’m learning how to do that without needing you, too. Getting comfortable with my loneliness, I don’t think it’s something I was able to practice very much. At least not with…”

Hyunjin nods, not needing to hear Q’s name to know who you speak of.

“I understand,” Hyunjin voices. “And I want you to take all the time that you need. What matters is that you feel fulfilled, and that you’re not being pushed at the hands of somebody else. That’s more than enough for me to love you at a distance.”

And you nod at him, your heart swelling at his words as he turns to look back at the painting once more. The two of you stay there like that for several minutes, observing the way you’ve so carefully captured the togetherness you feel when you’re beside him. Swatches of paints that echo the color he brings into your life, and yet rooted in the solitude you’re still learning to be comfortable with. Visions of him in your own solitude, also creating a version of yourself that will continue to learn from him as much as he learns from you. And still art at the hands of him, both when you’re loving him wholly, and at this comfortable distance from each other.

And by the summer months, he’ll love you at a close proximity when you’re ready again, exchanging passionate embraces behind the curtains at galleries and making love to you in your shared apartment. He’ll continue to draw for you, and remain the biggest fan of the two-piece figures you illustrate with watercolors, capturing the same sense of togetherness and yet unwavering solitude that comes with breaking yourself down to the world around you. And the love will be reciprocated unconditionally by you, who finally feels seen at the hands of somebody who perceives you beyond just a concept.

But for now, he’ll remain right here, at this comfortable distance, allowing himself to learn from you as much as you learn from him. And the love will be undemanding, but it will be real, tangible.

[ ᴛᴀɢs: @drhsthl , @straykeedz-recs , @caitlyn98s , @moonlinos , @cottonsthings , @jaykyo , @write143 , @pinkcinnamon444 , @maximumkillshot , @auraleeknow , @skzms @coastalmaine , @venomracha , @lmhcats , @felinows , @maexc , @kang-min-joo , @liinoracha , @sealovesbts , @hanniessleepyeyes , @hyunjinsamdl , @chans1aptop , @yomomma104 , @sheraall , @kbbok , @silentreadersthings , @beomkgyu , @diorrxluvskz , @dancerachaslut , @jeannie-beannie , @heeseungshim , @weareapackofstrays , @bethanysnow , @inlovewithmusician , @kite-lee , @heartheartisa , @katsukis1wife , @minhosbitterriver , @y-ur--i , @seung-mine , @sskzlover , @bomi-ja , @crisle19 , @binniesbang , @leritzreyw , @lixiesundrop , @chopchopslide-juggalo , @vsereniasstuff , @morethancupcake , @fun-fanfics , @awillowbent , @unstiqn , @lixiesfairygf ]

add yourself to the tag list here.

[pursuedbyamemoryy]

₊˚⊹ your sweet lips on my lips 🧸

about : first kiss and early mornings w mike <33. title is a hozier lyric from like real people do!!

warnings : a little longer than usual!! 1.5k words. they/them pronouns used for reader ( once lol )

author’s note : I WANT TO KISS HIM SO BAD AAAAAUGHHHH. i’m so obsessed w him my brain is him and him only

your breaths were slow and steady as you slept in an uncomfortable position on mike’s couch. the tv was on low volume in the background, playing reruns of some old sitcom that your parents probably watched as kids. you were tucked under a small throw blanket that was always draped over the back of the couch, and a couple of your limbs were dangling over the edge of the cushions.

you were looking for work and mike had hired you to babysit abby. although with the hours you were at his house, it was more of just making sure abby was asleep and then more often than not, falling asleep yourself. the pay wasn’t great, but you didn’t mind. you really liked abby, and got along with her well. and well… her brother had caught your eye. he was a bit of a loser, sure, but you found him endearing. you admired how hard he worked in order to support his younger sister, it was clear she meant a lot to him. plus he was always kind to you.

while getting to know abby and becoming a more prominent person in her life, you also passingly got to know mike. abby had plenty of stories to tell, and you would often have short conversations with him before or after his shift. she had even let it slip once that mike was interested in you, and may or may not have a crush on you.

“my brother talks about you a lot, you know.” abby said oh so casually as you were helping her get ready for bed one night.

“is that so?” you quirked a brow, suddenly very intrigued at what secrets she might spill. you had harbored feelings towards the man for a while, probably as long as you’d been babysitting abby for. you always thought he would never reciprocate your feelings, and therefore decided to keep quiet about your crush.

“yeah, he says you’re pretty and you make him happy. and he’s glad you get along with me. he likes that” she said, looking up at you as you tucked her blankets around her.

you felt your cheeks grow warm, and a smile broke out on your face. “that’s good to know. he makes me happy as well, both of you do.”

“he also said he wishes he had time to get to know you more. i think he likes you. do you like him too?” abby inquired as she snuggled into the covers.

you thought carefully for a moment before responding. “i do, yeah. and i would definitely like to spend time with him if i’m given the chance. but that’s enough for tonight, it’s already late. sleep well, abby. i’ll be in the other room if you need me.” you press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head before standing up and leaving her bedroom for the night.

that very brief conversation with abby stayed on your mind for the following days. when mike came home early the next morning you were more flustered than ever when you spoke to him. since then you had been trying to find a way to make your feelings a little more known, hoping one of you would have the courage to finally confess.

keys jingled and the front doorknob rattled as mike let himself into the house. it was quiet, as it was just past 6am. the only sounds were the faint conversations of the show on the television, and the sound of his own footsteps padding across the floor. he set down his keys and kicked his shoes off before making his way into the living room where he saw you fast asleep. he quietly picked the remote off of the coffee table and turned the tv off.

although he wasn’t quiet enough, and you started to stir. “abby?” you asked tiredly. you blinked up at mike, slowly starting to sit up as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

“nope, it’s me. sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” he replied quietly as he set the remote back on the table. “did everything go alright with abby?”

you sat quietly for a moment, trying to find your thoughts in your sleep hazed brain. “yeah, she ate a good amount of her dinner and then we hung out and watched tv for a while before she went to bed. how was work?” you had pushed away the blanket and now sat upright, looking up at mike. he looked tired, which was to be expected. despite his exhausted features he looked handsome, although this wasn’t a new discovery.

his voice shook you out of your thoughts. “it was boring, but it pays.” he shrugs. “want some coffee?” he leaned his head in the direction of the kitchen.

“coffee sounds good” you smile. he starts to walk toward the kitchen and you follow behind him. damn, his butt looks good in those pants.

“i always feel bad falling asleep, i feel like i should be the one making coffee and breakfast for you.” you noted lightheartedly. you were trying not to gawk at him, which had been proven increasingly difficult after abby told you that he was in fact interested in you.

“i appreciate it, but it’s no big deal, really. i understand it can be a little boring being here all night. i trust you with abby, so if you need to sleep, sleep.” mike replied tiredly. you made a mental note to try and at least make coffee for him before he came home in the future.

once in the kitchen, he started gathering everything he needed to make just enough coffee for the both of you. you leaned against the counter, your back facing the wall. the two of you stood in comfortable, sleepy silence as the coffee brewed.

once the coffee maker had stopped gurgling, signaling the coffee was done, he grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet and poured you each a cup. you added the ingredients to make it just the way you liked it before taking a sip, nearly burning your tongue.

you could feel his eyes on you. not in a creepy way, but in admiration. he took a sip of his own coffee, his eyes lingering on your frame. you let your gaze wander back to him, meeting his own. you gave him a smile as you took another sip of your coffee.

"i uh.. would you like to go out with me one day? just us?" he stammered. he averted his gaze to his coffee, swishing the dark liquid inside to distract himself.

you smiled, giggling to yourself. it seems like abby was right about mike's feelings for you, not that you doubted her. you took a moment to collect yourself before responding. "yeah. yeah, i'd love to."

"he looked back up at you with a goofy smile on his face. "okay, cool. does tomorrow night work?"

you nodded, "yeah, that's perfect." you knew abby wouldn't lie to you about how mike felt, but it still made you giddy when he actually showed that he had feelings for you. you glanced over at the little digital clock on the stove. 7:08am. you took one last sip of your coffee, placing it down on the counter. "i should probably go, i have an appointment that i need to get to. you have work tonight, right?"

he looked disappointed, but nodded. "yeah. i'll see you later then?"

you nodded in response, "yeah, of course." you stepped closer to him, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

his cheeks immediately flushed and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. he’s had other partners and had been in relationships before, but it had been so long since he was as infatuated with someone as he was with you. you were still close to him, and he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. he paused to make sure you were okay with it, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to.

but you didn’t. you leaned in further and pressed your lips to his briefly, somewhat hesitantly. he grabbed your hip, holding you firmly but gently. he kissed you again, this time with more confidence. this kiss was longer, more passionate, and it only increased the feeling of butterflies flying around in your stomach.

“took you guys long enough. are you boyfriend and girlfriend now?” a small voice comes from the other side of the room. you and mike quickly pulled away from the kiss, much more flustered now that you had been caught by mike’s youthful sister. neither of you had heard her approach, and were startled at her sudden presence.

after recovering from the slight embarrassment, you looked at mike questioningly to see if, and how he would answer abby’s question.

“i sure hope so” he smiles, his attention focused back on you. “it’s up to them though.”

“i’d like that” you smiled back at him.

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

I think a certain amount of etiquette is lost on people in fandom nowadays.

Just in general, but specifically I'm focusing on Tomarry/Harrymort right now because it's relevant my present issue.

I follow Tomarry/Harrymort content on here and Twitter. I am not always active, and I'm not always reacting to every single thing I see. But I see a lot of things and I keep my mouth shut most of the time.

In these past couple of months on Twitter, it's become really annoying to witness this particular subset of the fandom because people make posts that are not-so-subtly shading Tomarry/Harrymort writers every day.

People are so obsessed with how much they love the character and how much they love fanfiction that is true to the character, where they sound just like their canon self and don't seem any different, that they spend their days tearing down depictions of Harry Potter in fanfiction, that dare to stray away from abused, snow-white-angel, Quidditch-obsessed jock.

Many people seem to have forgotten that in the actual story, Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort would not get together. We ship two crack ships. They are things that have no hope in hell of ever happening in the canon story. To even write for Tomarry/Harrymort, we either have to change a few details, leave out a few details, or try to rework the existence of some details so they hit differently and make the pairing make sense for each individual fic.

This fandom purity nonsense has ended up with a lot of recent posts dogging on different kinds of HP tropes over the years and affecting authors.

A few weeks bacl it was 'the era of creature fics was cringe'. And then it was followed by a long list describing certain scenarios in certain stories that used these tropes, and I could immediately pick out which fics inspired these descriptions. There were people in the replies and the quotes land people who took screenshots to post to their own accounts to say shady things(including naming fics specifically!) without others being able to easily access them from the OG post itself.

I, personally, have outgrown creature fics in HP, and I'm not interested in reading them anymore. But I'm not sitting here making lists attacking the tropes involved in them. I'm not sitting here saying that they were stupid and corny, and they were the most unHarry Potter-like writings ever. And I'm not the one out here making the people who wrote those stories and get to see these kinds of comments coming from people in their fandom, feel bad.

IDK, but when So-So sees people bringing their 6-year-old fic up in a post dragging tropes in Tomarry/Harrymort fics, and they suddenly get the urge to just delete their fics entirely and not bother with the fandom anymore... maybe y'all need to learn how to word things better. It's really not that hard to say you're not into a specific thing anymore without having to drag other people down.

[merrybloomwrites]

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Coachella)

Summary: You attend Coachella 2024 with Harry, Mitch, and Sarah. Between discovering new music, meeting people you would never have dreamed of meeting, and spending time with your three significant others, you'd say it's a pretty perfect day.

AN: Thank you to @ba8ygal for requesting this! It was very fun to write, especially with Harry currently making the rounds attending a bunch of festivals!

ALSO! I took some creative liberty with the Coachella schedule and blended Friday and Saturday's shows so it makes sense for the story.

Previous Chapters: Can be found here!

Word Count: 1.8K

CW: alcohol consumption

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One regret you have in life is not going to Coachella in 2022. It’s not that you had an opportunity and turned it down. In fact, you didn’t even know it was happening until after it ended. You also weren’t a Harry Styles fan at the time. But you woke up one morning in April and suddenly your entire tik tok for you page was Harry Styles and Shania Twain singing together. 

Growing up, your parents always listened to country music so Shania’s songs were often played. It’s no surprise the algorithm showed you these videos, and you’re very grateful that they introduced you to Harry’s music. 

In the following weeks you watched not only Harry’s Coachella videos on repeat, but videos from numerous past performances both solo, and from one direction. Suddenly, your life has been changed. You were now a huge Harry fan. 

After finally seeing one of his concerts, you became obsessed with his band as well. Which is why it was so startling to bump into his drummer Sarah, and her husband/Harry’s guitarist Mitch. Even more surprising is when the married couple got close to you, so close that they invited you into their relationship, which eventually grew to include Harry as well. 

Now, months into the four of you being together, you’re headed on a trip to Coachella. It’s not too often that you all go out in public together, not because you’re hiding per se, but more because Harry’s been laying low since Love on Tour ended. Plus Mitch and Sarah had been busy with Mitch’s tour for Come June. 

All three of them are extremely excited to attend shows, rather than be in them for once. They love performing, but it’s nice to take a break and let other people entertain them for a day. 

The four of you had created a plan for which shows you’d go see on this one day adventure. The toughest part would be getting from Chappel Roan’s set to Sabrina Carpenter's. Who in the world thought to put them at overlapping times? 

Getting there is more of a production than you’re used to. But this being such a busy music festival, everyone’s safety is being taken very seriously. Meaning instead of the four of you just driving there together, you’re loaded up in a van with a driver and a couple security guards. 

You’re sitting next to Sarah in the back row, Mitch and Harry in front of you. Harry turns to you and says, “Stay close to me today. I don’t want anything happening to you.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes considering he’s already said this numerous times. But you know he means well, is just looking out for you, so you reply, “I will, Harry. Promise.” 

To be honest, you’re a little nervous. The closer you get, the more real the situation becomes. Sure you’ve been talking about this day, but now that it’s here you feel a little worried. Mostly about what people might say about the four of you together. 

You’re going to have to be careful, keeping a distance from Mitch and Sarah so people don’t speculate about your relationship with them. It’s always exhausting when you need to tiptoe around your boyfriend and girlfriend but it’s worth it to keep your relationship steady. 

You’re also nervous to be seen in public as Harry Styles's girlfriend. You’d overthought your outfit, changing it repeatedly in the past few days. It wasn’t until all three of them told you that they loved your outfit that you finally felt confident in it. 

You just hope you won’t embarrass them, that you won’t reflect poorly on Harry. You know that people can be harsh, and they’ll judge Harry based on the things you do and say. So yea, you’re a bit anxious to be attending a music festival with him. 

When the four of you arrive you’re taken to a VIP area. It’s where you’ll be hanging out any time you’re not watching anyone’s sets. You’re only there a minute before other people start arriving. You lean close to Harry’s side and he quietly whispers information about everyone. You’re grateful that he’s keeping you in the loop, making sure you know what’s going on around you. Otherwise, you know you’d just be standing there with a polite smile and feeling so out of place. 

After a quick lunch, you all make your way to one of the stages. As you walk out, Harry’s hand goes to your waist, making sure he’s always in contact with you so nothing can happen to you. 

You all spend the afternoon listening to a number of performers, switching stages when necessary. There's a moment when Harry leaves to run to the bathroom and someone else in the crowd gets close to you and Mitch instinctively pulls you to his side. Sarah quickly intervenes, stepping between you two so she can hold onto you instead. 

You hate not being able to be near Mitch in public. At least with Sarah people just think the two of you are besties so you can get away with holding each other, so long as it doesn’t look too romantic. 

Finally it’s time to see Chappel Roan. You’ve been looking forward to this moment. She’s as great a performer as you’d heard and you have a wonderful time singing and dancing along. You'd taught the other three how to do the Hot To Go dance, and you know videos of them doing it will be posted all over social media before the day is over. 

As soon as her set is finished, security guards help you get to Sabrina Carpenter’s stage. You’d missed the beginning, but have fun watching the rest. Mitch definitely notices the way to watch Sabrina, but truly you can’t help it. She’s hot, and you have eyes. 

Harry suggests grabbing food and eating dinner in the van. He knows you’ll all appreciate some time to recharge and be away from other people. You sit in the back with Mitch, still keeping space in case people see in, but you do get to hold hands for a bit which fulfills your need to be close to him. 

“What time is it?” You ask as everyone finishes eating. 

“About 7:15,” Sarah replies. 

“Can we check out Jon Batiste for a little bit?” You ask. 

“Of course love. Ready to head over now?” Harry answers. 

“Yup, let's get back out there!” 

You miss the look the other three share. They’re so endeared by your excitement, so happy to bring you to your first festival and see you have fun. If there’s one thing they love, it’s being able to introduce you to new experiences, and they love seeing it all through your eyes. 

For the next hour you all walk around the festival, peeking in on a couple different artists before finally making your way to see Ice Spice. This had been Harry’s request, and the rest of you were on board. 

You’d seen a fair number of celebrities throughout the day, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what happens next. Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce enter the VIP area you’re in, and quickly make their way over. 

Harry lets go of you briefly to hug Taylor and shake Travis hand. 

“Taylor, this is my girlfriend, Y/N, and this is Sarah, and Mitch,” Harry says, introducing you all. You’re taken aback when Taylor pulls you in for a hug as well. 

You’d been a fan of hers since you were in middle school, but you’re determined to keep your chill. You settle for a simple, “It’s so nice to meet you! I love your music.”

“Thank you so much!” She replies. “Have you made it to any of the Eras Tour shows yet?”

“No, I haven’t been able to go,” you say with a jokingly over exaggerated frown.

“Okay, well we have to fix that,” she says, and before you can process what she means, the lights go down and music begins to play. 

You all focus your attention on the stage, cheering for Ice Spice as she begins her set. As everyone dances and signs along, you notice Harry being even touchier than before. You’d all had a couple drinks throughout the day, nothing too crazy but just enough that he’s definitely feeling a little loose. And he always gets extra clingy when he’s had a drink or two. 

It never feels overbearing or possessive with Harry (or Mitch and Sarah for that matter). It always feels safe, secure.  There’s also a sense of pride in having Harry by your side. You know there are thousands of people who’d love to be in your position, and you try to never take for granted the fact that Harry has chosen you. 

The four of you dance together, laughing when you see Travis effortlessly lifting Taylor up to see over the crowd, Harry jokingly doing the same a second later. It’s a fun little group, and it’s easy to see everyone is having a great time letting loose for the night. 

When Ice Spice finishes you all say goodbye to the others, Taylor taking your phone number with the promise to be in touch, which absolutely has your mind spinning. 

You’re starting to get tired but you’re not ready for the night to end just yet and so you watch No Doubt followed by TheDrums. The latter band was Sarah’s find, having obviously been intrigued by the name and then fell in love with their music. It’s not what you’d normally listen to, but seeing how much she enjoys it has shifted your perspective on them. 

It’s nearing midnight and Harry notices how much you’re starting to lean on him, indicating your energy is officially depleting. With a look to your security, your group starts to head back to the van. 

You and Sarah once again take the back row, and you only last a few minutes into the drive before you’re sound asleep on her shoulder. When the van pulls up to your shared home, you’re woken up by the feeling of someone jostling you. 

“Sorry baby, tried to carry you in without waking you but it’s an awkward angle,” Mitch says. 

“That's okay,” you practically slur out, moving just enough to get out of the vehicle and into Mitch’s arms. He carries you straight to the extra large master bathroom and the four of you all get ready for bed. 

Even in your drowsy state you can’t help but think about the contrasting sides of your life. Everything is always so lavish and exciting when you’re in public with your partners, but here at home it’s so calm, so domestic. 

Crawling into bed surrounded by the others, you’re so grateful for every aspect of life that comes along with loving and being loved by Harry, Mitch, and Sarah.

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Thank you so much for reading! Someone else requested an angsty extra a long time ago and I could not for the life of me figure out what to do. BUT I finally got an idea so that will be coming soon!

[imaginedanvrs]

my demon gave me everything

part 11 l masterlist

summary: dark!natasha romanoff x reader. Natasha Romanoff saves the world. Morals, lifestyle and past aside, the fact is that she puts her life on the line for everyone else. And for this, she believes she’s owed something. She saves billions of lives on the regular, so why not take the occasional one for herself?

word count: 1k

warnings: established kidnapping, physical and psychological abuse, power dynamics, manipulation, stockholm syndrone, choking, gun play, sexual themes

Natasha wasted no time in exploring the territory of the new dynamic she found herself controlling. Though she told herself to refrain from breaking any more bones, the redhead certainly wasn’t cautious to become heavy handed with you again. In fact, she was itching to do so. It was effortless to ease you back into it, simply bringing back out the larger toys she had already familiarised you with to make you stretch and ache while still yearning for her. 

  Similarly, Natasha was able to introduce you to more sinister toys she hadn’t gotten around to using such as the riding crop. Surprisingly, you took it better than the belt even though she wasn’t holding herself back then like she had been when she was cautious of breaking you too early. That wasn’t a concern any more and left Natasha free rein to create as many welts on your ass as she pleased. They looked so pretty on top of the bruises and the screams that had been torn from your throat made your voice weak for days. The same could be said for your legs, leaving you almost bedbound for a couple days. 

  But this wasn’t enough for the assassin whose violent urges seemingly came out of nowhere. One evening Natasha had been in a sour mood from a mission gone wrong and came home to you watching a film on the sofa. She had sat with you for a while without many words exchanged when the sound of popcorn suddenly drove Natasha up the wall so she had wrapped her hand around your throat and squeezed. Hard. You were no doubt shocked at first, but after several seconds the doting smile upon your face struggled to be replaced, with the noticeable leanway for the discomfort of having no oxygen. You had continued to gaze up at her as though you were waiting for her to either stop or make you pass out. Even after she withdrew her hand to slap you, not giving you a second to catch your breath, you tried to kiss the redhead.

  It was when she was kissing the red marks around your neck better that you told her you loved her for the first time. Once it processed, Natasha made you say it over and over, loving how vulnerable you sounded when it tumbled from your lips. You were as infatuated as she was, dangerously obsessive.

  Things certainly became interesting for Natasha after that night. Frustratingly, that was limited as the spy had already taken a good chunk of time away from her work and couldn't continue to decline calls from Fury for much longer. The only upside that came from it was that Natasha kept the power on for you to watch tv or make yourself some snacks while she was gone. 

  You weren’t allowed back upstairs though and hadn’t been since spending the night in the upstairs bedroom. The door remained locked, just like the balcony door, for what Natasha assured was ‘your own safety’. “I can’t have anyone coming to steal you,” she had told you before leaving one day. You had practically swooned at how protective it was. Not possessive, protective. Even though she had told you that after splitting your lip open, you hung off her every word. 

  After that, Natasha realised she could do whatever she wanted to you. 

  Much to your delight, the redhead brought down all of her personal belongings from her bedroom and placed them in your own, allowing you to admire them better and pushing Natasha to get some art for the apartment. She had rolled her eyes with a small smile at the suggestion at first but twenty minutes later she gave you her ipad to pick something, under her watchful eye of course. 

  The redhead had also installed a panel on the wall by the kitchen that she could send messages to. You couldn’t receive any from anyone else or send anything back because there was no need. Though Natasha never said it, if you really needed something she would be able to see it when she checked the cameras when she was out. She would tell you through the new screen if she was going to be gone for much longer or remind you to complete some chores you may have forgotten about. Either way, whenever you heard the simple chime from the screen, you practically ran to see what it said. Natasha always liked watching that. 

  It was almost midnight on the day when Natasha eventually told you she loved you. In the time running up to that moment she had made you say it to her countless times a day without ever saying it back, not sure if doing so would shift the power balance but soon discovering it would only make it greater. The three words had slipped from her lips after playing Russian roulette with you for the good part of an hour. It had been terrifying…but also thrilling. Each click had run through the apartment and made you fear for your life that was forced into Natasha’s hands. 

  Once on the final chamber, at the last second the assassin had pointed her gun just past your head and fired into the wall behind you. The ringing went on for a while in your ears and the hole in the wall was one Natasha never planned on filling, leaving it as a memento of the night she first told you she loved you. 

  From then, you never let yourself question your safety in the hands of the redhead. Sure, she could hit you, beat you, burn you, ruin you, but none of that mattered in the face of Natasha’s love. She took care of you and knew best and in return, you just had to let her.

[kittenfangirl20]

Queen Adam Au Part 6

Velvette was throwing material around her fashion studio, she needed to find the perfect material. Not just any will do.

If she was going to gain favor with the Queen of Hell, Adam Morningstar, then it needed to be perfect.

For months Velvette had been keeping an eye on magazine articles about what Adam would wear and not long after those items would become hot commodities.

She wanted that monetary profit.

Vox walked in narrowly avoided getting his by a bag of glitter.

Vox: Vel, what fresh Hell is this? You're making a mess.

Velvette: I want to make the most perfect dress for the Queen. If Adam loves and buys a dress from me we will be rolling in it more than we are now. He's a fashion icon, anyone worth their shit wants to look like him.

Vox sipped his coffee: That would be a great help. Has he bought anything of yours in the past?

Velvette deflated a bit: No, but that just means he hasn't worn a true fucking masterpiece yet!

-

Adam yawned, it was so early and he had to feed his babies. He went to the nursery to get the twins.

Adam: Good morning my little beauties.

He picked up Ariel first and sat in the rocking chair while he breast fed his baby.

Lucifer came in a couple minutes later: Hey, need any help?

Adam: You can burp her so I can feed him.

Lucifer: Okay, come here my beauties.

Lucifer took the baby and gave Adam a kiss. He burped his little girl as Adam picked up Adrial and fed him.

*Adam was so happy over the fact that Lucifer was not only an amazing husband, he was also an equally amazing father as well, fatherhood was just as important to Adam as motherhood was, he was the father of humanity after all, he prided himself on the fact that Eve praised him for being such a good father, Adam fully admitted that he had a praise kink which both of his spouses took advantage of, he then realized something, he hadn’t seen Emily all day*

Adam: Where is Emily?

Lucifer: Now that you mention it, she hasn’t left her room at all.

Adam: I hope she isn’t sick.

*after the babies were fed and burped, Adam went to check on Emily, she was frantically running around the room looking at the dresses Adam helped her buy and trying to figure out what wig she should wear or if she should even wear a wig*

Adam: Hey Emmy, are you alright?

Emily: Everything has to be perfect for my date with Satan tonight………… Oh no, you’re going to give him the shovel talk now.

*Adam smirked*

Adam: Yep, I mean what kind of older brother would be if I didn’t. I am the second most powerful being in Hell and mom would be disappointed if I didn’t give him the shovel talk.

*both suddenly got quiet, they still hadn’t heard about what happened to Sera after Emily fell, Lucifer was constantly sending messages to Heaven through Heaven’s Embassy demanding that they give him an answer about the head seraphim and the status of former Sinners who became Winners*

Emily: I still miss mom.

Adam: I do too, remember when I got sick and she bought me Muffin to help me feel better.

*Adam’s favorite giant lion plushie was now also the favorite of his kids*

Emily: Yeah, she also made the best cakes and muffins for us as well.

Adam: I am proud to say those cakes and muffins contributed to my chubby gut that Luci loves so much.

*Adam proudly pat his stomach*

Adam: I do hope you have a wonderful date and I am still going to give Satan the shovel talk.

*at the Vee Tower Vox and Valentino sat on the couch watching Velvette working so frantically*

Valentino: I don’t get why she is so obsessed with making the Queen so happy especially since he played a part in me losing my best star to Heaven.

Velvette: Fashion is everything, fashion is life. Everything Adam wears becomes the next sensation. You will thank me when my outfits earn so much money for us.

Vox: She does bring up a good point, gain the favor of Queen Adam and you are all abound Hell can talk about.

*Valentino just stared at the both of them wondering why they were acting like they didn’t orchestrate a smear campaign against Queen Adam because Manmon and Lilith hired them to, he didn’t care one way or another, he liked being a scumbag that others feared, in fact he thought that his Adam/Alastor porn was his best work yet, it was too bad that the people of Hell didn’t see it that way since they were so obsessed with their pretty Queen sadly Lucifer had ever copy of the porno destroyed aside from the one secret copy Valentino owned which he sadly couldn’t sell because no one dare buy it, well at least he could watch it and pleasure himself to it*

Valentino: You two have fun obsessing over the Queen of Hell, I am going to work now.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[wakeup01]

The Shorts, Like, Maketh The Man

The black shorts were just laying there, hanging off the empty bench. I know, I know. But I wasn’t usually the type to pick up sweaty used clothing in the street, but there was something drawing me to them. Calling out to me. They weren’t really my style even, clearly gym shorts for the sort of person who spends at least an hour a day looking in the mirror. I’d never even set foot in a gym. But still, they were…nice. The polyester material felt good in my hand. Silky. There was clearly some text on the back of them but I was too excited to bother reading it. Maybe I could have them? It didn’t seem like the owner wanted them anymore anyway. I look around for any onlookers and quietly take them, stuffing them away in my pocket.

I wanted to try them on. Needed to. Finding a secluded area, I remove my trousers and pull the smooth fabric up my unimpressive legs. They felt incredibly good around my waist, like they were made for me. There was a warmth radiating from them. Mmff. They seem to press against…all the right places. Clinging to my skin. I catch myself letting out a soft moan, my face blushing red at hearing the sound. Maybe I should take them off, it would be weird to walk home in someone else’s—someone…some..one. Mine. They were my shorts. I leave the baggy trousers behind and step out into the street, an extra boost of confidence in my step.

While I’m walking my body feels slightly off, as if my weight distribution had shifted. Each foot forward felt heavier, stronger. People start to turn and gaze at me. I catch a glimpse of my chunky arms; were they always that veiny? Huh. I see my reflection strutting in a shop window and freeze on the spot. What on earth? There was a completely different person staring back at me. He was sexy as all hell. I looked like a utter gymrat. I touch my sharp, smooth jaw and run my fingers over my harsh buzzed hair. The visage in the reflection copies my exact movements, a large, self assured smirk set on their face. Curious, I lift the hem of my t-shirt. Woah! I was completely jacked! You could sharpen a blade on these abs.

Somehow I had gained pounds of lean muscle in a matter of minutes and my skin had been tanned a luscious golden hue. Certainly, I wasn’t about to complain about this turn of events. Maybe I should pick up discarded clothes more often!

Fuck, my body was li—like, fit. Just check it out. I pull out my phone and take a selfie. Okay. Maybe several selfies. Fine, maybe it was a couple dozen. Who gives a fuck when you look this hot. I didn’t even care about the pedestrians walking past and staring. They SHOULD stare. Admire this prize. This TROPHY. I was in peak form from head to toe. The shiny shorts accentuated my thick, meaty legs perfectly.

My eyes suddenly catch the time on my phone, pulling me out of my shameless self obsession. Damn, at this rate I was gonna be late for Daddy. Wait. Daddy? That’s not right, I wasn’t…

Ugh. My mind felt all jumbled up, like a finished jigsaw puzzle suddenly dropped to the floor. Pieces scattered. It was…I needed to…Daddy! Like, of course. After all, I was just a trophy boy. HIS trophy. An accessory for him to show off. Sculpting my body just how daddy likes it; my muscles existed for his enjoyment. Not that I didn’t enjoy them too…hmm.

My head hurt. Fuck. Was that right? No, I couldn’t be just some brainless boy toy. Now it made sense why the owner abandoned these damn shorts. Shit, It was altering my mind. I was becoming…I needed to remove these—mmff. But right then I feel the shorts squeeze on my bulge. It felt incredible! I shouldn’t, but I never, like, you know, wanted it to stop. My sensitive cock pulsed, thickening while stretching across the fabric. Ahhh! I grin inanely as pre drips down my leg. Like, yeah. Da—daddy loved his boy all hard. He loved when I did as he instructed. A pretty plastic toy to pose and play with. I was so proud to be his. Yes, I was his; body and mind. Like, how did I forget? I can be such an air-headed ditz sometimes. It’s a good thing Daddy also likes his twunky boys dumb; dumb, vapid and full of cum. I was good at those things. Huhuhuh.

I turn around - biting my lip - and look at my tight rear. The shorts thin fabric was digging between the two round globes. ‘Daddy’s Trophy’ was emblazoned on the back, across my cheeks. Mmff. I give my butt a light slap and watch it jiggle. I happily let out a pleasurable moan; it made me feel nice that everyone would know what I am. Explaining it was like, soo difficult and stuff. Daddy says I shouldn’t stress my pretty little head over such complex things. Uhhh. Anyway, these shorts were his favourite, all his boys wore them. He loved watching me dutifully clean the house in them. Or working out in them. Or obediently fucking him in them. Or being fucked…bouncing on his lap.

Oh right! I just remembered! I was supposed to meet him. Sir wanted to finalise our arrangement, there was one last thing to change before I could sign that dull agreement. His trophy boys were always blond. Blond and basic. Huhu. Just like I was about to be.

[nothomegal]

“The little owl family” (Part 2)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond. Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: Mikey being a bit obsessive(?).

Word Count: 2.8k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

(Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

It's been around a week since the siblings visited the house where the Myers family ones lived. To be honest the visit was kinda forgotten after a couple of days since they had other things to worry about; (Y/N) focused on their work and (S/N) on school and other duties a 6 y/o would worry about, as well on the owl family! Who happily accepted the extra meat the've been leaving around their backyard, they're also pretty sure that some of their babies already hatched!

However, their rather peaceful and carefree life was about to get on a bumpy ride when a certain dark massive figure was able to track them down...

. . .

—"(Y/N), can I ask you somethig?"— your sister asks from the doorway to your room, shifting from foot to foot and holding a dinosaur plushie.

—"Sure."— you say as you pause whatever work you've been doing on your computer and turn towards her. —"What is it songbird?"—

—"How does it feel like being watched?"— she asks.

(Y/N) leans back on their chair with a thoughtful hum.

—"I'm not sure, I never felt it. Though people say it feels like being exposed, no matter how hard you try to hide."— you try to explain.

—"Oh... Like being naked?"—

—"Yeah, kinda. I guess."— you scratch your cheek a bit. —"Why the question though?"—

The girls shrugs with a slightly awkward expression.

—"In scary movies people always talk about it and I got curious. And because Terry won't stop saying dumb stuff, like the Boogeyman is going to come and steal you..."— she admits, her voice sad and quieter at the last statement.

The older sibling blinks a couple of times.

—"Steal ME?"— your eyes wide a bit when she nods. —"Pff! If the Boogeyman doesn't have a pack of oreos and a new drawing tablet as a bait, I'm not going anywhere."— you joke, trying to soothe her.

But the girl just frowns more and out of nowhere runns towards them and hugs them tightly, barely holding back a sob.

—"It's- It's just- "— she hiccups a bit. —"I sometimes have nightmares where you disappear, just like mom and dad. I'm- I'm scared it will become true someday!"— she sobs into your shoulder.

(Y/N) frowns at her words, their heart shrinking inside of the ribcage with every sob that left their sister's mouth. They hug her tightly back and begin to softly caress her hair whilst speaking.

—"Hey, hey it's okay. No one will ever take me away from you. I fought to keep us together ones and I will do it again if necessary."— you say, your voice calm.

—"B-But one thing is arguing with old ugly people and the other one is fighting a monster!"— she sobs harder.

(Y/N) falls silent for a moment, thinking about how to calm down their sister. Eventually they come up with an idea. They gently grip her shoulders and push her back so they both can make eye contact.

—"I don't get it, who are you?"— you suddenly ask.

—"H-Huh?"—

—"I asked who are you? Where is my little (S/N)? The (S/N) who's so bold and brave, the one who promised to protect me and scare the Boogeyman away by stomping on his toes and slapping his elbows, where is that (S/N)?"—

The little girl blinks a couple of times, both surprised and thoughtful about (Y/N)'s words. Eventually her expression changes into a shyer one.

—"Uh... She is he-here. But- But- "—

—"Don't tell me you are going to allow some boy and silly dreams scare and hurt you. Do you remember that one movie with the 'hat-man'?"— you ask and recieve a nod. —"And how did the main character defeat him?"—

—"She... She stopped being afraid of him."—

—"Exactly! The Boogeyman is the same, a creature that feeds on fears. If you aren't afraid of it, it won't be able to do a damn."— you give her shoulders a gentle squeeze. —"Come on sis, we visited the house the monster supposedly lives, you had a smile when we got closer and you were brave enough to calm me down. Can't you see how absolutely amazing you are and how intimidated the monster must be of you and your amazing art skills?!"—

—"Yeah... Yeah! You're right! Who does this Boogeyman thinks he is to scare me?!"— she exclaims, gaze and tone determined.

—"Yes! Screw it! If any monster tries to come for us then we'll work together to scare it away! Just like we did with the 'attic ghost'."—

They both giggle at the mentioned 'attic ghost', who resulted to be a racoon that somehow snuck in there a couple of month ago.

—"But make sure to throw the plunger at the monster and not me."— you pinch her cheek while pouting a bit.

—"Hehehe sorry."— she grins, clearly not sorry.

They talk a bit more, and ones (S/N) was completely calm her sibling finally notices the time.

—"Holy cow on a bicycle, it's long past midnight. You were suppoes to be asleep missy."— you say while standing up. —"Come on, let's put you to sleep, you have school tomorrow after all."—

—"Will you read me the new story today?"— she looks up at you with hopefull eyes.

—"Not yet sweetheart, I still need to finish the last pages, or you want to leave the mystery as a cliffhanger?"— you ask with a teasing smile.

—"No! No cliffhangers, they suck!"— she huffs.

—"Yeah, agree. Just wait a bit more, okay? I'm sure I'll finish it due Halloween."—

—"Oki hehe, can't wait to learn what will happen with the birdies this time!"—

The mentioned tale has no name, it's just a little pile of stories (Y/N) and (S/N) created by accident a while ago. It started as a random drabble when the girl asked 'how would we look as owls?' and that's when it began. Both owl characters, that resembled the siblings but with some subtle changes, living the wildest anventures a kid's brain could formulate, from time travel to having a sword fight with skeletons, and despite the ridiculous plots, the stories were a lot of fun to write, draw and tell, specially before sleep.

And tonight wasn't a complete exception, sure it wasn't the story (S/N) hoped to read but an already written one, it still was a lot of fun though!

Ones the story telling session finished and (S/N) was sleeping soundly, (Y/N) decided that it's time for them to go to bed as well.

They started to do their night routine of cleaning around a bit, but something made them pause when they reached the first floor to turn the lights off. They stopped in their tracks with their gaze glued to the back door, specifically... What was in front of it. It looked like piece of paper, one that been uncrumpled.

With furrowed brows and an uneasy feeling in their stomach (Y/N) makes their way towards it, trying to convince themselves that maybe (S/N) left it there it while playing. But their blood goes icy cold when they see what is on the paper...

A orange spinosaurus with a witch hat and a magic wand.

The older sibling grips the paper tightly as they frantically look around, as if trying to find the responsible of this nonsense, yet they saw or found nothing, or maybe they were unaware of it... Of him.

At some point durning their frenzy, (Y/N) stops in front of the window and simply stares into the pitch black backyard. The owls were unnaturally quiet, no casual 'hoo' or the father flying out to get food, no, there was no sound from them at all.

Giving one last glare into the darkness, (Y/N) decides to take their uneasy feeling and the bird's silence as a warning. With a huff they close the curtains and go toward other windows to do the same, they have no idea if there is an actual threat out there but they will do anything to protect their home anyways, even if that means going full paranoia mode.

Their actions didn't went unnoticed of course, as the being (S/N) was so scared of at first was standing there, in the darkness, this whole time. His head slightly tilted as he observed the older sibling go through another frenzy.

Usually, these kind of response to his stalking would amuse him, seeing the sheer panic in the victim's eyes as they stare into the darkness, desperate to find him and coming out unsuccessful despite him being right under their nose the entire time.

With (Y/N) however... It's different. The look they sent into the darkness wasn't just a simple look of uneasiness or distrust, it was a warning. A warning to fight back and kill whatever or whoever dares to disturb them, to disturb their family, their little sister... When his eyes met theirs his breath hitched, he never saw such cold and murderous yet dangerously determined glare on him, not the one (Y/N) had.

He wasn't even aware of the adrenaline that spiked inside of him, his heart beating hard as his chest rised ad fell with each heavy breath, creating small clouds in the chilly October air. He didn't even realize how much that look affected him, how much he desired to feel it on him again, how obsessed he was with their eyes...

The only thing that bugs him is that (Y/N) is most likely not even aware who they just glared at. The especulations of their reaction when they finally uncover the truth make his mind go wild, wondering what kind of look they'll send him, what kind of measures they'll take to protect their own little 'boo' from him, even though...

He didn't even feel the need, or want, to hurt the little one... Or them.

. . .

—"(S/N)! Watch out!"—

—"Woah!- "—

It was one more day in Haddonfiel elementary school, it was currently recess time and the little girl was playing outside with some friends.

—"You almost got hit again, are you okay?"— a friend asks.

The little girl bites her lip.

—"I don't know... I'm super worried about (Y/N), since last week they've been weird. They try to act normal when I'm around, but... When they think I'm not looking I noticed how serious and scared they seem to be, always looking through the windows and even checking the locks almost five times a day!"—

—"Oh wow..."—

—"Yeah... I don't know why they started to act like that! J-Just last week everything was fine and then boom! They're different!"— she says with concern and a bit of frustration.

—"Maybe (Y/N) got snatched by the Boogeyman and got replaced by a doppelganger?"— Terry says, being right behind her, and suddenly grabs her shoulders.

—"Aaah! No! Shut up Terry!"— she exclaims angrily as she slaps his hands away. —"And no one snatched them away! They're just going through a lot of stress!"—

—"That's what the doppelganger wants you to believe! Bet the Boogeyman had already ate the real (Y/N), and soon he's doing to come and eat you~."— the boy says with a sweet yet mischievous tone.

(S/N) grits her teeth both annoyed and angry at her classmate's attempts to scare her. When the ball bumps into her leg she grabs it and with no hesitation throws it at Terry, purposely aiming at his face.

Miraculosly, the boy dodged the ball last second and with a loud goblin-like laugh he runs away, pleased that he got a reaction from the little girl.

—"Hey! The ball-! "—

—"I'll go get it..."— she mumbles, still a bit frustrated and disappointed that it didn't hit the boy.

The ball went quite far despite being thrown by a 6 y/o. The girl rushed towards the direction where the ball went flying, which was the furthest part of the school playfround, slowing down at the end when she realized the ball wasn´t near the fence.

With a more concerned look she takes one or two steps forward, being just 4 feet away from the fence. Her gaze is focused outside of it in hopes that the ball ended up not too far and she could simply reach it. She suddenly stops when noticed some weird tree trunks at the other side... Huh, she's pretty sure a tree trunk is brown and not dark blue, or wears shoes...?

She begins to slowly drag her gaze up and then realizes that the blue 'tree trunk' is not even a tree, but a person, no, a giant!... Wait, he got the ball! (S/N) was about to innocently step closer and ask for the toy but froze in place when she saw the giant's face, a terrifying emotionless mask that made his eyes appear black, like two endless voids staring into her little innocent soul.

The massive stranger then slowly extends his arm, just enough so his hand goes through the bars, silently allowing the little girl retrieve the object.

The girl swallows loudly as she gives quick glances at the ball, which looked so small in the stranger's big hand, and then at his uncanny masked face. Technically it should be safe to take it, the man's hand is barely going through the metal bars of the fence, all she has to do is yoink the toy out of his grasp and run away.

It should be quick, it should be easy!... Yet her body refused to move...

The giant slowly tilts his head, as if silently asking what's wrong and why she's not taking the object back.

Durning this little staring contest, the world around goes completely silent, which made the already tense and eerie atmosphere turn even more bizarre. The girl starts to remember all these talks of 'stranger danger' (Y/N) would give her, and the advice that stick out the most kept resonating in her mind over and over...

"It's okay to judge at times..."

"...for a reason first impressions are a thing."

"Remember songbird...

"...if someone gives you the heebeegeebees, forget politeness..."

"...and get away from them."

And they're right... This giant is giving her the heebeegeebees!

Releasing the breath she didn't know she was holding in all this time, the girl throws one final glance at the man, her innocent eyes expressing fear and distrust as she turns on her heel and runs away like a spooked kitten, completely forgetting about the ball she was supposed to retrieve.

His head straightened as he watches the girl run away, frantically pointing towards his direction when her friends tried to ask what happened but, of course, he was long gone when they looked.

After this little interaction, he was left with a weird yet unpleasant feeling. The way the little girl looked at him made something inside of his chest squeeze, the same feeling he got as a kid when he accidentally made Angel cry for the first time... Is this what guilt and shame feels like?... He can't tell.

He probably shouldn't have revealed himself like this, so out of the blue. But today he was feeling particulary gloomy, and after observing the two siblings for nearly two week he couldn't help but notice how the little one behaved; so carefree, so curious and enthusiastic about nearly everything, so mischievous yet sweet towards her older sibling, worrying about them, caring for them... It reminded him of 'boo' so much.

Is this really how things would've turn out between him and Angel if they grew up together? If he just could've made the things right that night and prove that he can be a good big brother? He'll never know, not when Angel is somewhere else now, hiding from him, not for long though, he will find her eventually and try again... But for now, all he can do is stay hidden and observe, observe the siblings interact and fantasize that one day him and his sister will share the same strong bond...

One day...

. . .

The bell rang, meaning that the final class finished and the kids were free to go home.

(Y/N) is standing outside the school, near the gates where all students were about to come out. They were calmply waiting for their sister to appear, already changing their moody and tired expression for a softer and brighter one so the little girl doesn't worry.

But their happy mask falls off completely when they see their sister exit through the gates. Her eyes and nose had a reddish tone as if she've cried not too long ago, her face was also pale, pale and filled with fear as if she just seen a ghost.

(Y/N) has no time to even formulate a sentence in their mind when their sister suddenly rushed into their arms and let out a muffed sob, one that she've been probably holding back for a while.

Panicked and concerned (Y/N) kneels in front of the girl and gently take one hand into theirs while the other one is wiping the tears sliding down her cheek.

—"(S/N)? My goodness, songbird. What happened?"— you ask, doing your best to keep your tone calm.

The girl hiccups a bit, letting the last couple of sobs out and eventially collecting herself enough to speak.

—"(Y/N)..."— she says in a shaky and tiny voice. —"I think... I-..."—

—"I think I saw the Boogeyman."—

[moniibu]

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA X !DOM FEM ALPHA READER •°. *࿐

things to watch out for: yandere themes, obsessiveness, possessiveness, light stalking

word count: 621

this is a LESBIAN post, so MEN & MEN ALIGNED PEOPLE DNI.

summary: not really a summary but i saw a couple of yandere omega posts and wanted to see a lesbian version. i didn’t really get into the “dom” part but i might make a part 2 idk.

also, requests ARE OPEN !! hope you enjoy ༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA X !DOM FEM ALPHA READER •°. *࿐

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who fell in love with you the moment she laid her eyes on you. you had been running late for work and wanted a quick latte.

you weren’t like the other alphas. she knows her scent is strong and you didn’t bat an eye as she asked you questions about your drink. you didn’t ask her if she had an alpha at home or other questions that made her annoyed and uncomfortable like other costumers do. you simply thanked her and left.

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who now awaits for your arrival. she has memorized the day and time you usually come in and has made sure that she is the only one who’s working the register that day just so she can see you.

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who is ecstatic when she finds out that you two have a shared friend. now she can find out details about you that she may be able to use to get into your good graces.

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who after convincing her friend, finally gets your number! she’s so happy she finally has a way to access you!!

she finally has found out information about you that you have given to her yourself! she’s so happy that you trust her enough to share it with her.

she loves the friendship that she has created with you. she loves the fact that she can now be in your space with your consent rather than having to do it at night. she loves all the inside jokes you two have made, and how close in contact she can be with you!

she loves being your friend, and while she wishes she could take it to the next level and be your omega, she’s happy with what she has. she wouldn’t want for it to be awkward and lose you forever, that’s the last thing she wants!! :(

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who tríes to embody the type of omega you want. you’re exactly her type down to a t, and after finding out that you’re single, she’s desperate for you to pick her out of all the other omegas.

she’s the best omega so please pick her! she can be the perfect housewife for you and will be a wonderful wife. all you have to do is give her the chance, believe me, she’ll take it!!

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who is outraged when she finds out that there’s an omega that you’re talking too. what do you mean there’s someone else? she thought what you two had was special. you’re her alpha, and she’s your omega. she won’t let anyone take it away from her, especially some brat who thinks that they can take her place.

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who begins to stalk you. she begins to follow you home, just so you can be safe. she doesn’t want that other omega to show up, and what better way for that to happen is for her to be in the moment so it doesn’t become real.

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who begins to dote on you and scent you as a claim. you like bringing your own lunch to work? well now you have someone making you bento-like lunches that was obviously made by someone else. you like looking nice as you head into work? she’s here to iron your suit and help you put on your tie before you head out the door, scenting you while she does it.

༄ ‧₊˚ !YAN FEM OMEGA •°. *࿐ who tries to steer you away from other omegas. if you talk about wanting to find love then she’s there to try and convince you not to do it. if you want to go on a date with someone, she’ll try to make them look bad so you don’t go with them. she’s all you need, there’s no need for anyone else but her! if you do manage to find someone who says yes and doesn’t have any bad situations from their past? suddenly they want nothing to do with you and avoid everything and anything you do, text, or say to them.

but don’t worry, there’s an omega waiting for you at home who will gladly comfort you after a failed attempt at love.

༄ ‧₊˚ •°. *࿐ ༄ ‧₊˚ •°. *࿐ ༄ ‧₊˚ •°. *࿐ ༄ ༄ ‧₊˚ •°.

༄ ‧₊˚ •°. *࿐ ༄ ༄ ‧₊˚ •°. *࿐ ༄ ༄ ‧₊˚ •°. *࿐ ༄ ‧₊˚

this idea was made and created by @moniibu all rights are reserved to @moniibu and you are NOT allowed to steal or copy this work.

[avaetin]

@haiseiscute333 @sunshines-child

I have to share this because 🥹:

So, in the Celebrity AU, they get into a trial/fake relationship after that drunken night. After that, Nico agreed, upon Aeon's insistence, that they should practice being a couple. That means getting to know each other. Which means lots of private dates in each other’s houses. And lots of messaging/calling over the phone. Aeon, who never really uses his phone outside of responding to his parents' messages and business matters, suddenly started using it more frequently (cos Nico texts A LOT and sends him a lot of cute or funny posts or relatable ones or things they can try out). Luke, his business partner for most of his businesses, notices this and immediately asks who he's been texting the past few days/weeks that has him obsessively looking over at his phone. Of course, Aeon's answer is a practised "No one in particular" because their 'relationship' is a secret and still under development. Similarly, on Nico's end, there are videos taken of him smiling/grinning at his phone, which leads fans to speculate that he might be in a relationship.

During their dates, they practice a lot on the physical bit, too. Just hand holding, hugging, kisses (never on the lips). It's awkward at first since one of them has never been in a relationship while the other one has been but never in one where his partners are affectionate.

Fast forward after the Oscars where they announced their 'relationship' and soon becoming a real couple, both of them find it easy to date each other in public. They go to fancy restaurants for special occasions, sure, but most of their dates are like eating at McDonalds, cycling (or Aeon teaching Nico) at the park, drive-in movies, etc. basically very normal dates. Because both of them want to experience all of that, normal dates, I mean. And their fans and the paparazzi are eating it all up. There are pictures of Aeon leaning over the console to kiss Nico's lips, videos of them feeding each other at McDonald's, visiting animal shelters during the weekends they're free and taking dogs out for a walk, etc. And people who initially questioned their relationship are now believing its authenticity because they've never seen Nico being public with his relationships, and they can see how he's happy and smitten with his fiance. And also because they can see that it's the same vice versa with Aeon always being affectionate with Nico even in the smallest of gestures, okay bye-

[wuntrum]

Hi I dont really remember your ocs but I really want to meet them! Who is right now on the radar? or maybe who is your fave? can you tell me something about them in a few sentences?

hiii! so there's a couple groups of them:

saints for girls: my fake little emo band, they have the most information publicly available about them: if you check out the blog and take the "which character are you" quiz, they have little descriptions at the end :)

my muses' muse: this is the story of two of my characters, aster blake and lilah medina. aster is a horror-obsessed painter in their late 20s. they're generally pretty anxious, not very talkative, and they don't trust very easily. most of their paintings stem from dreams, most of which are about their own death (very cute, very fun). lilah is a 35* year old multidisciplinary artist, she does a fair amount of painting + printmaking + drawing. she's much more charismatic than aster, but she's EXTREMELY guarded around people, particularly about her past. both of them are very stubborn and nosy about the people around them (though aster hates to admit it; lilah has come to terms with this lol). the two of them meet through an artist residency at the fischer house, named after lewis fischer, a beloved maritime printmaker who disappeared very suddenly one night before his final exhibition, and is presumed dead at this point. also lilah's a vampire <3

signals: jeanne, my beloved <3 she's the main character, very imaginative and sensitive, desperately wants love and affection but doesn't know how to actually get it from the people in her life, so she goes inside her own head instead. she wears headphones constantly for this reason (+ also i think she has pretty bad misophonia), which is how she initially hears God trying to talk to her

nimo, the techxorcist: i haven't actually finished a drawing of them, which is sick and twisted honestly, but they're in an alternate reality sci-fi future where generally society has gone really futuristic, but because of how much companies and governments use the new stuff to monitor and control people, there's a growing population that's gone back to using early internet era tech...which is now super haunted. for whatever reason, nimo can see and commune with the tech ghosts/spirits/demons, and so they travel around doing that! personality wise though theyre pretty standoffish, honestly they don't like people that much generally which is why they're so gravitated toward the tech LOL. they're also very imaginative though, they're able to problemsolve their way out of almost everything. almost nocturnal. very pale because they don't go outside a lot.

it ends with august: this story has been like assembled and taken apart like four times now so i don''t wanna commit to anything super concrete just yet 😭 but, right now, the titular august is an anxious mess to be honest (kind of a theme among my people i guess sldfslfk). he comes from a family of grifters (mainly his dad and grandfather) who fake spiritual and psychic powers and make their money by selling like, self help books and counseling sessions and that sort of thing. august, however, DOES actually have some sort of psychic powers, growing stronger by the day without him doing anything or wanting them (its almost like a parasitic thing, it becomes unclear as to who is actually controlling who). right nowww the actual story "it ends with august" takes place when august is 27, he went to college majoring in english + is now a librarian in a moderately big city, but has to go back to his small coastal home town because of some psychic shenanigans. lucky's also a pretty big part of the story, he reads as a sterotypical jock-y guy on first meeting, but he has a lot more going on. he went to college through a football scholarship, but had a career-ending injury in his senior year, and had to go back to the small town ever since. lucky + august went to school together, and were pretty good friends until Something Happened, after which they became really estranged...but because they both end up back home, they start being in each others orbits again and well...yknow

those are the main ones! i'm working on some others, too, mainly for the graveyard shift, but it's so not concrete at the moment that i can't even rly talk about them yet LOL. my favorites tend to change from month to month, although typing all these descriptions out made me realize how much i miss august and the techxorcist, so i might need to make art for both of them and their stories soon 😭

[cryptidclaw]

RoC Ashfur plot Idea!

Here’s my idea for Ash so far! very much so up for change! 

this is very long so I'm gonna cut it here!

Ash is a very spiteful very obsessive character, his youth was full of horrid things that led to the way he acts and his view of the world. His mother was murdered, and his father was darkstripe, who had little care for his kits, as he only had them to carry on his bloodline. Dark betrayed Thunder Order and did not care that his kits could be harmed by his decisions, nor did he care that their mother was murdered. This deeply effected Ash, and things only got worse when his friends Swift and Bright were mauled by the dogs, and Swift died. Ash was glad to help destroy the dogs, and he never moved past his enjoyment of revenge, nor did he ever move past the rage he felt for what had happened in his youth.

Ash in many ways believed that after everything, he deserved the world, he believed that he should rise in the ranks, he should become a respected cat, he should get a perfect mate, and he should get a perfect life. of course sure, any good cat should get this, but life cant always play out how you want it to.

Ash fell for Squirrelflight, she was the leader’s beautiful daughter who had helped fulfil a prophecy, and he desperately wanted her to be his mate. The he was obsessed with the idea of a perfect family with her, maybe one day he could be leader and she could be his deputy... He ad Squirrel dated for a while (in RoC I've decided that Squilf and Bramble don't date/ become mates until after Bramble quits being deputy) but after a while Squirrel realizes that it just isn't working out/it isn't a good match, and Ash’s ideas for the future aren't what she has in mind, so she breaks up with him. This destroys Ash, it makes him even more spiteful, “how dare she not love me? don't i deserve it??” is his mentality.

Ash, like i said, loves revenge, so when the River Deputy Hawkfost (who had started to speak with and get close to him once Squirrel had broken up with ash) revealed a plan to kill Firestar, Squirrelflight’s father, Ash was happy to help. Hawk could help him get power, and could help him get revenge, due to this Ash's new BFF (maybe boyfriend??) and obsession is Hawkfrost.

The Kill Firestar plan goes well on Ashfur’s end, but Brambleflower is not happy to learn of Hawk’s plan, and the two brothers end up fighting, Hawk is deeply injured and has to run away, allowing Bramble to free Firestar from the trap. Hawkfrost would have died from his injuries if Ash hadnt been there, Ash ran to find him and brought Hawk back to River Order to be healed. Ash had a new cat to hate, Brambleflower, he had betrayed and almost killed his beloved Hawkfrost!

When Ash returned to Thunder Order after saving Hawk, he was faced with seeing Brambleflower renouncing his role as Deputy, refusing to go down a path in pursuit of power. Firestar accepts this and allows Bramble to be a warrior again, he then promotes Ash to Deputy, not knowing of what role he had played in Hawk’s attempt of Fire’s life, and believing him to be a strong willed and moral cat, who his daughter Squirrel had trusted, even if they had not stayed a couple. Ash is overjoyed by this! This is what he deserves, this it the respect he should get! maybe Firestar wasn't killed, but now Ash was deputy instead of Bramble!

Ash’s deputyship lasts for a while, and he continues to be in kahoots with Hawk. Hawk loves that Ash is now deputy, maybe Brambleflower will not be leader, but now he has Ashfur on his side, and Ash is extremely loyal to Hawk and absolutely obsessed with him, so he is easy to use and manipulate.

Hawk becomes leader of River Order probably between the second and third arc, while Ash stays deputy of Thunder. That is until Sandstorm suddenly returns from being assumed dead! Immediately it is assumed that Sand will take back over being deputy, Firestar is overjoyed to have his mate back, and he desperately wants her to be his second again. Ash is enraged, but the Order all believe he should stop being deputy, Sand is an older and just overall better deputy than Ash, and so Ash is practically shoved out of the position. New point to Ashfur’s reasons to go full evil and hate the entire Fire family list.

this is where my plans get a bit more blurry, as I dont have many ideas planned out for Po3..

Ashfur plans with Hawkstar in the background, Hawkstar becomes more and more of a threat, and at this point we don't realize that Ashfur is on his side, he just seems to be a grumpy warrior, who is mad about loosing his deputy position. but Ash helps Hawk in lots of his plans to harm Thunder Order, and eventually Ash and Hawk come up with a plan to start a fire on Thunder’s territory, after which Ash will leave Thunder and become Hawk’s deputy in River Order.

Ash is the one to start the fire, and he is over joyed! At this point he has so much pent up hate and blame towards the entirety of Thunder Order that he feels as though he is finally getting his true deserved vengeance against them. During the fire he finds Squrrelflight and her three children, and he faces off against her, not allowing her and her kits to cross the tree that would allow their escape, he does not want them to survive this. Squirrel screams at him asking why he would do this, and this is when he reveals his whole villain origin story, and we find out that he has been helping Hawkstar the whole time. Ash claims that Squirrel is the one to start this all, she is at fault for the path he went down, and he hates her the most!

Ash is about to attack Squirrel wanting to send her plummeting into the flames, when he remembers something he learned from Hawkstar about the 3.... he realizes that if he drops this bomb he will cause Squirrelflight’s perfect life (that he should have had!) fall apart at the seams! And so instead of attempting to kill Squirrel, he reveals that her kits are not her own but are instead half Order, and not only that, born from medicine cats! at this Squirrelflight leaps at Ash fighting him, and trying to make a way for her kits to escape. they both roll off the fallen tree, Ash plummets into the fire below, while Squirrel hangs onto the tree, she is dragged up by Lionblaze, while Ash burns below.

Ashfur against all odds does not die from this, he escapes and lives out of pure spite. and the next time he is seen, he is now the heavily scarred deputy of River Order. I kinda want him to get a new name after this like Scourchedash or something but idk..

I think I will still have Hollyleaf kill Ash, but im not sure how, maybe in battle??? like i said I haven't figured out Po3 yet so all of this is up for change and such! I haven't even figured out how Sol plays into all this!

[linasofia]

Love Never Dies

Part 4

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Relationship: Father Lorenzo Quart x OC Palmira

Summary: After returning to his hometown, Father Quart comes face to face with his past. His life, as well as the choices he made as a young man, are turned upside down and he is once again forced to make life-changing decisions. But at what cost?

Words: 2,8K

Warnings: 18+ ⚠️ Please don’t read this if the thought of a priest breaking his vow of celibacy might offend you.

A/N: This is the fourth part of this fic. You can read the previous parts here.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass & @lathalea 💙

Palmira haunts him every night, her wild red locks dance around her face with every move she makes and like a siren she calls for him. In his dreams, she offers him to explore all his darkest fantasies, some of them lurking in the back of his brain ever since he was a teenager. Unable to control his mind when the moon slowly wanders over the midnight sky, Father Quart experiences more vivid dreams during a couple of months than most people do in a lifetime. Something was unleashed in him that night he opened the folder containing his mother’s research, and his mind processes it in the most brutal way during the dark hours. The first week he was frightened by his own dreams, but soon enough the fear developed into curiosity and from there it grew to fascination.

During the day, he is a loyal servant of God, but when night falls, sweat soaks his nightshirt as he fights his urges. And Palmira is no longer an innocent fantasy; she has become an obsession. She is not aware of his change of course, for he is too careful to open the door to his heart, and the dreams that follow after each of their meetings in church is something he could never reveal for her. But he is not a blind man. He sees how her gaze lingers on him, slowly turning warm, just as when they were in their youth. As the months pass, their old bond emerges from the shadows in their hearts and Father Quart finds it harder to keep a distance between them. Palmira sometimes places her hand on his forearm as they sit together and it is during one of those moments he wishes things were different. The thought is not a complete shock but it must have shown in his eyes for she looks at him with concern.

”Are you ok?” she asks, unaware of the blood boiling in his veins. He nods in silence and finds himself staring at her lips. She runs the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, and everything suddenly feels very loaded between them. The expectant look in her eyes is something he has not seen since that day after school when she hurt her feet and had to lean on him when they walked home. He was very close to kissing her back then and he still remembers the smell of her shampoo as she whisked away her hair. Now, when the air fills with her perfume as she leans forward, he cannot remember why he did not.

”Lorenzo,” she breathes and the way she speaks his name makes him reach for the back of the pew to discreetly steady himself. He swallows hard as she slowly comes closer. Palmira gives him all the time he needs to stop her. To stand up and walk away. But he cannot move. He cannot think. And he does not want to.

Her lips are soft as silk and her hand feels warm when she gently caresses his cheek. Father Quart does not dare to move, too afraid to break the moment. Their kiss is shy, brief and tender, but when Palmira pulls back, it is with a horrified expression in her eyes.

”I am sorry, I should not have done that.”

Father Quart shakes his head. ”Maybe not, but I do not regret it.”

She smiles at him in a way no woman has ever smiled at him before and it causes him to lose his raging inner battle against his own body. He sneaks his hand under her amber locks and pulls her face closer to his again. This time the shyness between them is gone and the kiss ignites his body like a torch thrown on a pile of dry grass. Emotions suppressed during a lifetime of celibacy explode in his chest, but then he forces himself to break the kiss, using one last sensible thought. He reaches for her hand. ”We cannot continue this here, not now, the risk is too high.” He looks anxiously around the empty church,then back at her. ”I do not want to see you go, but it might be better if you do.” A shadow of confusion falls over her face and he quickly adds; “maybe we can meet later, if you want to return tonight, before I lock the main entrance?” Palmira instantly nods in agreement and her eyes speak of promises that make him shudder with delight.

”See you later,” she whispers as she releases her hand and leaves him breathless on the pew.

During the afternoon, visitors come and go. Some only nod at him but others stay to have deep conversations. The hours appear longer than usual, and Father Quart feels strangely distant. He knows he will not be able to focus on the confessions with the taste of her still on his lips, so he tries to wash the traces away with coffee. When he steps into the confessional, he forces the thought of Palmira’s soft lips out of his mind.

***

The doors between the nave and the vestibule are open and he sees her as soon as he approaches the main entrance. She is standing in front of the mirror with her back against him. Her clothes are different. The tight grey trousers she wore earlier together with a cobalt blue blouse are replaced by a way too thin dress for the season, and the fabric hugs her body in all the right places. It makes her even more irresistible than usual, and Father Quart runs his hand over his jaw. Her coat hangs over the back of one of the chairs placed in the vestibule and her delicate shoulders are only partly covered by a white scarf. That is definitely not a combination suited for a visit to church, but as he takes in the sight of her skin, he realizes that she could not have picked a more sensual outfit. With one hand she tries to get her cascades of hair to fall the way she likes it and he can tell by the way she pulls at her locks that she is nervous. He smiles, she is not the only one. Without a word he glides up beside her and when he says her name in a hushed voice, she jumps and turns around to face him.

”Lorenzo, you scared me. I did not see you in the mirror.”

”Perhaps you were not looking.”

She smiles at him. ”It does not matter. I see you now.”

“Give me a minute to lock this place. It is time.”

She smiles at him and the urge to kiss her is overwhelming, but he resists and turns his attention to the heavy oak door and the key in his hand. When the task is done, he slowly walks towards her.

”I have to admit, I was not sure you were coming back,” he mumbles when he stops, careful to not overstep her personal space. Her smile makes his heart skip several beats and when she closes the distance between them, he welcomes her in his arms.

”You are not being serious now, are you?” She wraps her arms around his neck and with a soft moan she presses her lips against his. He is about to answer her, but she slips her tongue between his lips and the thought is lost in the sensation of her exploration of his mouth. She runs her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck and he tightens his grip around her. Her tongue caresses his and invites him to kiss her deeper, more hungrily. The scarf falls down on the floor, exposing more of her skin to him and when the intensity of their kiss has them both gasping for air, he takes the opportunity to move on to kiss the skin on her shoulder.

Her breathing guides him and when she lets out a soft moan and shivers under his lips, he knows he has found a sensitive spot at the crook of her neck. Spurred by her noises, he peppers the freckled skin with kisses and she tilts her head to the side in an approving gesture. Using only the tip of his tongue, he teases her and Palmira moans longingly. She tastes wonderful, sweet and salty at the same time, but something dark stirs in his chest when he senses her pulse through the thin skin on her neck. He ignores it, too aroused by her scent and smell, and continues to let his tongue dance over her neck. The throbbing in his lower body grows impatiently and when Palmira suddenly slips a daring hand between their bodies and gently strokes him through his trousers, he truly understands the word lust. It builds rapidly in him and when he meets her burning gaze, it explodes under his skin.

Unable to stop himself he forces her against the wall and she whimpers when he presses his body against hers. He wants her, no, he needs her, as he has never needed anything or anybody else before. The unspeakable thoughts he used to spend so much time controlling now thunder in his ears. He can hear the frenetic beating of her heart, and when he licks the side of her neck, he feels a sharp sting in his mouth. The dark voice in his head no longer whispers only about the sweet forbidden place between Palmira’s thighs, it also speaks of the immense pleasure that can be found under her skin. If he takes both, nothing will be the same.

Tentatively, he pulls his teeth along her neck and she gasps. In what seems to be pure pleasure, she pleads his name and tries to grind against his thigh. Her revealing dress hinders her and she lets out a frustrated sigh before reaching for the hem. With a radiant smile she pulls it up, allowing him to push his knee between her legs. The warmth he feels through the layers of fabric makes him feral. No wonder he was taught it was the work of the devil when he was young, her incredible heat is more irresistible than he could ever imagine. With a steady grip on her waist, he pulls her harshly against his thigh and once again he is rewarded with her desperate pleading for more.

She fumbles with his belt while she lets her head fall against his shoulder.

”Palmira,” he groans as he rests his hand on the rough wall above her. She lifts her head and meets his hazy gaze and then slowly slides her hand under the fabric of his boxers. When her fingers gently wrap around his throbbing hardness the last of his coherent thoughts are lost. She strokes him teasingly, and in her eyes, he reads a satisfaction so grand he almost does not believe it. Her sensual lips find their way back to his and while her fingers caress him in a way that makes him see stars, her tongue plays a naughty game. Suddenly she pulls her hand away but his protest is silenced by her seductive smile.

”I want to taste you.”

Father Quart swallows hard. He has dreamt about what she now offers more times than he can count, and when she drops to her knees in front of him, he closes his eyes. He can feel her pulling his boxers further down and revealing his state to her. The darkness inside him waits patiently for her next move and suddenly he is afraid to disappoint her.

”Palmira, I—” She interrupts him by closing her lips around the top of his hard shaft and, totally unprepared for the feeling, he pulls in air between his teeth. Briefly, he recalls the first time he fantasized about looking down at her as he does now. He was in his late teenage years, and she was too innocent to be practicing what she now seems to fully enjoy doing.

She takes her time with him, pulls him closer, builds his burning desperation and teases him beyond the border of sanity. He buries his fingers in her fiery locks, and when she moans softly over him, sending vibrations down his shaft, he lets out a rare curse. He is so close, all he needs is for her to go a little deeper, a little harder. As if she can hear his thoughts, she intensifies her divine treatment. His voice feels raspy when he speaks.

“I will not last if you continue doing that.” His grip on her locks tightens when she grabs his thighs and urges him to rock his hips against her. “Palmira, I mean it.”

He groans loudly as he feels his groin tense. She makes no attempt to stop the inevitable and, torn between the need to finish and the desire to keep going, he eventually succumbs to the pleasure between her red lips. With a steady grip on her hair, he lets his feral side lead him to his climax.

Father Quart has to steady himself against the wall as Palmira rises to her feet with a mischievous smile on her angelic lips. Unable to find the right words, he lets his fingertips do it for him. Gently, he caresses her cheek and sneaks his hand around her neck to pull her closer. Palmira wraps her slender arms around him and their embrace feels more intimate than ever before. He breathes in her wonderful unique scent, her fresh, slightly flowery perfume, the alluring sweet smell of her arousal and the faint trace of him left on her. A less sensitive nose would easily have missed all the different smells, but Father Quart maps them in his memory.

Suddenly the moment is disturbed by the vibrations from the phone in his pocket. Tempted to ignore it, he let his tongue dance around hers again but then he remembers the time and that nobody except two people call him at this hour. Neither of them can be ignored. He pulls out his phone with an apologetic smile. The display announces a call from Dr Moretti. With a frown on his face he turns his gaze to Palmira. “I have to take this. I am sorry.”

“I should go. We can talk tomorrow, perhaps?”

He nods. It might be best since he has no idea what the good doctor wants.

“Let me out.” She nods at the door while he answers and the friendly voice of his mother’s doctor seeps from the speaker. He hurries to the door and unlocks it. While she puts on her coat and slips out in the dark he tries to focus on his call and not on what is left of her taste in his mouth, the evidence of their sinful encounter.

***

The color has returned to his mother’s cheeks; he notices the positive change as soon as he steps up to her bed. Her eyes seem brighter than the previous days and her smile lighter, as if a weight has been lifted from her chest. He smiles at her and she reaches for his hand as soon as he sits down in the old, creaky armchair. Her doctor had called him to ask if he knew what could have made such a sudden change in her health condition. Without revealing too much, Father Quart had told him that they had cleared the air regarding things from his childhood and he suspected that it made his mother feel more at ease.

“You look different… more relaxed.” His mother’s loving eyes rest on him. The memory of Palmira on her knees comes to his mind but he refuses to let her magnificent skills distract him now.

“It is because you look less troubled today, mother. Have you slept well?”

She nods and it fills his heart with love. He holds up a small paper bag with the city’s well known bakery’s logo on it.

“Lorenzo,” she chuckles softly, “you are spoiling me.”

He beams at her. “Nonsense. Coffee or just some still water?”

“I think I will try coffee today. My body is filled with more energy than it has been for a long time. But I prefer to sit on the sofa. Let us enjoy whatever sweets you brought there, it feels more civilized.”

Hours later, alone in his apartment, Father Quart gets ready for bed. The evening at his mother went by fast, as it does when you are having a pleasant time, and his mother even challenged him to a game of cards. He managed to keep the thoughts of Palmira at bay for most of the evening and it is not until now, when he lies in bed, that he welcomes the thoughts again. Only this time, he has a real memory to build his fantasy around, far better than anything his own brain could come up with.

Her name is the only word he lets out when his ragged breathing peaks and the work of his hand helps his tense body to relax.

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[vewyscawy]

Fiddle My Sticks

Pairing: Fiddlesticks x f!reader

Wordcount: 2862

Tags: Biting, marking, a bit of cumflation, tentacle dicks(!)

Summary: Rumours start circulating that you wouldn't mind getting down and dirty with a Champion, and you catch the eye of a specific champ you never thought would have any interest in you whatsoever.

After Shaco and Nocturne there is very little that could still scare you, but Fiddlesticks sure can.  

(don’t remember where I got the picture from, but I will add the creator as soon as I found it again)

It had started circulating. The rumours that you wouldn't mind getting down and dirty with a Champion. You realized that while you thought no one was around, you were still in a very public place both times you had sex with one of them, so it was easy to realize how said rumours came to be. Some Champions had started looking at you slightly different, as if they hadn't realized something about you before now. Honestly you didn't care. You were past the point of making yourself believe that you didn't want to have good, sweaty sex with most of them, and this would make it easier to see if they were interested in that idea as well.

Surprise, confusion, intrigue... lust?

There was a lot you felt all at once when you realized that a specific Champion you didn't think would have any interest at all seemed to suddenly show intrigue in you. Oh, this was weird. Both the situation, but more your sudden curiosity that you couldn't seem to shake. You found yourself fantasizing and wondering about the 'how even'. Eyes lingering on the creature more often than not, you realized you'd become slightly obsessed with the thought of being fucked by Fiddlesticks.

FIDDLESTICKS!

Well, it was clear as day now; you were a monsterfucker, and somehow completely okay with the thought as well. You wanted to see how the ancient scarecrow monster would possibly go about fucking you, and you were absolutely not turned off or scared by the idea as well.

Nocturne had made you realize that being scared could be a very arousing situation, so the slight hint of fear you'd always feel when Fiddle was close by was suddenly no longer a reason to stay away.

-

Fiddlesticks was a strange creature. The ancient horror very much seemed to play favourites, and those it deemed 'fun', or 'cute' or whatever it was it classified his favourites in, were then "blessed" with its constant presence looming nearby. You realized his new favourite was you. Despite being a creature of horror and fear, to Summoners the scarecrow was strangely docile. It was as if it had nothing to gain with scaring Summoners, so it didn't even attempt to (unlike Nocturne, who seemed to do his very best to scare the shit out of them, even though he couldn't actually hurt a Summoner). You being Fiddlesticks' favourite had turned the being from a deceptively docile scarecrow into something more akin to a puppy. Or in his case more like a loyal guard dog, scaring away others with its presence, and making it almost the only one that was around you for the last couple of days.

An ancient eldritch horror, that spoke in short sentences it stole from others, acting like an overexcited puppy at your attention sometimes because you were its favourite, and seemed strangely obsessed with your body after the rumours? Somehow very sexy.

Absentmindedly putting your hand on its large, metal teeth filled maw you didn't realize it came closer and closer out of the corner it had loomed out of before.

"Small, small, tiny-" it rasped, voice fluctuating between rough and high, and low and wheezing. "Such a small little mortal. So soft, so delicious."

Ah, there it was.

It seemed it was in one of its moods again, where it suddenly seemed to realize its interest in you and needed to tell you about how small and fragile you were next to it. Because you both realized how much you liked that fact, and every time it told you that it seemed it would get closer, and the air would be tenser around you both, and every time it would lean back after opening its large drooling maw, seemingly wanting to bite into you, only to give you a pat on the head with one of its ghostly hands and retreat back into standing ominously in its corner with a different stolen voiced chuckle when saw your disappointed face.

You felt the shiver through you when its feral sounding voice mentioned your smallness once again, its claws moving around you, but never touching, sometimes twitching in anticipation. This time you wish it wouldn't pull away. You wanted it to finish what it started with this. Drool hit your shoulder, as its large black tongue slowly lolled out of its mouth. Shit, that was hot, even though it shouldn't be.

Even if this large bastard didn't have a dick to fuck you with at least you knew it had a loooooong tongue to please you with.

You grinned up at it, grabbing the cage that made up its torso, and pulled it in. Its erratic movement made you flinch back a little, but your fearlessness and lust took over as you slowly brought your face close to its and planted a kiss against the jagged metal teeth. Before you could pull away its tongue had licked a long, wet stripe over your neck and lips, making you giggle a bit and push at its face.

A high pitched giggle came from the creature, as you were suddenly pushed against the wall.

"Squishy, delicious mortal. Mine now. Gonna DEVOUR you WHOLE."

A shiver went down your spine at its last words, fear gripping you. Ah, this was a sexy but very dangerous game you were playing. Once again you knew it couldn't technically hurt you, but what you knew and what your instincts were telling you were two different things, and your instincts were telling you to run.

Crow like shapes seemed to appear from black that was seeping down from its body, not yet escaping, but twitching beneath the surface. You realized that Fiddlesticks, the ancient fear, was tense. Holding itself back from whatever it was it wanted to do to you.

"Let's get somewhere comfortable," you said, feeling weird about saying something like that to the scarecrow, but last times were in public and you wanted to be somewhere more private if anything were to happen.

You hoped it would, somehow. With a shy hand you lead the creature to your room, seeing how it hobbled behind you, chirping and making strange unearthly sounds as it let you lead. It's tongue came out, black and dripping, curling around your arm, making you shiver despite the fact you shouldn't be okay with that, or god forbid- turned on by it. Cooing in a strange voice came from it, metal arms coming up to cradle your waist as you took the steps towards your room. A deep sigh of relief escaped you as you stepped over the threshold of your private room, but before you could get your bearings the scarecrow had you up against the door that slammed shut with your weight.

"Youuuuuuu..." its strange voice hissed, as its clawed metal arms dug into the door beside your head, making the wood groan and splinter. "Mine."

Well, for now for sure. Not sure about the future...

"Make me," was your cheeky reply, grinning up at the creature, trying to ignore the wood splintering and groaning next to your ears. It was threatening for sure, but you found its feral, barely held together behaviour over having you absolutely arousing. A stolen giggle, the door actually broke next to your head, and you flinched. Fiddlesticks giant maw opened wide, drool dripping down its teeth, hitting you as its tongue lolled out. It moved forward, closing its maw around your shoulder, and you saw your life flash before your eyes in all its dramatic glory.

Well, that was it. You survived Shaco and Nocturne, but Fiddlesticks was still a bridge too far. Blaming your stupid horny body, it took you a second to realize you had yet to feel any pain. The only thing you felt was a slightly tight grip as its tongue ran across your neck in a gentle, but insistent motion, mapping out your skin for it to remember. Opening your eyes that you had squinted shut a second before your eyes made contact with multiple blinking red eyes opening and closing in an inky blackness that had now seeped outwards from his body.

You felt something crawl up your legs, but you couldn't look down, pinned by Fiddle's very VERY sharp teeth.

"Soft, sweet, gentle," it rasped, as it slightly added some pressure to its bite. It wasn't enough to take a chunk out of your shoulder, but by now it was enough to draw blood, marking you for everyone to see. Thankfully it was just pinpricks in the shape of his maw, and not anything much deeper. You groaned, trying to stay calm, but a slight, soft touch at your abdomen made sure you stayed still for it to mark you. Your eyes now caught a glimpse of black, slowly moving over your abdomen and lower to your pussy where you needed its touch most. It felt like strange tendrils, presumably made from the black material that seemed to be seeping out from its iron skeleton. Its real self you supposed, as you realized the tendrils moved lower as its maw was still around your entire shoulder, coming up to your breast. You had a nice bite mark that was uncoverable due to its size, but Fiddle didn't want to let go just yet, so you didn't push it. The movement on your lower belly moved lower, inching itself into your pants, and you gasped. A rumbling sound came from Fiddlesticks, and you realized with a gasp that it sounded like he was purring.

It was biting you, feeling you up from top to bottom and purring. Your mind was already on the clouds, up, up high where nothing could touch you, and you decided you hug its large head to yourself. The teeth dug in a little deeper, but the purring and the movement on your body grew more insistent, and you were happy with the outcome. It seemed Fiddlesticks wanted your touch about as much as you wanted it to touch you as well.

"F-fiddle," you gasped, as the tendrils found their way into your panties, moving teasingly over your outer lips, slowly getting closer and closer to their goal. You groaned as Fiddle made an appreciative sounding groan, pushing even closer to you as you accepted its touch. Your fingers mapped through its fabric covering, pulling and tearing at it, trying to get it to get closer and closer. You wanted it inside you, though you were unsure if it was able to.

You needed it, that was clear.

"Not gonna hurt youuuuu-" he gasped out in a strange raspy voice, as you felt your pants being pulled down your legs, the tendrils wasting no time exploring the outside lips of your cunt. Shit, that felt good. You rubbed yourself against the tendrils that you still couldn't really see, but they were coming from Fiddlesticks so you were sure they only promised pleasure for today.

And pleasure they delivered as they inched their way inside of you, both of you groaning at the insertion. You realized at its reaction the tendrils were a lot more sensitive than just its arms, and maybe, possibly, they were the equivalent to its dick. Or something like that, considering you definitely felt multiple tendrils both entering you and rubbing against you at the same time.

"Yes, harder," you mewled, bucking against him. "Take me, make me yours..."

"Mine," it repeated as if it was a mantra, as it pulled your lower body away from the door, and closer to the tendrils that pushed inside you further and further. You moaned at the intrusion, and let yourself be manhandled. Its tendrils, dick or whatever it was, felt so good. You wanted more.

"Harder, Fiddle, put it all in."

It purred, but after you said that it growled, as if unhappy with the challenge you presented.

"Greeeeeedy. Take what I give." it said, seemingly irritated, growling against your neck, since its maw was still attached there as if it was a lifeline. Its long tongue was unceasing in its mapping of your skin, inching its way under your outfit, until the scarecrow became impatient.

"Off." was all it said as it finally released you, all of it moving away from you, leaving you empty. "All... off, now. Show all. Soft. Mine. Take."

You quickly stripped of all you wore, standing before the eldritch horror with nothing to protect you from its hungry gaze. And its gaze was ravenous, devouring you whole. A promise for what it was gonna do to you hung in the air, making you shiver and rub your legs together.

"Soooooft. Squishy. Delicious...." it babbled with a raspy voice, as it was once again upon you, pushing you against the wall now, that was much less likely to break under its metal claws that once again found their way next to your head. Shadowy arms emerged from its shadowy body, red eyes opening and closing as Fiddle seemed to lose control over its form, too eager to touch and be inside. The tendrils found your core once again, pushing in harder this time, and now you could actually see them in all their glory.

You were right when you thought there were multiple. After Shaco and Noct you should have been used to strange looking cocks, but Fiddle's was once again in a different league.

Not one, but multiple shadowy writhing tentacles came from its crotch area, seeking your warmth and trying to enter you all at once, black ooze dripping from them and smearing on your skin.

"Ahh, shiiiiit," you moaned at the sight, and Fiddlesticks made a strange growling chittering sound as he finally pushed in all the way, enjoying your tight, wet heat. "Yess, that's it..." He started an uneven rhythm, sporadically pulling and pushing, twitching and throbbing inside of you. There was no way you could keep up with its pace, it was random and harsh, leaving you to the mercy of the beast taking you.

Your ears were hit with "soft", "warm" and "wet" as it kept you on the edge of cumming. "Devour you whole." made you moan, grabbing its large head and planting kissed on it from top to bottem as multiple tendrils took you roughly.

You were glad it wasn't taking you against the door anymore, because you were sure it wouldn't have survived the onslaught. It was damaged already, and with the way you were pushed and slammed into the wall in an uneven pattern the door would have given way, throwing you out onto the hallway and any unsuspecting bystander. Though with the loud sounds the both of you were producing any bystander that was wandering the hallway near your room would not be so innocent anymore.

You hissed and drooled, trying to keep up with the Ancient Fear, but the pace was just too haphazard, like the movements of the rest of its limbs. Suddenly you were brought over the edge as Fiddlesticks licked a long stripe from your clit to your chin, tongue long enough for him to not have to bend down to taste all of you.

"Tasty mortal," it said, and shuddered at your loud orgasm, "Very good." A growl and a hiss, and you were turned around, its tendrils never leaving you. It continued its pace, now pushing your front into the wall, you trying your best not to hit your face against the hard surface. "Think you can take all, little one, think you can take all?" it rasped in your ear, that was instantly assaulted by its long tongue after it was done asking you the question, and you could only moan in response, already so very close to your second orgasm.

"Then TAKE IT." it rasped, voice aggressive and growling as you were practically squashed against the wall, and you felt the tentacles inside you swell and throb, rubbing against each other and your walls, before it came with a howl, maw open wide and shadows bleeding from every orifice, creating a horrifying image if you were able to see it from your position. Eyes were all over its black writhing body. Red, intense, and rolling back all at once as it pumped you full of its cum.

"Yessssssssss," came its hiss, taking minutes before it seemed to be entirely spend. Black, thick cum rolled all over your legs, and it was so warm. You shivered and shuddered as you felt yourself heat up. Your stomach felt bloated, its load was excessive.

A shadowy hand ran over your stomach, rubbing over it as you groaned at the feeling in your core.

It pulled out, grabbing and lifting you, and throwing you on the bed without any exertion. Cum gushed out of you as you hit the bed, and bounced once before Fiddlesticks was on you, multiple arms holding your limbs as its metal face seemed as pleased as could be.

"Good girl," it rasped, long tongue licking its chops before it instantly dove down to your hole that was still gushing its spunk. With languid stripes it licked you clean, taking its time to make you come again and again until you begged for relief.

"Think you can take another one?"

Well, you were getting used to rounds that lasted all night...