the gang's all here!!! my designs for the dreamtonics masc voicebanks based off of their logos, names, voices, and various archetypes of music student i encountered during college lol. feel free to use these for non-commercial purposes, just credit and link back to me!

KEVIN: the energetic theater kid who drags his buddies to dennys at 3am after a show. do NOT hand him the aux cable

RYO: the goth band kid who's teaching himself guitar but his main instrument is clarinet. do not hand him the aux cable either but for completely different reasons

MO CHEN: the wannabe composer who makes the music history exam study guides that everyone else mooches off of. has 400 hours in elden ring

AN XIAO: the popular choir kid who plays multiple sports and has constant scheduling issues. his major is "undeclared"

the same magic touch

happiest belated birthday to @patrickbrewsky! one day i’ll finish the AU you deserve but for today i can give you this, inspired by a conversation we had a while back ❤️️(ps: it’s also on ao3)

“Why are you throwing that sweater out?”

Patrick looks up from the bin, fabric in hand. He feels caught out somehow, but he’s not sure why. “It has a hole in it?”

David stares him down from his spot by the bathroom door. “Why are you ripping holes in your best sweater?”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Patrick protests. “It was totally innocent.”

“Hand it over.” David crosses Patrick’s apartment, narrowly missing clipping the bed with his knee, limbs akimbo the way they always are this early in the morning. Patrick lets David take the sweater from him, perhaps to say a fond farewell, and turns to start David’s coffee. He didn’t know David liked this sweater best; David’s peeled it off of him more than once, but that’s true of most of his shirts at this point.

For some reason, David folds the sweater and puts it in his bag instead of the trash where it belongs. “What are you going to do with that?”

David looks at him like he’s being difficult. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re trying to clone me, that sweater got ripped in the wash so you’ll want something less fresh.” Patrick grabs for the cocoa powder he keeps in his cupboard and that David still won’t look directly at.

“Why would I clone you before they let me edit out your sense of humor?”

“You love my sense of humor.”

David is scrolling through something on his phone now, clearly past the sweater conversation, but he looks up and smiles when Patrick slides his coffee across the counter. “I have very intentionally never said that.”

“Just like how you’re not saying what you’re going to do with my—”

“The tear is on the seam.” David shrugs and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose in the way that means he tastes the cocoa but will not be commenting on it at this time. “It’ll take, like, five minutes to fix.”

“And you know someone who’s willing to do that? Because the only person I can think of is Jocelyn, and I know you two have that begrudging acceptance thing going but I don’t think it extends to me.”

“She likes you too, you know. She told me last week that you were the best Emcee they could have cast.”

“That’s very sweet.” Patrick tilts his head. “But I don’t know there were any other contenders, so it probably sounds better than it is.” But they’re getting off topic now. “Wait, no. Who’s fixing this sweater?”

“I’m fixing the sweater.” David grabs his bag and sets the mug in the sink. “Should we go? We’re going to open late otherwise.”

David’s concern for keeping normal opening hours more than anything else tells Patrick that he’s missing something. Still: “You’re going to fix it.”

“That is correct.” David sighs. “Can we please go? If you wait much longer I’ll lose all this energy and then you’ll have to open by yourself.”

Patrick rolls his lips in and bites down. “How many sweaters have you mended, exactly? Because you talked for an hour once about all the cashmere sweaters you lost to moths.”

“Cashmere is different. Anyway, I’m not, like, totally helpless,” David says. “I went to art school.”

Patrick privately thinks that the sentence might be an oxymoron, but he can acknowledge his own bias here. He took a pottery class in college as his “understanding art” elective; he and his fellow business majors had a lot to say about the cost of equipment and the annoyance of waiting around for the clay to bake. And then after all of that, his glaze was cracked and uneven. “Do they teach stitching there? Like, a whole class?”

“Mm.” David’s mouth is a thin line. “Right after the Etch-A-Sketch one.”

Patrick may have overshot it. “That didn’t—”

“Go to the store. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Patrick sets the spare key on the counter and elects to retreat.

***

“This is earlier than I was expecting to see you.”

David makes a beeline for the macchiato Patrick set in a prominent place on the counter in a spot near the door. He didn’t want David to miss it. “I said an hour.”

The teasing is right there; Patrick has to consciously push down countless other times where David has wildly miscalculated his arrival time. Instead, he takes a breath and prepares for a real apology. They’re a new thing for the two of them—after his parents came to town, Patrick’s been making communication a priority. It’s mostly his idea, but it was spurred on by some...gentle suggestion from Stevie. He doesn’t want to keep falling back into old habits, and he’s not going to put the burden on David to keep him accountable.

But David has not been exceptionally amenable to this new strategy. “Stop,” he says once he’s taken a drink and turned to look at Patrick. “Enough. Thank you for the coffee.”

He drops a kiss on Patrick’s cheek and continues on to the back room. Patrick entertains the idea of following him, but the bell above the door chimes again and he pushes down the conversation they need to have. Not forever, he tells himself sternly. Just until closing. Or lunch, if he can rig them a break.

But it’s Ronnie crossing the threshold, so maybe they do need to finish their relationship discussion. Maybe close the store for the day, or something.

“Ronnie!” Patrick winces at the enthusiasm he can hear in his own voice. David keeps saying that he’s forcing it, which might be valid. “What are you looking for today?”

Ronnie lifts her chin but doesn’t make eye contact. “David here?”

Still trying too hard, then. “He’s in the back. I’ll get him.”

Apparently he heard them, because David’s already peeking out. “Sorry about that, Ronnie. Back for that cheese or is it something else?”

Ronnie lets David curate a cheese plate for her next Women in Business meeting and suggest some wine pairings; Patrick bites back his own opinions to the best of his ability. Or, he does after Ronnie pointedly sets the chardonnay back on the shelf after he says it’s his favorite.

David rings her up and sees her off, and Patrick opens his mouth again to take advantage of a lull. Then the phone rings.

“Can you take that?” David asks. “I want to figure out what we need for that greeting card workshop next month. Jo likes it when we order with at least three weeks’ notice, and they gave us that frame for the poster last time as a thank you so I don’t want to—”

Patrick waves him off before the phone goes to voicemail. “I got it.”

Fortunately for their stocking schedule, it’s Brenda. They’ve been running low on the moisturizer she’s trying out recently, and they need to get more on the shelf as soon as she has it ready. Unfortunately for him, Brenda called seeking opinions about her new combination skin formula and the essential oil blend. David informed Patrick early on that he had combination skin, but Patrick senses that Brenda will not find this information useful. He bides his time and lets Brenda talk until David catches on to his frantic gestures.

They don't teach this in business school. He lets his eyes drift from David's face (a struggle, sometimes) to the bag at his boyfriend's feet. They don't teach a lot of things in business school.

Patrick passes off the phone and greets the next customers, who thankfully do not have any qualms about his personality. Then he checks the stock spreadsheet. They’re getting low on sweaters and socks after the cold snap last week, so he flags the vendors for David to email and sets about filling in the blank spots on the shelves after a busy morning.

The sound of David’s voice soothes Patrick’s nerves even more than the playlist he and David made together in a process that started adversarial (“Smooth jazz? Why not just get a Muzak?” “People shop in those stores too, David.”) and turned playful after they decided on a one-for-one system. Patrick’s alt-folk mixes surprisingly seamlessly with the Whitneys and Mariahs David added. Even the Counting Crows Patrick put on the list just to be contrary fits, in a way.

“Everything okay with Brenda?” Patrick asks after David drops the phone back into his holder. “Are you going to put a new cleanser in my bathroom soon?”

“I don’t see why those two things are necessarily related,” David says, “but yes to both.”

“Good to know.” They might be able to flip the sign for lunch if they’re quick; clouds are gathering in the sky outside in a way that spells a dreary afternoon. “Want me to pick us up something?”

Patrick heads for the door at David’s nod of assent. Even though they haven’t talked about it, he still feels like he’s making up for something. Hopefully that will change. He’s jumping into this new talking strategy with both feet, and he just hopes that David will catch him.

Silly, he thinks as he crosses the street. David has never once let him fall.

Twyla greets him with a sunny smile and asks if they want their usual. For him, a burger is pretty standard, but David keeps vacillating between different soups, sandwiches, and salads. It’s a caesar salad day today; though Patrick would love to read into David’s mood from his choice, he knows better than that by now. David just does what he wants sometimes. As for Patrick, he’s mostly just happy that David is limiting the chance that he won’t like his food. He worked through the international section of the menu last week and spent three afternoons in a row cranky due to hunger and the continual failure of the café to meet his admittedly unrealistic expectations. He does add a cookie, because communication is great and all but it’s always good to have an insurance policy if things go south.

Back at the store, David’s handing over a Rose Apothecary tote to Roland and he’s not even grimacing. Much. There’s definite relief in his eyes when Patrick holds the door for Roland, though. It’s quickly replaced by confusion when Patrick flips the sign.

“I thought we could eat lunch together?” Patrick resists the urge to kick at the ground like a teenager, but it’s there. “We haven’t had much time to just...see each other. Today.”

“I saw plenty of you this morning.” David raises an eyebrow suggestively.

Patrick fights his easy blush; that’s beside the point. “That’s not—”

“You know I never complain about seeing you,” David continues. “But Roland said Jocelyn is going to stop by later, so we’ll have to keep an eye out.”

Patrick thinks Jocelyn can probably wait, but he keeps that to himself. He waits until they’re settled on the couch with David’s left thigh pressing against his right and David can’t talk past his mouthful of lettuce before he broaches the topic. “I did want to talk about this morning.”

David’s eyes widen as he chews, but he does look a little less frantic than he would months or even a year ago if Patrick said something similar.

While David can’t cut him off, Patrick presses his advantage. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you’re helpless. I don’t think you’re helpless.”

David rolls his eyes, but there’s something tight around his mouth that tells Patrick he has to do a little more here. He swallows, so Patrick hurries to finish his thought.

“I think you’re...you do a lot that I don’t do.”

“And you do a lot I don’t do.”

“I don’t think—no, I know, I know I don’t think about that enough.”

Something suspicious dissipates from David’s face. “Is this your whole talking thing again?”

“I don’t have a whole talking thing,” Patrick protests.

“You’ve had a whole talking thing for weeks now. Do you want me to run through all of my skills, or is it sufficient to just say that we’re okay?”

Patrick definitely had prepared to run through all of David’s skills, but he elects to save that for another time. Maybe tonight, when he has more ability to keep David in one place until he’s finished saying what he wants to say. “It’s enough. For now.”

“Threatening me with conversation.” David shakes his head. But he doesn’t take another bite, so he’s at least somewhat worried that Patrick will drop all of his feelings right this moment.

“You can eat, David.”

David lifts his fork cautiously.

So Patrick has no choice, really. “I love you.”

Patrick wants to frame the look David gives him, cheeks slightly bulging and eyes furious and generally perfect.

They unlock the front door in time to catch Jocelyn, and Patrick finds himself still cataloguing David’s competencies for the rest of the day. That night, Patrick sees his sweater, repaired and neatly folded in the way that David says limits wrinkles, hidden in his drawer under a college sweatshirt. It looks as good as new. “Thanks for the sweater.”

“Well, the cloning people were unhelpful. Said I’d have to keep all of you if I went for a new one, and I don’t have the constitution to be mocked twice as often.”

Patrick can’t let it go without saying something, though. “David. Thank you.” That should cover his whole talking thing for now. David still looks at him like he’s a too-large shipment that won’t fit in the planned display. Back to teasing, then. “You know, I had a thought.” Patrick affects his most guileless expression as he slides into bed next to his boyfriend. David’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Since you’re so good at this, and you went to art school and all, maybe you can help with costumes for Cabaret.”

Patrick enjoys the horrified look that blooms across David’s face probably too much. “I’m suddenly feeling very helpless.”

“Could be worse,” Patrick says. “At least there’s only one of me to deal with.”

Forgive me for what I'm about to type, but... A college AU where Mirio is volunteered in an art class to pose as a nude model, probably because of his quirk and that he has NO SHAME LEFT in his body. But then he finds out that his fem crush, is going to be the one drawing him. He's been given total artistic freedom, so his poses shift from being dramatic or silly to being more... sensual, the longer he's there. Not really NSFW, just... really suggestive. With some fluff, because it is MIRIO here

[ I fully believe Mirio has no shame when it comes to being nude, not that I’m complaining. Haha. ] 

“Hm?” his eyebrows raised in surprise. “An art class?” he questioned and you nodded, though you decided you weren’t going to tell him that you were one of the artists in the class. Believing that if you did, he would refuse what you were about to ask. “Yeah and I know that ...some of the students in the class are …” you tapped your chin, trying to think of the right word to use, “struggling with finding creative ways to project their art and some of them were talking about using a model.” his eyes lit up. “A model?!” there was clear excitement in his voice.

You chuckled, “Yes, a model. But there’s a catch …” you said and he tilted his head, “What’s the catch? Doesn’t matter to me, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help others!” he declared as he pointed at himself and you nodded, “Yes, I know.” you said before taking a deep breath. You were a little nervous to tell him, but you had promised you would get Mirio to be the nude model for your art class. “Um …” you felt your cheeks flush and you reached up to play with a piece of your hair, wrapping a strand around your finger. “Well ...um, given your quirk and ...the fact that you um, are more used to uh, feeling the breeze between your legs.” you used air quotations when you said the word “breeze” before continuing. 

“The art class thought you’d make the perfect nude model and I know that’s weird to ask,” you saw his confused expression. “But it would help the students so much, so please ...will you at least try?” you questioned, your hands folding together and a pout on your lips. Truthfully, the adorable way you looked made his heart race. He happened to like you a lot and he couldn’t really refuse your request, what kind of person would he be if he didn’t help you out? So, he smiled and pulled you close. “I’d love to! After all, it’ll help those art students right?” you chuckled, feeling your cheeks warm up.

“Oh yeah! I’ll owe you big time for this Mirio,” you said and he laughed before releasing you. “No need to owe me anything, I’m just happy to help. When is the first class?” he questioned and you thought for a moment, “It’s at 5 PM tonight. It lasts for about two hours. You still up for it?” you questioned and watched him smile, “You bet!” he said, giving a thumbs up which made you laugh. “Well thanks, this college wouldn’t be the same without you!” After all, it wasn’t every day a great hero like Mirio walked through the halls and to be so kind and amazing on top of that. It was a win-win.

You walked away, your heart racing as you thought about the art class and how Mirio would react when he saw you or how you’d react when you saw him. But you knew that was silly, this was Mirio here. There was no reason to be ashamed or even possibly aroused in the name of art, right? Guess you’d find out. When 5 PM came around, you gathered your art supplies and left your dorm. Your art class wasn’t required, it was more like a club activity after school and you were happy that you could unleash your creativity somehow. When you walked into the classroom, you could hear the chatter between the art students.

Most of them seemed to be flaunting over Mirio and you turned your head, your heart nearly stopping as you saw him in all his nude glory. But he didn’t seem ashamed, in fact, he had a smile on his face as he stood there. Deciding to strike a more heroic pose and your eyes couldn’t help but scan every inch of his body, without those clothes you could see every bit of muscle he had. The curves of his body and even the small bushel of hair that rested just above his V-line. It matched the exact color of his hair and you hadn’t realized your jaw was dropped until Mirio jumped, surprised to see you.

“Oh wow …” he said before dropping his pose, the class hadn’t started yet so he walked over to you. “I didn’t know you were an artist, y/n! That’s so cool!” although he was happy, he also felt a little nervous knowing that you’d be drawing him. But he would try his best to give you something to work with, even though he had butterflies in his stomach. You blushed, averting your gaze though you couldn’t help but take a few innocent looks. God, he was beautiful. “Uh ...y-yeah, it’s one of my ...creative outlets,” you explained before placing your sketchpad and drawing supplies onto the easel.

“Oh ...that's amazing! Well, I’ll try to be a good model. Any advice?” he asked and you shyly glanced at him as you took your seat. “Um, well just be yourself. As long as you’re posing, there’s nothing to worry about,” you said, noticing that class was about to start. Everyone had taken their positions in front of their easels and most of them had their drawing pencils ready. You turned to Mirio, trying to focus on his face. “You better get to posing.” you said and Mirio smiled, “Oh sure thing, sunshine!” he chuckled before walking to the center of the room. You swallowed as you began to sketch his outline.

Much like before he had chosen to do a heroic pose, his arms flexed up and his body was turned to the side. One leg was stretched over, making his thigh and backside very noticeable. You were almost thankful that he had chosen that position, given you couldn’t see his lower regions. You concentrated on breathing as you continued to draw him, after which you added the details. The muscle lines and small features of his skin and hair. The final thing you added was the shading and some of the background that surrounded him. All in all, it turned out pretty good but you almost felt bad when the session ended and Mirio got dressed again.

Complaining that while it was fun to pose, his body got stiff. You only chuckled in response, “Well better get used to it, you have another session tomorrow.” you said before packing up your pencils. You picked up your sketch pad only to have Mirio look over your shoulder. “Wow!” he said, “You’re pretty good, is that what I really look like?” he questioned, taking in the detail of your sketch. But you shrugged, “I suppose. Everyone had their own style of art though. So while mine may look similar to the others, there’s always that personal touch that adds something special to it.” you explained as Mirio smiled. “Well, is it too much to say I like your style the best?” he questioned and you chuckled softly.

“No, but you might want to look at the other drawings before you say that,” you said before turning away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I can’t wait to see what pose you choose.'' Of course, you knew that you’d eventually get distracted by Mirio’s body. Despite knowing that such a thing was technically wrong, you couldn’t help yourself. He was attractive, even as an art model. It was clear you weren’t the only one that looked at him as something beyond that, but perhaps finding some pleasure within your art wasn’t so bad. Either way, you were looking forward to the next day.

When 5 PM came, you had arrived for your art class a little late. Mirio was already posing and you nearly fainted at the sight of him. He was facing the doorway, the one you had just walked through and his stare was directed straight at you. You almost wanted to smack that smile off his face as he playfully winked at you. He was laying down on his side, his elbow bent to support his head, and while his legs were closed. You could clearly still make out his well ...as he liked to call it, willy in all its glory. You looked up at the ceiling, your shoulders hunched. “It’s just an art class ...just an art class,” you repeat to yourself before setting up your easel and getting to work.

Though sketching out his upper body was no problem, even with your flushed cheeks. It was the lower half that distracted you as you hadn’t really practiced much with drawing the human anatomy, but this was Mirio here. So with that thought in mind, you pushed past your feelings and finished your sketch. Almost grateful when the art class was over, though you refused to show Mirio your drawing and he, in turn, teased you about blushing. Damn him. “P-Pick a less ....suggestive position next time!” you stuttered before leaving the classroom, silently cursing yourself and Mirio out.

The following day it was worse, when you had told Mirio to pick out a less suggestive position, you hadn’t thought you’d be drawing him in stages. Someone suggested sketching the model in motion, which involved Mirio rolling over. Given it was good practice, drawing different positions in one essential sketch. You weren’t sure if you should curse or congratulate the person on their wonderful suggestion. Now instead of the front, you were drawing the back of Mirio and that luscious backside he happened to have. It was strange to be staring at it for as long as you did before actually drawing it. But, as you thought before. Sometimes there's a pleasure in art.

On the fourth day, you were somewhat dreading what position he’d make. Your face flushed just thinking about it and you had your head down as you entered the classroom. You immediately heard giggling and your head snapped up, your jaw dropped at the sight of Mirio. He was propped up on his knees but his thighs were spread. Leaving all his lower region ...hanging out, for a lack of better words. He was leaning back slightly with one hand pressed against his chest and the other was stretched out toward you. His fingers spread out and palm facing up as if he were waiting for you to grab his hand.

Damn ...he looked ...you shook your head, trying to keep only artistic thoughts in your mind. Though one thing was for sure, Mirio almost seemed to be teasing you with these positions, and in a way, it was beginning to bother you. Your face only darkened in color when you sat down and Mirio’s eyes followed you. You shyly looked at the blond who gave you a playful wink in return. You squeaked and decided to hide behind your sketchpad, slightly thankful it was a little bigger than the easel. Though you could still feel his stare and proceeded to curse him out under your breath.

When the end of the week came, you must have missed the memo that the art class had been canceled at the last moment because when you entered the room, it was empty. Apart from Mirio who was already out of his clothes, he reached up scratching the back of his head before he noticed you. “Oh, hey y/n!” he said as he ran over and you averted your eyes, trying to make sure they didn’t look down at Mirio’s glory. “No one else is here, pretty weird huh?” he said with a laugh and you shrugged, taking a deep breath. Your cheeks were beginning to feel warm, guess that was the power of nudity.

“Uh ...I-I’m not too sure, maybe we should ...j-just leave?” you questioned, nearly squeaking when Mirio’s arm came to rest around your shoulders. Though you tried to dig your feet into the ground and prevent him from moving you. It was of little use as he pulled you close anyway. “No way! That wouldn’t be right! I want you to practice your art! It’s super good and well, I did say I’d be your art model. So it’d be pretty rude of me to break my word.” he pointed out, though you wanted to mention you didn’t request him as your specific model. You didn’t see much of a point trying to argue with the man.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly feeling dry as you glanced around the classroom. “Um …” Mirio gently rubbed your shoulder, waiting for your response as you cradled your sketchpad to your chest. “I uh, g-guess that’d be fine. Um, I c-can sketch you if you w-want,” you said, looking down in an effort to hide your blush. But Mirio didn’t seem to notice or care because he removed his arm with a bright grin on his face. “I was hoping you’d say that sunshine! Come on!” he insisted as he grabbed your hand and enthusiastically dragged you over to a large mirror. “Huh?” you blinked as Mirio then brought over a chair.

“What are you up?” you questioned, narrowing your eyes but Mirio only smiled and walked over to grab the nearest easel. You stepped out of the way as he placed it next to the chair. “Here, you can put your sketchpad here.” he insisted and though you protested, he took it and placed it on the easel anyway. You huffed and placed your hands on your hips. “Mirio …” you said, almost sounding as though you were scolding him and maybe in a sense you were. But he only smiled and grabbed your hand, “Come on.” he insisted as he took his seat and pulled your hand. “Uh …” your eyes widened as you got the hint of what he wanted.

“M-Mirio I don’t know about-” you could barely finish your sentence before letting out a cry as Mirio pulled you forward. You squeaked when you felt him grab your leg and lift it up, stretching it over his lap. Then he placed his hands on your hips, applying pressure to make you sit down. Your face immediately lit up as you found yourself somewhat in his lap. You were sitting on his thighs, just inches away from his willy. You partly wondered if he did that on purpose, though that smile on his face said it all. He meant to do this, damn him. “You know I’ve always liked you right?” he said and the confession made you jump.

“Uh w-what?” you questioned, wondering just how hot your face could get before passing out. But Mirio nodded, “Yeah, it’s kind of funny. I never thought I’d get an opportunity like this and I kind of don’t want to let you go, is that weird?” he questioned before his hearty laugh came. “Of course, I wouldn’t force anything on you. Believe me, I’m not that type of guy, I’m just happy being close to you. Hugging you and well, having you on my lap is a little bonus.” he said, sounding as chipper as ever. Though you thought it was a strange time for him to confess his feelings, your thoughts were shattered when he dragged the easel closer.

“Hm?” your head turned before Mirio handed you a charcoal stick. You blinked and slowly took it, piecing together what he wanted. “Wait ...you want ...me to draw us?” you questioned, here you were in an empty classroom. Sitting on Mirio’s lap while he sat on a chair naked. Nothing wrong with that right? Mirio smiled and reached up to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah! After all, you probably have so many sketches of me. So why not one together?” you swallowed and looked at the mirror, your own flushed face staring back at you.

You let out a sigh, trying to will your cheeks to cool down. “I mean I …” you hadn’t actually practiced sketching yourself, but you couldn’t exactly avoid doing it now. You gasped when you felt his arm around your waist, his face resting just above your chest. Nuzzling into the small amount of exposed skin you had, damn low cut shirts. You hoped he wouldn’t hear the sound of your rapid heartbeat, “Yes?” Mirio questioned, smiling up at you before you swallowed, trying to moisten your dry mouth. “I ...I suppose I can give it a shot,” you said before looking at the mirror and beginning to draw the outline of both Mirio and yourself.

Maybe this is what you deserved for choosing Mirio Togata as your art model, maybe next time you’d be more careful. But by the end of the rather awkward art session, your sketch had turned out better than you expected and it was partly thanks to Mirio. “Wow! See? Don’t we look perfect together?” he questioned as he loomed over your shoulder. You couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah ...I guess we do.” you replied before turning to face him, thankful that he had decided to put his clothes back on. “Thank you Mirio, I owe you a lot,” After all, he had made your art class interesting.

“Well, I’m just happy to help,” he said before tapping his chin, his smile fading. “Though, if you really think you owe me. I can think of something I want as a favor, that is if you’re okay with it,” he said and you perked up a bit. “What is it?” you questioned, taking a step closer, and once more he smiled. “Well …” he began as he placed his hands on your shoulders. “I already said how I feel, so ...how about another art session, but make it a date?” you blinked, well that certainly wasn’t what you were expecting but somehow, you giggled.

“Okay, an art date it is.” he grinned, “Thank you, sunshine!” he said and you squealed as his arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground in a playful hug. Who would have thought a simple question would have led you here, but you couldn’t complain. You got both the guy and the art, each one seeming to complete your world in different ways.

Trick or Treat Letter 2021

AO3: Siver

Thank you for taking this on! Here there are some general prompt details if you want them and if you already have some idea of your own, awesome. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.

Note sometimes I have some specific prompts for some characters while other don’t. This has nothing to do with priority or preferences. They’re just ones I happened to some specific thoughts for. Of course they’re only ideas and you’re free to ignore them!

All requests are for fic or art.

Art: Interactions of some sort: emoting at each other, talking, sharing some activity, taking a walk, hugs are always welcome, soft things, whatever suits the pair/group. I’d much prefer the character(s) doing something over just standing around looking cool.

Likes: fluff, hurt/comfort, found family, sickfic, fandom crossovers or fusions between requested fandoms, angst with a happy or at least bittersweet end, bonding, cuddling/hugs/holding, banter, mutual care and support, loyalty, pre-canon, post-canon, missing scenes, slice of life, supernatural stuff, mystery, adventure, world-building, creepy or unsettling atmospheres

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

Any combination of character tags within each fandom is cool. I have specfic pairs and groups listed at points but those are only for ideas. Heck, any crossover/fusion between any of these fandoms is welcome too, go nuts.

For treats: you can’t go wrong with fluff! Friendship, familial bonds, found family, romance for the few ship possibilities listed here.

For tricks: I like it atmospheric. Unsettling atmospheres. Unresolved mystery. Making use of the stranger environments canon may already provide. The surreal. The strange. The supernatural. Much prefer a subtler creepy factor over ‘jump scares’ and gore.

Ghost Trick

Alma

Cabanela

Jowd

Sissel

Kamila

Lynne

Missile

Pigeon Man

Lovey-Dove

Mino

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

Ships I’m good with: Alma/Jowd/Cabanela, Alma/Jowd, Cabanela/Jowd (where the focus is there but without infidelity to Alma), Alma/Cabanela (again no infidelity just where the focus is)

I love this game, its characters and pretty much everything about it, so whatever you want to do will be great I’m sure. New timeline mysteries and missing memories are always welcome where it makes sense. Alternate timelines and what-ifs are cool to explore. Fluff, comfort, family found or otherwise and friendships are always a go. Spooky ghost shenanigans, mysteries in the night.

Any combination of these characters is more than welcome too!

Any combination of Jowd/Cabanela/Alma or Jowd & Cabanela & Alma is always welcome.

Always down for various combinations of Pigeon Man with Cabanela, Jowd and/or Kamila. Or PM with someone less expected like Alma! Or Sissel! Or Missile! The Jowd family expands and you cannot escape. In other words found family with Lynne or with Pigeon Man (or both of course).

Animal shenanigans on their own or with each other and fluff is great.

Sissel settling into the Jowd household and the shenanigans that ensue from having a ghost-powered cat.

Mino: What is Mino? Who is Mino? This is trick or treat, go weird, have fun.

Alma: We just need more of our girl honestly. Sweet relationship or family stuff. Go supernatural and consider Alma ghost either during game or temporarily post-game before being rescued by Sissel (Maybe helping Sissel save herself in that situation?)

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Final Fantasy VI

Celes

Sabin

Chocobos

Valigarmanda

Mog

Phantom Train

Gogo

Relm

Interceptor

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore beyond canon typical, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), Gogo as Daryl, non-canonical permanent character death

Valigarmanda: I just want to know more about them (she? he? your pronoun of choice). What led to them frozen in Narshe? Do they still hold some form of awareness in that state? Do the moogles look after at all? Some form of communication between them? How did they feel joining the party as magicite? What exactly took place between them and Terra? So many possibilities or something else entirely.

Mog: I just like moogles okay. Throw him at anyone here in the above list and see what happens. Or a moogle adventure in Narshe or elsewhere. Sky's the limit, dance's the limit?

Chocobos: I just like chocobos okay. Throw one or more at anyone here in the above list and see what happens. If you want something more specific I will never have enough serpent trench travel with Sabin and Celes in the World of Ruin. Give them chocobos and off they go. Figaro chocobos are also good. Chocobo anything.

Phantom Train: I have no particular thoughts here but what better exchange than Trick or Treat for the Phantom Train itself? Exploring more about it whether it's just it or throw characters at it. All cool.

Celes and Sabin: as stated I'm an absolute sucker for world of ruin travel with these two and anything more is good. That said if you want to focus on just one of them or one of them with someone else that's great too. I've only lumped them together for sake of convenience. Sabin in Figaro? Sabin with another here? Celes travels in the saved world?

Interceptor: Does he interact much with any of the rest of the party? Or... dog and chocobo... Or just you know can't go wrong with Interceptor and Relm things ever

Relm: Any interaction with anyone here. Leaning on her Sketch ability would be cool. Mimic paint off with Gogo?

Gogo: Gogo's just neat. More of them good.

--

Carto

Carto

Carto's Puppy

Granny Maldpo

Shianan

Shianan's Puppy

Storytender

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

I just want to see a little more of these characters and this world. The game was so cute and neat. More travel or stories or some sort of cute moment with Carto and Maldpo, and puppy if post-game, on their airship! Granny Maldpo is so cool! Explorer pilot grandma hell yeah! A little adventure for her? More exploration of Shianan (and her puppy!)? A reunion with Carto again?

The story chalet was also just really neat so doing more with it and the Storytender is absolutely welcome. What does an average day for him look like in an ever-changeable library with books writing themselves?

--

The Last Guardian

The Boy

Trico

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

Give me all the cat-dog-bird fluff/shenanigans/playfulness/warmth/coziness. Anything while they’re together. Barrel feeding, snuggle time, riding, flying. Sweet or silly (Trico has his moments for sure) or something else. I adore Trico. I adore the boy and Trico’s companionship.

Alternatively something in the future. The boy grown up reuniting with Trico. A flight with Trico. A temporary willing return to the nest. Meeting Trico babies!

--

Metroid

Samus

Chozo

Baby Metroid

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore beyond canon typical, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), reliance on manga knowledge, spoilers for Metroid Dread, non-canonical permanent character death

While I don't have anything particular in mind here, I'm all about the mood for Metroid and would appreciate really leaning on the atmosphere and environmental aspects--either more lush areas (eg Brinstar, Tallon IV landing area) but still isolating, or the darker more tense places. I'm particularly fond of Super Metroid and Metriod Prime.

Any singular focus on one of the above three or some combo is good.

Regarding the manga: I know next to nothing about it, so light referencing without needed knowledge is fine; anything deeper than that please avoid?

--

Monkey Island

Guybrush Threepwood

Elaine Marley

Murray

El Pollo Diablo

Feral Chickens

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), Escape from Monkey Island, angst, non-canonical permanent character death

Silly pirate-y shenanigans. Guybrush and Elaine team-up on something actually in one place? Any interactions with Murray are always a treat and we’ve never gotten to see those with Elaine in the mix.

Explore the legend of El Pollo Diablo in some way. What do the chickens get up to now they roam free across Puerto Pollo? What oh-so-nefarious schemes is Murray up to now? A feral chicken demonic skull team-up?? I mean, that’s kinda close to El Pollo Diablo right???

This is coming off as Curse of Monkey Island-centric (it is my favourite) but it doesn’t have to be. It’s just because of the chickens… and Murray. But mainly chickens. Anytime from the previous games, or future or off to the side is good too.

--

Bug Fables

Kabbu

Leif

Vi

Chompy

Elizant II

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), non-canonical permanent character death

I love the group dynamics! Party fun times while they’re travelling would be good. Really interested in more with Leif’s situation because that is a Lot and open to more introspection and dealing–Kabbu support go? Attempted Vi support go? Chompy being the best plant she can be? Snuggle that plant during hard times?

Exploring that lab more and cordyceps is welcome for the creepier end of things. Same with the Giant’s Lair and what IS that giant eye?

There’s also an interesting connection between Elizant II and Leif I’d be interested in seeing more. Leif’s out of his time but holds memories of Elizant I. Elizant II is a more direct connection he’s otherwise lacking and it’s nice to see how his opinion of her shifts and grows as she grows.

--

The Legend of Heroes

DNW: NSFW, non-con, dub-con, underage relationships, unrequested ships, infidelity, explicit gore, modern AUs (college, high school, coffee shop etc), spoilers for Hajimari or Kuro, Agate/Tita, Olivier/Schera, non-canonical permanent character death

Trails in the Sky

Estelle Bright

Cassius Bright

Lena Bright

Kloe Rinz

Alicia von Auslese

Celeste D. Auslese

Olivier Lenheim

Mueller Vander

Ragnard

Any combination of any of these characters could lead to interesting things. Some combo ideas:

In Phantasma, Kloe and Celeste talk... Estelle, Olivier or Mueller could be interesting too though... Or simply more about Celeste and the Hermit's Garden by herself.

Bright family time will always be welcome. And more love for Lena. Kloe and Estelle sister/best friend time.

Kloe and Olivier have a lot of potential for interesting interaction in how they parallel each other but are so wildly different at the same time. Kloe and Alicia family time!

Olivier & Cassius: I’m just really interested to see more interaction between these two whether while they’re still planning or something before Olivier goes back to Erebonia after Sky SC. Cassius can’t help himself when it comes to giving advice…

Olivier & Alicia: Royalty matters, knowing who Olivier actually is. Last meetings before he goes back to Erebonia?

Olivier&/Mueller stuff is all good

Ragnard: cool dragon is cool. Either something about him individually in the past? Or what he's up to now? A look at interaction between him and Cassius? Ragnard and Auslese (any of them)...?

Crossbell

Lloyd Bannings

Randy Orlando

Tio Plato

Elie MacDowell

KeA Bannings

Alex Dudley

Zeit

Sergei Lou

No ships here please.

Bonding and found family is the name of the game here! Tio and Zeit spending time together. Lloyd and Randy having bro time or Lloyd trying to remind Randy that he does indeed belong with SSS. KeA and “Uncle” Sergei time! What might they do together, or what does KeA get Sergei to do with her? Lloyd and KeA spending time together, Lloyd spoiling KeA, KeA being a comfort to Lloyd. KeA turning on the charm on Dudley. Dudley and Sergei interaction. Any combination of any of the SSS related characters is great if you want a bigger SSS gathering. I love them all.

Anything exploring KeA's powers is very cool too.

Trails of Cold Steel

Alfin Reise Arnor

Priscilla Reise Arnor

Olivier Leheim | Olivert Reise Arnor

Mueller Vander

Valimar

Mint

Alfin, Olivier, Priscilla: The Arnors have it rough dammit. Some soft moment for any combo of these three? Reunions after Olivier comes back and isn’t dead? We were deprived! Entertaining sibling times. A Priscilla bonding moment with Olivier when he was still getting used to living in the palace. And of course individually they’re interesting in their own roles and I’m always down for more.

Mueller: Of course anything with Olivier is good in my books. I’m running under the assumption that since he shows up with Olivier in the triumphant not-dead return, that he wound up at Valleria while Olivier recovered and I would be very soft for any moment taking placing during that time period. But when it comes to those two sky’s the limit. I’m good with platonic or ship. Mueller having some interaction with either Priscilla or Alfin would be great too!

Valimar: Given his history and knowledge it’d be interesting to see a conversation with Olivier or Alfin given also their family name Cedric’s positioning and, well, all the history there. Alternatively I love his interactions with Mint and how respectful of her he is, so anything between those two yes please. Or just something exploring him by himself in some way would be cool too.

Mint: I’m particularly interested in her during CS III and IV times and with Valimar as above. However, any Mint shenanigans is a fun time. She’s doing her best!

indirectly tagged by @lampmeeting

it's not part of the original thing but I'm gonna add a silly little self portrait as well~

Questions to get to know you a little better:

1. What do you prefer to be called name wise? Robin or any kind of nickname related to that you can come up with lol Some of my favourites are Rob and Robble

2. When is your birthday? November 21st

3. Where do you live? A little town in Niedersachsen (Lower Saxony), Germany. Known for being the summer residence of a royal bloodline some 200 years ago. Yes there's a castle :P

4. Three things I am doing right now? Trying to forget the nightmare I just woke up from, thinking about getting a few more clementines from the kitchen and fininishing a little sketch I started yesterday

5. Four fandoms that have piqued my interest: Metalocalypse (ofc), Hogan's Heroes, Ghost BC, What We Do In The Shadows. Those are the main 4 at the moment but there's always a chance for other fandoms to take over for a bit.

6. How has the pandemic been treating you? ....yeah. Not so great. My grandma died suddenly at the start of the pandemic, I had to leave my internship I was super happy at early because of lockdown, finished my last semester at college with horrible online classes, had to move back in with my parents, cut contact with someone I've known almost all my life, barely passed my finals, still on the hunt for a job (started applying to places in September) and am close to losing it any day now lol Also pandemic means no flea markets which was one of the few things keeping my brain happy and occupied while giving me a chance to ride my bike around the region for hours :^(((((

7. Song(s) I can’t stop listening to: Sadly no particular song coming to mind right now, but I've had Ghost's entire discography and Dethalbum I, II, and III on rotation for months now lol. This Toss A Coin To Your Witcher Remix has also been stuck in my head for a while and is always worth a listen (Also have some silly techno/hardstyle remixes stuck in my brain permanently because I listened to them as background noise while trying to make my final college projects somewhat decent. Terence Hill & Bud Spencer - Lalalalalala, Da Tweekaz - Jägermeister, Star Wars Hardstyle, DJ Ötzi - Anton aus Tirol, Das Leben des Brian - Schwanzus Longus)

8. Recommend a movie: The Road to El Dorado by Dreamworks, a children's movie, I know... Each song is an absolute banger tho (even the German versions!), the jokes are silly but fun, the queer/gay hints add that little spice that I subconsciously picked up on and felt comforted by as a kid and the design of the everything is just (chef's kiss) Also the chemistry between the 4 main characters is gud as heck. It's the childhood movie I latched on to the most, my mother had to rent the dvd almost every single day until I bought a copy myself lol

9. How old are you? 24 orz I don't feel like it at all...

10. School, university, occupation? Finished college in August, unemployed because no one wants to hire in the creative field during a worldwide plague :^)

11. Do you prefer heat or cold? As long as it's under 35°C I prefer heat. My hands and feet are icicles 95% of the time after losing weight :^(

12. Name one fact others may not know about you? Since I'm an expert oversharer you probably know almost everything about me already orz But uhhh. Lemme see... I learned how to operate a laundry machine at the ripe old age of 20 at my internship at a hair salon lmao My mother never had the nerve to show me how on the modern machine we have at home (along the lines of "you will fuck it up anyways so let me do it >:^(((" which is an overarching theme in her raising me lol), but the older machine with the simpler dials at the salon was a good start to learn and honestly one of the things at this internship I'm still super grateful for...

13. Are you shy? Oh hell yeah I am... It's all the years of getting only negative feedback for trying to interact with others lol

14. Preferred pronouns: He/Him mostly, still figuring out if I still like they/them or nah (since in German there are no neutral pronouns that aren't neopronouns I've automatically gotten more attached to he/him lol)

15. Biggest pet peeves: I feel so mean for admitting it but honestly: Any noises my parents make. If I'm having a particularly bad low brain energy day even hearing them breathe makes me wanna run away and scream in anger... (Doesn't irk me with anyone else tho, which is weird...)

16. What is your favorite "dere" type? Oh there's more than 4 types now?? I've always liked Kuudere types the most out of the original 4 types, but I guess Shundere and Utsudere are right up my alley too!!!

The Kuudere (クーデレ), sometimes written Coodere or Kūdere, type refers to a character who is often cold, blunt, and cynical. They may seem very emotionless on the outside, but on the inside they’re very caring — at least when it comes to the ones they love.

The Shundere (しゅん���レ) type refers to characters who are sad and very depressed. While a full smile on their face might be out of the question, their love interest can help them open up and feel accepted.

The Utsudere (うつデレ) type refers to a character who is often sad and depressed. There is a reason for the character’s despair such as being bullied at school. Even if their life improves, they are often wary of other characters’ motives.

17. Rate your life 1-10? Maybe a 4? 4.5 at max

18. What is your main blog? The one I'm posting this on lol

19. List all your side blogs and what they’re for:

yorkiesart - old as hell and inactive artblog

bleedingheartbird - very triggering and depressing vent blog :^(

yorkie2111 - my very first username, a sea and ocean themed aesthetic blog now mostly for when I miss Denmark a whole lot (kinda inactive)

robinsartnest - a second attempt at a separate art blog, inactive as well lol

20. Is there anything people should know before becoming friends with you? I'm a clusterfuck of several undiagnosed mental illnesses and probably other conditions that I'm trying to figure out and deal with on my own until I can get professional help and some diagnoses. At times I'm weird and distant and overall very depressed and unpleasant, I've already hurt so many people this way and am trying to be better every single day. Basically I've never been given the "How to properly Human" manual and am frantically trying to get it right without hurting too many innocent people in the process.

Anyway, if you are nice to me I will love you forever ♡♡♡ :'3c

idk who to tag so if you wanna do this, do it~

~♪ Rhythm of Your Heart ♪~ (Days 3-7)

Summary: A series of compilation  stories set in my College Alternate Universe, where the  Lolirock cast are just normal  teenagers heading off to college trying to figure out life while settling into adulthood. Musically set to the tunes of Marianas Trench. 

Ships: Talisto, Levyna, NatIris,ZackPrax, Rorissa and MattAuri a few others sprinkled in there. 

*If it’s not your cup of Tea that’s 100% fair, go enjoy  all the other awesome content from the fandom ~

**If you are here for Talisto week 2020, welcome! Hope you like  the stories!

Day 3: First Kiss 

The sound of music and dancing was the universal sign of a good time. She had come out tonight to feel normal again. Enough time had passed and yet here she was.

Talia blended into the crowd and began to sneak out of a party, purposely avoiding her friends, taking the route off the roof by using the fire escape. She frowns as tears stung her eyes as she hugs her arms softly. After a few steps she sighed leaning against  the wall taking a  seat outside of Lev’s apartment. She wanted to leave, but it was a shitty thing to leave without saying anything to Iris and Auriana. This only made the pressure of anger in her lower abdomen  knot and twist as she took a seat on the steps of  the fire escape.

What  brought on this mixture of melancholy and angry frustration? A stupid song, her ex’s favorite song, it had been a month since she and Kyle had broken up.  And some dumb song shouldn't make her feel so many emotions all once, it was like remembering something she had desperately to forget and bury yet couldn't.

Suddenly there was a click from the sliding  door opening and a surprise gaze of a young burgundy hair man holding a bowl of chips. He looked surprised to find her there.

She knew him vaguely from campus, he was in the drama department with Lev, and he noticed her  crying because his first words to her were. 

"Hey… are you okay?"  He asked softly, looking at her. "You like you've been crying…"

Talia gave half a sigh mixed with a dry laugh "....Just… heard my Ex's favorite song play...I don't  know  its stupid" he took a seat across from her and gave a small smile.  "Hey, no… it's not dumb...I'm a theater kid… if there's one thing we know is a broken heart… Now unless you want to belt out a ballad of  self empowerment, Talking about it usually  helps. And who better than someone you probably won't see again" he winks at her which made her smile, the  joke helped to ease any tension or embarrassment she felt. There was something in his eyes that gave an air of kindness. She gave a nod "he was my highschool sweetheart…. " she started 

The hours passed and she told him, her story,  of how she was with this guy for years and all of the sudden he just broke up with her because her college was too far away and long distance relationships don't work. They passed around the snacks till the empty bowl was all that was left. Finally when she finished Talia took a deep sigh of relief, she had no idea how long she  had kept that inside her chest. Locked up under the guise of self control and keeping up appearances that she was fine. To share it with someone felt nice, she felt heard and looked at Mephisto who had processed the whole ordeal with her. 

At first he frowns "Wow…that's such a jerk move….just everything he did it sounds like he was just looking for a excuse to break up and instead of talking to you and not completely blindsiding you he just one day decided to be jerk and make up an excuse…." He said sighing deeply as he ran his fingers through his hair and looking at her with a soft gaze.  "He genuinely doesn't deserve you. When he grows up and realizes that. I hope he has enough backbone to apologize for what he's done…as for you feeling sad…. It happened a month ago. You should let yourself grieve, However you want to. It was a long  relationship, a relationship you put a lot of your heart into loving them and that doesn't just go away… It may have been for him, but that took a while and he had his time to figure his feelings. So should you. You didn't wake up one day with the thought that everything was leading up to a break up. You genuinely thought things were okay between you two and suddenly they weren't, you need time to process that. You know?"

"I…. Thank you…." She whispers and nods "that's really solid advice… and I never considered letting myself do that… I'm the tough one you know… nothing gets to me…." She sniffles a bit wiping her face with the back of her hand.

He shook his head "no one can be okay after that…it's okay to feel and recover…"

Talia made a small noise of agreement "Hey, let's get out here and enjoy the party….could I know your name?" She asked as she got up, he gave a nod and smiled getting up too. "Mephisto, it's an honor to make your acquaintance milady " he said in a dramatic manner making her laugh  "I'm Talia, thanks for hearing me out." She leans over and kisses his cheek softly, just an innocent kiss on the cheek as they headed upstairs to the party. Mephisto felt a small blush on his cheeks "aw, it's no biggie… I'd do it any time… hey do know the Coffee place on Bartley street?"

"Yeah, the book shop?"

"I hang out there, mostly to read scripts and drink coffee if you ever want to hang out?"

Talia smiles "sounds like fun"

They were unaware of it at the time but a friendship was made that night on the fire escape.

Day 4: Retro Fashion 

Talia had never considered performing  in a fashion  show before but Lyna had put in so much effort into her  final project. Lyna had sat in several of Talia’s american history courses  to learn about the 1920’s. Her professors were surprised to find out the curious young lady with the lengthy notes wasn’t actually enrolled in the courses and was actually a  fashion major. 

Throughout the  semester  Lyna would come over  with revised  sketches of the gowns she was making. Asking Talia for advice on accessories and accuracy. Which was more than happy to give feedback but she was  genuinely caught off guard and  flattered when Lyna asked her to model  the stunning gown inspired by the ever glamorous Josphine Baker.  “Of course” She smiles. It was a strapless  black and white ball gown decorated and accessorized with her signature pearls. 

The collection  was something  her friend had worked so hard on. Talia was happy to support her.

Later that afternoon, she sat on the  counter top as Mephisto chopped vegetables for dinner. 

“So are you free next Saturday afternoon?”  She asked. Mephisto glances over as he  reaches over his head  for a  bowl on the shelf. “ Yeah I  should be  done with  finals”

“Do you want to come to a fashion show?” 

“Fashion show?” He smiles “ Are you modeling  for Lyna’s  Final?”

“Yeah.” She blushes a bit “ Do you think it's silly” 

“ Now why would I  ever think that? I think it's gonna be awesome” He kisses her pouty cheek. “ I’m going to take so many pictures~”

“Oh my  god” 

“ and Facetime Izira.” 

She laughs burying her face into his shoulder blade “You are such a  dork” 

“ You love it” He grins.

Day 5: Sport AU

Author’s note:  I know nothing about  sports, Zero. Nada.  My knowledge  of sports comes from sports animes and I watch them for the cute boys and nothing else.So! Instead  have   Praxina, Mephisto and Talia trying out Auriana’s  pilates’s class.

Praxina’s frown deepens as she glares at her brother “ You have  5 minutes to explain why I’m here.” Talia looked  equally exasperated at her  boyfriend who, being the only morning person of the trio grins. “ I figured finals  stressed us  out and Auriana is teaching her  first  pilates  class so let's go be good friends and get some exercise too!.” He said  with a grin as the girls gave a groan  “ You are  making us  breakfast  after this”  Praxina yawns.  “ yeah” Talia smiles softly “ you  do know  Auriana’s  classes aren’t  beginner friendly  right… She’s tough.” 

Mephisto pales a bit realizing he  might have made a  mistake. ”Oh-”  They headed up to the studio  greeted warmly by the  chipper redhead who claps  her hand together. “ Alright  Class!  Lets have an awesome  warm up!”   While Talia and Praxina both being  dancers could easily  keep up with the beat and tempo  set by Auriana. Mephisto was having trouble just keeping his breathing in  check. 

This was just a warm up. He was doomed. After the  class, the group  ended up in the small apartment where  Praxina  lived with her  dog  Brutus. Mephisto lays on his sister's couch his body feeling like  jelly as Brutus the  pomeranian lays on his back.  “  You should have just sat down after  the warm up”  Talia said sips  on her water. Watching him from her seat  on the love seat across  the  coffee table from him.

“No that was quitter talk, Can’t stop, won’t stop!” He said muttering into the couch cushions as  Praxina  laughs walking over picking up Brutus  “ He just hates being  wrong, I don’t know where he gets this competitive  attitude from~”  Praxina comments to Talia before she grins and leans over to his ear and says “ I’m the alpha twin, now~”  “Ahhh” His muffled groan came from the couch making the  girls laugh as they order breakfast off their phones since their  cook was down  count.  Overall the  stress of test week is long  forgotten.

Day 6+7 Gift Giving at the School Festival

Author’s  note: Roark belongs to Kireiscorner~ I asked her before borrowing him~ 

It was a silly  campus  tradition, past over from one  generation to the next.  On the evening of the School Festival, to  give a  gift to your  significant other before the firework’s show. Mephisto had always thought his  mother’s  story  was a little corny, but the romantic in him  had also found  it a little  sweet.

He wanders around the shopping  district, his  eyes  looking in the  different stores looking  for the  right  gift. He had his heart set on finding a pair of earrings that match her  favorite  bracelet.  “ Young man!”  A  sing-song  voice  called from a small  stall. “ You look like a  crafty  gentleman~ Would like to buy our  jewelry crafting set! Only  3 installments  of 29.99!” 

Mephisto pointed to himself and gave a thought he must look  desperate by now because he was actually  walking  over. “ Hold it” A  familiar  voice  stopped him.  “ yikes man… you  weren’t actually  going to buy  kiosk  craft kits-” Lev said walking over wrapping an arm around his best friend and  shaking his head at  sales girl “ Sorry  sweetheart, not today” He winks at her as the  kiosk sale girl glares at him. 

Mephisto sighs “ I’m a little desperate… I’ve been looking for a  gift for Talia all morning and I’ve come up empty... Please tell me your Father owns a discount jewelry shop?” 

“Nope, my old man owns and sells engagement rings and high end jewelry… but I know a man who might be able to help”  Lev grins as they head out of the  bustling  area to a quiet shop.  It was an antique shop  designed on  restoring metal pieces.  “ Hey Roark buddy, you in?”  Lev called out as a massive man  walked out from the back.  He gave a small grunt  greeting them  with a welcome.  “ Roark buddy,  this is  Mephisto.  Mephisto, this is my  buddy  Roark.  He’s  in the robotics  department with me.   His  family owns this  shop. Bud, we are in a bit  of  a time  crunch. Do you mind if  Mephisto here looks around the  jewelry  section?”   Roark  gave a  shrug and  continued working on the counter as  Lev showed him over to the  section of the counter  where the  restored  jewelry  was found.   Mephisto’s  eyes  light up when he spotted them,  sapphire  earrings  restored from old gold.  “ How  much?!”  Roark  gave a tired  look as he got up and  fetched the  earrings  they were around 95. Mephisto  looked at everything  he had saved up.  That would leave him with 30 in pocket for anything at the  festival.  He nodded “ Okay… Could I get  wrapped in a box?  Blue please!”  

Lev watched him with a small smile “ You really like this  girl, huh…” 

Mephisto blushes “ Yeah… I do… I just want to make her smile.” 

Lev chuckles “ It’s  nice to see you this  happy again.”  Roark came out the back, the earrings wrapped up in a  small box, tucked neatly in a paper shopping bag.  “ Thank you for your purchase,”  Roark said.  “ Thanks  Roark you’re  the  best  buddy”  Lev winks as  Roark rolled his eyes with a small grin. 

 Mephisto  paid and  thanked him too.  

Hours passed and Mephisto couldn’t help but  enjoy  every moment he spent with Talia, this whole  year by her side had been  special to him.  He helps her over to a nice spot to watch the  fireworks where it wasn’t too crowded. “ Hey… So… It's… kind of a  corny tradition but tonight some  couples exchange  gifts… and I wanted to give you  something…” He pulled out the small box from his  jacket pocket.  

“It's a thank you for being you and  sharing yourself with me.”   Talia eyes  widen and a blush  spread  all over her  face “ Thank you… but I didn’t know-”

“Yeah it's okay  you aren’t  from here so I figured you wouldn’t  exactly know the  stories… But It wouldn’t  have  felt  right to  celebrate  without telling you how I felt.”   

She blushes brightly as she  kisses him “ You idiot... I  love you… Thank you… I can’t  wait to celebrate with you  next year…”  She  whispers hugging him close. 

“That’s a  promise” He smiles holding her  close as the  fireworks begin.

===========The  End============

Author’s Note:  And that was  Talisto week 2020  everyone!~ As always  thanks  for your  support! It was awesome to see everyone  again~  and to  celebrate with you all - Lots of love as always, Kikki~

[Jinki / Jonghyun] The Writing on His Face

Rating: R  Warning: none Genre: face blindness au  Length: ~9300 A/N: this is for @jjongyyu who was looking for an old and popular fic that disappeared. While I never read the story myself, I got a rough summary and have tried to recreate it to the best of my abilities. I don’t mean any copyright infringement to the original author, and hope they are doing well, wherever they are now.

Title based on the poem 얼굴에 쓴 글씨 by Kim Hyesoon

—–-

Long arms rose above the patrons and waved in wide arcs. Only Minho would, Jonghyun smirked to himself. 

He walked among the tables and when he reached the other, he mumbled a low greeting. Usually they would come in here at lunch, after a few matches of badminton at the university sports ground. It was a Saturday afternoon tradition between them. But this morning, he woke up to a message telling him to come straight to breakfast. 

He sat down with a sigh and picked up a menu. Almost immediately, fingers rapped on the other side of the laminated page.

“I already ordered for us. The usual, right?”

“What’s the usual?”

Minho sighed. “Yah… is your memory failing you now, too?”

“What if I wanted to try something new for once? Eh?”

“Ah, then show up early next week!”

Jonghyun would’ve continued their farcical argument had he not given into the other’s ridiculous expression – eyes wide, brows raised, lips pouting angrily. It always managed to make him laugh. “This joker…” he chuckled.

Minho’s own countenance melted into a sheepish smile. “Anyway, what do you want to do today? The courts are closed for a month.”

“Maintenance again?”

The other shrugged. “Could be. News is, they had a burst pipe from the storm last week. Flooded the street downstream. All the old people in the big houses near the campus were complaining about it.”

“See?” Jonghyun pointed. “This wouldn’t have happened if they’d taken our advice earlier this year. I told them they should take advantage of the annual upgrade and change the clay pipes in for PVCs. I told them!” he insisted, then waved his arms. “But no~ it’s too excessive~”

Minho giggled, flicking some complimentary peanuts into his mouth. “Still doesn’t change my question—what are we going to do? It’s even nice outside for a change…”

“You could go see the flowers at Everland this year,” a voice suggested to them from a distance. “I hear they’ve come in really pretty.”

“Hyung!” Minho looked excited enough to clap. “You’re back!”

“I’m back,” a man with a pot of coffee and a striped apron casually walked up to their table, smiling at Minho with affection. “And man, is it good to see you two after all the weird people who’ve come in here this week. College students, ah…” He poured the steaming drink into their cups and placed a couple of paper napkins next to each one. “But? I see you two boys are stuck indoors again—look at the weather! What are you doing here?”

“Uh, hyung, you’re not supposed to drive business away?” Minho joked and they both chuckled with each other.

The man turned. “Jong ah,” he nodded amicably. It was the expression most people used with him, no matter how close they may be. Unsure, faltering, tentative. It was natural for them to be that way – after all, they were never sure if he’d recognize them. Several times, they would have to explain their identity and show him photos of themselves with him. It tended to get embarrassing for all parties involved. “How have you been? Everything good at home?” the man tried to smooth over some of his hesitance.

Jonghyun concentrated on the pronunciations. He concentrated on the texture of the speech. Silk, his brain conjured the word. Every time he identified someone correctly, he flooded with a deep warmth; a self-confidence rivaling nothing else. This time too, a radiance grew in the center of his chest, piercing its way out of his rib-cage like it was trying to give away all his secrets. “Jinki hyung,” he greeted, much to the man’s surprise. “It’s nice to see you again, this one was starting to miss you,” he jerked his chin in his friend’s direction.

“Hul…” the server gasped. 

“I told you he was getting better at the voice thing!” Minho said in an oddly boastful tone, then realized he’d just admitted to talking about his best friend behind his back. 

“You were right,” Jinki grinned. 

“How was your trip?” Jonghyun inquired. 

“It was good. I got to talk to a lot of universities. They offer a lot of options these days, unlike when I got out of school so… I’m hopeful about it. Yeah,” he ended the statement with some indecision. 

“That’s good. I’m glad you got to go.”

They exchanged a friendly smile, and then Jinki jumped like he’d just remembered something. “Oh right! Are we still going to that exhibition this weekend?” he asked.

“The built history one?” Jonghyun felt excited just discussing the meeting. He’d seen the post on his SNS and immediately thought of Jinki, the aspiring architect who sketched in a dog-eared little notebook in his free time. Jinki, who was trying with all his might to get a degree so he could register as a professional and find better work. When Jonghyun forwarded the post to his friends in the industry, he knew it would make its way to its target. “Yeah, of course!”

“I’m… not invited?” Minho inquired with a frown, then his expression lightened before turning impish. “Are you two going on a daaaate?” he teased, then waved his arms and made silly wooo~ sounds.

Jonghyun threw a napkin at the guy’s face. “Be quiet. It’s an educational visit.”

“I can be educational!” the other garbled. “I do… I do education!”

“Shh!” 

“Haha, well that’s great,” Jinki chuckled. “So, I’ll see you here tomorrow, after my shift? We can take the subway there. Cool?”

“Cool,” Jonghyun agreed.

Minho rested his face in his hands and leaned his elbows on the table, looking dreamy. “Ahh… a date. How cute~”

“Yah, what’re you saying?!” he was given a not-so-serious scolding. 

——

Jonghyun woke up with a start.

He staggered out of the blankets to look for his wallet. “Where is it…. where is it…” he mumbled under frustrated breaths. His heart pounded with fright as he combed through a pile of laundry. When he finally found it, he flicked the wallet open to look for the photo he had put in it many years ago. It was a picture of him in his high school graduation robes, two well-dressed women standing on either side of him, looking on with adoration. Hands shaking, he took the photo out of its clear pocket and held it up in front of his bleary eyes. He blinked hard, once twice thrice. He meant to blink away the sleep. Instead, tears flooded off his lashes and rolled onto his face, fell on his arms, dripped to his shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut while his lungs sobbed, but he tried again. It was expected, it was what happened every time he looked at the picture—at any picture. It was expected and he knew what would happen when he did it. But it still hurt. A twist of pain spread from his heart to his torso to the rest of his body.

He dropped everything and went to his phone. With trembling fingers, he dialed the number and waited for the ringing to stop. 

“Jong ah,” the elderly woman greeted in a groggy voice. “What’s wrong? It’s so early in the morning.”

“Ma…” he rasped in the silence of his room. “Ma.”

“Jong ah, what’s happened? Are you hurt?”

“Eomma, I don’t remember your face.”

——

“You look… unwell,” Jinki stated as politely as it seemed he could.

“I’m fine,” Jonghyun tried to brush the attention away. “Just had a rough morning.”

“Is that what the sunglasses are for?” a hint of playfulness sprayed from the other. “Or are they your way of blocking out the unnecessary overload of faces?”

“Both,” Jonghyun joked in return.

They strolled through the park for a few meters until the other spoke up again. “Listen, we… really don’t have to do this today.” He looked concerned. “We can come back another time. I mean, I’d rather you go home and get some rest.”

“It’s the last day of the exhibition, hyung.”

Jinki scoffed. “An exhibition isn’t as important as your health, man,” he muttered.

Worry like this was common, regardless of who he met. It secretly irritated him, but he’d honed the skills to avoid a confrontation whenever it happened. “I tell you what,” he started to lighten the mood. “Why don’t you buy me an ice-cream when we’re done. That way you can pay me back for being here and being miserable.”

The other looked on, uncertain at first, then picked up his usual joviality. “OK!”

They walked some more until they arrived at the artificial hanok village. Houses on low wooden plinths circled a paved courtyard. The organizers had placed a row of old-fashioned shoes outside each house. Colourful paper art hung from lines overhead. Clay tiles gleamed and slate shimmered. Red square-spirals adorned the walls at mid-height. The smell of seaweed soup and pork dumplings was in the air. Tables had been set out for anyone interested in a game or two of baduk. In the distance, two women in traditional clothes played the zither and the flute, while a bunch of young boys in hanboks competed in hacky sack.

It was as if they had been transported to another time. “Just like a sageuk drama,” Jinki sounded a little breathless, running his hands over pillars and walls. The tips of his fingers were stubby, and sometimes came away with plaster or paint. But he still touched everything he could, still tried to feel every surface within his reach. “It’s like a… a dream!” he turned around, eyes sparkling with excitement. Jonghyun grinned at him.

They explored their way through the fair, picked a few things to eat and a few others to drink. At one point, they stopped to watch a dance and drumming performance. They clapped in time with the beat and shared a look before laughing at the MC’s jokes. 

When it came time to leave, Jonghyun requested they take a selca. Jinki consented and proceeded to make silly faces at the camera. Later on, out of the other’s sight, Jonghyun chose one of the photos as his lock screen, happily running a thumb over it.

“How about that ice cream?” one called as he walked ahead. The other nodded.

They ambled as they left the exhibition grounds, taking in the sights of the riverside. Streamers and lanterns hung between light poles, announcing the event. Some more girls walked past in full traditional clothes, giggling about something.

“… and I thought they were very clever in the way they negotiated with the locals, tried to get their input to feed back to the planners, cause it’s so important to understand the user grou—you’re not listening,” Jonghyun stopped talking when he saw the other simply watching him.

“No I am!” Jinki assured cheerily as he veered to one side of the walkway. He propped himself against the railing. “I like listening to you talk. You’re very passionate about your job.”

He pursed his lips. “I guess… it pays really well, and I get to work by myself, away from people. So that’s nice.”

“Hmm… you get your own space to think.”

“Exactly.”

The other’s smile was a hint rueful. “How nice.”

“Hey. Hyung,” Jonghyun closed the distance between them. “You’ll get there too, soon,” he encouraged. “I mean… you’re saving up for the education you want, you’re talking to universities so you can make the best choice. You’re clearly driven.”

“I’m also really old,” Jinki sighed. “My mother says I’m being too unrealistic with all this and sometimes… sometimes I think she might be right. You know?“ he shook his head. "A degree in architecture is difficult. And after I’ve done all that, I don’t even know if I’ll ever get a job. In this economy?” He scoffed, scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Ah… I’m thirty and I still haven’t done anything with my life… I’ve wasted so much time.”

“You were in the army, it’s not a waste of time.”

The other offered a grateful smile, but his eyes were suddenly tired. Jonghyun leaned against the railing next to Jinki and said no more. They shared that little island of silence, watching the fair and the mountains in the distance. The sun grazed against their necks and shoulders, hugged their arms as they stood motionless, listening to the sounds of chirping birds. Because of the way Jonghyun’s visual memory worked, he needed constant speech to prompt his brain with information—I’m with this person, we know each other though such and such place, we’re here today on such and such errand. He liked when he could use people’s voices to give them a name because it made him feel safe, feel like he belonged where he was just then. But Jinki’s soft exhales allowed him to be alone for a short while, and he used that time on his own breath.

The spell was broken by a, “Oh, right, I heard you moved to a new apartment?” 

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Some weeks ago, now.”

“And you haven’t had a housewarming party yet, have you?”

Jonghyun tilted his head at the other, stating the obvious. “Minho?”

Jinki laughed. “Who else but the one and only?”

He shook his head. “That boy and his big mouth… No, I haven’t had a party yet,” he admitted. “I… honestly, I don’t like parties. They’re really. Disorienting.”

“Hmm,” the other hummed sympathetically.

“Plus, I have way too many people I’ll need to invite, and it’s going to be stupidly difficult to call them all up, confirm with each one, then order all their favorite stuff. Clean up the mess when they’re gone. It’s… ah, it’ll be a hassle.”

“You…” Jinki nodded with admiration. “Sound like you have a lot of friends. I’m actually jealous.”

“Yeah well,” Jonghyun started with some bitterness. “Still doesn’t stop me being lonely.”

The other chuckled. “How can you be lonely? This world is so insanely full of people, it’d be impossible.”

“See, that’s what I hate?” he pointed out, frowning and gesturing with his hands. “That in my life, lonely and alone have never met. They’re miles apart.”

Jinki studied him at that, eyes narrowed, lip worried. His hair fluttered in a zephyr and one of his cheeks shone gold against the setting sun. There was a sadness in that stare. It reached out with its arms as if waiting for someone to come pick it up, to come take it away because it didn’t belong there. The sadness seemed to weigh enough that its owner’s vision sagged to the ground, tired of holding itself up to face the rest of the world. If Jonghyun could, he’d have reached out and wiped it clean off the man’s face. But he couldn’t.

“Yeah,” Jinki said lowly, nearly whispering. His gaze moved to the ground, to his own shoes. “I know what you mean.”

——

“What’s up?” Minho answered the phone immediately. 

“OK, let’s do it.”

“You mean let’s start a band? Yesssss!”

“Ye—what?” Jonghyun barked into his phone. “No! I’m talking about the thing you’ve been bugging me to do for weeks.”

“Yeah! Start a band!” Minho reiterated.

“Idiot, I mean a house-warming party.”

There was silence for a few seconds. “Ohhhhh… so I take it the date went well huh?”

“It wasn’t a date, we aren’t dating, I was only accompanying him to the fair,” he patiently listed, but bit his lip because he couldn’t really lie. Not to Minho. “And yeah, he did bring up my move and all that but—”

“A-ha!”

“What’s a-ha?” Jonghyun panicked.

“A-ha is you finally deciding to throw a party so you can get Jinki hyung to visit your hooome~ oooh~”

“Yah, yah, yah…!” he warned over Minho’s stupid noises. “It’s nothing like that, don’t go around spreading rumors OK?”

“You’re in loooove~”

“Hang up, right now!” he yelled.

——

He nearly didn’t hear the doorbell over the din. As he balanced a bowl of chips and dip in one hand, used his hip to push a trolley of glasses, and tried to twist the door knob with the other, someone walked past him giving instructions to bring out the drinks. He frowned after them but couldn’t pinpoint with any certainty who it was. When he gave up, the newcomer at his threshold waved.

Jonghyun frowned. The guest had short hair, a hooked nose, wore a loose sleeveless shirt and jeans, and carried a small bouquet of red roses. Nothing in their appearance could give away what or who they were. “He-hello…” he tried. 

The other person tried to ease off the awkwardness. “Uh, thanks for inviting me,” he said with an appreciative nod. “Sorry I’m late, I wanted to pick these up for you–”

“Oh! It’s you, hyung,” Jonghyun sighed with relief. “Come, come on in!” he waved.

“Wow!” Jinki immediately let out. “This place is…”

“Big?” Jonghyun raised his eyebrows in suggestion. “Huge!” the other’s eyes were wide. “So… so Miesian too, like all the glass is really. Fresh and modern and—”

“Tell me what you think later, here take this off me and feed yourself,” he offered the bowl and started walking back to the kitchen. “I’ll be right back, just try to find Minho, he’ll show you around.”

When Jonghyun wheeled the trolley to the kitchen, a woman was standing there, leaning against the island. He offered her a bottle of beer. “Can I help you?” he asked her.

“Yah, you know I only drink beer when there’s fried chicken,” the woman responded, then suddenly perked up at an idea. "Did you order any fried chicken?”

“Noona,” Jonghyun whined with a sudden rush of tiredness, walking over for a hug. “This is so difficult,” he muttered into her shoulder.

Sodam patted the back of his head. “You’re doing fine. And I’m right here. Just call out, if you need me, OK?”

He hummed reluctantly before he was sent back into the crowd. Jonghyun trudged to the living room, a case of beers in one hand. A circle of guests waved to him with congratulatory words, and although he recognized no one, he did his best to behave amicably. As soon as he could excuse himself, he set the bottles safely onto a table. On cue, someone climbed onto his back with a loud proclamation of “Jonggie hyung!”

With the affectionate term, and the bounce in the other’s voice, the connection to face and name was instant. “Oh! Taeminnie!”

The boy got off and hugged him tightly. “Ahhhh, have I missed you,“ Jonghyun was swayed to and fro. "We don’t even meet like we used to every morning, now that you’ve moved. You’re so far away… I had to take two trains to get here.” Taemin pouted cutely.

“You’re here now,” Jonghyun said with love, grasping the other’s shoulders. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“This party’s great! Everyone’s here!” Taemin skipped a little in place. “I even ran into Jongin and Hyoyeon noona in the balcony. I haven’t seen any of you in so long, ah~! Remember when we used to go on a drive in the hills?”

Jonghyun nodded happily. “And how is Naeun doing?” he inquired.

“What, she hasn’t filed for divorce yet?” Minho’s warm voice slid into the conversation. “I’m shocked, considering what a headache you can be on your best da—ack!” Taemin tackled him playfully and Jonghyun decided to leave the two of them alone to their stupid wrestling.

“Just don’t break anything!” he called out after them with a grin. More unknown faces and more good wishes ambushed him. And they would’ve continued to do so for the good part of the evening, had he not bowed out of conversations before they turned unpleasant for him. 

At a moment of leisure, Jonghyun’s eyes looked through the crowd for any sign of red roses. When he found it, he started to swim through the throng to get to it. All along the way there, people commended him on the new apartment and gave him all sorts of compliments. He thanked them as best as he could without seeming too rude. With Jinki’s familiar back within earshot, he called out.

“Hyung, I—”

“Oh, there you are,” the other turned around with a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.” Jonghyun wondered if he’d ever been privy to it before, because there was nothing but sunshine in that smile. It glowed like gold and warmed his cheeks as if summer had landed on his face, resting against his skin after a long flight. He wondered if Jinki had ever shown him an expression like that before, and wondered if it would’ve made Jonghyun’s cold nights more bearable–had he been able to remember such a smile. He almost blushed, almost shied a little at the thought but the other pulled him over by his arm.

“We were just talking about you,” Jinki held the roses out for his host to take, and motioned a third man standing next to him; a scar on his eyebrow and a piercing in his lip. The newcomer looked from one to the other and gave a soft smile.

“Hi.”

Jonghyun squinted. “Hello, I’m so glad you could come,” he attempted, in a manoeuvre to identify who the other person was.

“It’s me,” the man said, as if it should’ve been obvious who he was by now. “Kim Kibum?”

“Oh,” Jonghyun’s nervousness cooled down. He shot the other a sheepish purse of the lips. “Hey. I meant it, Bummie. I’m glad you’re here.”

Kibum’s momentary coldness disappeared. “How have you been, Jjong?”

“Good,” he nodded. “Very good. So…” he took a deep breath. “I see you two have already met.”

“He’s been singing your praises for a while now,” Jinki assured. “And giving me some very interesting dirt on you in the process,” he teased. 

“Dirt?” Jonghyun shot a worried look at Kibum. “Wh-what dirt?”

Jinki stared at him in disbelief for a moment. “I’m joking!” he laughed. 

“Don’t mind him,” Kibum said. “He’s always like this. Always makes a mountain out of a molehill.”

“No, I don’t,” Jonghyun challenged, willing to argue over the fact.

“See?” and the other two giggled. “Anyway. This is a great house, Jjong. And a great party too,” Kibum placated. “I only wish there were some music, you know?”

“Yah, he’s already confused as it is, you want to add to the confusion?!” Minho appeared behind them on cue, carrying a tray heavy with refreshments for other guests. “Use your brain!”

“At least I have a brain to use!” Kibum retorted and Minho squealed with laughter, nearly spilling all his food. They all chuckled along.

“OK, you two have fun, I need to say hello to some more people,” Jonghyun bid them farewell, not wanting to to leave but also not wanting to stay. On his way, Minho took him aside and described a few visitors to him: told him their names and what they were wearing, just so he could avoid the discomfiture of meeting the same group of guests more than once. He nodded and tried to remember everything, tried to smile at everyone he passed, tried to give everyone his hellos and offer a drink to whoever asked about his health. He tried to enjoy himself, take pride in his new home and his old friends all gathering to celebrate it with him. He honestly tried.

Through it all, he made sure not to turn around and look back at the other two again. But when he was at the sliding door to the balcony, and the setting sun caught in his eyes, his gaze naturally strayed back to the place he’d last seen Kibum and Jinki. Kibum with Jinki. The sight made him feel bitter. One leaned on the other’s shoulder, guffawing. The other blushed and grinned, looked somewhat pleased with himself. Both seemed like they were in a world of their own, neither appeared to remember what brought them together.

And that’s when Jonghyun knew this party was long over.

——

But he didn’t give up. 

The next chance he could find, he went out to their usual café on his lunch hour. He’d had to take a train and walk in the sun for fifteen minutes. By the time he’d arrived, his shirt was soaked in all the uncomfortable places. He loosened his tie and fanned himself with the menu. A few minutes later, a familiar frame walked over to him with a pot of coffee. 

“Oh, hyung, how have you been? Sorry I meant to call after the party but there was so much to do an—”

“Ah… excuse me?” the server said in an odd, unfamiliar voice. A gravelly, discordant voice. “Do… we know each other?”

Jonghyun watched the man in growing shock. He blinked gawkily. “I—I’m sorry,” he bowed in his seat. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Ah, really?” the man said with clear skepticism. “Do they work here?”

“Y-yeah, I’m actually here to meet Jinki hyung?”

“Oh, no,” the server shook his head. “He doesn’t work the afternoon shift on Tuesdays. He’ll only be here after five. If you like, I could take a message to pass on to him,” the man offered, but not with any sincerity. The look on his face seemed to accuse Jonghyun of something. Something like insanity.

“No…” he declined, mortified and crestfallen. “That’s OK. Thank you.”

He didn’t return to work after the ordeal. He called in sick and went straight home, answering none of his co-worker’s perturbed questions. He didn’t bother picking up his bag from the office, didn’t even bother picking up his dinner from the usual dumpling house near the apartment block. On the subway, his phone buzzed but he ignored it. In the lift, someone greeted him pleasantly, but he paid them no heed. As soon as he was indoors, he locked himself up, drew all the curtains, took a hot shower, put on his softest pyjamas, lit a candle on his bed side table, and went to sleep.

——

“I’m sorry, I should’ve given you my number so you could contact me before you came over,” Jinki spoke in hushed tones. Between them sat a basket of fruits and a card that read get well soon! in English. Obviously, Minho had put him up to this. 

“No, it’s my fault,” Jonghyun shook his head. “I wasn’t sure what I was thinking, dropping in like that.”

The other tilted his head but said nothing, as if waiting for him to elaborate. But there was nothing much to add. Jonghyun had tried to reach for something that was far out of his grasp. When his fingertips had made contact with it, he’d tried to swing his arm like the motion would help him find some purchase. But just like the time he tried to show off at the pull-up bars in high school, his grip grew sweaty and he slipped. The fall was hard, and the humiliation amplified the pain.

Jonghyun had made a fool of himself.

“I… just came to ask how the party was,” he shook his head. “Yeah,” he let out a chagrin-filled laugh when he saw the confusion on the other’s face. “It was stupid. Coming all the way to the other side of town for something stupid like that.” But he still looked at Jinki expectantly.

The man shook his head. “It… it was good. I—we all had fun, yeah—” he assured in a jumble. “I could tell you were meeting a lot of those people after a very long time, so they were happy to be here.”

“Yeah… that’s true.”

“Jong ah, what is…” the other slid off his stool. “What is this actually about?”

“Nothing,” Jonghyun chuckled it away, clapping his hands, rubbing them together in a habit from his disgraceful high school days. “But I’m happy you enjoyed yourself. And I could tell you liked meeting my friends, too,“ he nodded. "You’ve always been close to Minho, but you and Kibum seemed to really hit it off with each other that day,” he said in a tone that insinuated things he wasn’t willing to say.

“Jong,” Jinki nudged again, his tone constantly and unbearably calm. “What’s going on?”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling like he’d find courage hidden there. His visitor walked around the kitchen island to close the distance between them, but Jonghyun stood and took a step back, motioning for Jinki to stay where he was. “Don’t,” he requested. “Please.”

Jinki’s expression took on a hint of helplessness. “Jong ah—”

“I want something,” he was cut off. “From you,” Jonghyun emphasized to put his point forward, gulping. “I want you to give me something that is unreasonable to ask for, and that’s why I act like an idiot.” He let out an exhale that came with the reprieve of confession. “I want you to give me this thing, and I want you to give it to me unconditionally—no, hyung! Hyung,” he cautioned. “Don’t come any closer, let me finish.”

The other sighed heavily. Jonghyun’s own breath had sped up by a large measure. 

“I can’t say, that… that I can give you anything in return for that something,” he shook his head. “I can’t say I can make you happy, because,” his eyes burned at the sound of his words. “Because I have never made anyone happy. Least of all, myself,” he let out a mirthless laugh. “I can’t say that I can give you everything I have, because I have nothing.”

Jinki carefully walked forward at that, regardless of all warnings. “What do you want?” he whispered when they were an arm’s length away. It was getting late in the day, and the kitchen was slowly being flooded by darkness. Deep shadows played on the man’s face. “Tell me what you want.”

“You couldn’t give it to me, even if you wanted to,” Jonghyun looked away. “I mean, Kibum tried and look what happened—”

“Why do you keep bringing him up?” the other scolded. 

Jonghyun turned back to him with incredulity. “Do you really not get it?” he looked from one amber eye to the other and found no trace of cruelty in them. Jinki wasn’t playing games with him, he was genuinely clueless.

“Hyung, Kibum and I were together for a long time.”

“I gathered.”

“Then do you know why we went our separate ways?” Jonghyun straightened up to his full height. “Do you know what fucked us up?”

“No, and I don’t really care—”

“It was me,” Jonghyun told him anyway, anger finding its way to the edges of his words. “I constantly mistook other men for Kibum and it ruined our relationship and… and once I kissed someone else. And I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Jinki said nothing. 

“Do you understand what that means?”

“… Jong ah,”

“It means that no matter how faithful I want to be to someone, no matter how much I love someone, no matter what I do to try and not fuck it up?” his voice broke against his tears. “I fail. I fail all the time. And everyone knows that,” he defined angrily. “Every single person who has ever met me, knows that. And I have to look at their faces when they realize it, over and over. I have to see them think it when they find out what I am, and that—” he sobbed. “And that is why I can’t ask you.”

Jinki pulled him into a hug then but was immediately rejected. “Hey,” he tried again, slower, softer. But when Jonghyun violently fought him off a second and third time, he gripped the man’s arms hard and trapped him against the kitchen counter. “Sto—stop it!” he yelled. 

Jonghyun sagged against him then, quaking like a child.

——

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Jinki agreed.

They’d ended up lying on the carpet of the living room, feet pointing in opposite directions and temples nearly touching each other. Jonghyun was calmer now, arms crossed over his chest as it moved with his breathing. But his nose still sniffled and a stray tear or two still dripped to his ears. He’d wipe each of them away, just so Jinki wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“I’ll be with you, Jong ah, but you need to make some changes in your life,” the man said.

He nodded wordlessly. He approved of that sentiment. “Yeah.”

“First, I want you to see a therapist—no, hear me out,” Jinki tamped out the protest Jonghyun started to make. “I want to help you, I really do. But I can’t help you with everything. Some of this stuff… Jong, some of the things you feel are really powerful, and they’re eating you up from the inside. There is a way to deal with them, but I don’t know it. You need professional advice to face those feelings. Do you think that’s reasonable?”

He didn’t want to admit defeat, because that’s what it felt like he was doing. Therapy was always seen as a last resort, a shameful alternative to being fine. Being whole and perfect and happy. He wanted to stop thinking of it with the narrow-mindedness of society. It was difficult. It was tough to accept. But he would certainly try, on Jinki’s insistence. “OK.”

“Good,” the other turned his head, their faces close enough to lean in for a kiss. But Jinki didn’t attempt, and Jonghyun didn’t seek. “Second, I want you to remember that you are not alone,” he felt around for Jonghyun’s phone and saved himself as a contact. “Now you can reach me whenever you like. Even if you’re bored and want someone to talk to. Call me anytime, alright?”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I want you to just remember that I’m here for you.”

Jonghyun turned too, this time. Their eyes met and stayed met for a long series of moments. “Thank you,” he whispered again, between them.

——

With several months behind them, their lives—and schedules—plateaued into each other.

Saturday morning was still dedicated to badminton and lunch at the café. Jinki still served them but lingered to chat with Jonghyun, sometimes playing with his hand, other times giving him a complimentary slice of cheesecake. Minho would whine things like unfair and I want to date someone too, and they’d giggle about it later. 

After a lot of scheduling, cancelling, and rescheduling, Jonghyun settled for therapy sessions every Monday straight after work. He stuck to the routine no matter how shameful it felt to admit the fact to his family and close friends. 

Wednesday nights, they would meet at the apartment where one watched TV and another worked on his portfolio for university applications. Sometimes, when the weather was pleasant, they went for walks along Cheonggyecheon. Sometimes, they invited Taemin and Naeun out on double dates. Sometimes, they just sat on the floor and played board games.

Most of the time, Jinki was close and listening attentively.

Jonghyun was happier. He could honestly say that, with no embellishment and no stretching of the truth. He felt lighter than he had in months. His mind was clearer, and he was able to make more of an effort at recognizing faces – putting names against voices, hair, mannerisms. His self-confidence would rocket every time he guessed correctly, and the few mistakes he made never weighed him down. He’d actively made an attempt to forgive himself, to move on from his slip-ups and not carry them around with himself. He was happier.

But he didn’t want to stop here. He wanted to keep moving forward. He wanted to keep climbing. And he decided to bring it up at dinner one Wednesday. 

“So, the voice thing,” Jinki said as he polished all the food off his plate. “Tell me how it works. I’m curious,” he questioned while munching through a mouthful of side-dishes.

“It’s easy,” Jonghyun shrugged, hissing at something spicy. “I just connect peoples voices with images that remind me of them. For example, Taemin,” he explained. “We lived in the same neighborhood as children, and he used to own this… huge colorful beach ball,” he motioned with his hands. “Everyone wanted to be friends with him because everyone loved that ball. So, when I hear a voice, and it sounds lively and fun, I’m immediately reminded of that ridiculous beach ball. And that’s how I know it’s Taemin.”

Jinki smiled, nodding his comprehension as he settled back into his chair. “What about the others?”

“Minho sounds lazy. Warm and lazy, like wool and hot chocolate.”

“Well, he does like his scarves.”

They shared a laugh at that. “Yeah, he does.”

"I’m sure his wardrobe is filled with them and nothing else.”

“Kibum is like… well, his breath always smelled of cigarettes when we were dating, and he used to wear a lot of silver rings. So I know when I hear something cutting or sharp, it’s him.”

“You do him so much justice,” Jinki chortled.

“Hey, you only met him for a couple of hours. Get to know him a little, and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Heh,” the other was amused. “What about me, then?” he asked, leaning forward on an elbow, looking sleepy and tired after all the time he’d put into his applications that night. “What do I remind you of?”

“I…” Jonghyun blushed. “I don’t want to say, because you might think I’m silly.”

“This is reverse psychology. Now I want to know!”

They giggled. “You’re like…” he pursed his lips. “You’re like a silk worm.”

“Wow, harsh.”

“No, no, hear me out:” Jonghyun rushed to clarify, chuckling and holding the other’s wrist. “You know how silkworms work really really hard so they can produce little pieces of string? String that we then collect and make into something beautiful? Yeah… you’re like that. You work hard on whatever you do. And it ultimately gives people happiness.”

Jinki watched him with an adoring smile. “You really know how to impress me, don’t you?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Jonghyun said, trying to act charming but immediately breaking into a fit of laughter at himself. The other watched him for a while, matching his mirth. And suddenly the urge to lean across the island for a kiss intensified. But in the six months they’d been together, they hadn’t tried to get too attached. There was a mutual unspoken pact that they didn’t want to rush into anything. Things needed to move slowly, not on impulse. And although Jonghyun’s last relationship had been long and deeply intimate, this contrast in pace was pleasant. Beyond holding hands, he decided to respect the distance as best as he could. “Hyung,” he said in place of it.

“Hmm.”

“Let’s go on a trip together.”

“Sure, where?”

“I…” Jonghyun hesitated, trying hard not to sound too forward. “I really want to go to a nice resort somewhere. Maybe Fiji?”

“Ah…” Jinki looked unnerved. “Jong ah, hyung doesn’t have that kind of money…”

“It’ll be a gift,” the offer gushed out. “From me to you. I-I mean—” he faltered. “You’re going to start university next year, and we may not see each other as often anymore. This could be a… going away present?” 

Jinki licked his lips, seeming a little worried. “Jong, the university is right here. In Seoul.”

“Yeah, I know but—”

“And it’s a generous offer, really, it is. Thank you, I’m… I’m flattered that you would want to go away on an island vacation with me. Really, thank you.”

Jonghyun blinked. “But?”

“But…“ Jinki blinked. "I need to think about it. It’s a lot to consider, I hope you understand?”

“Hmm…”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t want to go with you. Trust me, if I could drop everything right now and leave, I would.”

“I’m sorry. I… seem to have burdened you with something unnecessary again,” Jonghyun said sheepishly. 

But Jinki didn’t reply. He shook his head with a muttered this person, walked around the table and embraced the other’s forehead to his stomach.

—–

Jinki did say yes in the end, acquiescing on the condition that he be loaned his half of the expenses. Jonghyun had wasted no time in booking flights and accommodation, then.

To be quite honest, he had wasted some time jumping around the apartment like an excited child. He’d skipped through the kitchen, slid down the railing of the stairs, done a little jig in the living room–tripped and nearly hurt himself on the corner of the centre table, too. But the holiday was to happen, that much was certain, and now he felt like he was filled with air: light, warm, soothed like the sighs of an admirer.

He kept the expenses low, out of consideration for the other. But he also didn’t stinge on where they stayed, and how long they stayed for. On their first day in Fiji, a private ferry picked them up at the port and an hour later dropped them off outside a quiet little cottage, concealed on all sides by large bursts of vegetation. Jinki looked undeniably amazed when he stepped out onto the sand, and Jonghyun simply ran up to what would be their home for the next two weeks, flailing his arms and rolling on tufts of dry grass — willing to appear childish now that no eyes could see him.

They spent their mornings gorging on the breakfast buffet, spent their afternoons snorkeling or kayaking in the ocean. And at night, when the crickets were singing outside, Jinki would bring out his laptop so they could watch a movie under shared blankets.

On his part, Jinki never left Jonghyun by himself for longer than necessary. He would have friendly conversations with the people they met on the trip, and he would make additional bookings or requests on their behalf. Jonghyun didn’t mind being a passenger in those situations. There was no loss of autonomy in it, he realized. It was the other’s way of protecting him. And he was grateful. He felt an odd sense of safety. 

——

On the last evening of their trip, they sat down by the shore. Waves lapped on the sand and turned to froth against their toes. Jonghyun hugged his knees and Jinki brought out a pair of beer cans, their fourth… or no. Maybe their fifth of the night. In the distance, the last ferry ride of the day drifted out to the mainland, only visible by the lights on its front and the din of its engine.

“I could live in a place like this.” It didn’t matter who breathed those words out into the cool air. They both felt it: in different ways, in varying degrees. Where one envied the isolation of an island, the other loved the way silence reigned over it. One enjoyed the feeling of sand against his naked heels, the other missed the sun baking his bare shoulders. One could float on the undulating ocean forever, another could fall sleep in the shade of mango trees. Jonghyun could’ve stayed and if Jinki had the courage to, he would’ve also forgone leaving here. But the renouncement of something would never come without the sacrifice of something else. They knew this, and they spoke it to each other. Silently. Between sips of cold beer and grips around condensation.

“Thank you,” Jinki suddenly hushed. “For bringing me here. For showing me things I would’ve probably never seen.”

Jonghyun shook his head. “If you’d never said yes, I wouldn’t be here, either. So I should be thanking you,” he turned and smiled, leaning his chin on his arm. When the other returned the smile, he dipped his face shyly, hiding it behind the inside of his elbow. And the thought that he may be drunk occurred to him. The buzz in his cheeks flushed down his neck and into his chest. His skin fizzed with excitement, his lungs coursed with anticipation

“Let’s go for a swim,” he said. The disbelieving pause between him slipping off his shirt and Jinki’s startled eh?! was long, and a little funny. Jonghyun chuckled, dizzy with the emotion, high off of more than alcohol. “Come, hyung,” he beckoned, tilting his head to the water.

“You know there’s going to be all sorts of stuff in the water now, right?”

“That’s OK,” Jonghyun had been really worried about stepping on fish when they went snorkeling in the daytime. He’d even yelled out when he accidentally squished a sea cucumber. But now. No fear resided in his gut anymore, just a heavy pulse. To keep going. To keep stripping.

If Jinki felt any shame from seeing his host unclothed, he didn’t show it. He followed Jonghyun’s face with his sight, first in confusion and then in curiosity. “Wait…” he tried when the other began to walk in. “Wait, you’re drunk.” But he threw off his clothes as well, following close behind.

The water was cold, the tide gentle as it lapped their ankles their thighs their waists. The moon shone over them, its light folding them in cool blankets. Jonghyun stared up at it as he walked then swam. He turned to connect his eyes with Jinki once: not to check if he was still there, just to assure him that he wanted this. Wanted to be followed. Wanted to be chased. Wanted to be caught. 

Jinki’s gaze seemed to understand.

They swam for a while, first in a line and then at a point. One stopped and the other continued, cutting the water in a diminishing spiral. One looked and the other looked back. One thought he was drowning and the other knew they were soaring. One stalled, swirled, kept himself afloat. Waiting. The other moved, dived, approached as if from all sides. Wanting.

They waded deep enough that their feet stopped touching the sand. Jinki’s circling stopped, too. He swum to a halt in front of a sobbing Jonghyun. It was only them riding those waves, then. Only Jinki, only Jonghyun, and only the moonlight wavering between them on the water.

“Why are you sad?” Jinki asked. His voice was tender, the words seeming to cradle Jonghyun in their arms.

“Because,” he said, laughing and weeping all at the same time. “Because I can see you. Clearly. And I know you. I know in my gut, to give you a name. To give you your identity. I…” Jonghyun shook his head, bringing his hand out the water to wipe his face and drenching it further. “I know exactly who you are. Right now. In this second. And–” he cried. “And I’m sad because this second won’t stay. It will go away it will never come back and I don’t want that, I don’t want to leave this time I just–”

“Then let’s stop time,” Jinki said before he swallowed Jonghyun into a gasping kiss and the water swallowed their bodies whole.

——

It had been written on the sand of Jinki’s island. It had been scrawled on the beach, scratched on the rocks that fell towards Jonghyun’s sea.

It had been written that they would meet like this, when one eroded and the other abated.

It had been written a long time ago that they would meet when Jonghyun washed to the shore, flung to land by the waves. Jinki had been waiting ready, with his arms open to catch him.

It had been written that their lives would be pulled together like sticks bound in rope. That they would float and drown together, as driftwood, every morning. And when dusk finally came they would swim. Home. To the place they built. Dug into the ground and poured in like cement that dries even when the monsoon comes. Even when showers flood and lighting crashes it was written they would be held. As one. As together. As Jinki and Jonghyun.

And when the sun set. When the moon danced into view it was written that they would spin. They would roll their memories together like dough between their hands, flatten them into the circle of time before throwing them up into the sky. At the stars. At the universe. Into Jonghyun’s sea where they dissolved and disappeared. Absorbed into his tongue where he could always reach them but never bring them to his lips. It was written that Jinki would step aside when Jonghyun fell back into the water. When he swum out with the determination of getting away from the island. From his survival. From Jinki. It was written he would be given way. Despite the fear of his never returning. Despite the fear that time would start turning again and twist in their chests with pain.

It was written that life would draw messages on the beach, reminding them of the second their chests pressed together and their breath danced in the middle of folding lips. Even as the waves washed everything away, over and over. The memory was drawn until life broke its stick. And left them to maneuver through their splashing night and their blushing morning.

——

A year passed.

It was time for Jinki to go to university. They’d moved in together some months prior. Jinki had fought the suggestion hard but when he noticed how expensive rent could get in the university area, he was defeated. Jonghyun had reasoned it would still give them time together, even with work and studies. "It’ll be good for us, hyung,” he’d insisted.

And it was the truth.

Every day Jinki slowly brought in more of his things and every night Jonghyun made more and more room for him in the previously bare apartment until it felt full. Full of things, full of memories, full of happiness. And with every addition Jonghyun felt fuller too. Even if Jinki complained his things were a little scruffy or a little tattered, he didn’t mind. He bought new sheets and new quilts. He bought a second pair of pillows. He bought a set of drawers for the other’s clothes. He bought more cutlery to share. He bought everything they would need to go from being more than one. More than just him. 

Every morning Jonghyun spoke a soft, “hyung?” to confirm if it really was Jinki lying next to him. Some days the other joked and said something silly like, “No, it’s your conscience.” Some days a soft kiss would be answer enough. Some other, rare days, Jonghyun would cry and hide his face in his pillow, feeling frustrated that he couldn’t even identify the man he lived with. The man he loved and was obviously loved by in return. Jinki stayed by his side for a long time on those mornings, hushing and comforting him, never tiring of him, never complaining or walking away. 

“You’re sure about this?” he asked one afternoon as they lazed on the sofa.

Jonghyun said nothing, snuggling up to the other. He wasn’t sure about it at all. He felt no certainty in letting another person into his space. The space he had guarded fervently up until Jinki had knocked on the door and held out a bunch of red roses. He wasn’t sure. But he would remain unsure until they tried. And that was all this was. Trying. To be happy, to be whole, to start again. That was all this was. He said nothing as Jinki put an arm around him and kissed the back of his head. He gave and gave and Jinki received and accepted until at some point in their cohabitation. On some mundane morning as he sat in the train to work, Jonghyun wondered if he was a little Jinki, now. If the man he shared his apartment with was in actuality, half-Jonghyun.

He thought about it all day, all through work, even all through the night when they met and hugged and kissed and ate dinner. He thought about it when the other held him close in bed, gripped him hard, pressed a pair of soft lips to his ear and showered him with compliments as he moved deep inside him. He thought about it in his breaking voice and his scratching fingers and his peaking moans–maybe he wasn’t himself. Maybe the other wasn’t himself, either. Maybe they became each other’s, on a dark and sandy beach in the middle of an ocean. Maybe they melded, became an alloy. A Jinki-Jonghyun that couldn’t be separated with ease. He wondered even after they came back down from their high, the sheets as sweaty as their foreheads, the bed as creaky as their thighs, the air as balmy as their breath.

“You’re sure about this?” Jinki asked again, several times. And Jonghyun never answered. But the response slowly blossomed in his chest as the days became months.

His life had less uncertainties in their time together. Even when work became hectic and university took up all the time they could’ve spent in each other’s arms. Even then, Jonghyun grew less unsure. Less negative. Less unstable on his feet when looking at faces and listening to voices. He knew that the clatter of plates in the kitchen was Jinki. Or the sound of music in the late afternoon was Jinki. The jangle of keys at the door was Jinki and even the hushed sigh behind him in bed was Jinki. Even if he didn’t always recognize the things he should’ve–the picture of his mother, the friends on his phone, the sound of his own heart. Even if all that fell to unfamiliarity, Jinki never did. Not his summery grins, not his happy clap, not his hot kisses or his rippling muscles.

A year passed.

But Minho continued his complaints. “How come no one will date me?” he stamped his feet as they finished their run in he park. “I’m cute! Hyung, am I not cute?” he demanded of Jinki. 

“Adorable,” the other panted, bending over and supporting himself on his knees. “How is he not tired…?!” he said incredulously.

Jonghyun cringed and wiped his brow, but glared at the tall man, the stitch in his side making him unable to answer back. 

A year passed.

But Taemin and his wife still met them, often. They would eat and go for walks and sometimes. Sometimes Jonghyun would listen to the sounds of the baby in Naeun’s belly, closing his eyes and giggling. Imagining who the child would take after, even if their faces never registered in his mind. And then he imagined what Jinki would look like holding it. Holding any child, cradling it and humming it to sleep. He would feel warm at the image of sturdy arms around a delicate bundle of blankets. 

A year passed. 

Sometimes the thought of Kibum would still interfere with his mind. Make him remember the things he was ashamed of, things that embarrassed him still. Things he wished he could forget as easily as the faces surrounding him, but was slapped by on his worst days. And he fought Jinki over it. Birthed arguments from stupid things like forgetting to switch off lights or leaving a dirty spoon on the counter. He yelled and screamed and cried his eyes out while Jinki waited quietly for him to finish. Then he sobbed against the man’s chest, being soothed and being led to bed, being comforted to sleep it all off.

A year passed. 

And it wasn’t a perfect year. It wasn’t always happy. It wasn’t always a bed of roses. But it passed regardless. And while Jonghyun still couldn’t tell people apart, still had to listen closely in important meetings and critical situations. Even if that was still as it had always been, he was different. He was no longer just Jonghyun. He was more.

Muse | Painter AU! Taeyong (M)

Description: “You are the apple of my eye, the stars in my sky; you are my muse, and most importantly, you are mine.”

Safe: In all ways, you have always played it safe, never taking risks. However, your stagnant world is shaken up when abstract painter Lee Taeyong propositions to you in the middle of an art galley.

Genre: angst | fluff | humor WC: 18.8k Warnings: graphic smut (virginity loss, rough sex, oral sex, unprotected, 69, etc), profanity

    (A/N: I’m so sorry painter taeyong lowkey turned into pseudo sugar daddy taeyong. Also, there is a detailed notations list at the end noting my references.)

   You scrutinized the lines of various lengths and curvatures that made up the design of your organic building. Your trained eye could pick out the angles were all correct, every detail arithmetically precise, but the building simply didn’t invoke any sort of passion in you. The lines were exactly just that; lines. None of the functional utility of the drawing gave way to any sort of creativity. It was like staring at a paper you’ve written on for hours with invisible ink, only to realize that you’ve forgotten the point and nothing made sense because you didn’t have any way of reading it.    A sigh escapes your lips as you stand up from your stool, a satisfying “crack” resounding throughout the empty room when you stretch your poor back. You roll your head back in a circle, refreshing your eyes from the hours spent on staring at a piece of blue paper hung up on the angled drawing board. 1, 2, 3, you count as you extend your arms out to relieve the muscles from the lack of exertion of a few hours.    Panting after the stretch, you stare at the drawing again. No matter how hard you stared, the drawing desk could not turn into a dirt-stained pottery wheel, nor could the many rulers suddenly morph into chisels, worn with constant use. It was hopeless really, as hopeless as you actually managing to put together a comprehensive design for your architecture final.    Your phone vibrated on the side table and your eyes dart over to the screen. It lay in a halo of rulers and pencils, erasers dotting the surface of the table like water droplets while pencil sketches were interspersed haphazardly. A messy desk was the sign of a messy mind, after all; you just hoped it didn’t reflect in your work.    Olivia, one of your friends at the private arts college you both attended, informed you to “hurry the fuck up” and meet her at the quad. You frowned, not recalling the reason why, but ah-ing when the reason came to you. A famous artist, whom with Olivia was absolutely enamored, was delivering a speech in one of the lecture halls on campus and she wanted you to come along. It escaped your reasoning on why your presence was needed (You were an architect major. What use was an abstract painter’s advice to you?) but you agreed anyway, even if she was acting like some silly teenage girl attending a concert.    Sighing, you did your best to organize the pathetic mess on your workshop table and gave up as soon as you started. What was the point anyway? It was going to be a quick trip, after all. You gathered your essential things in your bag and strode determinedly out of the workshop and into the maze of hallways that made up the famed Parsons School of Design. The midday sun that greeted you outside was a welcome replacement for the fluorescent lighting in the workshop.    Your friend, in her signature monochrome ensemble, was tapping her foot impatiently as she shielded her eyes from the sun. A surge of envy and sadness rose up at the sight of her paint-splattered tote bag and her stained fingers. You admired Olivia for her braveness at pursuing her passion, but also grew green-eyed at the sort of tired joy in her eyes when she recounted her brush technique class. Sighing, you continued walking through the quad, feeling the sunlight warming your skin and melting away your worries. Her disgruntled expression turned even more sour when she caught sight of you moseying along, admiring the the greenery and architecture.    “This is no time for you to enjoy nature! We’ve got to get there soon and grab some front row seats before half of the damn campus floods in!” she lectures grabs your arm. You roll your eyes and increase your pace to keep up, and you both speed walk to the lecture hall.    The lecture hall of Parsons School of Design was the pride and joy of its students and alumni. Designed by one of the alumni of the architecture department, it was a huge, intimidating structure made out of glass and metal in the spirit of postmodern design. A dome made completely out of glass soared over the amphitheater-style seating surrounding a central stage, the signature blood-red banners of your college hanging in this way and that way. Usually used for special occasions, this hall wasn’t your run of the mill lecture hall but a bold statement of creativity.    Even after having attended the venue multiple times, you couldn’t help but be amazed at its sheer size and impressive design. However, the room was filled with loud chatter and buzz, teeming with students and staff.    “Look! Over there!” Olivia exclaimed and tugged you in the direction of the inner ring of seats. You were surprised she could even see over the mass of people with her short stature, and that there happened to be seats available in the huge crowd.    As soon as the pair of you took your seats, a hush swept over the audience. Chitchat is smothered with the blanket of silence and the echoes of conversation no longer reverb across the hall, only a sort of nervous buzz signifying anticipation.    “Good afternoon, everyone. Today is-” your headmaster droned on in a monotone voice.    “This old man needs to hurry the fuck up, my god!” Olivia grumbled, resting her chin on her palm.    You roll your eyes and your thoughts drift to other trivial things. Did you water your plants? Did you save the latest design model in your hard drive? Was the hot barista still working at-    Applause resounds around the lecture hall as your headmaster steps down from the stage and hands the microphone over to a man with sunset orange-red hair and a slender build. His stage presence was immediately more noticeable than your headmaster’s. Him in his black slacks and oxford shirt rolled to the sleeves attracted the crowd’s attention like bees to honey.    “Ehem.”    Olivia, beside you, squeals in delight while you slightly lean forward, intrigued by this man.    “As you may know, I am Lee Taeyong, an artist and alumni of Parsons,” he bows slightly and your classmates murmur about his Korean heritage.    “Today, I would like to talk about inspiration.”    He started pacing the stage, making rounds to address each part of the circular auditorium.    “Inspiration is something easy to find, yet rather hard to grasp. It’s difficult to wrestle with something you see or feel onto a canvas or block of clay that makes sense. But this is basic knowledge to all of you, right?” he grins and the crowd laughs.    As the speech continues, you can never take your eyes off the painter. Lee Taeyong seemed to embody the abstract art he was so famous for, his presence departing independently from the reality around him. It was almost like there was the crowd, the stage, and then him. He cut an alternate shape in the fabric of reality and somehow, and that drew your attention.    “However, inspiration is more than what helps me pick up my paintbrush at 2 am and to pay the bills; it is an energy that I have to constantly grapple with. Inspiration will drive you to your limits or bog you down like an anchor, it can either eat at your mind or push you towards your boundaries. It can consume you or it will be the one that feeds you.”    “Inspiration cannot be underestimated; it is just as much as an energy as the electricity that lights up this building and the kinetic energy in physics. Do not take it for granted; you are under its spell, after all.”    Taeyong’s lecture comes to an end and he bows, which shakes the whole hall out of its trance and into thunderous applause. Your classmates and many staff actually stand up to give this man a standing ovation, which rarely happens. Olivia, by your side, is still starstruck and tugged at your arm in excitement while you suddenly snap out of your daze. Even though you feel like the floor has been taken from beneath your feet, you regain the use of your limbs and get up to applaud.

   The air conditioning hits you in the face like a wrecking ball, and you shiver at the temperature change from outside to inside. You clutch the handles of your tote bag harder. No matter; the cold was endearing and you wouldn’t have it any other way. The art gallery on 18th street was your home away from home, a moment of reprieve from the stressful world of college. A usual college student’s hangout spot would be the coffee shop or even at the library but no; your place of rest and relaxation was within the walls of an art gallery.    You strolled through the various galleries, greeting each piece like an old friend. In a way, they were; when you moved out from your comfy suburbs, the only thing that reprieved you from your homesickness was the paintings on the wall or the sculptures on display.    When you crossover into another exhibition room, you pause momentarily in surprise. While you were expecting to see overhanging metal mobiles by Calder (1), instead, you were greeted by paintings of various sizes in gilded frames. They were painted with a muted color palette, drab and horribly realistic. There were landscapes of wheat or empty, desolate rooms, all of them showcased in moody lighting. The banner above you proclaimed these were the works of Andrew Wyeth, a larger than life black and white photo of him hanging imposingly over the installations.    A central piece draws your eyes to its canvas. It is a rather intimate piece; a woman in full nude sitting on a stool near a barn window, her bright skin contrasted by the darkness of the background surrounding her (2). It was gorgeous and you admire the mastery of detail put into the piece. As you continued to inspect the painting, a presence sidles closely beside you. You pay no mind to the person.    “Was he in love with her?” Your intense concentration on the painting in front of you is broken, and you turn your head towards the sound of the noise. The man on your left is not looking at you, rather, in the position, you were occupying a few seconds ago: transfixed by the painting. His glasses reflect in the studio lights and they highlight his unusually sharp features. He gives off an aura you couldn’t quite identify but are somehow familiar with.    “You are to assume I know of such artistic critique?” you ask bemusedly, cocking an eyebrow at this intriguing man.    He turns towards you, and your memory suddenly clicks together. You didn’t recognize him with the glasses, but the sharp jawline and distinct cheekbones, the ruffled hair and aristocratic nose- Lee Taeyong.    Taeyong’s mouth half pulls into a grin but he motions at your emblazoned tote bag.    “Parson’s?”    “Lee Taeyong! Oh, my, I certainly didn’t expect this.” The lights feel too bright and too warm when he scrutinizes your face with his intense, coal black eyes.    “Pleasure. And you are…?”    “Y/N L/N.”    His mouth pulls into some kind of half-smile for you and he turned back towards the painting.    “So?”    “I’m part of the architecture department,” you explain, bitterness seeping into your tone.    He raises his eyebrows.    “Either way; was Wyeth in love with his muse?”    Your brows furrow at this question. You think for a few seconds before carefully deciding on an answer. There was no telling what this man wanted anyway.    “I feel it was more of an aesthetic appreciation if anything. Nudity is not inherently sexual- Wyeth wanted to just invoke vulnerability through her nude body,” you speak decisively.    “Is there not some sort of love involved in spending time painting and scrutinizing every crevice of her body?” you shiver at the almost seductive tone in his voice, passionate and fiery. His tenor was the stuff of dark rooms and rumpled sheets, dying sunlight and lingering kisses.    Nevertheless, you huff and roll your eyes. “If you see it that way, sure. She was probably just a hired model.” (3)    Taeyong stays silent for a few seconds.    “Interesting,” he hummed.    You both stand, side by side looking at the dark painting.    “I hate to inform you, but my intentions on coming over here were not... purely to ask you about your interpretation of Wyeth.” Taeyong broke the silence.    “What were they, then?” you ask, intrigued,    “Your eyes are wonderful, you know,” Taeyong says abruptly.    “What.” you deadpan, confused at his sudden shift in tone.    “Your eyes are wonderful; I should love to paint them,” he speaks absentmindedly as if he were speaking to himself and not in conversation with another.    “Will you let me paint you?” He turns his smoldering eyes to you, boring into yours like a sucker-punch to the gut.    “I… excuse me?” you sputter, secretly wondering if this esteemed artist your friend so admired was high off of his ass.    “Will you let me paint you?” he draws out as if you were lacking in brain cells.    “Um… no? I don’t pose nude. Nor do I fancy myself a model.”    “You wouldn’t have to pose nude, y/n. You would serve more as… inspiration, rather than a real-life reference. You would be paid, if that helps,” Taeyong spoke quietly, beseeching you to heed his words.    “I’m afraid I don’t have much knowledge with this sort of thing, you know?”    Taeyongs sighs, and reaches into the inner coat pocket to retrieve something white and small. He offers the object, a vellum calling card, to your perusal. His name and contact information are engraved with silver ink and you hesitantly reach up to grab the card.    “Well, if you change your mind… you can contact me.” He brushes his thumb over your knuckles as he hands you the card, the way a cool breeze brushes upon your skin to refresh you from the hot summer air. His touch would seem unintentional if not for the suggestive smirk on his face. You blush slightly at the contact, and he retracts his hands and put them into his pockets.    “I bid you adieu.”    With a final grin, he sweeps out of the room, his presence still lingering like a miasma in the air.

   You slouch into the headboard of the rickety bed of your dorm room, cuddled up with blankets and hot chocolate. It was time to do some research because you were going to be safe.    You typed in “artist model”. All that came up with was a definition, so you decided to go another route. “Artist’s inspiration” brings about nothing relevant, and you pout, frustrated at the lack of information available. You ponder for a moment, the thunderstorm pounding at your window pane. Were you going to be his “muse”? You knew, vaguely, that the term was a loaded concept, subject to controversy and misconceptions. The way Taeyong described, you were acting more like a base for his artwork, something of an anchor for his creativity; a jumping board.    A crack of thunder jump-scares you, and you almost spill your hot chocolate onto your bedsheets. Sighing, you relinquish your grip on the mug and put it on your nightstand.    Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you power off your laptop and set aside on your desk. Today was simply not that day where you would come to a definite conclusion.

   “Say, Olivia, if you were suddenly propositioned by a man to be his model, would you accept?”    “Come again?!”    Her head of blonde hair whips back as she snaps her head towards you. The brushes she is washing in the sink are quickly discarded in favor of her freezing in shock, an amusingly shaken look on her face. You, however, are unperturbed and sit on the couch, staring at the TV display nonchalantly.    You look back at her, an eyebrow raised as her mouth gapes open stupidly in your direction.    “I’m not repeating that.”    Olivia unfreezes and turns off the tap, wiping her hands hurriedly on her jeans as she strides towards the living room of her apartment. Her pretty countenance is marred by furrowed brows, a mixture of confusion and impending alarm in her eyes. She settles into the couch, and unlike usual, she does not flop into it ungracefully but sits into it cautiously with her back ramrod straight.    “Y/n can you please explain?!” she asks.    You sigh and switch off the blaring TV and turn to her.    “An artist I recently met at a gallery asked me to “serve as inspiration for him”.”    At the sight of the doubt on her face, you explain more.    “No! Not like that. I’m not posing nude for him or anything like that, more like… inspiration of sorts.”    Olivia leans her chin onto her palm, deep in thought.    “Okay, who is it?”    You cringe. You knew this question was going to come up.    “... Lee Taeyong,” you whisper.    Olivia actually physically jumps off the couch and stands up.    “WHAT?!”     You cower away from her enthusiasm. Her hair crackles with excitement and her eyes are wide, but you are not surprised by her overzealous reaction.    “Erm… yeah?” you offer hesitantly.    “Oh my god, yes! You should totally do it! This is great, y/n! Do you know how many people would kill for this opportunity?” she ranted as she threw her hands up in the air. She paced the room in barely contained excitement, while you could only stare.    She calmed down after a while and sat back down. She exhaled then drew a palm over her face, and her face was fine.    “Okay, in all seriousness, I think it would be a great opportunity for you. Y/n… I love you so much, sweetheart, but you always play it so safe in your life.”    You frown and turn your head to the side. While you have known this practically all your life, it still hurts for it be said so raw and out in the open, like a cut wound exposed to the air.    “You never want to go out clubbing with the girls or flirt with some guys. Hell, you didn't even want to pursue scul-”    She shuts up when you cut your eyes towards her, a warning and angry gaze contained in them.    “...sorry. However, you get my point: you need to take risks more. Have fun, take a breather, and get out more! I think… I think this modeling opportunity might get you out of your shell, you know? You should go for it and… just be careful.”    You stay quiet for a while, contemplating over her words. Olivia was right, as much as you hated to admit it. It loathed you to go out of the apartment, no matter how much you yearned for excitement and the vibrancy of city life. Any romantic interest or advance was clinically clipped at the bud, because what if you got hurt? What if you couldn't concentrate on your studies? Safety meant no boys, no parties, no risky decisions. Safe was always...safe for you. But was “safe” good for you?    “... alright. I'll give it a try.”    Olivia squealed and dragged you off the couch, dancing you around in a bastardized version of the waltz. Peals of laughter rang out throughout the apartment as she dragged you into her excitement.

   The numbers of Taeyong’s number glow up from your screen, all ready to be dialed. You, on the other hand, were NOT ready and instead, eyed your phone like it was some sort of bomb that might explode.    Even if Olivia had convinced you at least try and see where it took you, you could not uphold to those promises when it came down to be. The effects of pressing the red little call icon on your phone screen would be… astronomical.     Would things change? Would they be the same? Would you still be the college student struggling to make ends meet? Or would you be something else entirely, something you couldn’t even fathom in your imagination? What would happen?    You know what? Fuck it.    You could do this.    A shiver of nervous anticipation wracked your body as the dialing tone rang through your empty apartment.    “Hello?” a husky tone spoke.    “Hi,” you whisper.    “Who is this?” Taeyong asks disinterestedly.    “It’s… it’s y/n. The girl you met at the gallery on 18th street?”    “Ah, y/n! Hello!” He exclaims, a complete roundabout from the cool detachment apparent in his tone earlier.    “Have you thought about my offer yet?” He asks.    “Erm, yes. I decided I… I’d like to take you up on it.”    There are a few moments of silence until Taeyong breathes out, “Delightful.” You unconsciously let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. Your posture slumps back into the chair behind you from your hunched position over the table.    “Um… yeah.” You don't know quite what to say now.    He laughs, a rich delightful sound that rumbles through the phone line and stirs something in the pit of your stomach. You gulp as his amused chuckle does down.    “You are so cute. I'll text you the details of where we should meet up, alright?”    “Yes, of course.”    “I will see you later. Have a nice night.”    “You too. Goodbye.”    The line clicks off and it is almost like the aftermath of an explosion. You stare, dazed and shell-shocked, at the dark screen of your cell phone.    You really don’t know what you have gotten yourself into.

   Muted jazz music plays softly over the speakers of the cafe you are currently sitting at, and combined with the ambient lighting makes the place attractive indeed. It is one of the classier coffee cafes in New York, one slightly out of the price range of broke college students, so it is an oddity to see one sitting in one of the plush booths that the cafe provides; hence, why you probably stuck out like a sore thumb.    Your fingers fumble with the handle of the coffee mug in front of you as you check your phone repeatedly. You tug nervously at the collar of your shirt and look around the cafe discreetly.    Taeyong had texted you the address of this cafe with no explanation, except a time and a date. It was rather confusing at first; why did he want to meet up with your cafe? You’d think you’d be brought to some sort of studio or informal workplace, but here you were, humming along with the saxophone in a dimly lit cafe.    The display on your phone read 6:40, 10 minutes after when Taeyong had said he would meet you. Normally, you would just wait patiently, but the importance of whom you were meeting with and why had you on edge with anticipation, butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach. You glanced down at your coffee mug; it was ¼ full, which meant you have been guzzling it down pretty quickly in nervousness. A sigh escapes your lips as you turn your attention towards the window.    You were on the fifth floor, so you had a bird’s-eye view of the pedestrians outside. People-watching was a habit of yours, albeit barely explored; it intrigued you to ponder what sort of lives the people passing you had. A woman near the corner caught your eye; she had perfectly coiffed hair and strode confidently through the mess of people with a briefcase and light overcoat. She looked like she might be a working woman, you mused, a yuppie; the sort of person your father dreamt for you to become.    A man with dyed orange hair ensnared your attention next, carrying a skateboard. While you could not see it from your vantage point, you knew he probably had some sort of Supreme-branded clothing on because of the neon yellow of his shirt and the flaming red color of his pants. People around him, particularly of the older generation, stared at him in disdain as he seemed to brush it off, not even acknowledging the world around him. You wished you could be like that; doing what you wanted, not caring about anyone wanted around you.    “Y/n?” a voice broke you out of your thoughts.    You turned your head and there was the man of the hour: Lee Taeyong.    He looked particularly dashing today, although unusually dressed. He wore a loose linen shirt tucked into some skinny jeans, his sunset red-orange hair kept in by a silk green bandana. The picture of a well-dressed, in-style millennial. Taeyong smiled a crooked grin at you and slid into the booth in the seat in front of you.    “How are you?” he asked.    “I’m doing fine myself, and you?”     “Rather well.”    The pair of you sat in silence for a few moments before he broke it.    “You must be wondering why I’ve summoned you to a cafe of all places, right? I can see it in your eyes,” he intoned.    You nod slowly.     “What I have found is that you can’t find the essence of a person while they are contorted on a podium in a studio. You can better express emotions and get a feel for the person better when you can explore all facets of them. What better to do that than to observe them in a natural environment?” Taeyong stares out the window into the crowded street.    He turns his gaze to you.    “Can I know more about you?”    “Erm, sure. What would you like to know?” you ask, unsure.    “Your social security number,” he deadpans, a cloying glint in his dark eyes.     You frown and then see the look in his eyes. Your countenance asks him: really?    Taeyong bursts out in laughter and you giggle along with him, discomfort at least a little bit gone.    “I’m joking, I’m joking. Hmm… perhaps the basic stuff?”    “That’s alright. Like what?”    “What do you like to do in your free time?”    “I… I like to watch Netflix. Um… I like to… cook? Yeah, I like to cook stuff like teriyaki chicken or stir-fry. Perhaps play around with clay or stone, if I have it on hand,” you list out.    “Sculpting? That’s rather fun. I used to do a bit of it before myself before I really got into painting. What do you like to sculpt?”    “People,” you reply immediately. “People.”    “Same as me then, hm? Are you trying to use me as a stepping stone for your career?” he asks playfully.    You laugh while he stares at you intensely as if he’s trying to commit the planes of your face to memory. Perhaps that’s what he meant by “observing”.    “Maybe I’m trying to secretly sabotage your art, so I can get a leg up. What about then, Taeyong, hm?” you tease.     He stares at you in surprise before he laughs, the sound carrying around the cafe and imprinting in your brain.    “Oh, you’re a delight, Y/n. Truly.”

   These meet-ups go along for a few more months, all in different locations. Taeyong never asks to meet up at a location you have already been to before. He takes you through the paths of Central Park, to the bustling chaos of Times Square, even taking you, in a rather memorable trip, to a show on Broadway. Every time you met up, he’s given you fifty dollars for your time. You accept it gratefully, albeit awkwardly.    You’ve exposed a lot of yourself to him now; he knows everything from where you were born, when you were born (he’s 6 years older than you), to your favorite type of frosting and even your hatred of small holes.     You often wonder what he is doing with this knowledge. He has never mentioned to you the progress of his artwork but you can see the paint smudges on his fingers or the rare smudge on his trousers when he visits you in a rush from his studio.    Taeyong, you think, is more artist than scientist; he adds different variables and he observes how you react. You are the proverbial rat in a glass box.    However, as bare as you are to him, he is as closed off to you.    Besides the basic knowledge of his occupation and age and whatnot, you never really got a read on him. Taeyong was like one of those Hanamaya puzzles you struggled with as a child, frustrated at the lack of progress unlocking the intertwined metal structures. Enigmatic, closed off; your regular Sherlock Holmes.     These thoughts ran through your head as you strolled along Battery Park. It was rather warm spring day, and you enjoyed the warm sunlight against your skin. The park was also surprisingly quiet, on such a nice day, but you weren’t complaining; comfortable silence was more conducive to stimulating conversation anyway.    Taeyong had bought you an ice cream that you had been ready to pay for despite your protests, citing “I remember when I was a broke college student. Just take the money, okay?”.    As ate your ice cream, you walked in slowly through the tree-lined path. You grew anxious and wanted to ask him a question, but your voice couldn’t formulate any sort of sound.    “Taeyong… I feel as if you know the bare fabric of me but I… know nothing of you,” you ask, uncharacteristically bold.    He pauses and looks at you, hands still stuffed in his pockets, an unreadable expression on his face.    “I’m Lee Taeyong, I paint, I like strawberry macaroons, and I hate dirty rooms. There’s not much to know about me, you see,” he says shortly as he walks ahead.    I don’t think that’s true, Mr. Lee.

   Taeyong doesn’t text you for a few weeks.  As hard as you try, you cannot be unaffected.    You never really expected how much he has inserted himself into your daily life. He is in your thoughts when you sketch out the facade of an apartment building, and he is with you when you see the strawberry macaroons made in the bakery you always pass by when going to campus.    Did your words… scare him off? Were you perhaps… too forward with him? Did you cross some unspoken boundary as the subject of artistic inspiration? You look down to see that you have traced the same line over 3 times on your architectural sketch. A groan escapes your lips and you lean back in your chair, tossing the pencil haphazardly on the desk. Concentration escaped your grasp like a sand, pouring out of every crack and crevice even when you did your best to capture it. Evasive.    Like Lee Taeyong.    An even louder groan, a gross hybrid between a scream and a groan, escapes your lips and echoes around the empty room. There you go again, thinking about Lee fucking Taeyong.    The display of your phone lights up.    Meet me in the quad ~ TY    See. You were even hallucinating text messages from him.    You shake your head as you rub your temples back and for—    Wait, TY?    You scramble for your phone, which was (as usual) buried under a pile of pencil shavings and protractors. Fishing it out, you unlock the screen and hurriedly scroll through the messages.    It really was Lee Taeyong.    You stared helplessly at your uncompleted project and then back at your phone. Since you couldn’t concentrate anyway, you might as well try to relieve it by going to the source of your distraction.    You pick up your bag and wave goodbye to your very focused classmates, who merely grunt before going back to their boards. A quick walk led you to the square of carefully cultivated trees and flowers, all intentionally grown to create a relaxed and peaceful atmosphere. It also created a visual centerpiece for the school, the flora exploding in vibrant colors to create a gardener’s paradise.    You spot Taeyong’s languid posture draped in one of the many wrought-iron benches, a book held up in one hand and the other resting upon the armrest. You were surprised no one had recognized him, even with his conservatively-dyed black hair that he was sporting recently. Taeyong was one of the rare people whose presence was immediately palpable when you were in his vicinity, magnetic yet jarring.    “Phaedrus? (4) I should’ve known that’s the sort of philosophical nonsense you artists love to read.”    Taeyong turns his head towards you and mock-pouts.    “I’ll have you know that this here book was inspiration for one of my best pieces,” he defends, closing the book with a snap and straightening up.    “Ah, yes, let’s deify our inspiration if it makes money,” you reply sarcastically as you settle into the seat beside him.    “Indeed.”    He stands up and extends a hand towards you, at which you stare at as if he were offering you radioactive waste.    “Well, come on. You didn’t expect me to not do anything for a month, did you? I have something to show you.”     You take his hand hesitantly (surprisingly calloused for a painter) and allow him to pull yourself up. He places a hand upon the small of your back as he leads you to the iron gates of the entrance of the school. After a few short blocks, he guides you to the entrance of a covered entrance way of an imposing skyscraper. A doorman greets him imperiously and opens the glass door with a glove-covered hand and Taeyong nods at him as he steps through. You merely follow, confused as hell, but trusting enough of Taeyong to guide you through.    After going through the elevator, he unlocks a door on the 23rd floor and enters the room.    “Even though I am an abstract artist, the very definition of postmodernism, I still find I have a penchant for carved mahogany bookshelves and gilded mirrors. Irony at its best, hm?”    If you were to describe Lee Taeyong, it would not be ironic. Enigmatic, yes, but not dramatically ironic.    The large suite you stepped into did, indeed, contrast him very greatly. It smelled like old books and cologne, and the dark wood paneling gleamed in the warm lamplight. Rich jewel tones tastefully complimented the decorations, in the furniture or weaved into the carpet. It was like the backdrop of one of those period dramas you saw on TV, in the age where women wore corsets and men, cravats.    However, you only caught a glimpse of the apartment as he ushered you into a room. It was pitch black until he flicked on the lights.    The room you were in was an artist’s dream. There were shelves and displays full of brushes and paints, all organized except for a little part in the corner. Half-finished canvases were slumped like dolls in a dollhouse against the walls, some covered in sheets and some not.    What drew your attention, however, were the 3 easels proudly standing in the middle of the room. The triplet of them was covered in heavy sheets, containing mystery and intrigue.    “As you might’ve guessed, these things make up the “something” I wanted to show you,” Taeyong’s voice rang out from behind you as he shut the door. He led you to the middle and brushed past you to stand next to the paintings. He pulled the sheet off.    You couldn’t contain your gasp as you take in the masterpieces before you.    The leftmost painting was of a barely perceptible outline of a woman, painted in warm yellows, browns, and red. While very comfy, it gave off an almost confused quality, like it was as if the painter were given the face of a person to memorize in 30 seconds and then asked to paint what they remembered. There were details that were hazy, but the areas that weren't were well fleshed-out.    The one in the middle was a clearer impression of the woman, her laughing in the midst of yellows, dark blues, and forest greens. It was a little bit less distorted than the previous, at least her crinkled eyes and open mouth apparent but the rest… not so much.    The one on the right was immediately your favorite. The face of the woman was only defined by the lights of neon signs, painted roughly in haphazard strokes. It contrasted against a totally black background. The placement of strokes was so masterful, however, that you could perceive the glow of amazement in the woman’s eyes and the childish nativity that emanated from her delicate features.    “These… these are beautiful, Taeyong. Absolutely gorgeous. Wow.”    “You know these are of you, right?”    You shake out of your trance and turn quickly towards him.    “What?!”    He smiles his crooked little grin at you and motions to the paintings.    “The first one is at the cafe we first met at, remember? The second was you in Central Park on that wonderful day where I slipped into the dewy grass, leaving a sort of weird bodyprint on it. The third was at the Broadway show… where you took a million photos of the posters. Remember?”    “Of course I do,” you breathe out in amazement.    “I can’t believe such beautiful things were painted because of plain, old, ugly me. Wow, you must’ve had a lot work on your palette,” you laugh suddenly.    “Don’t say that,” he cuts in sharply, his tone dark and ominous. It causes a mysterious heat to rise over your skin and a shiver to race through your nerves, the hairs at the nape of your neck to stand on end.    “You should give yourself more credit, y/n. You are a beautiful girl and no one can tell you less.”    You stand on your tippy toes to engulf the painter into a tight embrace.    “Thank you,” you whisper into his shoulder.    He merely chuckles while rubbing your back with a tender hand, blazing a trail of heated nerves along the way.

   “2.5 million! Holy shit! Y/n, this is fucking crazy!” Olivia screamed at you while holding a tablet in her hands.    “I fucking know!” you scream back, huddled into a ball at the end of the couch.    Undecipherable screaming filled the apartment as Olivia shouted in amazement of the selling price of the 3 abstract portraits, while you just screamed in disbelief.    The 3 portraits of you had been put on the market last week, and it had already sold to an anonymous buyer for 2.5 million US dollars. Pictures of Taeyong looking dashing in a suit flashed across your news feed, him looking extremely proud as the auctioneer banged his gavel for the ostentatiously high closing bid.    At least you weren’t his failed inspiration, that was sure.

   “Congratulations on your piece, Taeyong. I’m honored to have been part of the creative process,” you smile shyly at him behind your wine glass.    The pair of you were sharing a nice dinner on the expansive balcony of his apartment in celebration of his grand success. The New York skyline was set against a haze of sunlight and dusk, a truly beautiful sight to consume along with the seafood noodles Taeyong had whipped up. It seemed that along with being a marvelous painter, he was a marvelous cook as well. Another facet in the gem that was Lee Taeyong.    “I couldn’t have done it without you, of course. You’re my muse now,” he chuckles as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.    You exhale heavily and stare into the contents of your wine glass. You sloshed the red liquid around, and it stained the sides of the cup momentarily before disappearing. You remember what your father had told you; if the wine stains the side of the glass, you know that it is a good vintage. Of course, Lee Taeyong would have the best.    “What’s the matter, y/n? Does something not agree with you? I can always make something else if you’d like—”    “No, no, it’s quite alright. It’s fantastic actually. It’s just some thoughts that are buzzing around in my head,” you wave off.    “Would you mind sharing?” Taeyong prods.    You smile bittersweetly at him.    “I’m actually quite jealous of you, you know.”    You push out from your seat, the soft satin of your evening dress brushing against your thighs like the caress of a lover when you walked towards the railing.    “What?”    “Jealous, Taeyong. Jealous. Like the green-eyed monster,” you reply, resting your elbows against the railing and staring at the skyline.    “Explain.”    You hear the clink of a glass being set down upon a table and him getting up.    “You were able to take the risk to pursue your dreams. I… was too cowardly.”    “What are your dreams, y/n?” Taeyong whispers into the breeze.    “Sculpting,” you laugh bitterly.    “My father— he was a doctor, you know — absolutely abhorred the idea of the fine arts. A very left-minded man, if you will. When he saw paintings or sculptures, he always scoffed at them. “How are these worth 1 million?” he said, “I wouldn’t pay a cent for these works of kindergarten art!”. As you can imagine, it didn’t endear him to the owners of the local art gallery. However I… I was his complete opposite. When I first got my hands on Play-doh… god. I wasn’t able to be separated from it! My mother told me I always cried when the can was taken away from me. Then I discovered clay and stone and so many other things to make my imagination become reality.”    “Of course, Dad knew of my hobby, but never considered it more than what he thought it was; merely a hobby. He expected me to put down my chisels in favor of books and math problems. I never wanted to.” You look down at your hands momentarily, which were tapping a random beat against the railing.    “When it came time to decide a career, I mustered up my courage and told him I wanted to be an artist. He took one look at me and laughed. “Stop joking, sweetheart. A career like engineering or IT would suit you better.” I… was devastated. But, surprisingly, he brought up the idea of being an architect. I agreed immediately, knowing it would bring me to Parson’s, the school I dreamed of attending ever since I knew what college was.”    You laughed again, bitterly, the sound being absorbed in the night air. “It’s torture here, really; I don’t know why I continue to tantalize myself with what I have wanted since I was 5, but am never really able to have. Call me sadistic, I guess.”    You can feel his heavy gaze on your back as you stare stoically off into the distance. He steps closer and closer until you can smell his musky cologne and aftershave. His hands wrap around your waist and bury his head in your hair.    He didn’t say anything.    You appreciated that.

   Soon enough, brief hugs turn into cheek and forehead kisses, lingering touches into hand-holding and affectionate cuddles. Taeyong can never seem to separate his hands from your waist nowadays, and you are always pressed into his side like a leech. No one says anything because no one sees anything.    Actually, you didn’t quite know what you were now. If you were to really put a label on it, it was a messy blur between a friendship and relationship. A kind of romantic purgatory. Even when he gave you kisses and held you affectionately, Taeyong never asked you to be his girlfriend. Not even a hint of a label or definition.    However, you wanted to be his. You wanted to be the one, his darling that he wined and dined. You wanted to be the one to relax him from the stress of life with soothing words and calming touches. You wanted to be the one that he woke up next morning in bed. You wanted to be his everything.    Alas, like some tragic Greek romance, it was probably never meant to be.    Even in the midst of this confusing haze of a relationship, Taeyong produced more and more phenomenal art inspired by you. You sometimes watched him paint each painting lovingly, stroke by stroke, on those rare days he let you into his art room. The mood of his art was... changing. You could see his abstract style shifting closer and closer into what was semi-impressionism until his portfolio was an eclectic mix of both. Of course, this subtle shift led to some outcry from critics, but his artistic reputation was still on the rise.    Today was one of those rare days Taeyong brought you to his studio. Darkening sunlight shone through the huge industrial windows, juxtaposed by the mahogany paneling and gold light fixtures. You sat in a chaise in the corner with his back to you as he stood, slathering hues of paint over a large canvas. He was painting the background first, it looked like, setting up the stage for a grandiose and show-stopping centerpiece that was sure to come around.    “Y/n? Can you come here for a moment?”    “Yes?” you said, padding across the floorboards in your socks.    He steps back from his painting and comes slightly behind you. “Can you look closer and tell me if you see any dark grey streaks on the background? I’m afraid some of my brushes were contaminated, as it’s supposed to be completely oil black.”    You frown but nonetheless, bent over a bit to inspect the painting. “No? Honestly, I don’t know how you expect me to see slight color variations, you’re the artist here—”    You are cut off as his arms wrap around your waist and bury his head in the crook of your neck. You jump a bit, surprised from the sudden embrace, but quickly adapt and melt back into him. The pads of his thumb attach itself to the slightly exposed skin of your belly, running smooth circles into your skin. Your hands come over the top of his and just stay there, while you close your eyes.    “I lied. I just wanted you to come over here so I could just hug you,” he whispered roughly yet mischievously in your ear, his breath causing the back of your neck to stand up.    “How utterly rude, you nefarious villain,” You murmur as a slight smile tugs at your lips.    He hums in agreement and the two of you bask in each other’s presences for a while before he breaks the silence.    “Man, have I been getting a lot of feedback about my art style for the past few weeks,” he chuckles and lifts his head off your shoulder. “To be honest, you make me want to… want to take my head out of the clouds. Why is imagination needed when you exist, when you are so human yet flawless? I’ve always loved painting the world the way it’s not, but you... you are the way it is, and it is perfect.”        You twist slightly in his hold with wide eyes. Did Taeyong really feel this way about you? Did he see you this way when he put brush to canvas? Were you his sane anchor of reality in his flighty imagination?    Even with these tumultuous thoughts bubbling around in your consciousness, you simply reached up and gave him a peck on his lips. Unexpectedly, he captured your lips with his a tiny bit roughly, causing you to jerk back a bit. He runs his tongue across the seam of your lips and you open it for him, unable to stop him. Taeyong isn’t rough, per say, but he was very persistent in his quest of kissing you, invading your mouth with his tongue and showing his complete dominance. You moan a bit into his kiss and you feel his lips curl up into a smirk.    Taeyong’s right hand cups your chin while his left one lands on your waist, pulling you closer into his hard body. You feel the taut muscles of his chest against your breasts and his warmth completely enveloping you, intoxicating you and making you all the more pliable to his ministrations. His hand moves up while his mouth moves down, his plump lips trailing open-mouthed kisses against your neck leaving a trail of goosebumps. His calloused hands lift up your tank top slightly and rub circles into your hips makes you shiver with delight while you press more insistently against him and thread your hands into his hair.    His lips trail down into the neckline of your top and suddenly top. Instead, Taeyong moves back up to hover his lips around your ear.    “Will you let me have you?” his voice whispers, a rough texture detectable in his voice.    You can’t respond, too caught up in the way his breath caresses your skin and how his hand has moved up to just below your bra cups.    “Say yes, please,” he whispers.    “Please,” he begs as his nimble fingertips play with the edge of your bra.    “Yes,” you breath out as you lean up into him and press his lips to yours.    Taeyong is not hesitant nor gentle when he kisses you now, it is demanding and powerful and dominant. His hands slip below your bra cups and rub your nipples with his thumbs, causing your eyes to flutter shut and as you whine pitifully into his mouth. He drops his hands and scoops you up, a surprised squeal leaving your lips as he strides powerfully down the hall.    He kicks his door open and carefully maneuvers you through the door frame, all the while still attacking your neck with nips and bites. The painter drops you into his bed and climbs in after you. You hurriedly remove your tank top so you could feel his touch and went to unclip your bra, but his hands suddenly tighten over yours and keep them in place. He forces eye contact with you, his eyes burning with a lusty smolder as you can only stare up at him with pleading eyes.    “Taey-- “    He shushes you with a finger against your lips. “I want to savor you.” One of his hands makes you release your bra clasp and replace it with his, unclasping it gently and helping you get it off your breasts.    Your shamelessness retracts for a moment in front of him and you cover your naked breasts with your arms, head turned away in embarrassment. Taeyong’s thumb and forefinger lift your embarrassed gaze to his.    “I want to see you,” Taeyong whispers gently.    Your arms lift slowly from your breasts to bare them to his piercing gaze.    “Absolutely gorgeous,” he whispers reverently, as if in awe.    One of his hands cup your right breasts and a small whine escapes your mouth, not used to man’s hand on such a covered area. He weighs it in his palm briefly and then dives in.    You feel his hot tongue laving over the sensitive skin, leaving traces everywhere but your areola.    “Taeyong,” you whine piteously.    “Say please, darling.” He says. You can feel the vibrations against your chests, your nipples hardening to a point where it is almost painful.    “Please.”    “Of course.” His tongue dives in right in and a burst of pleasure rack your body, causing you to rub your core against his thigh wantonly.    “Patience, darling, I said I would savor you.”    After heaping a sizeable amount of attention to your breasts, his mouth trails down your stomach and to the edge of your shorts. He roughly gets up and pulls off his loose linen shirt, revealing a surprisingly well-built body. Your eyes rake over his sharp collarbones to his defined pectorals and to his chiseled Apollo’s belt. You see a fine dusting of hairs working in tandem with his v-line to bring your eyes down to his bulge, which is pressing against the confines of his trousers. Moisture oozes out of your core as you slip off his belt while he takes off your shorts and panties.    Taeyong forces your legs apart until you are spread out for him to see. Breathing heavily, you see him fixated on the spot between your legs, his lips parted a little. He licks his lips and his right-hand reaches out to prod your entrance. You jump a little, not used to a man touching you tenderly in such a private spot. He prods, even more, pinching your folds and holding them apart while inserting a long finger.    Your head throws back while your spine bends backward, a long groan leaving your lips and filling the room. You don’t see him smirk, but you certainly feel him descend and settle his head between your legs.    The moment his tongue pokes at your clit, you yell out. It prods even more insistently and plays your core like a flute, his touches making you scream.    You can feel yourself reaching an orgasm when he inserts his fingers back in again into your pussy and when the pad of his index fingers hit a spot, ecstasy shoots through your body like a drug and juices flow out of your vagina like a flood.    Taeyong leans back up and he takes his liquid-soaked fingers to his mouth, sucking each one clean while smirking, causing your core to clench tightly. He takes off his trousers and his boxers, his erection popping out. It is a nice pink color but a bit red from strain and arousal, the tip oozing precum.    You lean a bit forward to grasp his manhood, your thumb stroking over his head. His head throws back in ecstasy while his grips on your soft thighs tighten to the point you think there will be bruises the next morning. He rips your hands off his cock while breathing heavily.    “There’s a time for everything, just not now, darling.”    You pout but retract your hands to your sides. He takes his cock and strokes it a bit, but pulls you up and sits you in his lap. You can feel his manhood pressing insistently against your thigh, so close to your entrance yet so far. You move his dick over your pussy, not quite putting it in, but grind down on it, twisting your hips back and forth. Taeyong grits his teeth and grips your hips hard, his hips bucking in pleasure at the contact with your pussy. You can feel the veined skin of his cock slide over your well-lubed folds, his head slightly pressing against your clit as your close your eyes in bliss. This goes on for a while, you moving back and forth while he rolls his hips into your vagina. Taeyong looks you straight in the eyes while he positions his cock slightly into your entrance.   “Do you want to go on?” he asks. You nod while biting your lips.   “I’m… I’m a-" you swallow and avert your eyes, "-virgin. Please… please be gentle, Tae,” you whisper, embarrassed at your lack of experience.   His eyes widen a bit, but a new light enters them, predatorial and hunger extremely apparent even to your inexperienced gaze.   “You can stop whenever you want, okay? Just tell me.”   Psh. Why would you want this little slice of heaven to end?   You slip your pussy over his dick and bottom out on his lap, both of you groaning into the silence of Taeyong’s bedroom. You rose up, left his tip in and then slowly dropped down. You rolled your hips over him while he left harsh hickeys all over your neck, little bursts of pain and pleasure to add to the all-consuming flame.   Taeyong ripped his lips away from your chest and shoves you down roughly into the bed.   “I said I would savor this, darling, but I can’t be patient any longer,” he growls as he looms imposingly over you. He spreads your legs even wider, and thrusts in powerfully, louder groans escaping your mouth. You wrap his legs around his waist and continues in the missionary position. He pistons in and out like a machine, every part of your vagina stimulated by his moving cock, and you can feel his buttocks flex powerfully.   He muffles your moans with his lips and roughly invades your mouth, tongue, and teeth everywhere. He pounds into you even harder, the headboard shaking and creaking under his powerful thrusts. His hips slam into your thighs producing a lewd noise of flesh on flesh throughout his bedroom. You can feel a wave of pleasure rising within you, and you moan even louder.   “Louder, darling,” he growls and then his cock hits the spot.   The wave of pleasure crests and then crashes back down and you nearly scream, you head bent heavenward while your back arches off the bed. Your walls contract around his dick sporadically while lifts you into a new position, never disconnecting from you, and fucks you through your orgasm, heightening the whole experience.   “Taeyong!” you scream, the new position allowing him to thrust deeper. Your mind is in a fog of pleasure and you can feel the pleasurable sting of overstimulation overtake you.   “Taeyong, fuck! I can’t take anymore!’ you cry as tears gather at the edge of your eyes, the bliss too much for your weak body.   “Hold on for me, darling, I’m nearly there.” Taeyong grits out as he thrusts harder and quicker.   Warm cum fills your pussy when you orgasm nearly at the same time, and he groans your name while you scream out his, writhing beneath his erratic thrusts. You can feel the cum dripping out of your pussy and onto his silk bed sheets. He slows down and collapses onto your chest, and the both of you breathe heavily.   Taeyong takes his cock out of your vagina, a stream of cum oozing out as he does so. You open your eyes to see him not tired, but eyes alight with lust as he grins ominously at you. His cock rubs against your entrance, while the aftershocks of pleasure rack your body.   “Get ready darling, you’re in for this all night.”

   Bright sunlight greets you when you wake up, tangled naked beneath silk sheets. You can feel that the spot beneath your legs is sore, but your muscles are relaxed and your mind is satisfied. Taeyong had certainly had it in for you all night, taking you in so many positions and bringing you to release countless times.    It was a good night.    Unfortunately, the man who made it so wasn’t snoring on the bed covers beside you, only rumpled sheets left in his wake. You can smell his cologne in the air and on your skin, but also the stench of sex and lust.    You stretch and get up from the bed, putting on your tank and bra, slipping on your underwear and shorts as you open the door. There is a faint strain of music emanating from one of the rooms down the hall, so you follow the tune. As you get closer, you can decipher a woman warbling sweetly with a roughness from an old-fashioned gramophone.    You silently click open the cold gold handle and peek in through the door. You see Taeyong with his back turned to you, a palette stained with the colors of the rainbow in his left hand and a scrubber brush in his right. He is clad in loose beige trousers and a coal black shirt hanging from his shoulders, while completely focused on the painting in front of him.    You sidle in beside him and speak up.    “I should’ve known you’d be painting, even after such a… late night.”    He jumps a bit but then turns to you. You can now see his black shirt is half unbuttoned, his chest bared out for the world (mostly you and the walls) to see.    Taeyong sighs, sets down his tools and wraps his arms around your waist. He buries his head in your honest-to-god rat nest of hair, and stays there for a few moments, savoring your presence.    “When passion meets inspiration, obsession is born,” he murmurs.    “Where did you get that quote from?” you ask curiously.    “Heard it from… somewhere, I forget,” Taeyong says.    “Probably from one of your artsy-fartsy philosophy books” you shoot back.    Taeyong snorts. “How ironic, hm? I preach and lecture masses people how inspiration can easily become your obsession, only for me to become the heretic to my word. Only for you, darling. Only for you.”    Taeyong rests his chin on your head while you lean back into his arms. You take the time to observe the piece he implies is his obsession, the thing that stomped on his beliefs and scattered them to the wind. You instantly recognize it is startlingly different from his previous works of art.    Of course, there is his dark background and signature jewel tones but it is a lot less jarring than you are used to. That being said there is no lack of passion or skill in this piece, but it is noticeably less abstract and a bit more... realistic?    There is a shoulders-up shot of a woman with her eyes closed, her head leaning into a palm while she is (presumably) naked.  The woman is fleshed out in full detail with a jumbled haze of colors surrounding her, making her the central point in the painting. Your eyes travel from her wispy eyelashes to the tilted nose, to the curve in her slightly parted tinted lips—    Wait a minute.    Your eyebrows knit together as you recognize the arched brows and cheekbones, the lip corners and hell, even the slight mole on the collarbone.    That woman is you.    Your head snaps towards Taeyong in surprise, whom you find is gently smiling at you.    “What do you think?”    You detach yourself from his warm embrace and step closer to the painting.    “You may hear this way too much, but it’s beautiful,” you whisper reverently in awe. Your hand comes up to brush over the surface of the painting, but stops and falls back to your side, afraid that you could mess up the painting.    “Art imitates life, darling,” Taeyong purred.    A blush effused into your cheeks like a dye. Vivid memories flash in your mind’s eye of beads of sweat rolling down the bridge of Taeyong’s aristocratic nose and jawline, eyes closed in ecstasy, and pleasure pleasure pleasure—    You snap back to reality before you could get any more caught up from last night’s tryst, but unfortunately, Taeyong has noticed and wore a shit-eating grin on his chiseled features. The painter stepped closer to you and you could faintly smell his cologne and something that was all too masculine, and he stared down with you with those intense eyes that pulled you in in the first place.    “Would you like me to show you where?”

   17 million ~ TY    You stare at your bright phone screen with bleary eyes, lids half-opened and trying to stay up. You had forgotten to turn off your phone for the night and the text notification startled you into consciousness at 2am. Your pleasant dreams about passing the architecture final were interrupted crudely.    17 million? What does he mean— wait, holy shit!    Your eyes, now completely free of fatigue, widen in surprise as you sit up and unlock your phone. The search engine you used quickly brings up a multitude of articles, but the some of the top headlines read “Lee Taeyong Sells Painting For $17 Million” and “You Won’t Believe What This Simplistic Painting Sold For!” You click on the Art Newspaper article and scroll through the click bait ads and epilepsy-inducing graphics to get to the main article.

  Lee Taeyong, 27 years-old Korean painter, is smiling in the midst of thunderous applause as the final bang of the auctioneer’s gavel signifies his astounding sale. This morning, 12 am EST, his recent portrait of a woman dubbed “Sense and Sensuality” sold for a whopping $17 million USD at the New York Sotheby’s Auction House (5). This is his highest-ever sale yet, and the future is looking bright for this talented young man.

   Congratulations! You type with a growing smile on your face.    Coming over in 10 to celebrate ~ TY    What?    The sheets tangle around your feet as you nearly trip out of your bed in order to get ready. A muffled thump resounds around your bedroom as you heavily land on the floor. You cringe, hoping the grumpy couple downstairs don’t wake up from it.        You should’ve expected this, as eccentric as Taeyong was. It was no surprise he was spontaneous.    You flick the lights on and grab a bra from your drawer. You snap it on while impressively combing your hair, then change into some leggings and old t-shirt because, hell, if Taeyong wanted to see you at 2am when he had to deal with 2am Y/N.    The bronze knocker pounds on your door and you bolt out of your bedroom to get it. A quick look into the peephole shows you gleaming black hair, reminding you of the way ink looked in a bottle.    Taeyong, still in his crisp black-tie suit, is standing in your dimly-lit hallway beaming holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand.    “Hey.” His eyes look tired but are sparkling with vitality.    You leap into his arms and he holds you tightly, rocking you back and fourth. You murmur congratulations into his shoulder and he hums back, content in your cuddling. The pair of you stay in the dim light of your apartment hallway, your door half open and probably wasting your valuable air conditioner, however, you couldn’t care less: all that mattered was the man in your arms.    “Taeyong… I’m so proud of you. You deserved this so much,” you lean back and look into his eyes, a smile tugging at your lips.    The painter smiled his usual enigmatic twitch of the lips that you loved so much and leaned forward into to pull you into a deep kiss. His hands pulled you in closer to his body and the smell of his cologne was more prevalent than ever, intoxicating your senses to the point that if there were a fire alarm in the hallway, you would still be kissing his delicious lips.    “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know,” he whispers against your lips.    You roll your eyes and swat him on the shoulder.    “Oh, psh! It was 100 percent you, I was just kinda... there. A spectator to greatness and all. You don’t have to butter me up, you know?” you laugh as you lead him into the apartment.    He mumbles something you can’t hear as you are locking the door, and you turn around to face him.    “What?”    “Nothing, nothing. Just remembering something.” Taeyong casually deflects, as he tosses his suit jacket onto your kitchen chairs.    “You wanna celebrate? I can put on a movie and make food,” you ask as you clean the mess of your room.    “I’d love to.” The artist loosens his tie and chucks it in the general direction of his suit jacket, then partly unbuttons his oxford shirt until you can see the chiseled expanse of his chest.    “Cool beans.”

   The movie ended, and the credits rolled, leaving your living room blanketed in darkness and the two of you sit in silence.    “Hey… y/n?” Taeyong sounds unusually hesitant, unlike his normally suave and composed persona. You can feel his hands finger with the buttons on his shirt while he strokes your side unconsciously.    “Mmm?” you mumble, half-asleep.    “You… Do you wanna move in with me?”    This completely unexpected statement jolts you into awareness, and you look at his face in shock. Your eyes scan his face in the poor light of your living room, and of what you can see, he is dead serious.    “I- What?”    “Do you want to move in with me? Like, stay in my house?” he enunciates slowly, so alike to your first face-to-face encounter with him, like he was speaking to an idiot. However, you can see his face slightly turning red and his eyes averting downwards to his lap.    A moment lapsed in complete silence while you tried to process the implications of his statement and he tried to calm the butterflies in his stomach.    It was a stupid idea, he thought to himself sourly, too much, too soon, I should just apolo—    “Sure,” you contemplate thoughtfully.    “Yes? You want to move in with me? Live with me? If it’s too soon for you, you don’t have to—”    “I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t mean it Tae. Yes, I want to move in with you and live with you. I don’t think it’s too fast.” You stroked his cheek.    “Good,” Taeyong huffs. After a beat, his lips crack into a smirk and he leans in closer.    “I think we can celebrate even more now, no?” he whispers while fumbling with the waistband of your shorts.    You giggled in delight while swooping into to kiss him.

   The two of you collapse in bed, a few weeks later, exhausted from your activities. This particular round was initiated after he caught you trying on lingerie in his bathroom when you thought he wouldn’t be home for a while. He fucked you against the counter, the full-length mirror in your closet, and then finally ending up on his bed. You sighed in delight. What this man could do with his hips was heavenly.    You looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom, where he had decorated it with murals of beautiful angels and clouds. It was just like the Vatican, where the murals had lent an ethereal feeling to the church and made you think you were in a plane above reality. The few weeks in Taeyong’s company had been absolute bliss.  You had moved out of your apartment, moved your stuff into Taeyong’s apartment, and you stayed. He would’ve let you stay for free, but you insisted on paying at least a set fraction of the rent. He gave you the price of the rent to calculate upon, but you think he had lied and lowered it deliberately. Either way: it was heaven, like the murals painted on his ceilings.    “That… That was great, Taeyong,” you pant, naked chest heaving up and down in exhaustion.    “Mmm, yeah. I loved it,” he said, voice muffled by burying his head into the valley of your chest.    “Night, Tae,” you whisper as you doze off.    “Night, y/n,” he says quietly, and you can hear that he has one foot in fairyland right now.    As you consciousness dims and fades, you can still here Taeyong mumbling something. You listen closer.    “I love your body, Y/N.”    Somehow, that doesn’t sit well in your stomach. At all.

   A notification from one of the news sites you followed popped up on your phone.    Who is Lee Taeyong’s Muse?     You raise a brow at the message but quickly opened it up. Who is Lee Taeyong’s Muse? It said in bright blue, bold letters. A picture of the painting he created the morning the two of you first had sex was below the painting.

   Lee Taeyong, 27, recently has been finding major success among the cutthroat world of fine art. His most recent painting selling for 17 million USD, his artworks have been plastered on every major news site (including this one!) and has been the point of critical acclaim for their intimacy, skill, and emotion. Even after his shocking change of artistic style from completely abstract to pseudo-traditionalist, critics alike have been clamoring for his work. However, each one of his most recent paintings from the past year or so has had one thing in common: a beautiful, doe-eyed lady.

   Yes, most might be able to dismiss as an insignificant part but dear reader, it is the most important. From the painting “Broadway” to “Sense”, a similar lady has been depicted in all of them. She has been the center point of all his works. His earliest paintings of her were a triplet of paintings, her countenance growing more and more detailed with each successive work. The latest painting of her with her eyes closed and half-naked has been by far the most sensual one.

   We, at this site, have suspected from the intimate nature of his works that Taeyong has a muse: a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist. While there has been no reports of an official girlfriend or lover, the editors of this site figure the mysterious Korean painter has a significant other. Each painting of her in successive order has been noticed to have showed the progress of their relationship from friends to intimate lovers. His lauded attention to detail and depiction of emotion definitely comes from the heart, his heavy attraction to his lover.

   However, the subject of muses have been a long and controversial one. Cries of abused and neglected muses have been major headlines in the art world, and acclaimed artists being accused of sexually and emotionally mistreating their muses. Alas, many muses have had terrible ends like the beautiful Camille Claudel and the famous sculptor Auguste Rodin (6), in which Rodin dumped Camille and Camille went insane. Will Taeyong’s muse be his Gala to his Dalí (7), his Floge to his Klimt (8)? One thing’s for certain: this mystery muse will either make or break his career.

   You stared numbly at the lit screen, which grew dark and powered off as you stopped interacting with the screen.    Was... was Taeyong using you?    A range of emotions besieged your tired mind.    Doubt was the first wave, followed by a cavalry of Worry charging through your rather pathetic moat of logic. Hurt came up hard and quick to your flank and mercilessly attacked your mental stronghold, puncturing holes in your defense and riddling your conscious.    Heart pounding, you typed in the password quickly and searched up “muse”. Countless articles popped up before you. You adjusted your searches accordingly and therein, you found your grail. However, with each passing article, you grew more horrified. Nobuyoshi Araki and Kaori (9), Picasso and Gilot (10), Bertolucci and Schneider (11)— each one more terrifying than the last. While you were not sexually abused or beaten like some of the poor victims of the past few centuries, the message was clear: Taeyong was using you for his art, and his art only.

   The tea kettle whistled as you busy yourself making your breakfast on the beautiful marble countertops of Taeyong’s kitchen. The late morning sun was out and about, the birds were chirping, and you were all alone.    It wasn’t as if this were an unusual occurrence; for the past few weeks, you rarely woke to see Taeyong sleeping next to you. He came back for a night, fucked you, and left in the morning. Sometimes the empty side of his bed was warm to the touch, and others, his lingering warmth was lone gone- either way, you were left to get ready for class alone, eat breakfast alone, and leave the house alone.    You fully understood why, though. The price of Taeyong’s explosive popularity led to him having to be out and about, whether for interviews or exhibition openings or banquets. It was better than having no work at all, at least, yet Taeyong’s face was plastered everywhere, and sometimes you thought the tabloids knew more about his life than you, his… whatever you were.    A jolt of pain jerks you out of your thoughts, and you yelp and jump back. Your finger had touched the end of your frying pan, and imprinted on the tip of your index fingertip was a bright red mark.    A hiss of pain escapes your mouth which quickly sucked at the tip of your finger, while you turned off the burner. Damn, it stung like hell!    Well, at least the eggs were done.    The plush, mahogany chair of the breakfast table squeaked as you pulled it back, and plopped you in your oversized t-shirt in the chair. The sencha tea bag, which had been steeped in the cup for a few minutes, was quickly retracted and you took a long sip of it.    You dialed up Olivia on facetime, who was sure to already be at school and in some secluded corner painting. A few rings led to Olivia, in newly dyed blue and purple hair, answering her phone with the camera angle at an awkward position.    “I don’t think I really want to see the inside of your nostrils, Livy. No one does, really.”    She stuck out her tongue and snorted.    “Bitch, the boys be paying to see my face, much less my nostrils. No one wants to see your ugly ass face!” Olivia drawled while she turned her attention to her painting.    “Taeyong does. In fact, people pay millions to get a piece!” you snark back.    Olivia drops her paintbrush into a water cup and pouts at her phone screen.    “...fine. Speaking of, how is Mister Big D--”    “OLIVIA!” you shout, almost choking on your eggs.    “Oh fine, fine! Either way, how is he?”    “We’re… we’re doing fine,” you happy smile slowly turns into a frown, and you look down into your tea. You stir the tea a bit and see the minuscule tea leaves swirl around like a  mini tornado.    “It doesn’t sound fine, though,” Olivia raises an eyebrow.    “I… you’re right. I really don’t know anymore, Olivia,” you sigh and look away from the phone screen. Your eyes catch sight of the pristine living room, the late morning sun streaming beautiful rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The TV was as pitch black as the night, the comforter you brought in, untouched, and the pillows, fluffed. All lifeless.    “Oh, sweetie. I’ve been suspecting this for weeks,” Olivia says sympathetically as she dabbles some oil onto the canvas. She sets down the sponge and turns her full attention to you, her brows furrowed.    “It’s just that… Taeyong isn’t around here anymore. When he’s gone, I’m here, and when he’s here, I’m gone. I haven’t seen him in weeks!” you shout, and your fork clatters down on your plate.    “Wow, okay, chill. Y/n. Breathe. Have you at least tried to meet up with him for a date or whatever?”    You pout. “Yes, but he’s always busy or has to cancel. Sometimes, we do manage to make our schedules fit together and everything’s fine, but still!”    “ I really wish I could help, y/n. Really.” Olivia says sympathetically.    You burrow your face into your hands while tears sting at your eyes. Muffled sobs escape your lips while tears finally escape from your eyes. Your breakfast lay beside you cold and uneaten.    “I-I don’t k-know anymore. I-I saw a news article this morning and my mind went crazy and maybe I’m being paranoid or a butthurt bitch but I think he’s using me and-” you sob.    “Oh, sweetie,” all playful insults and snarky wit were gone from Olivia’s tone as she tried to keep you company from miles away in a cold, dark, and dusty penthouse.

   You couldn’t do this anymore.    Gone were the days Taeyong and you would wake up and bed and have another round and eat breakfast together, the days he would take you out to the city and watch an indie band in the local coffee shop, or the days he would bring to art openings. It just stopped.    There were days you woke up in bed alone, after Taeyong pounded you into the mattress the night before, feeling used. Like some dime and dozen whore out of the red light district. Who were you, anymore? What use were you anymore? What did you mean to Taeyong?    School went by, albeit slowly. You passed your architecture final and were in your 2nd year of college. You did pretty decently in the class at least, but the course and the rigor made you more miserable as the months went by. The novelty of your compliance to your father’s wishes wore off and made you wish to escape.    Taeyong, your degree, and emotional distress just made you break down one day. Right in the middle Taeyong’s hallway after class ended. No warning whatsoever. After piecing yourself back together and getting your fatigued and pathetic self into the bed, you started to think.    This was hell.    Olivia warned you weeks and weeks ago, begging you to let go of the artist no matter how much he admired him. She had lost all respect for him and quickly threw away the posters of his paintings she had had before Taeyong met you, completely ignored him when you were with him and her, and ripped up her thesis paper about his artwork. She even offered you refuge from the older man, pleading for you to stay in her apartment to get away from him.    You were done.

   Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.    The keypad clicked open and in walked Lee Taeyong into his apartment. Still clad in a suit, the artist had returned back to his apartment from his negotiations with a famous gallery to display his artwork. A long and arduous meeting, it had lasted way longer than the handsome man expected, and he had finally wrangled out a successful deal. His works would be displayed for a year at the famed Gagosian Gallery in Chelsea.    It was his dream since he was a young, starving art student living paycheck to paycheck in a studio apartment, who could barely speak English and was 7000 miles away from his family.    But why was he so unhappy?    He shut the door and sighed. He loosened his necktie and threw his wine-red blazer onto the coat rack, then ruffled his hair as he walked through the foyer.       He felt bad for leaving you constantly like this. He just kept getting called on and pulled away constantly to the point where he sometimes forgot that there was a woman waiting for him back home. He tried to make it up with nights of passionate sex, pounding you into the mattress and making you cum several times in succession. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken you out somewhere… was it a month ago? A month and a half?    “Y/n?”    No response.    “...Y/n?”    He walked through the halls but there was something... off about his house. He couldn’t smell your scent of peaches of cream strongly, only faintly, like you were long gone. It looked… emptier. Dustier.    Darker.    “Y/N!”    A rising sense of panic surged up and seized Taeyong’s heart beating back and forth. Ba-bump ba bump ba bump. In vain, he tried to calm his mind, his rationale fruitlessly trying to withhold judgment, yet it seemed his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.    It isn’t true, it isn’t true, it isn’t true—    His vision narrowed as he ripped through his house. Every room in the vast apartment suite is empty. He threw open the kitchen cupboard. Your handmade coffee mug from one of the pottery students in Pearson’s isn’t there. He nearly tripped over the ottoman. Your ridiculous throw blanket with cartoon corgis plastered all over it is absent from his leather sectional. He pounds against the floorboards of the hallway, Your subway pass isn’t in the bowl in the hall.    It seems like his loosened tie was choking him as he ran to the end of the hall, your bedroom. He slammed open the door, the doorstop only barely preventing it from hitting and damaging the wood-paneled walls. Taeyong’s carpet muffled his frantic footsteps. The french doors with its billowing curtains were thrown open, but you weren’t on the balcony, lounging on the patio chair or couch reading a book.    The marble bathroom he loved to fuck you in and take long baths in while sipping decades-old wine was deserted. Your combs and products were gone, and the J’Adore Dior perfume he bought you when you were passing by Neiman Marcus sat on the counter, lonely.    Incoherent nonsense escaped his lips as he slid open the large, walk-in closet doors. The other half of the closet you and him had organized together, him grumbling when he had to push his clothes back, was simply abandoned. Wire hangers hanging on the pole, absent of the soft clothes that smelled like peaches and cream.    He clutched his chest through his shirt, and leaned on the dressing table in the middle of the closet, his breaths coming out in staccato, short and sharp. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t do this, she couldn’t do this to me—    A scrap of paper caught his attention out of his peripheral vision. With trembling hands, he scooped it up and held it to his pale face.    I don’t think I can do this anymore, Taeyong. Thank you.

   You pulled the corgi patterned blanket around you and sipped some hot chocolate, while Olivia was retrieving the cheese Pringles from her pantry. You clicked on the television and scrolled what to watch on Netflix.    “Hey, Livy!”    “What!” she shouted from the back of the kitchen.    “Can we watch the Purge?!” you yelled as you read through the description.    “The fuck! NO!” Olivia said as she walked back in her penguin onesie into the living room.    “I’m the one who’s suffering from a break-up, bitch! I get to choose the movie and I want to scream my ass off!”    “Y/n, I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to do after a breakup? Aren’t you supposed to watch the Notebook while in tears and a tub of ice cream in your hands?” she questions as she plops down on the couch.    You look around exaggeratedly. “The Notebook? Nope, watching the Purge. Tears? Already cried out. Ice cream? I think fuck not, I want cheesy Pringles.” “Fine, fine. Whatever.” Olivia grumbles as she stuffs several cheese pringles into her mouth.    The day you had turned up on Olivia’s doorstep, bags in hand and tears streaming from red-rimmed eyes, she had graciously allowed you to stay with her. Days and days were spent with you crying in her arms, probably going through 3 tissue boxes and ice cream tubs. You were absolutely devastated after packing up and abandoning Taeyong, wondering if it was the right thing to do and if you were a horrible person for doing so.    Olivia dismissed your worries, stating you were totally in the rights and proclaimed “good riddance!” while stomping on a Polaroid of you and Taeyong at Hyde Park.    You were still devastated of course, even after several weeks. The ache in your heart wouldn’t go away no matter how many tubs of ice cream you stuffed down your throat, and a permanent frown was always fixed in place. You missed the red-haired man with all your soul, even if you abandoned him with no warning and quite callously. You blocked his number, his email, his social media, everything you could think of to completely cut him out of your life. Photos of him were trashed and the gifts given to you by him were still in the apartment.    But at the very least, from this complete purge and detox of your life, came something that you had always wanted to do but never could do.    You switched degrees.   You woke up one day and said, fuck it, and went to the administration to completely switch departments.    Yes, it was extremely sudden. Uncharacteristically sudden of you, the girl who was afraid to go out with her friends on a school night. Too sudden of the girl that was afraid to skip class and skive off with her friends. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to make such an important decision on the fly, but at this point, you didn’t care. You wanted to live the way you wanted, the way you needed, and all fucks that were given were thrown carelessly to the wind.   Soon enough, you were transferred into the appropriate classes to obtain a degree in Fine Arts, even taking some classes with Olivia. Your parents were understandably furious, shouting at you over the phone for wasting their money and wrecking your future. Your father, after a long rant that lasted almost 30 minutes, spitefully told you he wasn’t going to support this “destructive behavior” and wouldn’t pay for your next semesters. While you were sad that you and your parent’s relationship would probably be strained for the next few years, you were the happiest you could remember being. The royalties from Taeyong’s paintings you earned could pay your tuition a few times over, so you were stable. You finally could do what you wanted.    But Taeyong.    Your thoughts drifted to the letter you had received from a professor that afternoon previous.

   “Y/n! Could you stay back for a moment?” Professor Andrews called out as the rest of the class shuffled out of the classroom.    You head popped up like a deer in headlights, eyes wide.    “Uh, yes?”    You removed the hood from your head and navigated through your fellow classmates to the teaching podium, where your art history professor was standing imperiously.    Was something wrong? Were your papers not good enough, because you transferred in so late?    Your hands patted down your errant hair and straightened your sweatpants. You swallowed nervously. Professor Andrew was notorious for her strict grading, many people failing and flunking out of the class because of the numerous red marks all over their papers and tests.    “Professor Andrews?” you hesitantly ask as you stand in front of the podium.    “Y/n, just the girl I wanted to see.”    She stepped down from the podium in impossible sky-high heels to stand before you. She smiled, her black hair streaked with gray pulled back in a tight bun and it softened her face. You nervously smiled back.    “A prized former student of mine asked me to give this to you. He begged many of his contacts at Parsons to deliver this directly into your hands but alas, I was the only contact who had you in my class.”        She produced a white envelope from her desk and put it in your hands. From the feel of the paper, it was soft; made of vellum.    Vellum.    The material of the calling card offered to you by… that man was vellum, and who else would deliver you a card made from the expensive material?    “Uh, professor, I’m afraid— “    Professor Andrews grasped my hands with her wrinkled palms and look me directly into my eyes. Her normally piercing gaze that could bring a student to tears was soft and concerned, unfamiliar to you.    “Y/n, I am not supposed to interfere but… he looked so gaunt when he came to me. The sparkle was gone from his eyes, his bravado diminished into a shell of what it was, his tone so tired and beaten down. Especially with his indefinite hiatus—”    “What?” Your head snapped up from the envelope in shock.    Your professor furrowed her brows. “You didn’t know? He announced an indefinite hiatus around the time you first transferred in. He said that no more art would be produced until he decided to become active again.”    “I didn’t know…” you murmured as you stroked your thumb over the envelope.    “I don’t know what sort of relationship the two of you had, as it’s not my business, but whatever it was, he needed you. Desperately.”

   You had only opened it when you came home from school. A polaroid of a painting that you could barely discern placed in a dark room. One message was written on the back.    Please tell me what I did wrong.    What were you supposed to do with that?    In the movie, the doorbell was wrung by the Polite Leader beseeching the Sandins to let them release their prey to hunt.    Should you respond to him? Should you completely ignore him? Which one would be more beneficial to your health?    If you didn’t respond to him, the ache in your heart would forever be there. You would be scarred from men forever because the man who took your virginity broke your heart and used you like a toy. You would never know his side of the story.    But, if you responded to him, you would at least know his side. Have some redemption. Perhaps get in a slap. Maybe you would have a chance to stop the ache in your heart.    Well, if you were brave enough the change degrees, you sure as hell could confront your ex-... whatever he was. Lover? Boyfriend?    You would do this.    “Olivia, I’m going to do something really quickly,” you said as you removed your self from the tangle of food and pillows.    “What!” She squawked. It seemed the Purgers had broken into the house already. “Bitch, you wanted to see this stupid movie and I ain’t seeing it alone!”    “And you can survive for the full minute that I will vacate this room,” as your rushed into the guest bedroom to retrieve your phone.    You scrolled down your recents and found Taeyong’s number. With trembling fingers, you unblocked his number and texted him.    927 New Haven Apartment Complex. Apartment 507. Tuesday at 6 PM.    2 days from now, Olivia was going to be out of the apartment for Thanksgiving Break with her family in South Carolina. You, with the way things were with your father, decided it wouldn’t be the best decision to go home so you decided to stay home Within a minute, a message bubble popped up.    Thank you. I’ll be there. ~ TY

   You tapped your foot impatiently as you sat at the breakfast table of Olivia’s apartment. Looking out the window, you saw a drizzle of rain wash over the foliage below and heard the usual sounds of the city. With the weather like this, you couldn’t blame Taeyong for being at least a bit late.    5:50. It read on the electronic clock in the kitchen. The house was empty, with Olivia bidding you adieu yesterday to visit her family.    You had gotten ready an hour before, you were so nervous. At least 4 outfits were tried on, scrutinized, and then thrown to the ground before deciding the 5th outfit was adequate. The dress was too formal, the sweatshirt too casual, but the skinny jeans and t-shirt combo was perfect. See, you didn’t want to look too desperate when Taeyong came in, in fact, you were trying to be standoffish—    Knock knock knock.    Your heart beat a stamp into your ribs, while the feeling in the pit of your stomach roiled. Your hand clasped the doorknob, unlocked, and swung it open.    Taeyong, in his great glory, stood there. Just seeing the eyes that made you fall in love made your heart stutter, just a tiny bit.    However, Prof. Andrews was not wrong. Taeyong still retained his classical good looks, all sharp lines, and angles, but those lines were sharper and those angles were deeper. He looked gaunt and pale, and dressed in a black button-up it contrasted to his skin so greatly it made him look even paler. There were shadows under his eyes, but his eyes were still smoldering. Still as enigmatic as always.    “Taeyong. Come in,” you regained what little dignity you had left and graciously let him in through the door. He nodded silently and slipped off his glossy black Gucci loafers and took your lead into the kitchen.    “Do you want something to drink? Water? Tea?” you asked as you leaned against the counter and crossed your arms.    “No, I’m fine. Thank you,” Taeyong murmured as he sat uncomfortably in his chair.    An awkward silence prevailed as you stood in each other’s presence as the first time in months. Heavy, tense silence grew between the two of you as you fumbled with a knick-knack on the counter and his eyes darted nervously around. It had been far too long, but the way he sat there banished the feeling of something missing from your mind.    “I thought you were on hiatus?” you said, and waved around the Polaroid of the painting.    “I am. I just said no paintings were being released, that’s all; not that I couldn’t paint anything,” Taeyong sighed.    “Ah.”    Another heavy silence.    Annoyed by the lack of action, you harshly slammed the knick-knack onto the counter. Taeyong didn’t jump, but his eyes darted to you far too fast to be casual.    “Well, Lee Taeyong? Why are you in this apartment?” you sarcastically shot at him.    “I wanted to ask why you left me. Humor me; let me into that infuriating brain of yours, Y/n.”    “I think I already made it clear when I vacated the apartment, Lee Taeyong. I even left a note. Or were you far too busy with your obligations to remember that?” you venomously spat.    “Stop calling me that! We’re not fucking strangers!” Taeyong suddenly shouted, scooting back his chair suddenly. His fists were balled up and he had an awful look of fury on his face.    “What? Lee Taeyong? Well, I call you that because we might as well be!” you shout back.    “Damn it, Y/n! Why the fuck did you leave me, huh? Was I not good enough for you? Was I not rich enough for you? Hell, did I not fuck good enough for you?” Taeyong snapped at you, gripping the table tops so hard his knuckles turned white.    “You must one cocky son of a bitch to think I wanted you for your fucking money or your dick! I left because I know nothing about you!”    “What are you talking about?! I shared my home with you—”    “Shut up, Taeyong! I fucking trusted you with my dreams and hopes and life but you gave nothing of yourself to me! I confided in you, I told you about my past and my present, and I bared my soul and body to you! While you, always the goddamn unfathomable and ambiguous Lee Taeyong, gave me nothing of you! Zero! Zilch! Nada! I don’t know what I am to you! What was I supposed to think, y- you bastard?” you voice cracked, as you stared up at his eyes.    “Y-you” your voice broke and turned hoarse “y-you treated me like a toy. You took my virginity. You only called me over to fuck— I felt I was a whore. You gave me the best nights of my life, but you left me scarred for the rest of my nights.    His silence wrung as heavily in your ears as his shouting did. It wrung in your ears like a siren while, he could only look at you with an inscrutable expression of his face, like he couldn’t figure out whether to get angry or cry.    “Get out, Taeyong. Go use someone else to make money off of. Go be dishonest somewhere else.” You spit out and close your eyes. Your back turned to him at you stare at the textured cream wall, desperately not trying to burst out bawling.    “No.”     You spin around on your heel to yell at him some more, but Taeyong appears at your back few inches away from you, far too close for comfort. His inscrutable expression morphed into something that looked like determination, and his smoldering eyes held you in place as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Your mouth drops open in shock at his audacity before he leans his forehead to yours and sighs.    “My name is Lee Taeyong.” he started out quietly, eyes closed as if in prayer. “I am 27. I’m from Seoul, South Korea. I like to paint, I love macarons, and I hate dirty rooms. But you already know that. I am Lee Taeyong. I never really got along with my mother, perhaps that’s the reason I’m doing so bad with you.” He laughed bitterly. “She raised me to close off myself to others, not ever to trust a female. But I can’t blame her for… for my behavior. I am scared of the people who judge me, even though I am an artist and am constantly judged by the public, critics still make me want to put down my paints.”     “I came to the US when I was 19, on scholarship to Parsons. I didn’t know English very well at all, and I struggled to communicate with those around me, and I chose to delve into my craft even deeper. You… inspired me, and remember my speech at Parsons? I didn’t know how true it was until you entered my life. I didn’t know to what extent inspiration turned into obsession, how intensive it went. I’m not using you just to make money; you genuinely make my heart lighter and make me feel things I haven’t ever felt, and these things were hard to communicate. I did the best way I could, by painting you just the way I see you, but I think I didn’t get through to you.”    “I didn’t mean to make you feel like some on-call whore. I thought… I thought I could make up my absences with time spent in bed with you. That my missing days from home could be covered up by a few drawn-out orgasms. Guess it didn’t work, because you aren’t at home. With me. In my studio. In our kitchen. In our bed.” Taeyong lifted his forehead from yours and buried in your hair. He took a deep breath, comforted and saddened all at once at the familiar smell of peaches-and-cream that still plagued his memories like a ghost. The smell that he could faintly smell in the shower that he tried to scrub off until his skin turned red.    “But most importantly, the thing that you should know about me, in all my bumbling attempts to make you mine, is that I… I care for you. Fuck, I love you, and I’m so goddamn sorry I drove you away from our home. Please tell me it isn’t too late, because I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to make you feel used and unwanted. Please.”    His tone, cracked and anguished and interwoven with sadness, wrenched at your heart. He sounded so desperate, so unlike his usual suave baritone that it felt like you were listening to a song and the track skipped ahead a few beats and now all the singing was off-beat.    His mysterious nature, that you thought was permanently affixed to his character, was slowly crumbling around you. The days where you thought the gleam in his eyes was an enigmatic sparkle of that he knew something that you didn’t were gone; you could see that sparkle was of passion and affection, and a million other things in the universe that was all for you.    You didn’t realize you were crying until you could feel the wet button up of Taeyong was pressing into your cheek. Taeyong was making little shushing noises, stroking your back and whispering comforting things into your things.    “I… It’s not too late,” you whisper.    Taeyong’s head snapped up to meet your gaze, mouth partly open in shock. You smiled through your tears and stroked his cheek. You stood on your tippy-toes and gave him a kiss on his cheek, while he stood stutteringly still.    “It’s… it’s my fault too. I didn’t say anything, didn’t try to talk to you about my problems, or rather, didn’t try hard enough. I should’ve at least tried to work this out, instead of sulking about my problems like some child, before walking out of our house. I’m so sorry too, I was so rash and didn’t even let you have a chance to know what you did wrong,” you said while holding his hands.    Taeyong’s face split into a genuine smile, and dipped his head into a deep kiss, pressing you even closer to him. You missed this so much, a part of you that came together, and you responded two-fold, tilting your head to deepen the lip-lock. You gasped as his tongue entered your lips and you moaned softly, running your hands over his broad shoulders. He disengaged from lip-lock and trailed kisses all over your face. Over your brows, over your temples, over the bridge of your nose, everywhere. You giggled, ticklish from the sensation and his lips pulled up into a smirk. The hands you were using to run over his chest wandered to the lapel of his shirt, and tugged. Your hands played with the buttons before Taeyong released you suddenly.    “What?” you pouted, biting your lip and looking at him coquettishly.    His eyes darkened even further before a growl escaped his lips.    “Don’t test me Y/n, we can’t have it now. Later.”    “Why not now? Don’t you want me?”    “I do, fuck, I want to pound you until the mattress breaks, but I don’t wanna introduce sex into our relationship too soon. I don’t want to rush this like last time,” Taeyong says, stroking your fingers.    “Well, if what you said before about not wanting to fuck and chuck is true, I don’t mind it. In fact, I want it.” You take your hands out of his hold and “accidentally” brush it across his rising erection.    “Y/n,” he growls warningly, but you toss caution to the wind and push the palm of your hand into his slacks.    “Please?”    His lips curl up into a menacing smile, and he pushes you to the counter.    “If you want it, well, I live to serve,”    He tugs on your shirt, and assists in alleviating you of your shirt. You keep your lips on him, furiously making out with him. The artist pushes down your skinny jeans, his fingers brushing over your skin teasingly, soaking your panties clear through.    Once he rises up, his eyes darken even more as he scans your body, clad in just a bra and tiny panties while looking up at him with wide eyes. Licking his lips, he leans down and laves at your collarbone enticingly, while you throw your head back in ecstasy. Taeyong’s fingers pull down the cups of your bra, his thumbs rubbing circles on your aeolas making the tips of your breasts even stiffer.    “Mmph!” you moan, one hand covering your mouth while the other one is propped up to support you.    Taeyong scoops you up in his arms while you squeal.    “Which door?”    “The… the first one on the right,” you panted, barely able to talk while kissing him.    He manages to get the door open with you in his arms (an impressive feat) and throws you down on the bed. He rips off his black button up, showcasing his impressive chest that you missed, and loosens his belt.    You lean forward quickly and get back on your knees, pulling down his pants and pulling his cock out his briefs. Turgid and thick, it was exactly how you remembered. You stroked him a bit, while he threw his head back while clutching your shoulders tightly, and your mouth curled up into a cat-like grin. While rubbing the pre-cum over his head, Taeyong interrupted you.    “Y/n, I want to go down you. You can get my dick later,” Taeyong huffs as he rips your hand away from his cock.    “But I want it now, Tae. Can’t we do 69?” you asked while playing the straps of your bra.    “...fine.” Taeyong relents and helps you remove your bra and panties.    He gets down on the bed, while you climb over him and position your core directly on his face. You get eye-level with his pulsating cock and the hard tips of your breast rub his pectorals, stimulating quite nicely.    As soon as your fingers touched his cock, Taeyong sinful tongue poked at the entrance to your pussy. You unintentionally squeezed harder, and he moaned breathily, his hot breath on your vagina. Since Taeyong was rubbing his tongue over your entrance, but never entering, you decided to amp it up a notch.    You opened your lips over his dick, poking your tongue out, but only touching him slightly. He moaned, and you left little licks and kisses over his erection, fleeting touches that made his cock even harder. Taeyong seemed to get annoyed, and just fully inserted his tongue into your pussy. You whined and ground your core into his face, mouth leaving his dick momentarily and it hitting your cheeks you put your head down.    As Taeyong finally got out his hands to touch your clit, you put the length of his in his throat. You could feel the fine tremor of his thighs on your chest, and you alternated between hard and soft suction. However, you could barely think as his tongue moved in patterns on your clit, his fingers pistoning in and out. As his tongue touched your clit and his fingers touched a spot, you clenched hard and felt yourself release. You decided to speed up your handjob, and Taeyong explodes over your hand, streams of white come covering your pumping hand and slightly splattering you in the face.    The two of you rest there for a while before Taeyong’s dick rises a bit. You giggled, and you felt Taeyong lift you up from your position and putting you on your back on the bed. He loomed over you, and you clenched your thighs together to stop your juices from getting everywhere, but he wrenched them open and inserted himself between them.    “You ready, Y/n?”    “Absolutely,” you panted, a bit more wantonly than you would’ve liked.    His lips curled up in that smirk that made you fall in love with him, and he wasted no time in putting himself in.    The two of you groaned from the friction, not used to the pleasurable feelings running through your veins and in your hearts from the past few months. It felt like a homecoming, however cheesy it was, because him, here, with you, made you feel at ease.    Lubricated as you were, he set a gentle yet fast pace, slamming into you and making the bed frame rock. You didn’t know where to put your hands, one moment it was clutched tightly at sheets, and the other it was scratching down Taeyong’s back. He clenched his teeth and rocked into you faster, his biceps bulging with the effort. You every inch and crevice of his dick in your pussy, fitting perfectly with the contour of your walls.    “Taeyong!” you moan, absolutely overwhelmed by the intense pleasure and the emotional homecoming.    “Be my lover. Be my girlfriend. Be mine,” Taeyong gasped as his hips slammed into yours, creating a lewd slapping noise throughout the bedroom.    “My home… our home feels darker without you. It misses you. I miss you,” he continues.    “Say yes, darling.”    “YES!” you nearly screech out, delirious from the pleasure Taeyong was inflicting upon you. Your pussy clenched tightly around his veiny cock and released its juices. Taeyong let out an involuntarily moan and explodes, cum releases in spurts in your vagina. The two of you collapse, feeling as if a nova exploded in the room.    When your breathing as calmed down, and the aftershocks of pleasure slowly fade away, you stroke his hair.    “I think I love you,” you muse, as your fingers run through his soft black hair.    He lifts his head from your chest and smiles at you, pressing a little kiss on your collarbone.    “You’re gonna move with back in with me, right? I didn’t say that without purpose,” Taeyong murmurs, fingers drawing lines over your sensitive skin.    “I will as long as you promise me that we’ll work on communication together.”    “My darling, I would do anything for my muse.”

   The panoramic television Taeyong bought was humming softly in the background, announcing the news of Taeyong’s comeback from hiatus. The adorable corgi the two of you bought was jumping around the living room, your stupid corgi-covered throw blanket settled onto the couch once again.    You scan the small portrait of your likeness as Taeyong cradles you with his body, his head upon your shoulder and arms resting comfortably around your waist. You unconsciously lean back into him, luxuriating in his warmth and familiarity. You reluctantly break from his hold as you circle around the piece, reverent of its attention to detail and intimate vulnerability expressed in the piece. The golden plate near the base caught your eye, gleaming in the dying sunlight.    Raison D’etre.    Purpose for Existence.    Your head quickly snapped up towards his gaze and you stumbled back. 3 tiny words had the effect of a grenade, catching you off guard and leaving you in shell-shock. Just 3 tiny words made you feel like a sonic boom had swept through Taeyong’s studio and you, the unfortunate bystander, were left deafened and dazed. 3 tiny words.    “You… do you not go too far, Taeyong?”    His eyes contain a maelstrom intensive feelings. Love, passion, obsession were all rendered just as clearly with his gaze as with his oils or paints.    “Do I?”

(A/N: this a piece i have been on for a long ass time, so it is one of the best pieces i have ever written in my entire career lmao. i hope you enjoyed it as i did writing it! please like, reblog, and comment!)

Notations:

(1) Alexander Calder, an American sculptor who is best known for his innovative mobiles that embrace chance in their aesthetic and his monumental public sculptures. 

(2) Lovers- Wyeth (1981) - Part of the Helga Pictures, 240 paintings of Helga Testorf (Andrew Wyeth’s Muse and Mistress)

(3) The woman in the picture, Helga Testorf, was not a hired model. Wyeth, while married, embarked on a tempestuous affair with her and created 240 paintings.

(4) Phaedrus is a dialogue between Plato's protagonist, Socrates, and Phaedrus. The central theme of this dialogue is Eros. The problem of love serves as the provocation for the speeches, the content of the speeches and the reflection upon speech as a whole.

(5) Sotheby’s Auction House (NY)- One of the world's largest brokers of fine and decorative art, jewelry, real estate, and collectibles. It’s a big, big deal TY’s painting was sold there.

(6) Camille Claudel was the pupil of Auguste Rodin, a famous sculptor, and she eventually became his mistress. Auguste promised to leave his wife for Camille but that never happened. She went insane and was committed to a mental asylum, while Rodin went on to become an acclaimed artist. There are many doubts on how much Camille contributed to his most famous sculptures like The Thinker (because women as sculptors was unthinkable for the time).

(7) Salvador and Gala Dalí. Gala was married when she met surrealist oil painter Salvador Dalí (who painted The Persistence of Time), and immediately left her husband to be with Salvador. Gala was Salvador’s ultimate muse- he deified her in his paintings. The surrealist movement is often noted for its expression of the human subconscious and dream-state, exploring human desires and wild fantasy. For Dalí to imagine Gala in his dreams, he was extremely obsessed with her (even though she was a gold-digger and abusive).

(8) Gustav Klimt and Emilie Flöge. Gustav, who painted The Kiss, was lifelong partners with Emilie yet there was no proved romantic relationship between them. However, Gustav painted Emilie in The Kiss and many other works, leading many to believe they were romantically involved.

(6, 7, 8)- They say behind every great man is a great woman. The women mentioned above were crucial to each man’s success and artistic style. Each artist and his muse had a different sort of relationship, so that is why the newspaper mused on what type of relationship TY and Y/N had.

(9)- Nobuyoshi Araki and Kaori: Nobuyoshi Araki’s long-time model KaoRi has publicly accused the renowned Japanese photographer of misleading her into working without a contract, distributing pictures of her around the world without her knowledge or consent, and failing to compensate her fairly for her time or for her her role in Araki’s work. They weren’t lovers.

(10) Picasso and Gilot. Gilot had 2 children with Picasso and left, infuriating the famous Cubist painter who painted Guernica and The Old Guitarist.

(11) (TW) Bernado Bertolucci and Schneider. Bertolucci, an acclaimed film maker, was accused by actress Schneider for including a rape scene that wasn’t in the original script of the 1972 film Last Tango in Paris. Schneider was raped by her fellow actor Marlon Brando and the tears in the scene were real.

(9, 10 ,11)- These examples of horrible, abusive relationships between artists and their muses causes Y/N some worry, leading her to believe dear TY is using her.

More Than Love: the 2018 Reylo Fanfiction Anthology Gift Fic Exchange Treats Masterpost Part One

The More Than Love collection on AO3 | Master Post Part One on Tumblr | Master Post Part Two on Tumblr | Treats Part Two on Tumblr

you burn with me by Anonymous for itslaurenmae

Rey's soulmark burns when she meets Kylo Ren for the first time.

Wake by Anonymous for Aniye

Kylo Ren wakes first in the Throne Room after the battle with Rey. He has precious moments to decide what to do with her before he's joined by his second in command, General Hux.

Raindrops by Anonymous for jennity

"Rey sees rain for the first time. It's colder than she thought it would be, but not as cold as space. Leather gloves, warm hands."

Bonded and Balanced by Anonymous for iamladyloki

Rey prepares to meet Ben face to face after months apart after fighting together in Snoke's throne room.  She remembers times the Force has bonded them as the prepares to land the Falcon in the Lake Country on Naboo.  She focuses on meetings that happened after Crait as she tried to forgive him and they grew closer in many ways.

That Place Where I See You by Anonymous for nymja

A templar didn’t seek out magic. A templar didn’t seek out heresy -- and yet he sought her. A Dragon Age AU featuring templar!Kylo/apostate mage!Rey

The Link that Lingers by Anonymous for Chthonia

As Rey attempts to explain the Force Bond between her and Kylo Ren, Leia witnesses the phenomenon firsthand as it activates during Rey’s explanation. Set after The Last Jedi.

Flowers for Every Season by Anonymous for kuresoto

Rey uses her skills as a florist to help Hux woo a girl at his law firm despite the interference of his harsh boss, Kylo Ren. Modern AU.

so close by Anonymous for Like_A_Dove

Rey is near-fatally injured trying to fight Hux and a few of the Knights of Ren. Kylo escapes with her, but for how long?

undone by Anonymous for caisha

Rey braiding Kylo's hair and vice versa, just domestic stuff.

Towers and Tails by Anonymous for bittersnake

Rey lives a nice, quiet life as a mermaid at the head of the Humanology department at the local community college, until one day she gets caught in a freak storm and sort of accidentally saves a Human's life. Because of this, she loses her job and gets turned into a Human herself, cursed to spend her days in an old abandoned lighthouse where every step she takes is incredibly painful and she could get turned to sea foam at any moment. Well, not a week later after this whole mess during a hurricane, none other than the Human she saved shows up at her lighthouse. Ben Solo. And they're trapped in there. Indefinitely.

To Softly Drown by Anonymous for caisha

Rey and Kylo Ren know they shouldn't, but they keep finding ways to be together.

Handiwork by Anonymous for Vivien

After the war, Ben and Rey write a happier story for themselves as they work to build a life together.

The Family they sought by Anonymous for iamladyloki

Renporer goes to his rooms one night to discover his Empress is expecting.

What They Saw by Anonymous for kylorenaissance

Speculation on what Rey and Kylo may have seen in their respective visions in TLJ.

A Dangerous Affair by Anonymous for AceQueenKing

They know it’s dangerous. They’ve almost been caught dozens of times, either outright or in their tangled lies. - In which Kylo and Rey can't quite let go of the hold they have on each other.

Trust Issues by Anonymous for Slittherwolfe

Ben Solo has left the military to become an actor and met and married Rey, also an actress. They are living the happily ever after until the inevitable question is asked...

Starlight Gets in Your Eyes by Anonymous for kuresoto

1960s AU where Ben works for First Order security and Rey for a flower shop!

Weirwood Dreams by Anonymous for crossingwinter

The Force did not send him a nuisance. It sent him his equal, his other half. Rey. Damned he would be if he didn't treasure her.-Dreams and stories may have kept her sane but he was what kept her alive.

when i knew love's perfect ache by Anonymous for ArcherHybrid

Post-TLJ. Rey and Ben aren't very good at staying away from each other, and Rey's self-control is severely lacking for a Jedi. Or: Rey gets pregnant through the Force Bond, and that is frankly ridiculous and unfair, she would like to say.

Causality by Anonymous for PalenDrome

Kylo Ren has been kidnapped, drugged, and forced into sex slavery by the Hutts. Rey is sent by Leia to rescue him, posing as a client, and ordered to do whatever it takes to get him back. And she isn’t prepared for how devastating this mission will be.

alderaan places by Anonymous for Plutoascending91

Ben is moving to the back window display, preparing to lock up, when he notices something strange in the middle of flora and vases.One, mud-caked motorcycle boot peeks out from underneath a table curtain. The boot belongs to a leg. Even though it’s covered in so many bright tattoos that it looks like leggings or something. His eyes trail up, seeing that the leg goes up to hips that are covered in beat to hell jean cut-off shorts, that an old cream tank top is tucked into the waist of the cut-offs, and that brown, wavy hair hangs over the shoulders of the tank. The pieces eventually register in his mind as a girl.A girl. Is under his table. Sketching.

Take My Hand by Anonymous for yellowdress

“You have kind eyes,” she lets the sentence hang unclosed, her eyebrows raised in a wordless question.“Ben,” he whispers it as if he’s confessing to some unbearable sin.“You have kind eyes, Ben.”

Finally by Anonymous for yellowdress

Rey is busy with school and work, but when a party in her apartment complex becomes too much of an issue, she's forced to deal with the problems she would rather ignore.  It would be easy if she had only her neighbor, Finn, to face.  Unfortunately Ben is there as well, and after what he's said, she has no desire to see him again.

For There is Nothing Lost by Anonymous for bratanimus 

After things get physical with Ben, Rey quibbles with the terminology of sex and considers what it means for their relationship.

The Only Truth by Anonymous for sokki09

Rey is a struggling singer/songwriter who catches her break when her cover of a Knights of Ren song goes viral. Before she knows it, shes spending studio time with the prickly Kylo Ren, who is busy working on his first solo album, and none of it goes as expected.

Fire and Powder by Anonymous for TheStolenQuill

Two teachers who hate each other because their classrooms share a wall. A Valentine’s dance. A matchmaking principal. A chaperone assignment that ends in an unexpected romance.

Letting Go by Anonymous for murakamism 

Instead of running away, Rey tries to convince him some to see her side, to let go of the path he's walked for so long and given everything to.

Same Eyes, Different People by Anonymous for juniorstarcatcher

After Snoke creates the monster Kylo Ren, Luke Skywalker's Jedi Academy is lost, along with his nephew, Ben Solo. Years later, General Organa offers a reward for her son's safe return. Finn and Rey, two orphans living and working on Takodana, plan on pawning off Matt, the Radar Technician as the lost prince, after noticing his striking physical similarities to the only son of the Alderaan princess. "If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people," Maz told her, but Kira knew the truth. Ben Solo - her Ben - was gone. Kylo Ren had murdered him six years ago, back when she went by the name Kira.

Impulse by Anonymous for cuddlesome

Rey trying to "get back" at Kylo by being topless without warning one of the times that they bond. It backfires, of course, because he likes seeing her tits. An impulsive decision to get one up on Kylo Ren turns into something Rey never expected.

truth and touch by Anonymous for thelittlescrimshaw

Rey squeezes her eyes shut, wishing and hoping against everything that both her problems would vanish into thin air the moment her eyelids fluttered open.

A Path Chosen by Anonymous for OccasionallyCreative

 Rey. Master of the Knights of Ren, a woman of legend and tales, who took her own Master and bent him to her heel. A terror and a blessing swathed in black wraps; his savior from the endless wastes of Jakku who currently wanted nothing but him to fall in line. But Ben Solo wasn’t one to fall easily. ------- Ben Solo was left behind on Jakku. It wasn't long before he was found by Rey, Master of the Knights of Ren, who promised him a better life and an inheritance he couldn't ignore.

By Night by Anonymous for czechia

He tried to memorize the look in her eyes as he touched her, trailing his fingers up and over the knobs of her spine, reacquainting himself with the parts of her he had forgotten. The scars she had acquired during their time together were still there, puckered ridges he used to know as intimately as the stories behind them, staining his memory like ink.

in that dry white ocean alone by Anonymous for KKetura

Sometimes the things we hate in others are the things we fear inside ourselves. How do you keep running from the other face in the mirror?

Holonet Mail by Anonymous for TheJGatsby

Two work rivals, who despise each other, unknowingly fall in love as they exchange letters through the holonet.

Call Me Sweetheart by Anonymous for diasterisms

It's a good life, what they've created together, but Rey simply hates Ben's silly names for her.

Sweet Nothings by Anonymous for diasterisms

“Hey asshole, I was sitting here.”  The stranger looked up at her from behind thick-rimmed Ray Bans and ran a hand through thick black hair. There was a bit of foam on his lip. “What do you want me to about that, sweetheart?” ------aka, the five times Ben refers to Rey with pet names and the one time she replies.

Daffodil by Anonymous for Plutoascending91

Ben Solo gets an unexpected visitor on a Wednesday afternoon with a very specific request.

You've Got to Hide Your Love Away by Anonymous for solikerez

Rey and Ben, two Hogwarts students, met in their second year and quickly connected, but when Ben learned that Rey was Muggle born he knew they could never be together. His strict, pure-blood grandparents would never allow it and had already abnegated his parents for joining Dumbledore. They took him in after the death of his parents in the war and swore never to let their family be torn apart again.  Unfortunately, forgetting Rey became just as impossible as the relationship must be.

Clean Hands, Light Heart by Anonymous for kimaracretak

Rey knows how cruel you need to be, to get things clean. She doesn't want to be cruel, though.

we'll never sleep by Anonymous for ChecktheHolonet

Kylo needing Rey but loathing himself for it, looking for a way to release his frustration and rage, relying on her to recognize his needs and fulfill them while taking her own pleasure in being able to exert a level of power and control.

Kissed By the Sun by Anonymous for Trish47

Rey had very limited personal experience with men, but she knew enough about them to be surprised when the first article of her clothing Ben tried to remove was her arm wrap.

without him I feel his arms around me by Anonymous for the-reylo-void

A sad little conversation between Rey and Kylo post-TLJ. Some angst and pining, a convo, and Rey POV. Talk about why they both did what they did in the throne room. They both wish they didn't have to fight each other anymore.

There is no 'You and I' by Anonymous for mrstater

Rey wishes Kylo Ren would leave her alone.  Or so she tells herself.

To: Professor Rey Niima's Husband by Anonymous for solikerez

There are a few rumors going around in Hogwarts.

Convergence by Anonymous for politicalmamaduck

Other, also known as ‘soulmate’ for people who wanted to believe. Not everyone had an Other, and the only way to find your Other was by saying their name. When that happened, memories of their life, where they grew up and the steps that led them to you, would be condensed into a single flashback that passed in a blink of an eye. The fact that someone had said Rey’s name and didn’t bother approaching her hurt, especially since she had a good idea why. Her parents tossed her aside when she was barely five, so she shouldn’t be surprised that her soulmate had done the same.

This Monstrous Force by Anonymous for meritmut

She never knew what she looked like in the Force. She knew what she felt like, and she knew what others appeared to her. Some nights she would dream of waking in a shifting world of limitless power and her teeth were replaced with fangs, her eyes with refined sight and the hunger of a beast that hasn't fed in far too long.

In the Rain by Anonymous for jennachangedherusername

Walking through the market near the new Resistance base, Rey thinks she sees a familiar face, or is it just a mirage?

banes by Anonymous for firelord65

The galaxy belonged to Rey. He belonged to Rey. And still it was not enough. Whatever emptiness burned inside of him magnified itself in her, had long since grown out of control, worse than any black hole. He could be sated by her touch, her lips on his, the comfort of words he no longer believed that she believed: you’re not alone, I understand, I’m here with you, we can do this.There was nothing that could sate her.

Cloudbusting by Anonymous for mrstater

“Have you heard of cloudbusting?” he asked. They could never talk about what they were talking about, but it all meant the same thing, every time.

A glimpse of future by Anonymous for cuddlekylo

Kylo Ren comes back home where his wife Rey awaits him with a surprise (which actually really shouldn't be one).

Acquired Tastes by Anonymous for NextToSomething

When Kylo Ren and Rey share a meal under most unusual circumstances, they find they have a taste for things they never expected.

The Scroll by Anonymous for Acacieae

It was ironic that between the two of them, Ben and Rey’s boxes of possessions equaled less than those of the late Leia Organa and there were only four of those metal containers.

That Which Haunts by Anonymous for dietplainlite

Kylo and Rey are assigned to do a trip from Nar Shadda to Canto Bight, but the Falcon decides to act up in it's most reliable way.

it goes round and round (everything falling) by Anonymous for politicalmamaduck and rosewitches

again and again, she slips from his grasp like moonlight (reincarnation au where ben seeks her through their past lives and maybe, just maybe this time this time will be the last)

No Way Back by Anonymous for misszeldasayre

They are intertwined. Inseparable. It's almost unbearable. Kylo cannot move forward, no matter how often Rey appears to tell him he must.

Mirrorbright by Anonymous for juniorstarcatcher

An Anastasia AU set in the SW universe. An evil Force-user curses the Solo family, giving rise to a coup that separates the Organa-Solo family - the young prince Ben disappearing in the mayhem. Years later, his mother has offered a reward for his return. Con artist and smuggler Rey and Chewbacca plan to pass off a phony as the prince and collect the reward, never guessing that the orphan they've tricked into helping is truly the crown prince, Ben Organa Solo.

The Lure of the Light by Anonymous for Alethnya

Snoke failed to turn Ben to the dark side, but found a willing apprentice in Rey.  Years later, Rey has set herself against the resurgent Jedi Order - and one ridiculously infuriating Jedi in particular.

Crawl Under Your Skin by Anonymous for witchoil

"Underneath his forehead, beneath her skin, a heat wave’s been building in Rey's lower belly, smoothing and constricting, pushing and pulling on elastic tendrils. Kylo can pinpoint the exact moment when it shatters."

dunes of sand by Anonymous for punkeraa

Senator Ben Organa is sent to Jakku to evaluate the state of the old Imperial base and secure it from the rising First Order.He finds so much more than he could have imagined.

Called by Distraction by Anonymous for Ariel_Riddle

Kylo Ren follows his high-ranking officers to a brothel where he sees a vision in white: Rey. Possessed by desire, Kylo sweeps her away toward his ship, though they don’t quite reach it.

Truth Be Told by Anonymous for pythia

 “Do you even know who you’re working for?” He taunted.  She wiped a smear of blood from her lip. “Don’t worry, we’re the good guys.” Spying a workbench nearby, Rey picked up a screwdriver to use as a weapon. This man was relentless.  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”Alias AU: Rey is an agent with SD-6, a secret branch of the CIA. But a chance encounter with the mysterious agent Kylo Ren could send everything she knows crashing to the ground. Could she be working for the very enemy she thought she was fighting?

Back on Track by Anonymous for dustoftheancients

Ben and Rey are bickering neighbors who are forced to work together in the end.

carrie. by Anonymous for punkeraa

The first week of being a parent was always the hardest.

safe by Anonymous for LueurdeLaube

Leave me be. You don’t deserve any of this. Please...

Chase Away His Demons by Anonymous for Limra

Rey is pregnant and goes to tell Ben, but has to deal with his jealousy first.

Whatever She Wants by Anonymous for starlightreader

"Tie me down and take whatever you want." When Rey tells him she wants to re-enact the day they met, Ben isn't sure whether having her at his mercy will feed his fantasies - or his nightmares.