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vibelladonna · 1 month ago

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❛ 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝑒 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝒻𝑒𝓂!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── ·

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Sol is the academy’s golden boy—a perfectionist and top-tier artist everyone knows. His art is known for being precise, emotional, and insanely good. But now? He’s stuck, completely out of ideas for his final project. The pressure’s crushing him. Nothing he draws feels right. His professor, noticing how frustrated he is, suggests he should try a chill sketch workshop somewhere off-campus.

Sol’s skeptical, but he goes anyway. That’s where he sees them—someone who looks like they walked straight out of a painting. There’s something about them that hooks him instantly.

For the first time in forever, his pencil starts moving on its own.

A muse, the spark he’s been waiting for.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: This story was requested by a college friend and a certain someone in my inbox. It features a female reader characterized by a curvy, classical beauty of ancient Greek depictions: a round face, full breasts, and soft, rounded curves. I've kept the second-person point of view, using "you/they/them" for inclusivity and gender-neutral readers!

Second, I was asked to make Sol a Sub. Of course, I wanted to write more to avoid writer's block, so I decided to make part two of this later down the road, so he's to your taste!

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Fem! Reader, Teasing, Slow Burn, Muse/Artist Dynamic, Fluff with lots of Spice--Smut, Oral (giving), Sub!Sol, Dom!Reader.

· ─────── ⋅ ♤ ⋅ ─────── ·

The late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the art classroom, casting golden beams across the scattered supplies and half-finished canvases. The room smelled of oil paint and charcoal, a mix that usually comforted Solivan Brugmansia. Today, though, it only reminded him how empty his sketchpad still was.

Sol sat at the back of the room, leaning over his desk. His black turtleneck and rolled-up sleeves made him look effortlessly polished, though faint smudges of graphite clung to his fingers. His sharp jawline tensed in concentration, reddish-orange eyes scanning the page as if willing something to appear. A mop of unruly black hair with green streaks fell across his forehead, and he absentmindedly pushed them back with an ink-streaked hand.

The classroom around him felt still, almost frozen in time. Easels stood in disarray, some tipped at odd angles like sentinels watching over the room. The wooden floor creaked faintly whenever Sol shifted in his seat, the only sound other than the occasional scratching of his pencil.

He’d tried everything: sketching a basket of fruit, copying the faces of students in old pictures pinned to the corkboard, even closing his eyes, and drawing lines inspired by the music playing softly from his phone. Nothing worked. Every line he made felt lifeless, every attempt another failure.

Sol exhaled sharply and leaned back, staring at the mess on his desk.

Dozens of crumpled sheets surrounded him, almost like it was drowning him. His reputation as the academy’s best artist was a double-edged sword. Everyone expected perfection, and he… well, he expected even more from himself. He thought back to when art had felt easy. As a kid, he could sketch for hours, losing himself in the flow of it. Now?

Now, it felt like dragging ideas out of a dried-up well.

“Focus,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. The final project wasn’t just another assignment. It was supposed to represent everything he’d learned at the academy, the culmination of years of work. His professor had called it a reflection of their souls. Sol wasn’t sure he had any soul left to reflect.

The sunlight shifted, painting the room in amber hues. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a glass cabinet filled with old brushes and paint tubes. To anyone else, he probably looked calm, and collected, like the golden boy he was rumored to be.

But inside? Inside, he felt like he was drowning.

His chest felt tight, as though the air in the room wasn’t enough. His fingers drummed nervously against the edge of his sketchbook, the sound barely audible but enough to betray his growing frustration. He glanced down at the blank page in front of him and frowned. It was infuriating—how could he be surrounded by so much potential inspiration and yet feel nothing?

Sol closed his eyes and tried to picture something… anything. A scene, a figure, a feeling. But all that came was the same oppressive emptiness, the weight of expectations pressing down on him like a stone. He opened his eyes with a sigh, leaning back and staring up at the high ceiling.

That was when the door creaked open. Sol turned his head, and there she was—Professor Lenox, stepping into the room. Her sharp eyes, framed by cat-eye glasses, immediately landed on him. A petite woman with an air of authority, her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a tight bun. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who’d seen it all and still cared deeply for her students.

“Solivan,” she said, her voice warm but firm. She tilted her head, taking in the scattered papers and the furrow in his brow. “You look like you’ve been trying to wrestle with a ghost.” Sol let out a small, bitter laugh. “Feels like it.” She walked closer, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. “I’ve seen that look before,” she said, setting a hand gently on the edge of his desk. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Sol looked up at Professor Lenox, her knowing gaze piercing right through him. He let out a huff, trying to disguise his frustration as a nonchalant sigh. “Guess I’m just having a block, Prof,” he said, the familiar excuse slipping off his tongue far too easily. “Can’t seem to draw a damn thing,” he added with a shrug, though his clenched jaw betrayed his agitation. His eyes flickered to the empty page in front of him, the barren canvas almost mocking him.

Professor Lenox observed him, immediately sensing the tension.

With a gentle hum, she decided to take a closer look at his sketchbook. “Interesting,” she started. “So it’s true that the perfect artist seems to have a creative block. Quite a bind, hm?”

Sol’s lips curled into a dry smile at her observation. The fact that he was known as the ‘perfect artist’ only added to the pressure weighing on him. “Guess even the perfect ones can have their off days,” he mused, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice.

He watched as she flipped through his sketchbook, her slender fingers tracing over the blank pages and scattered attempts, like a judge examining an unfinished painting. Professor Lenox hummed softly in both understanding and intrigue. Her eyes darted across the drawings, pausing on each failed attempt, each aborted project.

“Ah, I see,” Professor Lenox said quietly, her fingers still tracing over the pages. “Sometimes perfection can be... overwhelming. Expectations pile up like stones, weighing down on one’s creative soul.” She turned to look at Sol, her expression a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. “It seems your mind is trapped in an internal battle... Tell me, did something happen that might have caused this creative block?”

Sol’s shoulders tensed, his eyes darting to the side as Professor Lenox’s gaze drilled into him. He was good at keeping his emotions in check, but her uncanny ability to read him was always unsettling. “Nothing specific,” he said shortly, his voice almost a mumble. The truth was, he couldn’t very well tell her that his mind was occupied with someone else—someone who had consumed his thoughts like a fever.

Raising an eyebrow, her lips curled into a knowing smile. "Nothing specific, you say. But your tension tells a very specific story," she chuckled softly, her tone dipping slightly. "Sometimes, the best way to deal with a wall is to figure out what's holding it up."

Sol felt heat creep into his cheeks under Professor Lenox's sharp gaze, his usual mask of indifference threatening to crack. His hand fidgeted with the pencil, rolling it between his fingers like he could shift his unease away. "It's... personal," he muttered, his voice tighter than he intended. He glanced at her briefly, then looked away. Her perceptive eyes felt too much like an interrogation under the guise of kindness.

Lenox leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Personal, huh? Sounds like there’s someone in the equation." Her smile widened ever so slightly, teasing yet calm as if she already knew the answer.

Sol’s breath hitched, caught off guard by her bluntness. He tried to play it off with a scoff, running a hand through his hair, but his tight grip on the pencil betrayed him. "It’s not like that," he muttered quickly. "I’m just... under a lot of pressure for the final project. That’s all."

"Ah, the 'pressure'," Lenox repeated, her voice laced with subtle sarcasm. "And this 'pressure' doesn’t happen to have a name? Or a certain face?"

Sol's face burned, and his fingers gripped the pencil tighter. "It’s not... it’s nothing major," he whispered, looking down at the empty page in front of him. "Just... a crush." Lenox laughed softly, not unkindly. "A crush, is it? How refreshingly human of you, Solivan," she said with a small, wistful sigh. "Ah, the simplicity of youth... But don’t let it eat you alive. You need space to breathe, not just in life but in your art."

Her tone softened as she reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out a card, sliding it onto his desk. "Here."

Sol blinked, his fingers stilling their nervous rhythm as he picked up the card. His eyes scanned the details, confusion flickering across his face. "What’s this?" he asked, glancing back at her. "Your next assignment," Lenox said smoothly. "Take a break. The deadline isn’t for two weeks, Solivan. You’re tying yourself into knots for nothing." Her smile lingered as she gestured to the card. "There’s a workshop class tonight. I’ll be hosting it off-campus. You should come."

Sol stared at her, caught between skepticism and curiosity. A workshop? During crunch time? It sounded counterproductive. "A workshop? For what?" he asked cautiously.

"To sketch, to breathe, to find your spark again," Lenox said simply. "You might even surprise yourself. Sometimes, inspiration doesn’t live in the places we expect it." She stepped back, her knowing smile intact. "Consider it, Solivan. You could use the change of scenery." And with that, she turned and left the room, her footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet space. Sol looked down at the card again, his mind swirling.

A workshop to find inspiration... or a distraction?

He let out a slow breath, tapping the edge of the card against the desk. The sunlight dimmed further, bathing the classroom in muted gold. Sol’s gaze drifted to the blank page on his desk. He didn’t want to admit it, but maybe—just maybe—Lenox was right.

Once the late evening came, a chill bit through Sol’s jacket as he stepped off the bus, holding the card in his gloved hand. The address was printed neatly on the thick paper:

404 Veridian Avenue, Studio B

No other information. Not even Professor Lenox’s name. It felt odd, cryptic even, but she had always been one for theatrics.

Sol glanced down at his phone as it guided him through the upscale part of the city. Towering brownstones and boutique storefronts lined the streets, their windows glowing warmly with light. It was the kind of neighborhood where the air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts and fresh coffee, a stark contrast to the creative chaos of his usual art academy surroundings.

But then, the directions veered sharply. Sol frowned at his phone as it prompted him to turn down a narrow alley tucked between two artisan bakeries. Hesitating for a moment, he shoved the card back into his pocket and followed the path.

The alley was clean but dimly lit, the faint hum of distant streetlights and muffled voices bouncing softly against the old brick walls. It felt like stepping into a hidden pocket of the city, secluded and unassuming.

Halfway through, Sol spotted a door set into one of the walls, unmarked except for its heavy iron frame and chipped black paint. A small group of people stood just outside, some holding large carrying cases that likely contained sketchbooks, canvases, or other art tools.

Their clothes caught Sol’s attention: loose, relaxed layers—hoodies, oversized scarves, and joggers—practical for movement but seemingly unfazed by the brisk air that nipped at Sol’s nose. He adjusted his own coat, feeling slightly overdressed as his breath puffed in front of him.

Another person opened the door, holding it just long enough for the rest of the group to slip inside. Warm light spilled out momentarily, revealing a cozy, well-lit space before the door clicked shut again, leaving Sol alone in the chilly alley.

He stared at the door for a moment, the faint murmur of voices from within reaching his ears. With a deep breath, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and stepped forward, his fingers brushing the cold iron handle.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside.

Sol immediately felt the warmth hit him, a stark contrast to the chilly night outside. He shrugged off his jacket, draping it over his arm as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The interior was unexpectedly massive, far larger than the unassuming door in the alley suggested. It felt like he’d stepped into an entirely different world.

The building had the structure of an old warehouse, its industrial bones softened by creative touches. Hallways stretched out in multiple directions, some leading to what looked like additional rooms beyond the so-called "studio." The hum of conversations and faint clatter of art supplies filled the air, weaving together with the low whir of the heating system.

Sol's boots tapped against the worn wooden floors as he walked further in. Around him, people clustered together in small groups, their faces illuminated by warm light. Makeshift classes appeared to be scattered throughout, each space marked off with folding dividers or chalked-out sections. Artists of all kinds shared their work, their voices overlapping with excitement as they critiqued and admired one another’s pieces.

He scanned the faces quickly, wondering who was in charge here. Based on the relaxed atmosphere, it seemed like the actual instruction had already wrapped up, but that didn’t faze him. Professor Lenox hadn’t mentioned a time, and Sol was relieved he hadn’t missed whatever this was supposed— workshop case.

As he wandered deeper, Sol noticed small signs on the walls beside the doors. Each bore a number, marking rooms like compartments on a train. He passed a few before spotting what he was looking for: 404.

He hesitated at the door, his fingers brushing the edge of the frame. Leaning just slightly inside, his eyes widened at the sight before him.

The room was grand and moody, the kind of space that could easily intimidate or inspire. Easels were arranged in neat rows, their dark frames catching the dim lighting that spilled from old-fashioned overhead fixtures. The floors were a deep, polished wood, worn in places but still gleaming faintly. Across the walls, streaks of black paint gave the room a raw, expressive edge, as if the building itself were part of the art.

People milled about inside, chatting as they prepared their tools—brushes, pencils, and charcoals scattered across shared tables. The soft scratch of graphite on paper and the faint aroma of turpentine filled the air. It felt like the calm before the storm of creation, a space alive with anticipation.

Sol exhaled softly. Good, he wasn’t late. Whatever this class workshop was, it hadn’t started yet.

“Ah, Solivan Brugmansia, you came.”

The voice made him jolt slightly, the smooth cadence instantly familiar. He turned, his heart sinking and soaring at the same time. Speak of the devil.

Professor Lenox stood by the doorway, arms loosely crossed and a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She looked every bit as composed as ever, her sharp eyes glinting with amusement. “You didn’t mention a time,” Sol said dryly, recovering enough to give her a half-hearted glare.

“And yet, here you are. Punctual as always,” Lenox replied, her smile widening just enough to make him wonder if she’d planned it this way. She tilted her head toward the room, motioning him inside.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Go find your place—your easel is waiting.”

Sol let out a low, almost inaudible sigh, his gaze lingering on the familiar figure of Professor Lenox, who had the uncanny ability to stir up a storm of emotions within him. He’d spent the entire day both dreading and anticipating this moment, knowing the workshop class would be a mixture of excitement and unease that would take him by surprise.

As he stepped into the room, the atmosphere hit him immediately—almost tangible in its intensity. The soft, ambient glow of the dim lighting and the gentle hum of students preparing their materials all combined to amplify the tension in the air. It was the kind of space where creativity was about to erupt, and it had a way of making him feel both energized and apprehensive.

A few students glanced up as Sol walked past, their eyes lingering for just a moment on his dark, alternative appearance before they returned to their work. His presence was always an anomaly in places like this, but it never failed to intrigue. He paused briefly at the easel, adjusting it to a more comfortable angle, then reached for his bag, pulling it closer. With a soft thump, he placed his supplies—a set of pencils, paints, and his worn sketchbook—onto the table.

"Ready for today's class?" a voice suddenly asked, causing Sol’s heart to skip a beat. He wasn’t used to anyone speaking to him, let alone initiating conversation. He looked up in surprise, his eyes meeting a familiar, unexpected face.

"Hyugo?" he said, his voice edged with shock.

Hyugo Sugimoto, his best and only friend, stood before him, looking just as youthful and carefree as ever. Hyugo had an oval-shaped face, still carrying the remnants of a babyish look, and sky-blue eyes that glimmered with a youthful sparkle. His hair was a striking shade of teal, short on top with shaggy layers at the back, and an unexpectedly long rat tail that hung down to the side. His outfit was simple but effortless—an untucked white short-sleeve button-up and tan pants that looked like they hadn’t been ironed in days.

"What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?" Sol asked, still reeling from the surprise.

"Duh, Professor Lenox asked me to," Hyugo replied with an easy grin, nonchalantly reaching for his supplies. Sol furrowed his brow. "Really? You're not even an art student."

Hyugo placed a hand dramatically over his chest, feigning offense. "You’re so hurtful. I might not be an art student, but I’ll have you know that my love for art knows no bounds."

Sol raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You skip class every time, though."

"Shhh," Hyugo said, putting a finger to his lips, and motioning toward the front of the room. "Professor Lenox is about to start."

Sol rolled his eyes, but his attention was already slipping back to his tools. His mind, however, was still racing with anticipation. He couldn’t help but glance over at Professor Lenox, who stood at the front of the room, her presence commanding attention as the chatter around the room gradually died down. Her voice, calm and measured, filled the space as she began the introduction for the evening’s class.

“Welcome, everyone,” she said, her tone warm but professional. “This space is yours for the night. A place for you to step away from the chaos of the outside world and dive into your artistic process. You’re here to create, to explore, and to find inspiration.” She paused, giving the students time to absorb her words, her gaze sweeping across the room, landing briefly on Sol and Hyugo before continuing.

“I want to remind you all that this is a closed-off environment, so no phones, so make sure they are fully turned off,” she said, her smile knowing. “This is a space where you can truly relax, embrace your creativity, and push past the boundaries of what you think you know about art. Tonight, we will have models to work with, so you can let your instincts guide you, without judgment or interruption.”

At that, a murmur of curiosity passed through the room. Some students looked around, eager to begin, while others seemed more hesitant, unsure of what was to come. Professor Lenox continued, unphased.

“And,” she added with a playful tilt of her head, “I’ve arranged for a little something extra to help ease the tension. Over at the back, you’ll find some wine. Feel free to pour a glass if you feel the need to loosen up.”

Her eyes flicked to the back corner of the room where a small table had been set up with a few bottles of red and white wine, along with empty glasses. A few of the students exchanged the idea of sipping wine while working on their art, adding an intriguing layer of comfort to the evening.

“Solivan, Hyugo,” she called out, directing a casual nod toward the pair, “You’re in the perfect spot to begin. Let the space guide you. And remember, this is not just about technical skill—it’s about finding a muse. Inspiration is all around you, and tonight, you might just discover yours.”

Sol nodded slowly, still processing the warmth of her words, but something in her tone made the anticipation in his stomach tighten further. He wasn’t sure what to expect from the night, but he had a feeling it was going to be something that would push his boundaries.

With a final glance toward the class, Professor Lenox moved toward a nearby door at the side of the room. She placed her hand on the handle and paused. The room fell into a near silence, everyone waiting.

“Everyone ready?” she asked, her voice carrying an air of mystery. A few seconds of stillness passed before she slowly opened the door with a soft crack, revealing what lay beyond. Sol’s breath caught in his chest. He stared at the scene unfolding before him, his eyes wide with shock. Hyugo’s face mirrored his own, both of them turning an unmistakable shade of red as their minds raced to process the unexpected turn of events.

Standing in front of them, poised and graceful, were several nude models, each with a calm and confident demeanor. The room seemed to shrink around Sol as the reality of the situation sank in.

This wasn’t just any drawing class—this was a nude figure drawing class.

The models, completely at ease with their vulnerability, stood in various poses, their bodies illuminated by the soft light spilling from the open door.

“Oh wow,” Sol muttered under his breath, still unable to fully grasp what was happening. He turned to Hyugo, his expression one of stunned disbelief. “Never thought it was... this.”

Hyugo, equally flustered, had his hand pressed to his forehead in a mix of embarrassment and surprise. His usual playful demeanor was replaced with wide eyes and a nervous chuckle. “I—I didn’t know either,” he stammered, the reality of the situation settling in like a heavyweight.

Sol couldn’t stop looking at the models, his face still burning with embarrassment. He had known the class would push him creatively, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of intimacy. The thought of drawing a nude model—especially with Hyugo standing right next to him—was enough to make his mind race and his heart thump faster. This workshop was not going to be anything like he’d expected.

“What’s wrong my dear,”

The soft yet insistent whisper came from Professor Lenox, who stood near the doorway, her voice barely audible over the hum of quiet conversation in the studio. Sol turned his head, seeing her gently coaxing someone to step forward. “This isn’t the first time, you know,” she said, her tone light but persuasive. “Are you sure you’re still okay with this? You don’t have to, especially with our setup tonight.”

A voice answered from the shadows, earnest but firm. “Please, ma’am,” it begged softly.

Lenox sighed, a patient smile spreading across her face, tinged with understanding. “All right,” she relented, her voice warm. “Just make sure to claim your spot in the front middle area, where the lighting is softer. That way, you won’t feel all the eyes on you at once.”

“Okay,” the voice agreed quietly.

Moments later, Professor Lenox stepped aside, gently guiding a young woman into the room. Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders like a dark waterfall, and in her hands, she held a simple white cloth, which she adjusted carefully over her frame. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, highlighting her figure while leaving just enough to the imagination.

Sol’s breath caught in his throat. His jaw slackened as his heart kicked into overdrive, thudding against his ribs with almost painful urgency. His pulse quickened, each beat a deafening drum in his ears.

It was you.

You stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the studio lights, the faintest hint of warmth blooming across your cheeks. The delicate white cloth accentuated every curve, and yet your posture exuded a mix of confidence and vulnerability that was utterly arresting.

Sol’s grip tightened on the edge of his easel, his fingers digging into the wood for stability. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, his gaze roaming over you with equal parts disbelief and awe. His thoughts scrambled to make sense of the moment, but words evaded him entirely.

You noticed him immediately, of course. How could you not?

Sol’s stunned expression was impossible to miss. A knowing smile curved your lips, subtle yet tinged with amusement, as though you were fully aware of the effect you had on him. Your eyes met his, narrowing slightly in a playful challenge.

“Caught you staring. Is there something on my face?” your look seemed to tease, your head tilting just enough to give the impression of indifference. Yet the faintest flicker of pride glimmered in your expression, betraying a sense of satisfaction at his reaction.

Before Sol could stammer out a reply—if he could even form one—Professor Lenox’s voice broke through the haze.

“Solivan, are you comfortable with this?” she asked gently, her gaze flicking between you and him. “I should have checked before starting. I completely understand if you’d prefer not to be included in this exercise. It’s no problem if you’d rather step out.” Sol blinked, torn from his trance, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. He glanced back at you—standing there, wrapped in the thinnest veil of white, every line of your posture a quiet declaration of grace—and then back to Lenox, her expression patient and concerned.

He could barely hear his thoughts over the roar of his heartbeat. To stay or to leave—it should have been an easy choice. Yet, with you standing there, radiating a mix of poise and playful defiance, nothing about this moment felt simple.

Sol could feel the heat crawling up his neck, spreading to his cheeks like wildfire. His heart pounded so violently in his chest that he was convinced the entire room could hear it drumming in rhythm with his spiraling panic. Swallowing hard, he tried to steady his breath, but his voice betrayed him the moment he opened his mouth. “N-No, I’m… I’m fine. Really. I just…” His words faltered, slipping through his fingers like sand. He trailed off, his mind blank as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. “He’s perfectly fine, Professor Lenox!” Hyugo chimed in smoothly, his tone light and confident as he cut through the awkward tension.

You and the professor exchanged skeptical glances but eventually moved on, leaving Sol to deflate with a long, shaky sigh. Before Sol could even think about pulling himself together, Hyugo grabbed his arm and tugged him behind their easels. “Sunny, you need to calm down,” Hyugo said in a low voice, casting him a sidelong glance that bordered on exasperation.

“I’m calm,” Sol lied, gripping the edge of his easel as though it might ground him. But the rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed him. His breathing was erratic, “Yeah, sure. Totally calm,” Hyugo replied with a smirk, folding his arms. “You’re about two seconds away from passing out. What’s got you so rattled anyway?”

Sol’s eyes darted to you across the room, a storm of emotions swirling in his gaze. He quickly looked away, as if the act of staring at you too long might somehow incriminate him. “I… I can’t help it,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hyugo raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess,” he said, his tone dripping with knowing sarcasm. “It’s the model.”

Sol swallowed hard, his face burning as Hyugo hit the nail on the head. “Yes! Okay? Yes, it’s them,” Sol admitted in a hushed, desperate tone. “They’re just—look at them! How am I supposed to not…” His voice cracked, and he gestured vaguely toward you, unable to finish the thought. Hyugo stared at him, utterly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, they’re beautiful or whatever. But you need to dial it back like now,” he said, his voice dropping into a warning tone. “Because if you don’t, you’re gonna embarrass yourself in front of literally everyone. And I mean, everyone.”

Sol rubbed his temples, willing himself to breathe slower. “I know, okay? I know! I’m trying!” Hyugo’s smirk widened into a grin that could only be described as mischievous. “Trying? Sol, you’ve been staring at them like a starved man at a buffet. Seriously, just don’t get a boner. I will personally kill you if you do.”

Sol’s eyes widened in sheer mortification. “What?!” His voice pitched higher, and he instinctively shifted his weight, his hands flying to adjust his pants in a panic. “Relax,” Hyugo said with a laugh, leaning casually against the easel. “You’re good. For now. But seriously, do whatever you need to do to calm down—and I don’t mean anything weird.”

“Hyugo!” Sol hissed, his face practically glowing with embarrassment. “Shut up! You’re making it worse!”

“I’m making it worse?” Hyugo’s grin was almost predatory. “You’re the one ogling like a creep. Look, just... breathe. Count backward from ten or something. But for the love of God, stop looking like you're gonna faint.” Sol shot him a glare, equal parts annoyed and amused despite his humiliation. “You are insufferable,” he muttered under his breath, taking another shaky breath. “Fine. I’ll... figure it out. Just stop talking.”

Hyugo smirked, giving him a mock salute. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

With one last exasperated groan, Sol leaned back against the easel, doing his best to avoid looking in your direction. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts refused to cooperate, still spinning in chaotic circles around you.

Sol’s heart raced, each thud echoing louder in his ears as he watched you stand at the center of the room. His eyes followed every movement, the tension in the air thickening with every passing second. He swallowed hard, trying to pull his thoughts together, but the reality of the situation had a firm grip on him.

There you were, right in front of him, standing on a platform where the light caught your skin, drawing all attention to you.

Professor Lenox’s voice cut through the haze of Sol’s mind. “Chin up, my dear.” He gently tilted your head, adjusting the angle to capture the perfect light. Sol’s breath hitched as he watched Lenox carefully drape the cloth around your body, ensuring it hugged your curves with meticulous care, emphasizing the fullness of your breasts and the soft shape of your lower body. It was an artful, almost reverent display, and Sol couldn’t tear his gaze away, despite the deep embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“Perfect,” Lenox murmured as he took a step back, inspecting the pose from various angles. He gave you one last look, making sure the fabric was properly positioned and the light illuminated you just so, before turning to the class. “Okay, class. Start your drawings,” he announced, his tone clear and commanding. “I’ll be starting my work as well. Happy drawing, and make sure there’s no loud talking.”

The room went quiet as pencils met paper, the sound of sketching the only noise now filling the space. Sol’s hands gripped the edge of his easel tighter, fighting to keep his focus. He tried to breathe slowly, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His eyes kept drifting back to you, to the way the cloth wrapped around your body, the delicate curve of your neck, the subtle tension in your posture. It was like trying to ignore a flame in front of him, drawing him in.

Hyugo’s voice was a low whisper beside him. “Sunny, I don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending you’re fine. You’re staring at them.”

Sol’s face burned hotter than it had before. His mouth went dry, and he looked away, but the image of you, poised and serene on the platform, lingered in his mind. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, hoping his body wouldn’t betray him further. The cloth wrapped around you, the soft curves it accentuated—everything about the scene was etched into his brain.

"I can’t help it," Sol muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "How am I supposed to ‘not’ look?"

Hyugo, however, wasn’t buying it. He shot Sol an exasperated look, his tone flat. "Just control yourself. Seriously, no one’s judging you for being a normal human, but don't make it so obvious. Everyone’s here to draw, not to gawk."

Sol gritted his teeth, attempting to focus on anything but you. The sound of pencils scratching against paper and the faint murmur of hushed voices all blurred together as he tried to calm his mind. But it was impossible.

You were right there, a living, breathing work of art.

Professor Lenox’s voice echoed again, breaking the tension in the room. “Remember, class. Focus on the form. Capture the essence of the figure. Don’t get distracted by details.” Sol wasn’t sure if he was hearing Lenox’s words or his thoughts, but they did little to quiet the storm raging inside him. He glanced back at you, his gaze lingering longer than it should have, only to be met with Hyugo’s pointed stare. He quickly looked away, his breath shaky.

"Just relax, sunny,” Hyugo muttered, almost sympathetically. "This isn’t that complicated." Sol clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale slowly.

It wasn’t that complicated... right? Then why did it feel like everything was spiraling out of control?

You, on the other hand, noticed Sol in your peripheral vision, your observant gaze picking up every minute change in his facial expressions. A smirk tugged at your lips as you watched the battle play out in his mind—focus versus distraction. It amused you to be the cause of such turmoil. Your attention briefly shifted to the young man beside him, murmuring words of encouragement. “…Is he always like this?" you muttered softly, more to yourself than anyone else.

As the minutes ticked by, your amusement grew. You decided to test just how far you could push him, curious about his reaction. Turning your head ever so slightly, you let your eyes meet Sol’s directly for the first time. The subtle smirk on your lips grew wider, just enough to let him know you had noticed his struggle—and that you were fully aware of the effect you had on him.

Sol froze. His pencil slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, breaking the silence of the room. A few heads turned in his direction, including Professor Lenox, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing, returning to his work. Hyugo stifled a laugh, leaning toward Sol and whispering, “Smooth move, Casanova.”

You couldn’t help but bite your lip to suppress your laugh, your confidence emboldened by the flustered look on Sol’s face. There was something oddly satisfying about watching him squirm, and you decided to take it one step further. Shifting slightly in your pose, you adjusted the fabric draped around you, enough to subtly enhance the curve of your shoulder and the line of your neck. It wasn’t overt—just enough to catch his attention again. You rested your chin on your hand, your expression composed but your eyes sparkling with playful mischief.

Sol’s breath hitched audibly, and Hyugo nearly choked on his laughter this time. “Dude, pull yourself together,” Hyugo muttered, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Feeling bold, you decided to push the boundary even further. You cleared your throat softly, loud enough for Sol to hear but quiet enough that it didn’t disturb the rest of the class. His head snapped up instinctively, his eyes meeting yours once more.

“Everything okay over there?” You asked, your voice low and teasing, laced with just enough sweetness to send his pulse skyrocketing. The question hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop for Sol. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he stared at you, his face turning a deeper shade of red than you thought humanly possible.

The room had fallen silent again, and now all eyes were on Sol.

Hyugo leaned in, whispering just loud enough for the class to hear, “I think you broke him.”

Afterward, once the class wound down, Sol tried his best to keep his head down, busying himself with packing up his supplies. His face was still hot from the humiliation of earlier. Despite his best efforts, it felt like the entire class had noticed his wandering gaze and the weight of their silent judgment pressed heavily on him.

Professor Lenox approached, her warm, professional demeanor as composed as ever. “Good work tonight, Solivan, Hyugo,” she said, her voice calm and encouraging. “Feel free to join us again in the future. You’re both talented, and I’d be happy to see how your skills develop.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Hyugo said casually, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

As Lenox turned to leave, she glanced back at Sol, her expression thoughtful. “Oh, and Solivan,” she added, a hint of curiosity in her tone. “Have you found your muse yet?”

Sol stiffened, his throat tightening. “Uh... no. Not yet,” he replied quickly, avoiding her knowing gaze. She simply smiled and wished them both a good night before stepping out of the classroom. Hyugo grinned, nudging Sol with his elbow. “Your muse, huh? I think I know exactly who she’s talking about.”

“Shut up,” Sol mumbled, his face reddening again. He hastily folded his easel and packed his supplies, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. “So... what do you feel like eating tonight?”

“Pizza. Or maybe tacos.” Hyugo shrugged. “But—” He stopped mid-sentence, his smirk growing wider as he glanced over Sol’s shoulder. “What?” Sol frowned, but before he could turn around, he heard your voice.

“Oh wow…”

Sol froze, his heart plummeting to his stomach. Slowly, he turned to see you—fully dressed, thank god—standing near his easel. Your eyes were wide, taking in the sketch he’d been working on all evening. The drawing on the canvas was breathtaking in its detail. Every line and curve captured your form with remarkable precision, from the way the fabric draped around your body to the soft shadowing along your jawline. It was almost reverent in its artistry, a clear testament to how closely—and how intently—he had been studying you.

You blinked, your gaze shifting from the drawing to Sol. “This is... amazing,” you said softly, genuine admiration in your voice.

Sol felt like the floor was going to give out beneath him. “Uh—thank you,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He could feel Hyugo’s grin boring into the side of his head. Hyugo, ever the opportunist, seized the chance to make things as uncomfortable as possible. “So, you’ve seen Sol’s muse now, huh?” he said, his tone thick with teasing amusement.

Your head tilted slightly, a curious smile playing at your lips as you glanced between the two of them. “Muse?”

“Ignore him,” Sol said quickly, his voice sharper than intended as his wide, reddening eyes darted to Hyugo. His glare was enough to threaten, but not silence, his friend. Sol cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I’m Solivan Brugmansia—or you can just call me Sol. And this idiot is Hyugo.”

You smiled, introducing yourself in return. “It’s nice to meet you both. You’re really talented, Sol. I didn’t even realize you were paying such close attention during class.” The white lie slipped off your tongue effortlessly, but it wasn’t fooling Hyugo. He coughed, his shoulders shaking as he stifled a laugh. Sol shot him another heated look, silently begging him to shut up.

“I, uh... yeah,” Sol mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. His usually composed voice had softened, almost shy. “I guess I just got... caught up in the details.” A pause stretched between the three of you, though the weight of the evening hung mostly between you and Sol. His nervous energy was almost endearing, and his reddish-orange eyes and central heterochromia reflecting were striking.

For a fleeting second, it seemed like the colors shifted into heart-shaped pupils, though you brushed it off as your imagination playing tricks.

Breaking the silence, you smiled again, leaning in ever so slightly. “Well, if you ever need a muse again... come back here and let me know.” Sol’s breath caught in his throat, and the faintest spark of hope flickered in his expression. But before he could formulate any kind of response, you turned and walked away, casting a playful glance over your shoulder that left him frozen, utterly dumbfounded.

Hyugo let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Well, that just happened. Anyway, about those tacos?”

Later that night, as Sol and Hyugo sat in a booth at their favorite taco joint, Sol replayed your parting words on an endless loop in his head.

‘Well, if you ever need a muse again... let me know.’

The memory of your teasing smile and those parting words made his chest tighten in a thrilling and terrifying way. Hyugo, of course, noticed. He always noticed. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Thinking about someone?” His voice was as smug as ever; his words were muffled slightly by a mouthful of carnitas taco.

“Shut up, gogo,” Sol muttered, though the blush crawling up his neck betrayed him. Hyugo leaned back in his seat, smirking like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Sunny, just admit it. She got under your skin, didn’t she? You’re not even denying it.”

Sol sighed, his fingers threading through his hair. “It’s not that,” he said, though his tone was unconvincing. “I just... I want to take more classes. You know, to work on my technique.”

Hyugo snorted, nearly choking on his drink. “Your technique? Sure. And it has absolutely nothing to do with seeing her again, right?” Sol focused on his plate, refusing to dignify Hyugo’s jab with an answer. But the truth was glaringly obvious.

He did want to see you again.

He needs to see you again.

There was something about the way you’d looked at him—like you could see straight through his facade, past his nerves and awkwardness—that was both unnerving and exhilarating. It left him wanting more, even if it scared him to admit it.

The next morning, Sol found himself standing outside Professor Lenox’s office, nervously clutching his sketchbook. He had debated with himself the entire walk over, unsure if he was making a fool of himself by even being there. But eventually, he took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” Professor Lenox’s voice called from inside.

He stepped into the cozy office, filled with canvases, art supplies, and books stacked haphazardly on every surface. Lenox looked up from her desk, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. “Solivan. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, setting aside her work. “I, uh...” Sol hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I was wondering if I could attend more of your classes. I really enjoyed the one last night, and I think it’d be good for me to keep practicing.”

Lenox raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Interesting. And here I thought you spent most of the evening struggling to focus.”

Sol’s cheeks burned, but he pressed on. “I want to get better,” he said earnestly. “Your class made me realize how much I have to learn.” Lenox studied him for a moment before sighing. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m not teaching tomorrow. I’m not teaching regularly at all—I only do this to help artists find their inspiration.”

“Oh,” Sol said, his heart sinking.

“But,” Lenox continued, “the studio doors are always open for well-known artists or those who are serious about improving. There are early afternoon sessions that you’re welcome to attend if you want to work in a quieter, more relaxed environment.”

Sol’s heart lifted at her words. “Really? Thank you, Professor Lenox.”

She smiled warmly. “Of course. Just remember, Solivan, art comes from a place of honesty. If you keep chasing after something—or someone—you might just find your muse after all.” Her words struck a chord, and Sol left her office feeling both inspired and anxious. He couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of seeing you again, and the thought filled him with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.

The following day, Sol arrived at the studio earlier than planned, his heart racing with anticipation. He was dressed more intentionally today—black boots clicking softly on the wooden floors, his baggy black pants paired with a crisp oversized white button-up shirt, a slim black tie, and his leather jacket draped over his shoulders. His hands clutched his sketchbook like a lifeline as he navigated the quieter halls, each step fueled by a mix of hope and nervous energy.

As he neared the back of the studio, he passed smaller classrooms, the few occupants inside focused intently on their work. The vibrant energy from the previous night was gone, replaced by a serene hush. It was a different atmosphere—intimate, contemplative.

And then he saw you.

Sol’s breath caught in his throat as his gaze locked on the familiar figure seated before the easel. There you were, poised in that effortlessly graceful manner he had come to recognize—cross-legged and grounded, yet with a certain quiet intensity to your posture that suggested focus and purpose. Your hair cascaded down your shoulders in a wave of silk, catching the soft light that filtered through the window.

The only sound in the room was the faint rustle of your pencil against the paper, a rhythmic whisper that made the air feel thick with stillness.

For a moment, Sol stood paralyzed in the doorway, heart thundering in his chest. His grip on his sketchbook tightened instinctively as if the weight of the book could somehow steady the storm churning inside him. You hadn’t noticed him yet—or perhaps you were deliberately ignoring him, utterly absorbed in your work, your eyes fixed on the canvas before you. The room seemed to hold its breath in the silence.

The tension stretched until, at last, Sol took a hesitant step into the room, the soft creak of the door hinge betraying his entrance. You didn’t turn to face him immediately, but your voice, cool and composed, sliced through the quiet. “Can I help you?”

There was a sharp edge to your tone, though it was not unfriendly. It sent a shiver down his spine, but it also made his pulse race in a way he couldn’t fully explain. As your eyes met him, the brief flicker of curiosity that flashed across your features caught him off guard. The usual smirk he had come to expect from you was absent, replaced by an almost unreadable expression—a look that didn’t give away much, but left a sense of mystery hanging in the air.

Sol swallowed, his throat dry, the weight of his sketchbook now feeling impossibly heavy in his hands. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, words failing him as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"I—I'm sorry to bother you," he stammered, his voice a little too quiet and uncertain. "I just... I mean, I wanted to..." His words faltered, trailing off as his gaze involuntarily flicked to the drawing on the canvas before you.

His breath caught again. He hadn’t meant to be so distracted, but it was impossible not to be—your work was stunning. It was raw and detailed, every line intentional, every shadow perfectly placed.

"U-uh, you're really good," he blurted out, his voice betraying his awe. The words came out sharper than he’d intended, cracking slightly, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

You didn’t miss a beat. Your eyebrow arched in silent question, and your eyes flicked to your canvas briefly before returning to him. The faintest trace of amusement danced in your gaze, and it made him feel both flustered and strangely mesmerized.

“I’m skilled at more than simply standing naked,” you remarked dryly, your tone biting yet strangely warm. It was the kind of remark that could have sounded cold to anyone else, but with you, it carried an unspoken familiarity. You set your pencil down, your fingers lingering on the edge of the canvas for a moment before you gestured at it. “It’s a work in progress, of course.”

Sol’s face flushed even deeper, and he scrambled to recover from his misstep. “I mean, yes, obviously," he mumbled, his words tumbling over themselves. “It’s—uh—detailed. You have a good eye for, um, composition.”

His voice trailed off, hoping that somehow, his awkwardness wouldn’t be too glaring. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to interrupt your process like this, but now that he was here, he found himself at a loss for how to make this less uncomfortable.

A slow, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of your lips, a flicker of amusement lighting your eyes. “So,” you began, your voice calm but faintly teasing, “I see you’ve returned after all,” You leaned back slightly in your seat, arms crossing over your chest with deliberate ease. “What brought you back so soon?”

Sol’s mouth opened as though he had an answer ready, but no words came. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment before pressing together in frustration. “I-I just…” His voice faltered, his gaze darting between your face and the floor as if seeking an escape. Finally, he muttered, “I wanted to draw, I guess. It helps me think. And I...”

Your head tilted ever so slightly, your curiosity piqued by the nervous energy practically radiating off him. You studied him like one might a particularly puzzling sketch, your tone both patient and coaxing. “And you...?” you prompted, one brow arching in silent encouragement.

“I…” Sol’s voice broke off again, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “I thought... maybe... I’d see you here.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, leaving him frozen, his eyes widening in panic. He clutched the edge of his sketchbook like it might shield him from the weight of his confession, his fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his candor. The faint smirk from earlier found its way back to your lips, but it softened, less guarded, less sharp. “Well,” you said, your tone balanced between neutrality and intrigue, “you’ve found me.”

“I guess…” he mumbled, his confidence faltering under your steady gaze.

Leaning forward slightly, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You guess? That doesn’t sound particularly sure of your motives.”

“I—I am sure,” he said quickly, his voice betraying a touch of desperation. His eyes flicked to the sketchpad in his lap, and then back to you. “Your motives are questionable too, though. For someone who can clearly draw, why do you pose as a model?” The question was sudden, almost accusatory, but you could hear the nervous curiosity beneath it.

A soft laugh escaped you, an amused smirk curving your lips. You lifted a hand to your chin, pretending to consider his inquiry with mock seriousness. “Well,” you said at last, your voice playful yet thoughtful, “one reason is simply that I can, I suppose.” You shifted slightly in your seat, settling into a more comfortable position. “It’s not exactly a taxing job, and it pays the bills well enough. Being stared at by a roomful of aspiring artists for a couple of hours? A decent price to pay.”

Your gaze met his again, this time with a glint of mischief. “Besides,” you continued, your tone taking on a teasing edge, “you should let Professor Lenox know that I’m still banned from the classroom when I’m not... appropriately dressed. Being a non-art student has its quirks, doesn’t it?”

Sol blinked, his blush deepening as the weight of your words hit him. His grip on the sketchbook tightened, but this time it wasn’t panic—perhaps just the overwhelming mix of fascination and confusion that you always seemed to inspire.

“So,” Sol began, his arms crossed tightly as he approached, his footsteps deliberate, the faint clink of his belt buckle barely audible against the quiet hum of the studio. He stopped just beside your easel, his gaze flickering over your canvas before settling on you. “You work as a model to pay the bills—and also to listen in the lectures, particularly Professor Lenox's, right?”

You nodded, your head propped in your hand, your eyes following him as he drew nearer. His presence was magnetic, yet you maintained your poise, the faint smudge of charcoal on your thumb brushing against your cheek as you shifted slightly.

“That’s correct,” you replied evenly, your voice calm but deliberate. There was an air of challenge in your tone as you met his eyes. “It’s not exactly the most conventional setup, but it works for me.” You hesitated, letting the words hang, before glancing down at your sketch and then back up at him. A faint smirk tugged at your lips. “Care to take a turn?”

“A turn?” Sol’s voice wavered slightly, his composure momentarily faltering. He straightened up, his brow furrowed in confusion. “At what... exactly?”

“To model,” you clarified with a tilt of your head, your expression a perfect blend of mischief and composure. “You know, sit over there and let me stare at you for a while. It’d be a nice change.” Your tone was light, but the faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes hinted at something more. “Unless…” you added, leaning forward just slightly, “you’re scared?”

His reaction was immediate. Sol’s eyes widened, his breath hitching as he quickly tried to mask his nerves. “Scared?” he repeated, a weak laugh escaping him. “Of course not. Why would I be scared of… posing and sitting?”

You raised a brow, not bothering to hide the amused disbelief in your expression. “It’s harder than it looks, trust me,” you said, gesturing casually toward the standing platform in the center of the room. “But by all means, give it a try.”

The challenge in your voice lingered, and Sol felt it wrapping around him like a taut string, compelling him toward the platform. His pulse quickened as he hesitated, caught between the discomfort of being under your sharp, unrelenting gaze and the strange, exhilarating allure of it. His breath hitched, and finally, with a faint quirk of his lips that didn’t quite mask his nervousness, he said, “All right.” His voice was quieter now as he stepped forward. “Let’s see if I’m any good at this.”

You leaned back slightly on the stool, crossing your arms with a satisfied smirk as you watched him ascend the platform. His movements were unsure but determined, a fascinating contrast to the cool confidence he usually projected.

Sol shrugged off his jacket, setting it and his ever-present sketchbook carefully on a nearby chair. His heart pounded against his ribs as if trying to claw its way out. He’d never been in this kind of position before—literally or figuratively—but something about the way you looked at him like he was an enigma you were intent on unraveling, made the challenge impossible to refuse.

Climbing onto the platform with a slightly awkward shuffle, he hesitated before settling. One leg crossed over the other, then shifted again, his movements stiff and deliberate as though his limbs were tangled in an invisible net of overthinking.

Finally, he landed in a seated position where he clearly intended to look relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “Like this?” he asked, his voice raspier than usual as if the words had caught on a snag in his throat. “Do you want me to pose or…?”

“Just do whatever feels natural,” you replied, your tone calm but your gaze sharp.

“Natural,” he echoed under his breath, the word thick with doubt. His fingers twitched against his knee, and he shifted slightly again, searching for an ease that refused to come.

Your eyes swept over him, deliberate and discerning. His cheekbones, sharply defined, caught the light in a way that begged to be sketched; the strong line of his jaw, pale skin, framing lips that tightened nervously. The metallic glint of his piercings—small but undeniably striking—added a flash of rebellion to his otherwise restrained expression. His thick brows knit together in thought as he adjusted his posture yet again, while waves of long, unruly black and green streaks hair tumbled across his shoulders.

The strands caught the faint light, a halo of disarray that only accentuated his stark, quiet beauty. But it was his eyes that held you captive. That deep, smoldering reddish-orange—like embers glowing under ash—seemed to see straight through you, even as he struggled to meet your gaze.

For a long moment, you said nothing, letting your artist’s instinct take over. Every angle, every shadow, every unique detail of his face etched itself into your mind like lines on a canvas. Your focus was so intense it felt tangible, like a weight pressing between you.

He froze under your gaze, his breath catching audibly as his pupils widened. The rise and fall of his chest quickened, and a faint pink flush began creeping up his neck, betraying his discomfort—or perhaps something else.

“Uh…” he managed to croak, his voice faltering. Clearing his throat, he tore his gaze away and looked to the side, his hair falling forward as if to shield him. “Sorry, I’m not… used to being looked at like that.” His gaze found its way back to you, his cheeks still tinged with the faintest hint of pink. “It’s just… different,” he muttered, his voice low and uncertain. “You’re so focused. Makes me feel like I’m under a microscope or something.”

You rolled your eyes, feigning nonchalance as you fought to ignore the way his words tugged at something inside you. “Relax. It’s just me. Besides, I’ve caught you staring at my so-called ‘boring’ face and body plenty of times before. What’s the big deal?” You quoted your fingers.

His brows furrowed slightly, the tension in his expression melting into something more resolute. “Your face or body isn’t boring,” he said, his words spilling out with a startling clarity that left no room for misinterpretation. His voice had shifted, dropping into a tone softer yet somehow more intense.

His eyes met yours, half-lidded and darkened with something unreadable—something that made the air between you feel heavier. “Actually… I think you’re very beautiful.”

The confession hung in the room like an uninvited guest, its weight pressing against your chest. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. Your smirk faltered, slipping away as quickly as your composure. Heat rushed to your face, and you tore your gaze away from his, cursing softly under your breath.

“Don’t say silly things and stay still,” you snapped, your tone sharp and biting in a desperate attempt to mask the erratic thrum of your heartbeat.

You hoped your words would deflect the moment, push it back into the realm of casual banter where you felt safe.

But Sol wasn’t so easily deterred.

His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, curving his lips with a maddening confidence that made your stomach twist in ways you refused to name. This time, he didn’t look away. Instead, he held your gaze, his eyes gleaming with an audacity that only deepened the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“Whatever you say,” he murmured, his voice dipped in teasing amusement, the cadence of his words like a soft challenge. He leaned back slightly, finally settling into the pose you’d asked for, though the sly glint in his expression made it clear this game was far from over. “You’re the artist, after all.”

His words hung in the air, tantalizing and weighty, the space between you charged with a mix of unspoken defiance and an invitation. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Really now? Giving me such power… ” you said, your voice cool, though it couldn’t quite mask the ripple of intrigue threading through your tone. “…That’s bold of you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you rose with quiet determination, each step purposeful as you approached the platform.

The sound of your footsteps echoed faintly in the stillness, heightening the tension that hung between you and Sol. He didn’t shift, didn’t flinch—his body perfectly still—but his eyes were anything but passive. They tracked your every move, sharp and calculating, as though trying to decipher your intentions.

You met his gaze head-on when you stopped just in front of him, close enough for the air between you to hum with unspoken words. There was a challenge in your look, a spark of intent that burned through the cool mask he wore. Without hesitation, your hands moved to adjust his posture, the touch both commanding and oddly intimate.

Sol’s heart thudded against his ribcage, a steady beat that betrayed the calm facade he clung to. He felt the heat of your fingers through the fabric of his sleeves, the deliberate pressure of your guidance igniting a flurry of sensations he wasn’t entirely prepared for. Despite himself, his body responded to the gentle assertiveness of your hands—his muscles tensing, then yielding as though obeying your unspoken command.

You shifted his arms, your palms grazing over the sinew and strength beneath the fabric of his shirt as you brought them to rest on his thighs. The moment lingered, charged, as his skin seemed to hum under your touch. Moving closer still, you placed a hand on his shoulder, the weight of your fingers grounding him yet sending a strange, exhilarating tension down his spine. He inhaled sharply when your other hand found his chin, tilting his head upward with a deliberate precision that left no room for resistance.

His face was now fully illuminated under the studio’s glow, the soft light casting angular shadows along his features. It caught on the sharp line of his jaw and the gentle curve of his lips, still holding the ghost of a smirk.

Yet his expression had shifted—there was something deeper now, a quiet intensity that danced in his eyes as they locked with yours. The teasing glimmer was still there, but it was layered beneath something more vulnerable, more raw, and it made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Good enough,” you murmured, your voice low and almost reverent.

It was as though the word carried more weight than you intended. Your voice sent a shiver coursing through him, subtle but enough to make his body respond once more. His breath hitched, his pulse quickened, and for the briefest of moments, he wondered if you could feel it too—the energy pulsing in the space between you, fragile yet undeniable.

You step off the platform, your shoes clicking softly against the floor, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room. Bending down, you retrieve your tablet from where you left it nestled inside your bag, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as you stand. Turning back toward Sol, you cradle the tablet in one arm and pull out the stylus magnetically attached to its side. Settling onto the stool once more, you balance the device on your lap, letting out a soft sigh of focus as you power it on.

Sol watches you with a curious tilt of his head. His gaze shifts between your hands and your face before he speaks. “You draw on digital?”

Without looking up, you raise a hand to motion him still, your voice steady but commanding. “No moving, sir. I need you to stay still.” A small smirk tugs at your lips as you glance at him. “And to answer your question, yes—both traditional and digital. I usually sketch on paper first, then refine and detail digitally. But this time…” You trail off, focusing on calibrating your pen. “This time, I’m sticking entirely to digital.”

“Ah,” Sol murmurs, nodding slightly before catching himself and freezing again. “How long do I have to sit like this?” His tone carries a mix of genuine curiosity and playful impatience.

“That depends…” you reply distractedly, your eyes narrowing as you angle the screen to the perfect position. Picking up the pen, you glance up at him, tilting your head slightly to study his posture. “What I really need,” you say slowly, tapping the pen against the edge of the tablet, “is to study the male form.”

Sol raises an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. “The male form?”

“A naked form,” you clarify, your voice calm but matter-of-fact. You meet his gaze without hesitation, a hint of mischief in your expression as the weight of your words settles in the room.

For a moment, the room feels heavy with unspoken words, the quiet between you almost crackling with tension. Sol shifts uneasily at your request, his heart racing so fast it feels like it might burst. His fingers tighten against the fabric of his clothes, a subconscious attempt to ground himself. The thought of being naked in front of you—someone he hardly knew but felt inexplicably drawn to—stirred a mix of emotions he couldn't quite name.

He felt a knot of nerves in his stomach, but it was tangled with a strange thrill that sent a shiver up his spine. His mind couldn't stop racing, picturing how the moment might unfold, the weight of your gaze tracing every inch of him. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as he caught the playful glint in your smile. It was as if that single expression stripped away any sense of control he thought he had, leaving him flustered, exposed, and completely captivated.

You chuckle softly, leaning forward, pen poised over the tablet’s smooth surface. “Relax. Let’s think of it as a challenge. First, remove your shirt,” Smirking, you turn your attention back to the screen, the rhythmic scratching of your pen against the glass filling the quiet tension between you. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?" you tease, your voice light yet laced with challenge.

Sol feels his chest tighten as your words sink in, his mind racing with the weight of their implications. He wants to push back, to say something sharp, but there’s an undeniable pull in the way you speak so boldly, like peeling back a layer he didn’t even know existed.

The idea of you looking at him—not just seeing, but seeing—sends a hum of a familiar feeling through him, equally unsettling and thrilling. "No," he replies, his voice laced with a forced confidence. "No, I’m not getting cold feet.”

You snort softly, a crooked smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "Of course, you’ll say that, you say, your tone dismissive but carrying a trace of something deeper. Sol exhales, surrendering to the moment’s vulnerability with a small, lopsided grin. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Smirking again, you lower your gaze to your work, the pen moving in deliberate strokes. “You have no idea,” you murmur, voice tinged with playful arrogance. Then, without missing a beat, you glance up at him, your eyes catching his. “So is that a yes or a no?”

Sol’s laugh comes unbidden, a mix of exasperation and admiration. He shakes his head slightly, unable to ignore how disarmed he feels by your unapologetic nature. Your bluntness is unnerving, like staring into the sun, but it’s also magnetic, pulling him further into your orbit. His mind raced with thoughts and images, the idea of baring himself to you both thrilling and nerve-racking.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with a faint grumble like he was trying to brush off the weight of the moment.

Sol inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hands removed the black tie and then moved to the hem of his shirt, his fingers brushing the fabric as he unbuttoned it. The cool air of the studio prickled against his skin, making him shiver slightly as the shirt slid off. Now exposed, he stood still for a second, his chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal. His heart raced, caught between nerves and a flicker of excitement, pounding loud enough that it felt like it might echo in the room.

His chest was a work of art in itself, lean and toned with subtle, defined muscles that hinted at strength without overwhelming bulk. His shoulders were broad yet refined, tapering down to a sculpted torso that seemed both effortlessly strong and meticulously maintained. The faint outline of his ribs shifted subtly with each breath, and the curve of his collarbone caught the soft light of the studio, adding to the striking image.

He wasn’t sure what he hoped to see in your reaction—approval? Admiration?

Maybe both.

You barely noticed your tablet slipping slightly in your hands as your eyes were drawn to him, your breath hitching for a fraction of a second. His physique was captivating and demanded attention without trying. The sharp lines of his chest and the gentle shadow cast by his abs seemed to hold a magnetic pull, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but take it all in.

Something stirred deep inside—desire, curiosity, or maybe just awe—but you quickly masked it behind a composed expression. Still, there was a flicker in your gaze, a momentary slip that hinted at how much the sight had caught you off guard. And Sol caught that flicker and his breath hitched, too, a small surge of confidence sneaking in alongside the nerves. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, searching for any other sign of what you were feeling.

“Who would’ve thought an artist such as you is so… toned,” you said, glancing up briefly from your tablet, a teasing lilt in your voice as your hand kept moving.

Sol’s breath hitched for what felt like the hundredth time. Your compliment hit him harder than he expected, making his cheeks warm as a faint blush spread across them. He stayed in his pose, trying to appear unbothered, but his eyes betrayed him, sneaking a glance at the tablet to watch as the lines you drew began to come to life.

It was strange, having someone look at him like this. Your gaze wasn’t casual or fleeting—it was sharp, and intense, as if every detail mattered. It made him feel exposed but… special. He shifted slightly, his muscles starting to ache from holding the pose. But you didn’t seem to notice his struggle. Instead, your attention stayed fixed on him. "Don’t get cocky," you said with a playful smirk, breaking the silence as your eyes swept over him again. “You might be a good model; it has nothing to do with my tastes."

Despite your attempt to play it cool, your gaze told a different story. It lingered on him, studying every line of his body—the curve of his chest, the dip of his waist. You were meticulous, your eyes narrowing thoughtfully as you followed the contours with your pencil.

“...Hm,” you murmured suddenly, your tone thoughtful.

The sound sent a shiver down Sol’s spine. It wasn’t just the noise itself but the way it carried meaning like you were deep in thought about something specific. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his heart thudded painfully in his chest. “Hm?” he echoed, his voice slightly rougher than before, betraying his nerves.

You didn’t answer right away. Your eyes shifted downward, your focus slowly drifting lower until…

Sol froze. Your gaze landed unmistakably near his pants, and though your expression remained neutral, the implication was impossible to miss. A wave of heat rolled through him, pooling low in his stomach, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

"Ah..." His voice cracked slightly, and he immediately hated himself for it.

You smirked then, your lips curving up just enough to make his heart stutter. “Relax,” you said, but the mischievous gleam in your eyes made it clear you weren’t about to let him off the hook. “I’m just thinking about the… practicalities here.” Your tone was casual, almost too casual, but the way your eyes flickered back to his face told him you were enjoying this far more than you let on.

Sol could only nod stiffly, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to hold the pose for this long, but at this point, he didn’t trust himself to move without giving something away.

Sol's throat felt tight, his breathing quickening in sync with the rush of heat creeping up his face. His cheeks burned, not just from embarrassment but from a flicker of excitement he could neither deny nor fully understand. You were toying with him, your words deliberate and your smirk teasing, enjoying the way you made him squirm under your gaze.

And the worst part?

He liked it.

No, he loved it.

His hands fidgeted nervously, but he willed his voice to stay steady, though it wavered slightly as he asked, "Practical aspects... what do you mean, exactly?" You didn't look up from your sketchpad, your pencil gliding smoothly across the paper with practiced ease. Yet your eyes, sharp and narrowed, never left him. "Well," you began casually, “…there’s the matter of certain distractions that could arise during the modeling process."

Sol blinked, his heart hammering in his chest as he struggled to decode your words without letting his imagination spiral. He swallowed hard and pressed on, his voice quieter this time. "Distractions… how, exactly?"

Your smirk widened, your gaze turning into a playful challenge as if daring him to figure it out. The moment lingered, the air heavy with tension until you set down the sketchpad and took a step closer to him. Your finger tapped against the tablet stylus in your other hand as if considering whether to explain or let him squirm further.

"Oh, you know," you said, your voice lilting into a soft, teasing drawl.

He shifted uncomfortably, every nerve on high alert as you pointed the pen toward him like it held the weight of your playful accusation.

“Like… involuntary reactions," you continued, your tone light but laced with meaning. "The kind the male body sometimes has when it’s being observed so closely, especially you…”

His stomach flipped, your words hanging in the air like a loaded secret. Sol couldn’t decide whether to shrink away from your teasing or meet it head-on, his thoughts muddled between mortification and something far more dangerous: the undeniable thrill of it all. His voice was a bit hoarse as he mustered a response. "I see… I don't think.. that’ll be a problem," he said, his voice not entirely convincing.

You suppressed a small, amused laugh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep it from escaping. Pausing in your sketching, you raised an eyebrow at him, your eyes gleaming with a playful edge. "Oh, really?" you asked, your tone laced with a teasing mockery that dared him to hold his ground.

Setting your tablet aside but still holding the pencil lightly between your fingers, you stepped forward, deliberately and slowly. With every movement, you closed the space between you, your figure now standing on the platform before him. Hands-on your hips, you tilted your head, your gaze fixed on him with narrowed intensity.

"You know," you began, your voice soft but loaded with challenge, "it's perfectly natural for the body to react in such a way. No need to pretend otherwise."

Sol’s composure, usually so steady, was unraveling at an alarming pace. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, the rhythm echoing in his ears. His breaths came quick and shallow, the proximity between you making the air feel heavier. You were so close now that he could feel the faint warmth radiating from you, smell the soft, floral undertone of your perfume lingering between you.

It was all too much.

It was perfect.

His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as if grounding himself could somehow mask the tempest of emotions raging inside. Pride and vulnerability waged a silent war within him, his resolve teetering precariously. "I'm… I'm not pretending," he managed to protest, though his voice cracked under the strain, betraying him.

Your lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, and you took another step closer, your gaze trailing down. "Are you sure about that?" you asked, your tone dripping with mockery as if the answer was already written in the very air around you.

"Yes… I'm sure," he insisted, but the lie was painfully evident in his voice, thin and wavering.

Your eyes lingered on his torso, noting the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he leaned back slightly in the chair under the bright light. The tension in his muscles was unmistakable, every inch of him taut like a tightly wound spring. Slowly, deliberately, you closed the gap further, your legs brushing lightly against his.

Then, with a fluid motion of your wrist, the tip of your stylus brushed against his skin. The coolness of the dull plastic drew a deliberate line across his chest, its path leaving a trail of searing awareness in its wake. Sol’s breath hitched audibly, his body betraying him as a shiver ran through him. He clenched his jaw, his reddish-orange eyes fixed on yours, burning with a mixture of desire and defiance.

Your indifference only heightened the tension, your focus locked on his form as though he were nothing more than a canvas, a sculpture to be refined under your touch. Each stroke of your pencil seemed to amplify. His breaths quickened, and his fists trembled slightly at his sides, caught between resisting and surrendering.

You moved with precision, pausing as you reached the midline of his stomach. There, you allowed your fingers to brush gently against his skin, the feather-light touch sending a jolt through him. His body reacted before he could control it, his muscles twitching at the contact.

Glancing up, you met his gaze, your eyes sparkling with a mischievous curiosity. "Your heart," you murmured, voice velvet-soft, "it's beating so fast. Tell me…" You tilted your head, the question hanging between you like a dare.

"Are you nervous… or excited?"

The corner of your mouth curved upward in a teasing smirk, and at that moment, it felt as though the room itself held its breath, waiting for his answer. Sol's breath caught sharply as your fingers grazed his skin. The warmth of your touch, so light yet deliberate, sent an undeniable spark through him. His body betrayed him immediately, shivering under your gentle touch while his stomach tightened reflexively as if bracing for the next move.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, desperately trying to steady himself, to calm the wild rhythm of his heartbeat that seemed to echo in his ears. When he opened them again, his gaze met yours. He could see it—the playful glint in your eyes—and knew you were fully aware of the effect you had on him.

"Both," he confessed at last, his voice low and strained, like it took every ounce of effort to get the word out. "Definitely both."

Your lips curved into a knowing smile, the sight of him struggling to maintain his control only adding fuel to the fire. You didn’t miss how his body responded with every little movement, each subtle touch pulling him deeper into your game.

Your fingers wandered over his skin again, this time tracing the defined lines of his abdomen with a slow, teasing motion. He inhaled sharply as your touch ventured lower, stopping right at the edge of his waistband. The anticipation was written all over him—his breath unsteady, his body taut like a string about to snap.

Pausing just above the fabric, you tilted your head, your gaze still fixed on his flushed face. The way his eyes flickered between restraint and surrender was intoxicating. He met your stare once more, the tension in his body was evident as he struggled to stay composed. The way you toyed with him, teasing and testing his limits, drove him mad. Desire and helplessness waged war inside him, each longing glance a silent plea he refused to voice.

“Seeing you like this,” you mused, your voice soft but laced with teasing amusement, “you could never be a nude model… unless, of course, this happens with everyone.”

Your words, light and playful on the surface, carried a deliberate weight that struck Sol like a thunderclap. His breath hitched, and though he tried to mask his reaction, the deep flush spreading from his cheeks to his chest betrayed him entirely.

He swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice amidst the chaos in his mind. “It’s not—” he stammered, his words faltering as you tilted your head, watching him with that devastating smirk that seemed to peel away his defenses.

“It’s not what?” you pressed, leaning in slightly, your gaze never leaving his. Your hand, steady and deliberate, drifted lower, brushing against his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his entire body reacting to the feather-light pressure.

He exhaled sharply, the sound almost a gasp, as your hand slid lower still. Without hesitation, you cupped him through his pants, the action firm enough to make his knees buckle slightly but not enough to ground him. His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as he fought to stay composed, to keep from completely unraveling under your touch.

“N-No,” he finally choked out, his voice raw and trembling as though the admission itself was being ripped from his chest. “It’s… it’s just you.” Your eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise flickering across your face for a split second before it was replaced by something else—something sharper, more triumphant. You sighed softly, the sound almost indulgent as you leaned in closer.

“Just me, huh?” you murmured, your tone carrying the faintest edge of mockery. One hand traced idle, teasing patterns over his stomach, while the other remained where it was, pressing just enough to keep him on edge. “So, I’m the one who does this to you,” you mused, your voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register, “and only me?”

He nodded faintly, his breath hitching again as his gaze darted away, unable to hold yours for long. “Yes,” he whispered, the words barely audible, his voice a fragile thread threatening to snap. “Only you. No one else.”

You arched an eyebrow, your smirk widening. “Interesting.” Your hand moved slightly, your touch maddeningly deliberate, enough to make him gasp again. “And yet,” you continued, your voice laced with playful condescension, “you’re not doing a very good job of it. Look at you—shaking like a lost puppy. As a nude model, you’re supposed to have composure. No trembling, no reacting like this—”

“—I can resist,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction, the words trembling as much as he was.

You paused and then tilted your head, amusement glittering in your eyes. “Oh?” you said, your tone a mix of mockery and curiosity. You leaned in even closer, your movements deliberate and slow, as if savoring every second of his unraveling. “You can resist?” you repeated, the words slipping from your lips like a challenge.

Sol’s breath hitched again, his gaze snapping back to yours. For a moment, his resolve seemed to waver, but he forced himself to hold your gaze, his jaw tightening as he struggled to muster a response.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, the word more a plea than a statement.

Your smirk deepened, and a soft, bemused laugh escaped your lips—a sound that sent another jolt through him, making his knees feel weak. “Hm, okay then…” you began, tilting your head and letting your eyes meet his with an almost innocent softness, “Now second then you won’t mind taking off your pants." Your tone was light, teasing, but your words carried an undeniable weight. "Please?"

The flush on Sol’s face deepened, and for a moment, he seemed frozen as though caught between disbelief and desire. His breath hitched, and his voice came out strained, almost a whisper. "Yes… I can… do that.”

You bit your lip, fighting back a smirk at his visible struggle. His ragged breathing, the way his eyes flicked between your face and the floor, and the tremor in his hands as they moved toward his waistband—all of it betrayed just how tightly wound he was. Wordlessly, Sol removed his belt then hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants and slid them down over his hips, letting the fabric pool around his ankles. His legs were tense, his body taut like a string pulled to its limit.

Your gaze swept over his now mostly exposed form, lingering on the shape outlined beneath his boxers. The fabric clung to him, leaving little to the imagination. Your eyes traced the curves and planes of his body with deliberate slowness, moving up from his legs, across his hips, and finally settling on his flushed bewildered expression.

"Very good, Sol," you purred, your voice low and smooth as if coaxing him to relax despite the tension crackling in the air. You reached for your tablet, turning it on with practiced ease. You heard his shallow breaths as though he were struggling to keep himself from unraveling. He obeyed, though, again sitting down stiffly as you began sketching. Your fingers glided over the tablet, sketching the outline of his body with precise, fluid movements.

You focused on the task, but you could feel his gaze burning into you, intense and unyielding. “Sol,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking the charged silence. His body jerked slightly at the sound, his name on your lips hitting him like a spark. "Y-yes?" he stammered, his voice hoarse and shaky.

You looked up, meeting his wide, unsure eyes. “Third remove your boxers," you said softly, the words almost hesitant but still carrying an undeniable firmness.

The room seemed to be still as the words hung in the air.

You searched his face, watching as his eyes widened further, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His lips parted as though he wanted to protest or question, but no words came. “Relax,” you added, your voice soothing now, as though coaxing him into compliance. "It’s for the art, after all."

His breathing quickened again, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he would comply, he was frozen in place. The thought of being completely exposed in front of you was as thrilling as it was terrifying. But the way you looked at him—with such intensity as if you were examining him not just physically but emotionally—kept him rooted to the spot.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone that surprised even him, a quiet plea for reassurance.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before offering a small, almost mischievous smile. “Of course. This is about trust. Being a nude model and If you want to improve as an artist, you need to understand vulnerability—how it feels to be seen, truly seen.” Your voice was gentle yet firm, the kind of tone that left no room for argument.

Sol's breath hitched as he hesitated, his hands trembling at the waistband of his boxers. His pulse was thunderous in his ears, every fiber of his being tense and alive with apprehension. The room was silent save for the sound of his shallow breaths and the subtle creak of the floorboards beneath him. He met your gaze once more, and something in your expression—a mixture of calm, focus, and the faintest trace of amusement—steadied his resolve.

You watched him intently, the weight of the moment sinking in. There was a thrill in the balance of power, in knowing that his vulnerability was yours to witness and guide.

With a shaky exhale, Sol slid the fabric down his hips and stepped out of them, standing completely bare before you.

For a moment, time seemed to stretch endlessly. His manhood, larger than you might have expected, stood pale but flushed a deep red, betraying his nervous arousal. You couldn’t help but glance briefly before pulling your gaze upward, schooling your expression to remain professional—though your heartbeat betrayed you, pounding in your chest like a drum.

Sol’s face burned hotter than ever, his entire body tingling under the weight of your scrutiny. Instinctively, his arms moved to cross over his chest, a reflexive and almost boyish attempt to shield himself, as though your gaze could unravel him entirely.

“Wait,” you said firmly, your voice steady and composed. “Don’t cover yourself. I need to see everything if I’m going to capture this moment fully.”

Your words lingered in the air, carrying a gravity that left no room for argument. It wasn’t harsh, but there was a quiet authority in your tone that demanded obedience. Sol froze for a moment, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Hesitantly, his arms dropped to his sides, the motion slow and deliberate, as though the act of surrendering himself to your observation required every ounce of his courage.

His fingers twitched faintly, betraying his nerves, and he shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. He stood tall, but the rise and fall of his chest with each uneven breath revealed the turmoil roiling beneath his calm facade.

“Good,” you murmured, your lips curving into a subtle, approving smile as you adjusted your grip on your tablet. Your eyes swept over him methodically, drinking in every detail—the sharp lines of his collarbone, the tautness in his jaw, the subtle play of muscle beneath his skin. But it wasn’t just the physical form you noted. Your gaze seemed to pierce deeper, observing the tension in his shoulders, the fidget of his hands, and the faint pink that climbed his neck and painted his ears.

“Now,” you said softly, your tone easing yet still retaining that unshakable command, “sit back in the chair for me. Let your body relax. Let go of the tension.”

Sol nodded, almost imperceptibly, before moving toward the chair. His movements were stiff, each step measured as if the very air around him had become too thick to navigate. When he finally lowered himself into the chair, his posture was painfully rigid—his back straight, his hands gripping the armrests tightly enough that his knuckles whitened.

“Relax,” you repeated, more gently this time, the sound of your voice threading its way into his fraying composure.

He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he tried to ground himself. With each breath, his shoulders began to loosen, and his hands slackened their grip. Slowly, his body sank into the chair, shedding the tension bit by bit. When he opened his eyes again, they locked with yours.

You were closer now.

Not seated at the platform as he had expected, but standing before him, leaning in just slightly as if to examine every shift in his posture. Sol stiffened again at your proximity, but you didn’t retreat. Instead, you stepped around him, beginning to circle him like a predator studying its prey.

Your eyes moved with meticulous precision, your tablet in hand as you captured the essence of his form with quick, purposeful strokes. You murmured something under your breath—a note to yourself, perhaps—but Sol didn’t catch the words. His thoughts were too loud, a cacophony of embarrassment and awe.

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at you, watching the way your gaze never wavered, the way your hands moved deftly over the screen. How did you handle this so effortlessly? How could you endure the stares of an entire class with such composure? And yet here he was, unraveling under the scrutiny of just one pair of eyes.

This was too much.

For someone like him, the vulnerability was suffocating, the intimacy almost unbearable. And yet, as you stepped around him again, your presence so calm and assured, he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

"Sol, you’re still staring at me. Be still," you said, your tone calm yet cutting, carrying just enough authority to make him freeze.

"Right," he croaked, his voice rough with embarrassment. "Sorry."

You circled behind him, the quiet tap of your shoes on the floor echoing faintly in the space. Sol sat stiffly, his muscles tense as he felt you hovering nearby, the air between you charged. He heard the faint scratch of your stylus against the tablet, your measured, deliberate movements creating an unbearable anticipation.

"You were doing so well," you murmured, a soft, teasing lilt in your voice. Then, with a quiet laugh, you added, “…how can I stop this..?” You mumbled to yourself.

Sol’s cheeks burned hotter as your words pierced through his fragile composure. Before he could respond, a soft sound of movement caught his attention—something small being picked up off the floor. Turning his head slightly, he saw you standing there, holding the black tie he’d earlier discarded with little thought.

Your gaze locked with his, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You slowly began wrapping the tie around your hands, the fabric gliding through your fingers with a measured precision that made his pulse quicken.

"How about last we cover those eyes of yours?" you suggested, stepping closer, your voice both playful and commanding. "At this rate, with you watching me like that, I’ll never get my drawing done in time."

Sol’s breath hitched audibly, his eyes widening as you advanced. His throat felt dry, and his heart pounded so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

“Wait, I… I'm sorry," he stammered, his words tripping over each other. "I'll try to be good."

Your head tilted, an amused glint in your eyes as you took in his flustered state. "Being good isn’t enough for me, Sol. I need you to listen.” He swallowed hard, nodding quickly as if afraid to disappoint. "I'll listen," he whispered, desperation lacing his voice. "I'll do whatever you want."

The corners of your lips curved into a sly smile. His eager compliance was endearing, but you weren’t going to let him off easy.

"Good," you murmured, stepping closer, your eyes never leaving his. The tension in the air was palpable as you gently draped the tie over his face, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "Now, I want you to hold still for me. No interruptions. And if you are a ‘good boy,’ you’ll stay exactly like this."

The world went dark for Sol as the tie was secured over his eyes, shutting out all light and robbing him of sight. His breathing quickened as he felt the soft pressure of the fabric against his skin, the sensation heightening his awareness of everything else—the faint rustle of your clothes, the warmth of your breath as you leaned in, and the lingering heat from where your fingers had grazed him.

You took a step back, admiring the effect. Sol sat rigid, his hands gripping the edge of the chair as though it were his only anchor. Without his sight, every sound, every touch, became amplified, and you could see the struggle for control etched across his features.

"Perfect," you purred, your voice low and velvety, wrapping around him like a warm embrace.

Moving silently, you circled to his side, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air as you leaned closer. With deliberate slowness, you traced the tip of your stylus along his arm, the light contact sending a shiver through him.

“Ah…” Sol couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped his lips, his jaw tightening as he fought to remain still under your touch. He was hyper-aware of everything—the sound of your voice, the warmth of your presence, the way his skin tingled where the stylus had glided. It was overwhelming and intoxicating all at once.

Your gaze lingered on his face, watching the subtle tremor of his lips as he tried and failed to steady his breathing. His hands gripped the edge of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his entire body taut with the effort to maintain control. The satisfaction coursing through you was almost intoxicating—you had him completely under your spell, and he didn’t even realize how thoroughly you were leading this dance.

“You know,” you began, your voice smooth and deliberate, “I was planning on getting my lick back, but this... this is something else.”

His head tilted slightly toward you, confusion etched into his features. “What... what are you talking about?” Sol’s voice cracked, betraying the shaky composure he was trying so hard to hold onto.

A sly smile curled your lips. “Asking you to model for me? That was payback. For yesterday,” you said, stepping closer. You leaned down slightly, ensuring your words reached him like a velvet blade. “You weren’t as subtle as you thought, staring at me in Professor Lenox’s class.”

His body went rigid, the weight of your words sinking in like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened slightly, and his head dipped as though to escape the scrutiny of your gaze. You could see the dawning realization in the way his shoulders hunched, the embarrassment rolling off him in waves.

“I... I didn’t mean to stare,” he stammered, his voice small and thick with mortification. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“—I’m your muse?” you interrupted, your voice low and challenging.

Sol froze, his breath hitching audibly at your words. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if the truth was clawing its way up his throat, leaving him no choice but to let it out.

“Yes,” he admitted, barely more than a whisper. “God, yes. You’ve always been my muse. The way you move, the way you talk, the way you hold yourself... I can’t help it. I’ve always watched you, every little thing you do.”

There was a rawness in his voice, a vulnerability that caught you off guard. He swallowed again, his words thick with emotion. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t stop staring if I tried. You’re... mesmerizing.”

For a moment, you were still, his confession hanging in the air like the lingering notes of a haunting melody. What had started as a calculated game now felt like a slow, deliberate unraveling of something far deeper. You stepped closer, closing the space between you with quiet, deliberate movements. Standing behind him, you leaned down, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder, your breath brushing against his ear. “Sol,” you murmured, your voice like silk, “you say such lovely things. Do you really mean them?”

The effect was immediate. Sol’s body reacted as though struck by lightning, shuddering slightly under your touch. His breath caught, “I mean every word,” he rasped, his voice thick with longing. “Every. Single. Word. You’re breathtaking, you’re captivating... you’re everything. You’re my muse.”

Your fingers traced lazy patterns along the curve of his shoulder, each touch deliberate and calculated. You could feel the tension thrumming beneath your fingertips, the way his body reacted to you as if drawn by some unseen force.

“You really are a sweet boy, aren’t you?” you whispered, your lips just grazing the shell of his ear. The shiver that coursed through him was almost palpable, and you relished the power you held in that moment.

Without warning, you shifted away, the soft sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet space. Each step was slow, deliberate, the faint click of your shoes against the wooden floor a metronome to Sol’s growing anticipation. He couldn’t see you, blindfolded as he was, but his other senses sharpened, following the faint swish of fabric and the nearly imperceptible stir of air as you moved.

You circled him, your presence like a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist. His body reacted instinctively, the tension in his shoulders rising and falling with each subtle sound, every shift in the atmosphere signaling your movement. His hands flexed at his sides, gripping the edge of the platform, as though bracing himself against the unknown.

Then you stopped, directly in front of him once more, your silence louder than any words. For a moment, you simply watched him—his head tilted slightly, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, the vulnerability in his posture stark and raw. He was exposed, not in the physical sense, but in a way that made him feel stripped bare nonetheless.

“You’re quite the artist, Sol,” you said, your tone light but carrying an edge that made his stomach twist.

As you spoke, you moved again—graceful, deliberate, your body fluid as you sank to your knees in front of him. The sound of your descent was soft, a whisper against the platform, but it struck him like a thunderclap. His breath hitched, his muscles going taut as a bowstring as your hands settled lightly on his thighs.

The touch was featherlight, innocent in its simplicity, yet it sent a jolt through him so sharp it felt like fire racing under his skin. He clenched his jaw, his head tilting downward as if trying to pierce the darkness of the blindfold and see you.

You leaned forward, the warmth of your body emanating through the small gap between you. Then, gently, you rested your head in his lap, the soft weight of it pressing against him in a way that felt at once grounding and utterly electrifying. The heat radiating from you seeped through his skin, igniting a slow-burning ache that spread through him with every second that passed.

He froze, his breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to move or stay still, caught in the intoxicating tension of the moment.

“You...” His voice was barely audible, rasping and unsteady. “What are you doing?”

You tilted your chin upward, the motion languid and intentional, your gaze locking onto him with quiet intensity. Though his eyes weren’t on you, he seemed to sense the weight of your stare—an invisible force that reached out to him, palpable enough to make his breath hitch.

“Like I said,” you murmured, your voice soft and laced with a teasing challenge, “you’re an artist.” A faint smirk tugged at your lips as you leaned forward slightly, your words dropping lower, more intimate. “But let’s see if you can capture me properly... without looking.”

The words sent a shiver through him, their weight sinking into his chest like an anchor. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his mind a chaotic mess of sensation. The thought of being able to touch you, to paint you, without even seeing you was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He forced himself to speak, his voice a strained whisper. “Okay…” He breathed out.

"Hm," you murmured, your gaze briefly dipping to the prominent hard-on. The sight was almost amusing—who would’ve thought that something as simple as your touch and attention could elicit such a response?

This man must not get any action if he’s this sensitive.

You reached for his cock slowly, the space between you crackling with unspoken tension. As your hand brushed against him—firm beneath your fingers, he stiffened, drawing in a sharp breath. The contact, though light, sent a jolt through him, and his entire body went rigid as if frozen by the shock of your touch.

You tilted your head, observing his reaction with a faint smirk. “Interesting…” you murmured, your voice low, almost a whisper, as your hand began a slow, deliberate movement. Up, then down, tracing the contours with a featherlight touch. His body reacted like a tightly coiled spring, quivering beneath your fingertips, and you could feel the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat against your palm.

His breath came unevenly now—harsh, shallow gasps escaping him as if he couldn’t quite catch it. His hands hovered near you, trembling with the urge to reach out but hesitating, caught in the fragile tension between desire and restraint.

Your touch traveled further, deliberate and teasing, like a current of electricity that surged through his body with every gentle graze of your hand. He exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling as if the simple act of breathing had become a challenge.

Blinded to the world around him, his other senses sharpened, magnifying every sound, every shift of your presence. He wanted so desperately to remove the blindfold, to see you, to understand the expression behind your careful movements. But for now, he was completely at your mercy, powerless to do anything but react to you.

Your hand paused briefly, and you leaned in, your breath ghosting against his ear. “…How you feel?” you asked, a note of playfulness in your tone, before your fingers resumed their agonizingly slow exploration, testing the limits of his composure. His body betrayed him with another quiver, and his resolve teetered on the edge, ready to shatter at any moment.

Sol's entire body was on fire.

He had never felt anything like this before - the sweet, electric sensation of your touch, combined with the helplessness of being blindfolded, was driving him insane with need. All he wanted was you - your touch, your presence, your everything. He struggled to find his voice, his breathing ragged and desperate as he managed to gasp out a response.*

"I... I feel... like I'm going insane," he panted. "Please... please don't stop."

The sight of him, struggling to keep himself under control, the way his body trembled beneath your touch, the way his voice shook when he spoke, all of it sent a thrill through you. You relished in his vulnerability, in his dependency on you, in his desperate need to be good, to be obedient.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his cock. "You're doing so good," you murmured, your voice a sultry purr. "Such a good boy for me."

"Please," he begged, his voice hoarse and strained. "Anything... I'll do anything for you. Anything."

You relished in the desperate pleading tone, the way he begged for you, the way he was so eager to please, to do whatever you asked. It was all too easy, now, to have him wrapped around your finger like this.

You were in complete control, and he was at your mercy.

You continued to touch him, to tease him, your hands roaming over his body with torturous slowness. "Anything?" you echoed, your voice a seductive whisper. "Careful now. Those are dangerous words to use with me.”

You notice the way he’s already lost in the pleasure you’re giving him, and it only fuels your need to tease him further. It’s so easy to get him all hot and bothered, a single touch is enough to have him completely at your mercy.

He feels the way the tip of his cock glistens with precum, beads of the white liquid pilling up and siding down his red cock.

You pause, your hands still on his body, feeling the way he trembles beneath your touch. Your voice is a low sultry whisper as you speak. "That's it, good boy. You're so pretty like this."

Sol's heart thundered in his chest at the sound of your voice; the praise sent a shiver of pleasure through his body.

"Just for you," he gasped, his voice roughened by desire. "Please... I need you. I... I can't take much more of this." It's just so tempting to continue tormenting him when he looks so absorbed in the pleasure you're inflicting on him. You can have him completely at your mercy with just one touch and have him all hot and bothered.

You can't help but smile as you hear the desperation in his voice and the way he trembles beneath your touch. It's so easy to tease him like this, to keep him on the edge, begging for more.

Your fingers wrapped over his cock, tracing over the sensitive, tender skin. You lower your head, your lips just barely touching his tip, and whisper, "Just a little longer... can you be a good boy for me? Can you hold on a bit more?"

He gasps as you touch him, his body arching into your hand even as he struggles to maintain control. A low whine escaped him as you spoke, the desperation in his voice growing even stronger.

"I... I'll try," he gasped, his voice hoarse with effort. "For you, I'll try. But it's... it's so hard... you're driving me crazy."

A part of you wanted to take pity on him, to finally give him the release he's aching for. But another, slightly darker part of you takes pleasure in his torment, in the way he's writhing and begging beneath your touch.

Your lips brush against his cock again, your voice a sultry whisper as you speak.

“Hush now,” you murmured softly, your hand gently brushing against his trembling cheek. “I’ll take care of you, but first, I want to hear you say it. Say it for me, my good boy.”

Sol’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his chest heaving as he struggled to gather himself. His mind was a storm of burning desire, each pulse of need crashing against the next. His voice, when it came, was thick with desperation, barely more than a hoarse whisper. “I... I’m your good boy,” he rasped, the words escaping with a raw, pleading edge. “Please... please, just... I need you. I need you so badly.”

A thrill shot through you, a rush of heat, as his voice cracked with such vulnerability. The raw need that echoed in his words made your heart race, sending a pulse of desire through you. He was so open, so exposed beneath your touch, completely under your control. The power you held over him—how it reduced him to this—was intoxicating.

You couldn’t suppress the soft hum of approval that escaped your lips, a low, satisfied sound that reverberated through the still air between you. His words hung there like a fragile, desperate melody, each syllable soaked in the longing that gripped your chest. His voice, trembling with vulnerability and need, seemed to wrap around you, igniting a shiver that raced down your spine.

The thought that you could draw this raw, unfiltered emotion from him—that your presence alone could unravel him so completely—sent a surge of power through you.

Slowly, deliberately, your fingers found the hem of your shirt. You tugged it over your head with a smooth motion, the fabric slipping away to reveal your skin beneath.

It wasn’t long until he felt your skin. His breath hitched audibly. Quietly cruising the blindfold covering his eyes still, he can only image his eyes tracing the curve of your form, lingering like a caress.

“Be still for your reward,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady, commanding without being harsh.

Leaning in closer, he felt something warm rubbing agasint his cock, your breath ghosted over the warmth of his cock, the sensation of it almost tangible as you pressed against him. You let your voice drop to a low, sultry purr, a sound rich with desire. “Look at you—so obedient, so eager to please. I adore how needy you are, how much you long for me."

Sol was lost in the sensation of your touch, the sound of your voice driving him wild with need as you caressed his skin and whispered sultry nothings in his ear. Every word you spoke seemed to awaken something inside of him, a burning need that only you could satisfy.

Your eyes were half-lidded, wordless, you lean your head down to his cock, the tip of your nose nearly brushing creamy pre-cum on his tip and almost missing your mouth. The movement is smooth, and very deliberate as you push forward. Sol freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden, unexpected gesture, he can feel you taking all his length, making his hips shake.

Your nose nuzzles up against his pubic hair clit as your tongue sides under the cock, bringing your head back so your tip can lick pre-cum leaking from the tip. In a little time, you moved your head in cadence with your hand beneath at the base and could feel the slight shivering he did from keeping him inside.

“I… I’m so close, please… please…” His voice trembles with desperation as he pleads, his tone strained and urgent. “Can I… can I cum? Please… I need to… I want to so badly…”

He exhales sharply, the words coming out almost as a whisper but heavy with need. “Will you let me?” His body is tense, every muscle straining as he waits for your response.

God, he sounds so broken.

Your gaze shifts up, meeting Sol's face, and what you see is a powerful mixture of exhaustion and longing.

He looks even worse off.

His head is down, his breathing erratic and shallow, each inhale a desperate attempt to steady himself. Sweat glistens on his skin, tracing lines down his cheek, some strands of his hair clinging to his face from the effort, making him appear even more vulnerable than ever as you suck him deeply inside of your mouth, his tip bumping the back of your throat.

You swallowed lightly, savoring the cock as it melted against your tongue. Your grip instinctively tightened around it, feeling the warmness seeping through your fingers. With one more deliberate lick, he came, small rivulets making their way down your throat.

In one fluid, decisive motion, you lifted your arm closer to Sol, your hand gently brushing against his face as you untied the blindfold. His lashes fluttered as the fabric fell away, revealing eyes that widened in surprise.

The flickering light of the room played across your form, catching his attention as his gaze dipped. His breath hitched, his composure faltering when he saw you shrug out of your shirt. The deliberate movement revealed your breast, smeared with streaks of his cum that trailed teasingly along your skin.

The mess, equal parts playful and provocative, brought a flush to Sol's face.

For a moment, he seemed unsure where to look, his gaze torn between the soft expression on your face and the curve of your figure. The redness deepened across his cheeks, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came.

You withdrew with deliberate slowness, a sly smirk playing on your lips as you stuck out your tongue, catching the remnants of his cum. The salty sweetness lingered on your taste buds. He couldn’t help but watch, captivated, as his cum dripped lazily down from your tongue, a tantalizing trail marking his trace that was now nearly gone.

With an air of playful confidence, you swiped your tongue across your lips, gathering the stray drops clinging to your skin like the final act of savoring something utterly decadent. Your gaze lifted deliberately to meet Sol’s, your movements unhurried, almost languid, as if savoring his unraveling. His face was slack and flushed, his sharp features softened by the haze of exhaustion and lingering pleasure.

His eyes, slightly unfocused and glassy, clung to yours like a lifeline, betraying the intoxicating high he was riding, leaving him utterly exposed to your teasing whims.

A slow, teasing smile curled your lips, deliberate and knowing, as you tilted your head ever so slightly, the picture of predatory amusement. You reached out with one hand, fingers brushing his jawline, the touch featherlight but deliberate enough to make him flinch—just a little.

“Such a good boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with honeyed sweetness, every syllable designed to tug at the fraying strings of his composure. The words sent a visible shudder through him, his breath catching as his shoulders slackened further, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Leaning in close, your lips hovered near his ear, the warmth of your breath tickling his skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more inspired,” you murmured, your voice low and rich, words spilling like a secret. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes again, your gaze alight with mischief. “How about I be your forever muse? You’ve earned it.”

Your moment of reverie was interrupted as you began to rise gracefully to your feet. The cinematic flair of the moment was undeniable—until the pins-and-needles sensation in your knees hit like a tidal wave, reminding you of the position you’d been in for far too long. You stumbled slightly, your balance teetering precariously, before catching yourself with an awkward, self-conscious laugh.

“Oh, for—damn it,” you muttered under your breath, brushing nonexistent dust off your pants with a huff. The sudden break in your cool, composed demeanor was enough to elicit a chuckle from Sol, the sound deep and warm, grounding the moment with a shared sense of ridiculousness.

Still recovering from his own haze, Sol’s voice was soft but tinged with amusement as he replied, “My muse, huh? …You’re something else.”

You straightened, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face and crossing your arms with a playful smirk. “You didn’t think you were getting rid of me that easily, did you?”

Sol shook his head with a wry grin, his cheeks still faintly pink. “Not a chance,” he murmured, voice low, but there was something deeply genuine in his tone that made your heart skip a beat.

‘Thanks, Professor Lenox,’ you thought, your gaze softening as you looked at Sol. ‘This might just be the best muse you offer to me.’

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── ·

#the kid at the back x reader #tkatb #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back sol #the kid at the back vn #tkatb sol #sol brugmansia #sol x reader #tkatb vn #solivan x reader #tkatb smut

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organic-bloodbath · 13 days ago

Note

hello! could I request literally anything w chishiya x pregnant!reader? maybe how he (and the rest of the group) would take care of reader during and in between games? thank you sm!

Child of Hearts

Chishiya x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Chishiya takes care of you after you two have been separated from the rest of your friends.

A/N: Please request me more Chishiya i need this man so bad. I hope this is alright 🫶🏻 (mind you, i have never been pregnant myself so i might not know what the hell i'm talking about)

Part 2

♤♡♧◇

Running away from a man shooting every person in sight with a huge rifle was a big challenge when you were 7 months pregnant. You didn't know what the gun was called, but when the bullet hit its target, it would basically cut your body in half. Hiding behind a car would be useless, as the car would be in pieces as well.

Running fast enough was already difficult, almost impossible, but your heavy stomach, bearing another human being, was making it a lot harder. It didn't take long to be out of breath and your legs were going to betray you any moment. Chishiya's hand was pulling you forward and you could barely keep up. He would soon have to drag your body against the ground, and then you'd both be dead.

This was it. You had played several games, somehow been able to beat them all with the help of your friends, which was a miracle itself. Especially without Arisu, Usagi, Kuina and Chishiya you would have died ages ago.

Before your pregnancy, you had been quite a fast runner and could run fast for a long period of time. Now? The total opposite.

Finally, you could sit down on the ground, leaning against a car. You had to only hope that the shooter had passed you and wasn't going to blow it up.

"You doing okay?" Chishiya looked at you with concern when you closed your eyes and threw your head back, breathing loudly.

"Yeah, yeah, i'm fine," you nodded, barely being able to talk. "Just can't run anymore."

Seeing a massive airship floating in the sky almost right above you, a large playing card hanging from it, you finally came into a conclusion what was going on.

"Well, he must be the King of Spades," Chishiya said next to you, leaning against the car.

Absolutely amazing - now the entire Tokyo was a game arena?

The shooting had stopped for a moment, but the shooter – or more specifically the King, should you call him – could come out from any corner at any second, surprising you completely.

Ann arrived with a car, telling all of you to hop in. However, Chishiya was left behind, because of a grenade that had been thrown between him and the car.

As were you with him.

♤♡♧◇

The others were gone now, driven away with the car. You and Chishiya were left alone to find a way to survive on your own. You were relieved to have Chishiya with you, he was extremely smart and knew how to survive different situations.

Previously many of your teammates had helped you, but now it was just the two of you. For a second you were slightly afraid that taking care of you alone would become too much to Chishiya if the King of Spades found you out of all people and started chasing you. You could tell that running with you was challenging to him.

You were starving, not remembering when was the last time you got proper food, and eventually found a small grocery store which windows had been shattered.

Chishiya started browsing for food while you waited, leaning against the counter. Soon, he came back with the most suitable and edible food he could find in this situation.

"Cash or credit?"

"Aren't you a little too pregnant to be working?"

"Don't underestimate me, Doctor Shuntaro," you teased him.

You pretended to scan each item like you had worked here for years.

"Thank you for shopping with us, please come again," you said with your best customer service voice.

"You definitely deserve the best worker of the month award," he praised you, almost impressed, and clapped his hands a few times.

"Finally someone gives my work credit," you said, hand on your chest.

There was a small table and two chairs by the window. You and Chishiya dragged them away from the window, so you could sit down in the back of the room and not be seen to anyone possibly walking past the store.

"Here you go," Chishiya said and offered you food and a plastic fork, along with a bottle of water, as you sat down. "It's not much but it's the best i got now without any electricity to heat it up."

"Thank you," you said quietly.

You ate in comfortable silence. You hadn't realized how dizzy you had started to feel after all the running and having not eaten or drank water in hours.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Chishiya asked when he was finished with his meal and put his hand gently on yours, looking concerned.

"Yeah, i'm fine," you mumbled and stretched a little. "My back just hurts."

"Let's take a break and lay down for a while, okay?"

"But shouldn't we stay on the move? The King of Spades might come back and-"

"We'll be safe enough here for a while. Take a short nap, i'll keep an eye on the surroundings," he insisted. "You need more rest than me."

You were sleepy, so you weren't going to resist too much. You hadn't slept properly in a while.

Chishiya watched you sleep on your left side, your head on his lap to use as a pillow. You clinged on his leg with both of your arms, and he gently brushed your hair with his fingers to soothe you to sleep.

You were so beautiful, and he knew that he didn't say it to you often enough - as often as you would have deserved.

Chishiya was terrified every second of being in this world, having to play the games with you on his side. He wasn't afraid of many things, but you? If he lost you, he'd also lose your baby. His unborn child. And that was easily his biggest fear.

You had been in a relationship together for the past three years, and the pregnancy hadn't been planned, at all. Chishiya wasn't sure if he would ever want children, and when you told him that you were pregnant, he didn't know what to think. But it didn't take him too long to get used to the idea of becoming a father. And having you as the mother was everything he could have wished for.

You, however, hadn't considered becoming a mother at this age and had cried in the bathroom for an hour after seeing the two lines on the pregnancy test. Now, as the months had passed, you had gotten used to the idea of having a child and were more ready with Chishiya's constant support, who you loved and trusted with all your heart.

You just had to finish the rest of the games and hopefully, you could then return home - before you'd start delivering the baby.

♤♡♧◇

You entered a new game with Chishiya inside an old prison.

Jack of Hearts - Solitary confinement.

This was absolutely the ideal game for you, since all you could do was just chill and sit around until it was time to go into your little prison cell to announce the correct symbol on the back of your collar. And for that, you had Chishiya revealing it for you. As long as Chishiya was there for you, you had nothing to worry about.

People formed groups, telling each other everyone's symbols, so other people could confirm they were telling the truth.

"Hi," a girl in a blue dress greeted with an eager smile, approaching you. "Want to join our group?"

You glanced at Chishiya, unsure, but nodded your head.

"Sure, why not," you shrugged. Mom always told you to try and be more social.

Slowly, as the rounds went by, people started to lie and betray each other, which ended up more and more people being eliminated. This was a Heart's game, after all, it was supposed to mess with both your head and heart.

"Listen, let me worry about the game, you just remember your symbol and rest, okay?" Chishiya had said earlier, giving your hand a squeeze.

Chishiya had been eyeing the other people and trying to study any hints that could lead him to reveal someone as the Jack of Hearts. He hadn't told you much about his thoughts, probably still trying to decide his opinions on the players.

Right now, you sat at the table, looking towards the group which was sharing their symbols with each other. It was like watching a high school drama all over again, except now people were getting killed.

"Here," Chishiya said, sitting next you, and laid food on the table in front of you. "You need to eat."

He had grabbed two different kinds of crackers, a bottle of water, some orange juice, and a can of soup.

"I just did, i'm fine," you tried to refuse, even though you knew you could have eaten a little bit more. Chishiya just stared at you with no expression on his face.

"Yes, but you need to eat more, since you're eating for two," he insisted and wasn't having a 'no' for an answer.

You rolled your eyes, and he noticed it, giving you a look.

"Fine, fine, Doctor Shuntaro," you smirked.

After you had finished eating, you went to the bathroom again - you were sure you'd have to pee every hour. Washing your hands and your face, you heard someone arriving to the bathroom.

"Hello," a young girl greeted you nervously, taking careful steps towards you. "Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me the symbol on my collar? I don't really trust my group anymore and, well, you seem nice."

"Um, sure," you mumbled and looked at the girl's symbol. "It's a diamond."

"You sure?"

"I have fully functional eyes."

"Thank you so much," the girl said, giving you an excited smile.

You didn't bother to include yourself in that drama club and lie for no proper reason, you had decided to keep your distance to them since you didn't need help with your symbol. You doubted any of them would be the Jack, but who knew - the Jack could be a girl too, after all. If they started manipulating and lying to each other, that was on them.

A few more rounds passed, and you were starting to become really sleepy. By now you had been at the prison for 8 hours and you had no idea how much longer all this would take. Chishiya had been feeding you crackers and other snacks almost every hour, now that you had food available a lot easier.

You wondered if your friends were alright, though you knew all of them were strong and if they had survived this far, they must be able to handle anything. Still, of course you couldn't help but to worry.

You walked around the place and tried to search for a corner to take a quick nap, there was 36 minutes left until you had to go back to your cell.

Then, you had to stop walking when you felt sudden pain and pressure on your stomach. You let out a loud gasp, startling any few people nearby and make them look at you. You leaned against the nearest wall, so you wouldn't fall on the floor.

No, no, no, no. You weren't going to start delivering your baby a month or two early. Especially in the middle of the game where there was a time limit and a chance to be killed. Of course they wouldn't stop the game for a moment if there was a woman on labour.

Chishiya had heard you and instantly ran towards you. His eyes widened when you were holding your stomach in pain.

"Y/N? What's happening?" Chishiya asked, trying to hide his panic so you wouldn't start to freak out even more.

"I-I don't know," you mumbled and truly started to panic. "It just hurts. I don't know. Oh my god, Chishiya, I-"

"Okay, calm down. You're having contractions, it doesn't necessarily mean the baby's coming, okay?" he tried to reassure you, his hand on your cheek. "Look at me. Just breathe, take a deep breath."

You did as he told, taking deep breaths and squeezing Chishiya's hand every time the waves of pain took hold of your stomach. If this hurt, you didn't want to know how much it hurt to push the baby out of you - your pain tolerance was extremely poor.

"I can't do this, any of this, i'm-"

"Yes, you can, darling," Chishiya said softly.

After some time, it stopped. You sat on the floor, back against the wall, for the next twenty minutes, Chishiya holding your hand the entire time and gently rubbing your back.

"See? Everything's fine," he said calmly and put his arm around you, keeping you close against him.

"You know," you started, eyes starting to water. "I haven't felt any movements from the baby in a few days. What if something's wrong?"

"Listen," Chishiya said. "Contractions are normal, even when the baby won't come yet. The baby might not move every day, it's normal. You'll just have to stay calm and try to avoid too much stress. And i know that's a lot to ask for in our current situation."

You nodded, unsure, but trying to believe his words as well as possible. He was a doctor after all, right?

"Next round, we'll get you a place to sleep for a moment," Chishiya promised. There was 9 minutes left to announce your symbols.

"You know, when the baby will be born, we'll have a lot more different story on how the pregnancy went than other expecting mothers," you chuckled. "Like, not many moms can say that they've run away from a shooter while being on their third trimester of their pregnancy."

Chishiya smiled. "Or spent a day in a prison with no actual guards around."

An older man walked past you, still sitting on the floor, leaning against Chishiya.

"My God. Are you okay? How on earth have you survived this far being pregnant like that?" he asked in shock, surely seen the scene just a moment ago.

"Well, i've had a lot of help," you shrugged.

You had been used to people commenting on your pregnancy. Every time you met someone knew, they just stared at your stomach for too long, feeling bad for you and considering you the weakest player of the group. You stood out from the rest of the people around, it was understandable. At first it had bothered you, but now you were so tired of it you just felt numb.

Arriving to the Beach for the first time, the entire pool party had quieted down for a moment when people saw you.

"Here, it is required to only wear a swimsuit," they had announced, but looking at you, they let you wear more clothes. Thank god for that. You weren't exactly very fond of showing off your stretch marks and everything. You had been given shorts and an oversized t-shirt - it was the same shirt you still had on.

In the end of the current game, only four people came out from the cells alive, after the Jack had guessed the wrong symbol, and left the prison, two of them you and Chishiya. It had been the first game where you could have actually relaxed and sat back for a while.

If there had been a proper bed, you wouldn't have minded to stay a bit longer too.

"So, what now?" you asked.

"We'll try to find a place to spend the night."

It was becoming the night and you had been walking almost half an hour on the streets, trying to find a good place to hide and sleep.

You found a small hostel, completely abandoned and empty, and found your way into one of the rooms. The door was locked, but Chishiya could easily pick the lock open. You were able to sleep on a real bed again, you could have started crying from even the thought of it. The sheets weren't fresh at all and the blanket was really thin, but you couldn't complain.

You laid yourself on the bed, it felt so good to feel an actual mattress and a pillow under you, you felt like your body could melt there like a cotton candy in water. Chishiya came to lay down next to you after removing his shirt, warming you better with his bare skin. He cupped your cheek and pulled you in a sweet kiss.

Suddenly, you winced when you felt a kick inside your stomach. Chishiya immediately sat up, concerned.

"What's wrong? Did the contractions start again?"

You grabbed his hand and put it on your stomach, trying the correct spot to find any movements, and when he felt a kick right against his hand, he flinched and a smile spread on his lips.

You started laughing, with a few tears of relief and happiness, and he laughed a little too.

"We'll be alright," Chishiya whispered. He hugged you and kissed your forehead.

"I hope so," you said quietly.

"I love you," he whispered and looked you deep into your eyes. "You know that, right?"

"Are you saying that in case the King of Spades comes to shoot us in our sleep?" you teased. "Honestly, that would definitely be cheating."

"I doubt he's going to find us here," he assured you and pressed a kiss on your hair. "Good night."

"Good night," you answered and turned on your side. Chishiya's arm wrapped around your stomach, pulling you against his chest.

#chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya shuntaro imagine #aib chishiya #alice in borderland #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland imagine #aib x reader #aib imagine

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slytherinshua · 2 months ago

Text

♤　TRUSTING YOU　( 徐明浩 )

genre fluff , minghao x fem!reader cw reader has a slight fear of riding a motorcycle , not proofread wc 603 request anon for minghao + a scuffed motorcycle helmet for the 3k event note someone get me out of this minghao brainrot (or don't...) net @kstrucknet

“Get on, it’s okay,” your boyfriend, Minghao, coaxed in a soft voice. You stared at his black motorcycle with fear and anxiety in your eyes. You had never ridden before and you would be lying if you said you weren’t slightly terrified of it. When you were a kid, you only viewed motorcycles as noisy and scary, dots of black zipping through the streets. But when you met Minghao, he changed your view on a lot of things, including the practicalities of riding a motorcycle.

He didn’t just own one because it was easier to take care of than a car, and cheaper, but riding was more relaxing. He often went on rides to relax or clear his head, and you wanted to understand what enjoyment he got out of it. Being so opposite to Minghao in so many ways, learning from each other was one of the most beautiful things about your relationship together.

It was a clear night out, the perfect temperature for a ride through the deserted roads. If you could only get past your fear, you knew you would find out what Minghao loved so much about motorcycles.

You awkwardly positioned yourself on the back of the seat, somehow feeling unsteady even though the bike was parked and not moving yet. Minghao smiled at you, love overflowing in his gaze. You two had been dating for a long time, and there was no doubt you would spend the rest of your life together. The amount of affection and adoration you held for him was uncountable. You trusted him completely. There was nothing to be scared of if he was by your side.

He pulled his old slightly scuffed helmet from the handle of the vehicle and fastened it on your head carefully. Giving you one last reassuring glance before he flipped the visor part down, tinting your vision. He took his place in front of you, flipping the kickstand up with his foot but still keeping the bike’s balance with one leg.

“Hold onto my waist, okay? I got you.”

Minghao’s soft voice always soothed your nerves. You found a secure grip around his waist, clutching onto the fabric of his tank top in the front a little tighter than necessary. You heard him chuckle before revving the bike and taking his foot off the ground. Not a second later, you were travelling down the street. Although you were sure he couldn’t be going faster than 40 kilometers or so, it felt much faster.

You rested your helmeted head against his back carefully, hugging him tightly. It would be hard to hear anything over the noise of the engine, and although you first thought you would need Minghao to coax you through it a bit more, you soon got used to the feeling of riding. The flurry of nerves in your stomach was replaced with excitement, and you realized why Minghao liked it so much.

There was something quite peaceful about it, travelling on the open road without being trapped inside a car. Feeling the breeze hit your leather riding gear and smelling the faint scent of Minghao’s perfume from his helmet. With no one else on the road, it was intimately just you and your boyfriend experiencing the moment together. You were sure you would think back to this moment years from now, a testament to how much you trusted the man you had dedicated the past few years to. Another proof of how Minghao’s patience was one of the things you loved the most about him. His steadiness calming your anxiety when you needed it most.

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kasagia · 1 year ago

Text

District boy

Pairing: young! Coriolanus Snow x fem!Capitol! reader; doppëlganger! Finnick Odair x fem!Capitol! reader Summary: You and Corio were very close (best) friends. Young Snow had a crush on you for a very long time. But he wouldn't let anything distract him—not until he got his family out of their financial troubles. And then comes the 10th Hunger Games, in which you get to be a mentor for a very handsome tribute... Coryo isn't happy about it at all. Requested by: Two anonymous. I hope you will like it! 😊💙🖤 Warning(s): jealous Coriolanus Snow; (doppëlganger) of Finnick Odair; the author doesn't care that it is impossible; Coryo being simp for the reader; reader flirts with Finnick; quote from 'My tears ricochet' by Taylor Swift; Words count: 7k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi ~•♤♤♤•~ Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

Coriolanus did not remember the exact moment when this happened.

Everything that had to do with you came to him very... naturally.

Before he knew it, one joint project for one of your classes turned into daily discussions in the cafeteria. You entered his very small circle of 'friends' like you should have always belonged there and unknowingly became the best friend to young Snow.

And then you started staying in the library after classes, talking about various things (Coriolanus hated himself for wasting his time when he should have been studying on pointless discussions with you, but he always ended up in the library at the end of the day anyway).

And so one day he realised that you were wonderful when you laughed at his jokes. That the smell of your perfume made him hungrier than the baked goods that spread from the bakery he passed by every day on his way to the Academy. That he was missing something as he basked in the glow of your attention. That he would like you to be with him at all times, not only within the walls of the Academy, cafes (he never ordered himself anything, trying to stop his stomach from growling as he watched you eat the cake, occasionally offering him a bite), or the park. That he would like to have you completely to himself and hide you from the eyes of other people who, in his opinion, were not worthy of an ounce of your attention.

He remembered snapping at Festus when he asked him if you were seeing anyone. As if Coriolanus' claim about you wasn't obvious enough to him.

Although you also remained blind to his obvious feelings, which Sejanus said were as visible as an approaching change in the weather in the Rocky Mountains. By the way, he wondered when Sejanus would forget those catchphrases from District 2. They were very tiring and boring to listen to.

But Snow decided to let you stay in the dark for a little longer and admire you in silence, from his place next to you as your best friend. He promised himself that when he won the Plinth Prize, he would conquer not only the world but you and your heart. After all, he couldn't imagine anyone else being his First Lady than you.

He knew that his fascination with you was gradually turning into an unhealthy obsession. But what else could he do when you took his breath away just by existing? And Coryo wasn't used to not having control over his emotions. But with you... you could do whatever you wanted with him. And he was terrified, both by the fact that you had such power over him and by the fact that you were completely unaware of it.

However, everything was going according to his plan. He stayed by your side, guarding you like a gardener's dog and waiting for the moment when he would finally be worthy of you and make you his. And you seemed to obediently dismiss every admirer.

Until the 10th Hunger Games came along.

And a certain district boy stole too much of your attention for Coriolanus' liking. After all, you were HIS. Even if you didn't know about it yet.

"Hello, petal." He whispers in your ear, walking up to you from behind.

Surprised, you choke on the champagne you drank in secret from your parents and other participants in the reaping party at the Academy. He smiles in amusement, gently patting your back and discreetly placing the glass of champagne on the table for you.

"Coriolanus Snow, someday I'll put a fucking bell around your neck like my mother's cats have." You say, coughing. He laughs softly, offering you his arm, which you take once you've recovered.

"I thought you considered it brutal?" He replies sarcastically, glancing at the dress you were in, which hugged your curves perfectly.

A white dress that Tigris made for you 'coincidentally' matched perfectly with the outfit he was currently wearing. He had never been more proud of his cousin than he was now.

"I'm surprised that you think you're on an equal footing with my cats. You're no match for them, Snow." He rolls his eyes at you, but he can't help but smirk a little at your laugh.

"We will see." You snorted at that. You notice Sejanus in the crowd talking to his parents.

"I'll go say hello." You say, nodding towards Sejanus. But before you can take a step towards him, Coryo's grip on you tightens. You give him a questioning look, focusing your gaze on him.

"Stay with me. You know I don't like talking to them all by myself. Especially with Arachne. Sejan will be joining us soon." You sigh, rolling your eyes at him, but you don't try to fight his grip or let go of his arm as he leads you towards the group of your classmates.

"I spoil you too much, Snow."

"Nonsense, you could do better." You laugh in amusement, and he smiles at the sound of that.

But his good mood and relaxed demeanour quickly turned into a stoic expression. You feel him tense slightly and straighten, as if preparing for a fight, when you approach your classmates.

"Snow and Y/L/N. As always, together. You could finally make up your mind, darling, and choose one of them instead of hanging around him and Plinth." Arachne greets you, as always, nicely, at which you laugh artificially.

"Why should I when I can have both?" You reply with a shrug, making some of them laugh. However, you are most pleased with Arachne's grimace and the small smile on Coryo's lips.

"Usually it's the district girls who act like whores." You feel Coryo tense next to you, his eyes turning a cold, icy shade as he stares at the girl in front of you. If looks could kill, Coryo would become a serial killer. However, he could certainly make someone feel insecure and intimidated.

"Usually inheritance hunters don't complete their education and end up marrying some rich fool at the earliest opportunity, even before they turn 18. And yet here you are, Arachnie. I think that makes us both surprised then." You reply before Coryo can react. Festus shakes his head and stares at the both of you in amusement as you sinisterly glare at each other.

"Ladies, why all these quarrels? We already know who Y/N will end up with."

"And who is it, Festus?"

"Me." You shake your head at that, amused. However, Coryo, standing next to you, doesn't share your humor. He pulls you slightly closer to him, giving you a fleeting glance before focusing on Festus.

"For now, she's not on your shoulder, Creed."

"Enjoy it while you can, Snow. We'll see how things go when we enrol in university." You see Coriolanus tighten his jaw at his remark. You squeeze his arm slightly tighter, making him shift his gaze to you. You smile as he relaxes slightly under your attention.

"You made it to the graduation, Festus. You shouldn't set higher expectations for yourself than that." Sejan's voice echoes behind you. You snorted in amusement and turned around in Coryo's embrace; somehow you managed to get out of them enough to wrap your arms around your friend. "Y/N. You look as beautiful as always. Arachne, who are you trying to fool with this white outfit?" You hide your face behind Coryo's shoulder, trying to hold back a burst of laughter.

You feel Sejanus wrapping his arm around you. Now, you are held by your two friends, and the one with the lighter hair is definitely unhappy about having to share you with Plinth, but you are not able to notice it since the reaping is finally starting.

A murmur of women's whispers echoed throughout the room as a very handsome man emerged from the crowd. You leaned forward slightly, taking a closer look at the tall, athletic, and chiselled man with tanned skin and bronze hair.

With just one look into his stunning sea-green eyes and after seeing the huge, charming smile he sent for the cameras, you knew that whoever got this man was going to be the winner. Because no tribute ever made as much money from sponsors as a sinfully hot man usually did.

And this one was a special sight for the eyes. The reaction of most of the female part of the room and the jealous and furious looks of the men at the reaction of their other halves confirmed your suspicions.

"This boy from 4 belongs to Miss Y/N Y/L/N."

You licked your lips, smiling wolfishly, and watched your tribute on the screen. You were so lucky.

"You damn lucky dog." Persephone whispers in your ear and slaps your shoulder playfully. You give her a half-smile and shrug as the cameramen spend a little more time showing your tribute.

"What can I say... maybe I'll only attract hot men from now on? I hope his muscles aren't just for good looks, because that would be a shame." She shakes her head at your words, holding back a laugh. You smile and involuntarily glance at Coriolanus.

He immediately looks away from you. His jaw is set, and his leg bounces slightly. Anyone else would think he was relaxed and calm. But you knew him too well to assume that.

He was already nervous the moment Clem took your seat, and you were forced to sit in the second row, away from him. Coriolanus doesn't like it. He would rather hold your hand, feel the warmth of your body close to yours, and smell the faint scent of your perfume than sneak glances over his shoulder to keep an eye on you.

Sometimes he knows he can be painfully obvious, but he thanks fate for at least being kind enough to keep you unaware of his feelings for you. He would have you. Just not yet. First, his tribute had to win the damn Hunger Games so he could win Plinth's prize. Then he could make his move without fear of you discovering his family's financial situation. Finally, snow lands on top. And he spent many sleepless nights imagining that he would land on top of you.

You catch his gaze, but you don't have time to analyse his attitude. After a while, Lucy Gray appears on the screen, and you see that your handsome guy will have some competition for the Capitol's favour.

And the possible competition with your best friend makes you feel very uncomfortable. So much so that you don't notice the hateful glare Coriolanus shot at your tribute as the operators once again showed off the likenesses of this year's tributes.

Finnick Odair. A new obstacle in his plan that he had to eliminate. And not just to win the Hunger Games...

You haven't spoken to Coryo since then. Which was an extremely strange phenomenon because you were usually attached to each other at the hip.

Although you had seen him briefly during classes and now, when most of the mentors had gathered around the cage at the zoo to find their tributes and give them something to eat or drink, he didn't even spare you a second glance as he was fully focused on Lucy Gray.

Something was wrong with him.

Especially after his little stunt at the train station and his conversation with Dr. Gaul. Because of which, now (and mainly because of Sejanus' statement), you stand nervously near the bars, looking for your tribute.

And you couldn't help but wonder what exactly the Hunger Games were for. The more you thought about it, the more you started to side with Sejanus.

The First Rebellion may have done you great harm, but was it any wonder that the people of the district rebelled? After all, if any of you were born outside the Capitol, you would probably do what they did. So what was the point of murdering 23 of the young unfortunates who had been singled out for slaughter?

“You seem lost.” A voice next to you pulls you from your thoughts. You turn around, seeing your tribute leaning against the bars and watching you carefully. If he was hot on TV, he looked gorgeous in real life. His cheekbones and jaws look like they had been carved with chisels by the best of the artists. And his eyes... you wonder how such men could be born and live in any district. "Unless you're looking for something. Or someone, if I may boldly assume."

"Y/N Y/L/N. Your mentor." You say, reaching your hand out towards him through the bars. He takes your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. You can't help but notice how soft his lips are against your skin. You blush slightly, and you can almost feel Flickerman's eyes and cameras behind you.

"I figured it out. Fate must be a little kind to me after all. Giving me the most beautiful of mentors as my guardian angel."

"You'll be able to say that when you win the Hunger Games." You reply, taking your hand from his and pulling food and drink out of your bag for him.

"When?" He asks, taking the cookie from you and immediately biting into it. That view is squeezing you with sadness, seeing how hungry he is. Despite everything, he still carries himself with grace and is extremely charming. You hope that the cameras will show him often. "How can you be so sure?"

"You are handsome. You attract women's attention. If you maintain that charming attitude of yours, you will probably earn quite a lot of money with those pretty eyes and smile. At least enough to not die of hunger or dehydration in the arena." You reply, searching for something else in your bag.

"Under different circumstances, I would be grateful for so many compliments, angel." You look up, meeting his gaze. And something inside you tells you that, in fact, if the circumstances were different, you would be talking about something completely different right now... or doing something much more enjoyable.

"When you win, who knows? Once a tribute stayed in the Capitol after winning." You say, handing him your cousin's old white sweater that he found in the closet.

"Sorry, honey, but I doubt I'd want to stay in the Capitol. Even for such a nice view." He says this, unabashedly taking off the slightly torn and dirty shirt he was wearing.

He soaks it in the water you gave him and rinses himself off, putting on a show for the entire Capitol audience to watch thanks to the cameras trained on him and the people in the zoo. You lick your lips, trying not to openly stare at the muscles on his chest and act rude (or, in this case, like a horny teenager).

"You're behind bars." You clear your throat, reminding him that there are probably no good views from the cage. You took the courage to look him in the eyes again only after he got dressed.

"And I look at a beautiful girl, what more could I want?"

You laugh loudly and honestly at this. He joins you, and the other mentors and the rest of the tributes look at you like you're crazy. You're too busy looking at the handsome man in front of you to notice Coryo giving him a dagger glare and clenching her fists in anger.

But Lucy Gray does it.

And she perfectly recognises jealousy in the eyes of others. Especially pure anger and the beginnings of forming a plan for revenge. After all, that's how she ended up here.

The day before reaping, Mayfair Lipp had a similar look in her eyes.

Which makes her come to the conclusion that maybe her mentor isn't as good a person as she initially assumed.

"Excuse me for a moment." Snow mutters to her as he walks towards the two of you, leaving her to the children who came to look at her dress.

You and Finnick chat casually about things completely unrelated to Games. Coriolanus notices that the boy from the district reached through the bars for your hand, showing you different lines on it, probably doing some trick or foretelling stupid things.

But what added fuel to Snow's anger was the fact that, in addition to the district's underdog daring to touch you, he also made your face blush. Something Coriolanus has never managed to do.

"Y/N." He says, interrupting the conversation between the two of you. Seeing that he is watching you, you move away from the boy, calming down his anger a little. "We have to get back to the Academy. We have another class soon."

"Oh. Yes." you say, the disappointment is very audible in your voice, which makes him even more angry and jealous.

Why on earth would this piece of trash from the district deserve your attention, or maybe even affection, when Coriolanus was standing right next to you?

"I'll be back again. If you need anything, I'll get it for you." You say, giving a soft smile to your tribute. Coryo almost growls in anger, knowing full well that this worm doesn't deserve your kindness.

"Everything's fine, angel. Don't worry too much." He replies with his charming smirk, making Coryo want to impale his head through the metal wires of his cage.

He wraps his hand around your waist and catches your gaze as he nods towards the exit of the zoo. Taking advantage of your moment of distraction as you watch Arachne torment her tribute, Coriolanus gives your tribute a cold look and squeezes your waist a little tighter. Odair looks at him impassively, but the slight tightening of his jaw tells Snow that the boy got the hint.

No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to touch you like Coryo was doing right now.

Coryo shouldn't be concerned about a boy from the district, especially one who competed in the Hunger Games, but he couldn't just let that bastard flirt with HIS girl.

Your terrified gasp brings him out of his thoughts. He automatically places his hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer to him and looking around for whatever scared you. And she sees Arachne's tribute grab her by the neck and pull her towards her, holding a broken bottle in her other hand.

He feels you try to break free from his grip, but instead of letting you go and running towards Arachne and her tribute, he spins you around and presses your face into his chest just as Arachne's neck pierces the glass of the bottle.

He feels you tremble in his arms, hearing the screams and shots of the Peacekeepers, who open fire too late and kill the crazy girl from the district.

"You're safe. Nothing will happen to you. Not with me." He whispers to you as he feels your tears soak his shirt, and he falls even more in love with you, seeing you cry even for a bitch like Arachne.

He places a kiss on the top of your head and leads you out of the zoo and to your car. He glances briefly at Lucy Gray to make sure they didn't shoot her by accident. He angrily accepts that your tribute is also unharmed.

He feels a little better, though, when he sees how your tribute shoots a jealous, angry glare at him, holding you close to his chest. And Coriolanus can't help but wink arrogantly at him.

"Focus." You tell the tribute in front of you as you discuss plans to build the Arena with him. Finnick, however, prefers to play with the bracelet on your wrist.

"Rose quartz. You know you don't get things like that from just anyone?" He asks, examining the stone. You remove your wrist from his grasp and raise a questioning eyebrow at him.

"My friend gave me this."

"That creepy blonde? Adorable. If he took his eyes off you for more than 5 seconds."

You roll your eyes at him and turn your gaze away from him to glance at Coryo. He's talking to, or rather listening to, Lucy Gray as he stares blankly at the pen and paper in front of him. He senses your gaze and turns around. You give him a soft smile, and he nods at you and goes back to listening to his tribute.

"Coryo doesn't like being alone among people he doesn't trust or know. And after yesterday, he's… more caring. It's natural."

"And does this Coryo of yours often give you old bracelets with a stone symbolising love?" You frown, examining the bracelet he gave you for your 18th birthday.

"It belonged to his mother. He probably thought it was pretty and that's why he gave it to me. It does not mean anything." You explain to him, at which he just shakes his head in disbelief, apparently not trusting in the good intentions of your friend. You want to go back to discussing your arena survival plan with him, but he won't let you say a word.

"Hmm... if I hadn't been chosen in the reaping and we had met under different circumstances, and if I were rich, I would have given you a necklace with pearls and pieces of angelite."

"Why?" You ask curiously, hoping that once he says what he wants, you two will go back to discussing plans. But you wonder how the hell he knows the meaning of the stones.

"Pearls are a symbol of wisdom, calmness, integrity, and serenity. They also remind me of the ocean. How old fishermen told us stories about beautiful sirens who attracted them by singing."

"Like Lucy Gray?" You ask with a smirk, thinking he might like the female tribute.

"I was thinking of another beauty." He says his fingertips are brushing against yours as much as the cuffs on his wrists would allow.

You blush when he flirts with you. You can't say that it bothers you or that you are indifferent. After all, he was very handsome. You don't see Coryo frown, staring daggers at the place where your hands lightly brush against each other.

"What about angelite? Why it?"

"It's a kind of peaceful crystal. Some believe that it helps to bring a guardian angel closer to you. After being chosen in the reaping... I wasn't quite at peace. And then I looked at you, and somehow..." He pauses, staring at your hands. You grab his hands tight, making his sea-green eyes look back into yours in surprise at your sudden gesture.

"I promise I will do everything in my power to make you survive this. You don't have to trust me, but trust in this."

"Because you want the prize?" He asks suspiciously, and you shake your head with a slight chuckle. You're not surprised that he's distrustful. After all, most mentors had this in mind. The prize. Not a human life that was in their hands.

"Because I can't stand the thought of someone like you dying in the arena." You admit it. You unconsciously lean into each other as you stroke your fingers over the back of his hand, drawing little patterns on it.

"Someone like me? Underdog from the district?"

"A handsome man with a good heart. Do not look at me like this. I saw you sharing water and food with that sick little girl—Dill and the other one... Wovey I think? You are a good man, Finncik Odair." You say with confidence.

His eyes light up for a moment, and for the first time, you see his real, unforced, warm smile. He didn't play the charming boy. Not this time.

"I guess that makes two of us, angel. I saw someone giving her medicine last night and extra food. I doubt it was their mentors."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." You both laugh at your answer. And somehow you can't help but blush—the flutter in your stomach that's caused by the way he looks at you and that damn beautiful, genuine smile—that's nothing compared to his charming façade.

Someone's burning gaze focused on you, which you feel on your temple, makes you let go of the tribute's hand, embarrassed. You look around discreetly, noticing Coryo's cold gaze that makes you shiver. He's never looked at you like that... at least not in your direction. It takes you a few seconds to realise that his gaze isn't on you at all, but on the man sitting across from you.

"Can you get me a trident? And some nets?"

"Trident?" You ask distractedly, making a note of his request anyway.

"To the arena. To put on a show and collect more donations." You nod, your thoughts fully returning to Finnick. You tell yourself that you're making something up. After all, Coryo is just your friend.

"I'll see what I can do. You also need to think about what you will do on tomorrow's TV appearance." You remind him, writing down in your notebook the things you should provide him with before he goes on air. Maybe a suit? You're sure he'd look drop-dead handsome in it on stage.

"I have already got some idea. You'll probably like it." He replies with an arrogant smirk, causing you to giggle, which, for some strange reason, you're unable to hold back. His smirk widens.

"Y/N. Can I take you away for a moment?" Coryo's voice and the fact that he's right behind you surprise you. You didn't notice him sneaking up until he spoke. You wonder how many times he has managed to do this without your knowledge.

"Go, angel. I'll see you tomorrow at the arena." Finnick says, giving you another of his trademark smirks. You nod to him and accept Coryo's hand as he helps you up. He takes your bag from you, and you both walk out.

You go with him as his emotional support to Dr. Gaul's laboratory. He tells you enthusiastically about his new ideas for the Hunger Games and how the woman was interested in them, but you only half-listen, your thoughts still with Finnick. And Coriolanus doesn't like it that you so brazenly ignore what he says.

"You two are rather close." He says, getting your attention. You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, not understanding who he was talking about. "You and your tribute."

"We are. It's my job to take care of him."

"You do it rather willingly and with a smile on your face." He remarks with a strange tone of voice. You stop and frown at him, not understanding what his problem is.

"Are you suggesting something?"

"No. No. Not at all. I'm just warning you. People are talking."

"They always talk." You snap at him, furious that he's playing that card. He lectures you as if you were a little child and did something wrong. Besides, who cared? You could flirt with anyone you wanted.

"Y/N. He's just a district boy. I don't want your reputation to suffer just because… you see him as a human being."

"Are you serious? He IS a human being. Like each one of them." You say, angry at him for even saying such a thing.

"You sound like Sejanus." He says it coldly, giving you an unreadable look. You don't know what he's thinking, but you know by the way his jaw is set and his hand is nervously playing with the strap of his bag that it's not good. And you wonder. Because Sejan is your friend after all. And he was also a district boy.

"Maybe because he's right." You respond to his remark by crossing your arms and staring at him defiantly, tilting your chin slightly upward.

"Are you really going to let some district scumbag ruin your career and future? Everything you've worked for so far? They hate us, Y/N. Each one of them. Behind that charming smile of his, there is a devil who gossips about you and laughs at your naivety behind your back."

"They are not monsters, Coriolanus."

The use of his full name makes him flinch. You see it and immediately regret not using his diminutive, but that's okay. You were incredibly frustrated and angry that he thought the way Dr. Gaul and the rest of the rich snobs of Panem did. That he didn't see these people as... people. People like you were.

"They killed my father, and because of the rebellion 10 years ago, my mother and sister, whom I never got to know, are dead, and they might have been alive if those district rats hadn't turned the Capitol into a battlefield. You, Tigris, and my grandmother are all I have left. And I won't let anything happen to you or anyone take you away from me." He bursts out, keeping his voice cool, but you can clearly see the storm of emotions in his icy eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere, Coryo. The rebellion is over. We are safe. But they are not." You decide to back out of the argument with him.

"They don't deserve to be safe. Not after what they did to us, petal."

You don't say anything at his words. You just sigh and go to hug him.

He relaxes a little in your arms, wrapping himself around you just as tightly as you wrap around him. You are enveloped in his warmth and the delicate scent wafting from the rose he had pinned to his red jacket.

You know how Coryo suffered and how he sought an outlet for his pain. And you can't be surprised that he blamed the people of the district for his family's fate. That he hated them... but you didn't know how deep that hatred had grown inside him.

And how much it had grown the moment he found out from Lucy Gray that you had promised to make sure Odair won.

When he found out you chose that district boy above him in The Hunger Games, he fully understood what Dr. Gaul wanted him to say when she asked him about the meaning of the games.

Now he had to make sure that HE would become THE VICTOR. And not the underdog from 4 who tried to steal HIS woman.

"I hope I haven't caused you any trouble?" Finnick asks with that smile of his that makes you weak in the knees as you both walk around the arena.

You blush slightly, remembering last night.

"Here. Put this somewhere and change it when we get back from the arena. Then you two will be on TV." You tell him, handing him a bag of clothes through the bars. It is midnight. You shouldn't be here, and you might as well have given it to him in the morning, but... something pulled you to him. "If you are as charming as usual, you will win the hearts of the audience." You say, not knowing that he only cares about ONE heart.

"You're too good, angel. But I have something for you too." he says that and hands you a small bundle. You frown at him.

"I… I shouldn't…" You say, surprised, but he pushes the bundle into your hands anyway.

You look at him in a daze for a moment and unwrap the fabric. You gasp when you see the necklace. It is an ordinary black leather strap with a silver pendant with a fish that swallows its tail, thus creating a circle shape. There was a tiny pearl inside.

"If I were a rich man, I would give you something else... as a souvenir. But I'm not... but I really wanted for you to have something that will remind you of me. Please say something, or I might start talking nonsense that we'll both regret later and..."

You silence him by leaning in and kissing him through the bars. It's a gentle kiss, as tender as the tiny passage between the bars allows, but somehow he manages to grab your hand and cup your cheek carefully, brushing your skin with his thumb.

You feel tears welling up as you think about what it might have been like in another life, where there were no divisions into better and worse districts and the Hunger Games would never have existed... but this small moment stolen in the night between you two will have to be enough. That gentle brushing of your lips.

"No. Not at all. Do you already know what you're going to do on TV?" You ask, changing the subject, trying to keep from blushing as the two of you walk around the arena while you make mental notes of the best places to escape.

"Yes. I will recite a poem. Or, rather, a song. I will not compete with our dear Lucy Gray, and I will not sing. Want to hear?"

"Sure." You reply with a shrug, completely unprepared for what he had in store.

He clears his throat. He catches your eye and begins with a tone of voice so velvety and pleasant to the ear that it's impossible for you to perceive anything other than him. And certainly not the way your blonde friend was staring daggers at you with clenched fists, ignoring the scared look Lucy Gray was throwing his way.

"We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet."

You shiver as he finishes. He was only a small step away from you as he inched closer with each line he spoke, never taking his eyes off you. You are speechless. All you can do is look him in the eyes, watching as he gently brushes away your hair from your eyes.

"It's... it's beautiful. Did you write it?" You ask, snapping out of your daze.

"No. No, I don't. I believe this is 'My tears richochet' by Taylor Swift."

"Taylor Swift?" You repeat it stupidly, swallowing and trying to calm your rapidly beating heart that aches with the desire to kiss him. You know you can't. Not in the light of day. Never in plain sight. And it hurt you that you wanted a man who could never be yours.

"In another life, I would be a London boy." You laugh with him about it. Suddenly he looks around seriously, and when he sees that Coriolanus is the only one watching you, he takes a step towards you and gently strokes your cheek with his thumb. "You're... I didn't expect anyone in the Capitol to have a heart. And certainly not as pure as yours, my sweet angel."

You shiver, unable to move away from him.

He leans down and steals you a quick but more passionate kiss than the first you two had shared under the cover of the night. His hand tangles in the hair at the back of your head as he opens your mouth with his tongue, swallowing your moan. Common sense screams at you to step away, but you can't. You cup his cheeks in your hands, pulling him closer to you, stealing another moment with him as he pushes you against a pillar, hiding you from anyone's view.

Before anyone can notice that you two have disappaired, there's a loud bang in the arena. You scream as you feel a warm gust of air make you fall onto your back. The combined scream of both Coryo and Finnick's calling your name and the pounding of your head is the last thing you hear and feel before you pass out.

Consciousness comes back to you very slowly. At first, you think you're dead, but the ringing in your ears and headache wouldn't be symptoms of a dead person on the other side.

That's why you open your eyes slowly and very reluctantly.

You hiss as the light from the hospital lamp hits your eyes. You cover them with your hand when suddenly you feel another one on yours.

"Everything's fine, petal. You are safe with me. Move slowly, take your time."

"Coryo?" You ask, pushing both your and his hands away from your eyes as you narrow them at him. You sigh with relief and hug the blonde, who is also in a hospital gown. You managed to notice a few scratches on his face before you cuddled up to him shakily.

"Shh... it's okay, my petal. Your parents were here. They waited through the entire surgery, and when the doctor told them you were stable, they went home to get clothes for you. They should be back here soon. Together with Tgiris and Sejanus."

"Surgery?" You ask in surprise, only now feeling the grip of the bandages on your head.

"They put a few stitches on your head. Fortunately, it wasn't as deep a wound as we thought it was. You scared me. And the others." He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms tighter around you... like a snake.

"The arena... Finnick. Is he alive? What happened? Where is Finnick?" You panicked, moving away from him and ignoring his more affectionate than usual gestures. All you can think about is a district boy that you have grown to... to love in these few days when you got a chance to know him.

You don't see the anger rising in Coriolanus's eyes, nor do you recognise his fake tone as he pretends to be concerned. You're more concerned, scared, and distraught that you don't feel the weight of Finnick's necklace around your neck.

"He is dead. I'm sorry for your tribute, my petal." He says, slowly stroking your bare arms.

From the side, it looked like he wanted to comfort you, but he was only doing it because he wanted to feel your skin under his fingertips. Enjoy his reward. As well as that snow lands on top.

"What?" You ask in shock, not feeling his touch at all. Your world stopped. As if it were dying. You don't feel anything. Nothing at all.

"There was an attack of rebels. He didn't survive." He repeats it more emphatically, watching you carefully.

"No... no..." You shake your head, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. Tears that you don't even try to hold back. Just as your whole body trembles.

"It's not your fault, honey. You did an excellent job as a mentor. It could have happened to anyone."

"You do not understand! This isn't about stupid games! This is about him! About human life! How can you be so selfish and myopic?!”

You shout angrily, slapping your hands against his chest. Your tears are blurring any vision; you're still weak from the surgery, so when you get tired, he pulls you into his arms and presses your head to his chest, rubbing your back as you cry into him.

Into a man who took the opportunity to get rid of the inconvenience of your tribute. Along with the necklace he gave you. Coriolanus was furious when he saw it on your neck as he carried you out after pushing Odair right into the spot where, a second later, a large piece of debris fell from the ceiling.

Once again, Coriolanus' perceptiveness worked to his advantage.

And now you were his. Only his. He made sure there were no traces of Finnick Odair left. After all, his First Lady couldn't be sullied by a district boy.

"Don't cry over him. We are all we need anyway, my little petal." He whispers against your skin as he kisses away your tears.

You're too busy mourning your tribute and too drugged to do anything. So he uses this to his advantage and fucks your face with kisses before finally leaning in to taste your lips.

He moans into your mouth, not caring about the slightly salty taste of your tears, and gently wraps his hand around your neck. You mumble something into his mouth, pressing your hand against his chest to push him away.

But he doesn't give up. He sits you on his lap and places kisses on your neck. You gasp, clinging to him. He rests his forehead against yours and kisses you once again. He lifts your hands and makes you tangle them in his hair. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling you in until your chests are pressed together.

He ignores Lucy Gray's singing echoing through the private room in the hospital your parents bought for you to get better and holds you close to his chest, pressing tender kisses to your cheeks, lips, nose, forehead, and neck—everywhere his greedy, eager mouth can reach.

You can't move. Because of the drugs they drugged you with, so you can't feel pain, or because you don't want to move, you don't know yet. In some strange way, the feeling of closeness comforts you, and your stupid brain and heart try to trick you into thinking it's right. After all, Coryo saved you, and he always saved you. He was always there for you. Always close to you. Unconsciously, you start kissing him back. He moans contentedly, rubbing himself against you.

He refrains from doing anything more and pushes you off of him, keeping your head on his shoulder and his arms around you as he places small kisses on your temple and tenderly, occasionally reaching up to kiss your lips as the painkiller drip he unscrews a little makes you melt and surrender completely to him.

He holds you as you fall asleep in his arms, thinking about how he can make sure his songbird wins. He reduced her competition anyway by hastening Odair's death, but he must be sure that he wins Plinth's prize so he can finally claim you fully for himself. He wouldn't endure another district boy near you.

Coriolanus knew that hope was dangerous. Love was fatal and destructive if you didn't control the one you cared for. And jealousy... jealousy brought out people's primal, animal instincts.

Just like the Hunger Games.

He looks at your sleeping, peaceful form, and he presses a kiss on your lips. He smiles, seeing how cuddled up to him you were and how you were in need of his warmth and touch, of the security he provided and will always provide for you. You were worth every sin. His petal. His little angel. His future First Lady and mother of his children. He will adore you. You'd forget about this district underdog once he won; he was sure of it.

After all, he was the only victor Panem could have.

1K notes · View notes

silentium-symphony · 1 year ago

Text

So This is... Lust (Link x Reader) SMUT

(a/n) ya'll, i finally finished it ToT i'm so sorry for the wait, but it's finally here now! i had so much fun writing this!

i took a look at my schedule for next semester and i have *a lot* of free time, so hopefully that'll mean more time to write and, in extension, finally open up my inbox for requests!!! i've never done requests before at least on this account because i was always so busy. i'm not too sure how much time my new research position will take up (i was told it would be time-consuming, but i'm not sure how time-consuming), so i'll keep you guys updated!

as always, i hope you enjoy this ~steamy~ oneshot! and remember: if you are a minor, do not interact.

cw: afab!retainer!reader, reader wears a dress, link masturbating to the thought of you :), mentioned reader masturbation (like one line), cunnilingus, missionary, mentioned doggy, overstimulation, tried to make link a soft dom heheh, swearing, dirty talk, dumbification, fingering

wc: 6.5k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"(F/N)?" Zelda slinked her back against her chair, sinking into the worn, plush cushion that coddled her stiff vertebrae.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Please prepare the horses... We're going to take a little walk." She pinched the bridge of her scrunched nose. "If I am to look at these documents a moment longer, I believe my head will explode."

"But Your Highness, Link should be coming any minute now. We must discuss the security details for the upcoming ball." Your usually terse expression softened at the royal's groan. "But we can go out afterwards.”

"Yes, you're right... Apologies (F/N), I completely forgot about that meeting. Will anyone else be coming?"

"No, Your Highness. It will just be—“

Knock knock knock!

"Ah! Perfect timing." Zelda tapped a thick, disheveled pile of documents against her desk into a more manageable bundle. "Come in!"

The brass doorknob shifted slightly and clicked open, revealing Hyrule's most renowned knight. A pair of cobalt eyes went from you to the Princess and he bowed wordlessly.

"Link. Thank you for—“

A loud bang, then wood stuttering against stone, quickly followed by the airy splish of dozens of documents fluttering to the ground. You dove across the desk, grasping a few documents you were lucky enough to catch and watched the rest pool by the table’s legs.

"Oh Hylia—!”

"Your Highness! Are you okay?!" Your hand flew to the staggering princess, documents be damned; Link sprung to Zelda’s side and placed a restful hand on her shoulder.

"I-I'm fine, really...” She muttered, rubbing her sore knee. “Goodness, I'm so sorry for the mess. Let me clea—“

"Absolutely not, Your Highness. I’ll take care of it." You cut, already circling the desk and shuffling the disarrayed documents on the floor. Link joined you on his hands and knees, carefully scooping up piles of paper onto the desk and into your arms. A jolt of electricity shot through your heart as you felt worn leather chafe against your skin. You turned away, 'looking' for other scattered documents, and coughed out,

"Thank you Link, but please don't worry. I can take care of this."

A determined look gripped his features as he stared and shook his head. Without uttering another word, Link once again began gathering the parchment. A soft sigh left you, and an even softer smile graced your lips.

"Can you hand me that document, please? I think these go together... Oh, and... these have matching headings, so I'll take that and you can have those..."

Even in her mildly frazzled state, Zelda wasn't blind to the faint red that whispered the surface of your cheeks when Link got a little too close, or the shifty flash of Link's blues whenever your fingers 'accidentally' grazed his. As much as she wanted to jump in and rectify the mess she made, maybe... She should sit this one out. Enjoy the show. Or better yet... Hm... When was the last time you and Link had a day off?

In no time at all, all correspondence was off the floor and either in your arms or on the desk. Your fingers flew this way and that, reorienting texts right side up and shuffling this paper behind that, and this one goes over here, and wait… Shouldn’t these be bundled together?

"Once again, I apologize for the mess I had created. Thank you both for cleaning it up."

"No worries at all, Your Highness." You finally looked up and cast a warm smile at the knight. "Thank you for helping me, Link."

A bashful grin cracked the stoic man's lips and he awkwardly rocked his feet. All that extra motion certainly drew attention away from the fists tightening behind his back. Zelda cleared her throat and eyed some documents pertinent to the upcoming social.

"Right. Now that that's all settled, let's get down to business."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"A-Ah... Mmph..."

The knight threw his head back, feeling his temples drum in time with his cock. Sweat dewed his ivory skin and his Adam's apple bobbed a name he dared not utter, lest someone discover the target of his hidden fantasies. A scene from earlier that day has been playing in his head on repeat, fueling the sensual fantasies that has drawn him awake past the midnight hours; his fist thumped faster against his thighs and his back careened toward the ceiling.

You—gorgeous, gorgeous you—bent over a desk grasping desperately for a document fluttering to the ground.

With slight modifications, of course. The hem of your dress pooled about your hips—hips he oh so desperately wished to sink his teeth and fingers in—your hands tied prettily against your lower back as he thrusts into you again and again, his fingers tenderly coaxing your feathery soft hair... But the best part? You looking back at him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, and his name spilling out of those plump lips he yearned to taste.

He could hardly remember what the Princess had told him. Something about the security details for the upcoming ball, but Hylia only knew if he retained anything past that. All he could think of was you, you, you—the Princess's loyal, respectful, diligent, beautiful retainer. How he craved your presence! If only you knew how much he liked you! Oh, the things he dreamt of doing to you.

"Ngh... (F-F/N)...!"

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The garbled talk of Hyrule's high society bounced off the castle walls and the guards' helms, which flickered bright flashes of torchlight. A pair of cobalt eyes flitted about every corner of the room, filing away mental notes of the ball's invitees and the stream of people that flowed in and out of the ballroom. Link scooted along the wall—weaving around young, giggly wallflowers and decrepit, lonely barons in search of another wife—always making sure you the Princess stood in his line of sight.

After sending you away to drop off another gift at the crowded gift table, Zelda turned around with the polite smile most nobility had during these sizeable socials. She caught eyes with her loyal guard and slowly made her way over, skillfully avoiding conversation with the withdrawn, mysterious grace of a royal. Eventually, she found herself at the side of one of her most trusted confidantes.

"Link, I believe the next song shall be a waltz. Do you still remember how to dance?"

Link nodded dutifully, sensing an incoming question. Is Her Highness hinting that she wants him to ask her to dance...?

"If so, why not dance with (F/N)?"

Link, who happened to be swallowing his spit as she said that, hacked it all back up and proceeded to draw the most distressing and deprecating attention an introvert could draw to themselves in a single night. He turned to her, lovestruck panic evident in his eyes, and shook his head like a wet, storm-logged puppy.

"Now now, don't be shy! I'm sure she'd be happy to share a dance with you."

"Your Highness! There you are." A bright voice from yonder drew closer to the duo, and Link could feel himself shrinking. "I've been looking all over for you. Why are you all the way over here? Have you grown tired?"

The torpid, repetitive chords that most patrons had droned out this part in the night livened into a steady waltz. Link could feel Zelda's smirk and knowing gaze burn into the side of his head.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, but I assure you I'm fine. I just wanted to have a little chat with Link. But (F/N), you should dance! Enjoy yourself! You've been working far too hard these days."

"Thank you for your concern, but I would feel better if I were attending you."

"(F/N), don't be like that." She squeezed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I'm saying this more as a friend than your queen. Please go have some fun. Maybe you'll meet your Prince Charming, just as you've always hoped you would.“

"Zel—Princess!" Your heart dropped to your stomach and a pair of hands immediately flew to cage Zelda's arms. "T-That was so long ago—I mean, I was only a little girl and—!"

A genuine, lighthearted laugh alighted your friend and she gazed at you with a sisterly fondness.

"Just teasing. It's always so fun to do so."

"Your Highness..." Your head hung as low as your spirits as you felt Zelda's frame shake from a stifled laughter.

"Your Highness?" All eyes turned to the clear, bold voice a few bodies past you. "Can I have this dance?"

The young suitor flashed a kind, dimpled beam as he held out a gloved hand to Zelda. The royal returned her own practiced, elegant smile and took his hand.

"I would be honored." She turned to you. "My apologies. I'm afraid I must go. But do have fun tonight, okay? You deserve it."

And with a swish of her gown, she was escorted through a parted sea of people to the middle of the dance floor. She locked eyes with you for a second, and cast a knowing tilt towards him.

You two were locked in a domain of stiff silence, both looking helplessly towards your mutual friend who had seemingly forgotten all about you. Link's timbers began shivering like no other as he replayed a thousand ways this night could go.

Freeing himself of his chains of self-doubt, he pushed himself off the wall and slowly made the short way over. Your heart had practically stopped pulsing while Link's was pounding away all breath from his lungs. He felt a sickly pallor drain his cheeks; he silently thanked the gods for the bright lights that filled his cheeks with artificial ruddiness.

"(F/N)...?" You turned, your thundering heart almost drowning out the Hero's squeak. "Can I have this dance?"

Pure, unadulterated sincerity crinkled Link's eyes, which held a certain life-like sheen typically absent for the soldier; for the briefest of moments, you felt that you were allowed a glimpse into his heart. Fighting the urge to scream 'til your lungs gave out was the understatement of the century as you dipped your fingers into his palm.

"I would be honored."

The small, anxious smile widened into one of pure delight as he led you further into the ballroom. He pulled you into the fringes of the waltzing couples and placed a steady palm close to your shoulder blades, inadvertently pressing you closer to him. Clothed fingers weaved through your own and pulled your hand away from your trembling frame. You could only hope he couldn't feel the aggressive thumping in your chest.

"Are you okay?" His voice rumbled in your ear.

"Y-Yes!" You blurted suddenly, your nerves not quite heeding your volume. You were practically melting from the stinging, judgemental stares thrown your way and you swallowed thickly.

"Yes, I'm okay. Thank you for your concern."

"We don't have to do this for very long if you don't want to." He muttered, his hand slipping to your waist as he dipped you. Your delusions led you to believe that his eyes lingered on your neck a moment too long... But surely your eyes were just playing tricks on you.

"It's just... Well, I'm rather nervous, so..."

You slowly turned your gaze upwards, peering through quivering lashes and fully expecting the knight's visage to be contorted in mockery; you were pleasantly surprised that his eyes held nothing but warmth for you.

"I understand." He effortlessly guided your next movements into a spin. "How can I help you feel more at ease?"

"Mm..." You unknowingly gave his shoulder a light squeeze, causing Link's heart to flutter. "Would it be all right if we talked some more?"

"Of course. What would you like to talk about?"

"Well... I've actually always wondered this, but have you always wanted to become a knight?"

"Hm... That's a good question." He chuckled, his hot breath tickling your cheekbones. "I wasn't particularly against it. As you may know, I come from a long line of knights, so it was only expected that I became a knight too."

"How did it feel when you found out you bore the legendary Triorce?"

"... Surreal." He concluded, a glimpse of wistfulness in his eyes. "My life hasn't been the same since."

"Oh... I'm sorry if this brought up difficult memories."

"Not at all!" His tired eyes snapped to life. "Yes, training became much harder after that and the pressures of the throne are very much there… But it wasn't all that bad. After all, I got to meet you—“

At the utterance of the last syllable, Link's face twisted into horror; not even the bright, warm lights could disguise his drained cheeks. You felt your entire face engulf in flames and screamed your heart out smiled shyly.

"That's... really sweet of you, Link. Thank you."

He cleared his throat and desperately wished for a Link-size hole to swallow him up this very second. Every gear in his brain cogged away as he chose his next words carefully.

"You and the Princess seem close."

"Yes..." A bittersweet comfort gripped your heart as deeply cherished memories flashed through your mind. "We were girls together."

"How long have you been her retainer?"

"Since we were very young. Like you, I come from a long line of individuals who serve the royal family and, well... Zel and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember."

"'Zel?'"

"O-Oh!" Panicked side glances jittered here and there; you let out a deep breath, thankful that no one heard your insubordinate casualness. "Please forgive me. That was a nickname I used to call Her Highness."

"No worries. I just... thought it was very cute."

The both of you were completely oblivious to the crimson that coated the other's cheeks—how could you be when your own face ran hotter than the lava at Death Mountain? You were startled out of your mushy haze with a bright, chime-like laugh.

"Her Highness was right. You are fun to tease."

Before you could retort some type of response, the ensemble played its final note. While all the other couples were separating and bowing to their dance partners, Link was quite slow to release you, and you were even slower to leave his arms.

"Thank you for the dance, Link. You are a wonderful dance partner."

"Likewise," he straightened his back, "I hope we can do this again."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Gods, you wanted to go to bed.

Your nice, warm sheets were all you could think of as you clicked the door to the Princess's bed chambers shut. You threw your arms above your head and groaned out the tension that had carved its way into your joints.

Your feet automatically led you down the long winding corridor, past the soldier's quarters and towards your—

"Mm... F-Fuck..."

Wait a damn minute.

Your feet ceased their dragging as a voice that sounded eerily similar to a certain Hero echoed nearby. You gripped your chest, as if that would quiet the thundering pounding in your ears.

… Silence...

Were you losing your mind?

Chalking whatever... that was to your perverted imagination, you once again began your trek towards—

"Ah...!"

—Link's room wait since when did you start moving in this direction oh gods oh Hylia

"Mmph! Fuck- yes- hah..."

The noises were undoubtedly coming from his room, your ear pressed against the door confirmed that. Your hand flew to your mouth as your knees locked in place, your ears feasting listening to the sinful whimpers and pants of Hyrule's sword and shield. You were thrown into the deep end, drowning in a cacophony of your own thoughts.

What the fuck holy shit what the fuck holy shit what the fu Was he alone? Wait, but the bed squeaked just now, so does that mean he’s with someone? And if so, who? But if he's alone... Who could he be thinking of?

This was wrong. This was so, so wrong of you to be violating his privacy like this. You would be mortified to learn that someone was listening to you pleasuring yourself—everyone's entitled to have these moments to themselves. So why couldn't you just... walk away?

"Mm... Oh, (F/N)..."

... Huh?

“I need you I need you I need you…” He slurred with sloppy breaths. Shame swelled within you as a wet heat pooled between your legs and wickedly delightful thoughts ruminated in your mind. Your chest constricted, sensing the crossroads that would undoubtedly decide your future relations with your long-time crush; you toyed with either option as carefully as your lust-hazed brain would allow. With your heart mere moments away from seizing, you carefully lifted your hand, suddenly aware of every muscle needed to execute the simple motion.

Four docile raps lisped the wood. You froze, the veil of sensuality finally lifted from your senses as the gravity of the situation bucketed you like cold water. Oh gods, what have you done? Your heart raged against your ribcage and beckoned you to flee! Run! There’s still time, go!

A quiet click.

A pair of blown-out pupils amidst a thin strip of blue peered out at you.

“L-… Link?”

“… Yes?”

You listlessly felt yourself move forward; sex-clung darkness draped over your bodies as you pushed yourself through the door, slamming your lips against his in heated desperation. Link returned your fervor with a fluidity that made you wonder if he’s fantasized about this as much as you have. You cocked your heel against the door, shutting out all unwanted light to carry out your feral desires in the dark.

He pressed you against the thin slab of wood, rough hands claiming residence in the plush of your hips while his lips conveyed a primal urge to claim. You didn’t hesitate in welcoming his tongue, feeling the hot muscle drag against your bottom lip and wrapping itself with your own in a sloppy but passionate dance. Thick golden locks tangled your fingers and you pulled him closer, closer, closer until his muscly frame was melded into yours.

He departed from your lips and quickly found refuge in the crook of your neck. His hot breaths dragged across your flushed skin, sending an anticipatory chill down your spine as he speckled your softness with nips and butterfly kisses. Large hands explored what they could, never settling in one place for long while his lips began imprinting deeply-colored marks by the junction of your neck and shoulder. His grabs and kneads were desperate, as if he fully believed that at any moment you would depart from him forever, leaving him with a ghost of what could have been.

Your chest heaved into his. Colors you’ve never seen before danced before your eyelids in a pandemoniac parade while hellish flames seared through your core. Link lapped and kissed and teethed your neck, relishing in the bit-back mewls that occasionally leaked out of you. The moonbeams that had passed through the clouds applauded the red desire he worked into your skin and Link felt a surge of boldness rush through him. After speckling your rising and dipping chest with his spit, he dropped lower and lower.

The cold absence of his hands didn’t go unnoticed by you, and before you could process what was going on, the unfamiliar cold that whipped your exposed legs pinched a yelp out of you. In one smooth motion, the Hero of Hyrule was under your dress and kissing the pillowy softness of your thighs—as he always dreamt of doing—silently worshipping Hylia’s masterpiece.

And oh, how he worshipped you. How each fiery, wet kiss was a prayer of gratitude to the goddess for creating someone like you. How every bite, every mark he left you with was all in the name of you, his true deity, and your moans that served as his gospel. By the end of the night, he was determined to have you chanting his name like some mantra that would bind you two past a one night stand.

Your heart roared in your ears, anticipation for where his lips would fondle next nearly causing the overworked muscle to implode; your legs nearly gave out when you felt his teeth graze the edge of your drenched panties. The lace dragged and coiled into a thin strip as Link buried his face into your sex, relishing the ambrosia he was to partake in. Before that though, his lips traced a languid line to your hips, which was promptly suckled and bitten with the gentleness of a doe. His fingers hooked themselves under your panties and, with painfully slow movements, dragged the nuisance down your hips, your thighs, and finally, the ground. With all obstacles out of the way, Link turned his attention back to your throbbing lips, licking his own with the hunger of a starved animal.

He wasted no time in burrowing himself into you, tonguing and lapping the juices that have dared to slip out and refusing to waste a single drop. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he completely lost himself in you, rubbing tight circles into your clit with his thumb while drinking up whatever you could give him with his mouth. You bunched the noisome fabric about your waist, desperate to sink your fingers into his hair. He chuckled at your slightly buckling knees, and a wonderful idea flashed through his head.

He threw one of your legs atop his shoulder, and his heart nearly gave out from the sheer joy of seeing you spread like this. The new position allowed him deeper access into you, and a lone finger soon replaced his tongue’s sinful ministrations as the latter wrapped and toyed with your puffed-up bud. A full moan lapsed out of you in earnest and you unknowingly tightened around his digit. Link’s cock tented painfully against his pants, but he was set on having you cumming all over his face before he even thought about touching himself.

One of your hands anchored itself in his hair, knotting his disheveled locks into messy bunches that only grew wilder the faster he went. Uneven, haggard breaths and pleas for more echoed off his walls and Link had never been more pleased to carry out a request. His fingers and tongue would take turns wrecking you, never giving your poor clit and drenched entrance a break as he tongue-fucked and fingered you closer and closer to blissful oblivion. Link knew the milky white end was in sight, and he eagerly pressed his tongue flat against your cunt.

“Cum for me… Fuck, give it to me. I need you to cum in my mouth…”

His filthy request buzzed mind-shattering tingles to the deepest parts of your core, finally tipping you over the edge. You fell from a high you’ve never experienced before and your orgasm was borderline violent. A silent scream left your gaped mouth and you collapsed, panting, quivering. Link’s heart and ego swelled at your blissed out face as he leisurely wiped the juices dribbling down his chin. He scooted closer to you and pressed a deep kiss against your lips, leaving traces of you in your mouth. He pulled away with a pop, a smile, and an effortless huff as he carried you to his bed.

You were still fighting to regain some semblance of normal breathing when he set you down on his sheets. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and pulled away, taking a moment to relish in how you looked in your sensual vulnerability. His pulse quickened and his pants tightened further, eager for release, but Link was patient. He waited for your breathing to slow, caressing your cheeks and cooing praises into your ears. His tenderness was enough to almost lull you to sleep.

“(F/N)…” Adoration dripped from his tone. “Can we go further?”

You opened your eyes slightly and practically melted from the gentleness in his voice and the care in his eyes. With a soft, albeit tired smile, you nodded and traced small circles into his cheek. Puppy-like enthusiasm exuded off him and he kissed the tip of your nose, plucking a small giggle out of you.

“Just relax… I’ll take care of you.”

He worked the hem of your dress into a bulky bunch by your hips before throwing the whole thing over your head and gently discarding it on the floor. A soft, wonder-filled smile cracked his lips as he drank in all of you.

“You look beautiful… You are beautiful…” He murmured to the air, voicing his most private thoughts aloud. A slightly pruned finger traced down your sides. A shiver ran through your body and his name whimpered out of your mouth.

“Say it again.” He breathed shakily. “My name. Say it again.”

“Link…” You flushed under his piercing gaze. His expression flickered darkly for just a moment before his eyes crinkled warmly.

“You have the prettiest voice, you know that?” He nuzzled into your neck. “I can listen to you for hours.”

“Link…” You cradled his face in your palms. “You don’t… have to hold back. I’ll let you know if anything hurts.”

His eyes widened before a small chuckle left him.

“We’ll get there eventually, I promise. For now though…” His lips coupled with yours in tender obsession. “I want to make you feel good tonight.”

While his lips reunited with your own, his fingertip traced lazy patterns from your chest, down to your stomach with swirly circles, and finally in between your legs. He moved his hands with battle-hardened precision, skirting around your still-pulsing clit, being extra careful not to overstimulate you yet. The simple trail coaxed the neediest whine out of you and you jutted your hips up and down, side to side. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

“Eager, are we?” He purred, skimming the surface of his lips on your cheek before redirecting his efforts towards your nipples.

"Gods, look at you... You're so beautiful all spread out like this, just for me." His tongue swirled and sucked the perked bud while your other nipple rolled in between his thumb and index. He dragged the tip of his tongue from one nipple to the other, repeating the process again and again until he was satisfied with the glistening rawness. A long moan, honeyed with need and fringed with desire, escaped you as your back arched in toe-curling pleasure.

His fingers hastened their movements, circling the hardened pearl with calloused finger pads and teasing your slit, sometimes dipping the beginnings of a finger past its entrance. But it was never enough. Never, ever enough. Your pleas and cries and begging only sent Link further down this power trip, molding your sex-steeped senses however he wanted until you were a sobbing, hiccuping mess.

“Please Link…” You sputtered in between sobs, the knot in your gut constricting and loosening in sync with his tease. “I need you inside, please, please, please…”

“Shh…” He murmured, silencing your chants with a soft kiss. “Patience.”

“Link, please, I-I can’t—“

“Yes you can. Just a little more… Show me more of those lewd expressions.” A rough pinch on your clit scored a scream out of you and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Good girl… So pretty for me. You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Gods, yes! I’m all yours Link, so please—“

Your voice sputtered to a stop, caught in edged ecstasy as the friction you had been craving for for the past Hylia-knows-how-long was suddenly served at blinding speeds.

“This is what you wanted, right?” He cooed, his chill tone contrasting the growing flush in his cheeks. You squirmed and writhed uselessly under him as your mind blanked and reeled from the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

“T-Too fa— Link, you’re—! I’m—!”

You were practically catapulted into your next orgasm, but despite your shaking release, Link never let up—in fact, he picked up his pace until veins marbled the surface of his arms. Another orgasm was ripped out of you, then another, and another, all while Link whispered,

"Oh, sweet girl, I know you can do it. I know you can cum one more time... Just one more, c'mon..."

Nothing else mattered to you at that moment. Nothing in the world could pull you out of the ecstasy Link had so readily given you. The only sensations you were capable of feeling were the coiling and spasming release of your gut as the man before you worked you into a mindless little thing. Link’s heart swelled at the fucked-out, dazed look on your face and he finally released his cock from its clothed prison.

"Do I have permission to fuck you senseless?" He husked into your ear, tending to his weeping cock with the residual slick left on his fingers. You nodded your head vigorously, dumbed down to your most base desires.

He slotted himself in between your legs, rubbing and dipping his tip a little bit past your entrance before his patience snapped in time with his hips. A gaspy whine rasped out of both of you, thickening to sweet, candied moans for more.

You were so tight… So warm... So wet… He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing—a concentrated attempt to not just immediately cum on the spot. Link stretching you out choked a groan out of you and your arms clung tightly about his neck, clawing desperate lines into his back.

"Gods, you feel so good... So tight for me... You're just made for me, aren't you? Made to take my cock..."

His fingers doled soft dips into your hips, coaxing the tight muscles into releasing their tension. All you could do was nod fervently, your voice too hoarse and mind too fogged to formulate any words. Link pervaded every single one of your thoughts, and all you could really muster was a gaze into his darkened blues, glazed over with lust. It took every ounce of mental fortitude to keep Link from pounding you into his bed; he softly kissed away the tears that threatened to spill.

"I'm gonna start moving now... Are you ready?"

A nod; Link positioned himself until your noses were almost touching, braced his hands on either side of your head, and slowly rocked his hips. The simple, fluid motion ellicited a moan out of the man and a whine out of you, electric pleasure shocking you to your core. His watchful gaze gauged your reactions, your comfort always at the forefront of his mind.

He flooded you with kisses and deluged your senses in heartfelt tenderness. Your head rolled into his arm, nuzzling him, and he smiled softly.

"You're so cute... My heart just explodes whenever I see you..."

"Liiink..." You reached up to caress his cheek. He pressed further into your hand before turning his head and kissing your fingers.

"You're perfect. Everything about you is gorgeous." He breathed, his hips slipping into a racy tempo. Your breasts pooled and trembled with each thrust, which didn't go unnoticed by the starved knight. Sounds of wet suckling filled his room, accompanied by your airy mewls and calls for his name.

"Say my name..." He growled into your chest, eyes flitting to look at you through quivering lashes. "Say it again."

"Link..." You squeaked, hiding the lower half of your burning face behind trembling hands.

"Louder." A hand clutched your wrists and dragged them down, fully exposing your slutty expressions to his hawkish eyes.

"Link...!"

"Louder." He scurried to the crook of your neck and bit down. "I want everyone in this castle to know who's fucking you breathless."

"L-Link!"

His pace quickened, the steady rhythm degenerating into wild pistoning. Shaky, uneven breaths stretched into high-pitched whimpers while his hand fondled your abused clit, repeating the circling motion that had you seeing stars several minutes (hours?) ago. His lips traced the shell of your ear, your jaw, down your neck, and finally your lips. Again and again, his mouth met yours in messy passion, each kiss more crazed than the last. He pulled away just enough to see your sloppy expressions, a thin strand of spit connecting your moistened tongues.

"Can you cum for me one more time? Just one more, I promise."

"I can't, I can't—Link, I'll die—“

"No you won't, love." He crooned. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, just in time to see stars exploding into a symphony of colors. "Just one more. I know you can do it."

Your face scrunched in response to the nearing summit, the precipice that you had been thrown over more times than you could count. You could feel your core spasming and knotting and folding in on itself; Link was totally immersed, body and soul, in your essence as he neared his own powerful climax.

"You're all mine." He panted, his hips accentuating each word with increasing ferocity. "Mine, mine, mine."

A tremor unlike anything you've ever felt before rattled your bones. A voice unrecognizable to you called for Link as you released all over his twitching cock and sheets. Your violent clenching rocketed Link to cloud nine, who pulled out just in time to cover you with thick, white ribbons. His warmth splattered onto your thighs, your stomach, your chest—all of which still tingled from his earlier acts.

His quaking frame crumbled, landing squarely on top of you. Your breaths hitched and mixed with each other, and a satiated silence enveloped the room. Once Link had mostly recovered, he heaved himself off of you and draped a lazy arm over your spent form.

"Are you okay?" He rasped, smoothing the sweaty nest that your hair had become. "Let me clean you up."

You tried to lift an arm—a finger even—to assure Link that you were okay but gods if you had to exert any more effort you were certain you would disintegrate. Link swung his legs over the bed, tripped into his boxers, and hobbled over to a pitcher sitting on his desk. The clear sounds of liquid life flowing into a bowl were like music to your ringing, pulsing ears.

In just a few moments he was by your side, bowl, towels, and cups in hand. You tried to sit up, but the bed stuck to your back like a bond that could not be broken. The rough cloth gingerly wiped away Link's earlier messes, and he dipped the other towel in the bowl before patting your face with the same degree of care. The cool water against your flushed skin sent pleasant jolts through your body.

"How are you feeling?" He asked again, pressing his palm into your cheek and pulling you up to drink. "Are you hurt anywhere? Was I too rough?"

You took the most refreshing swig of water in your life, feeling your parched throat soften enough for use.

"I'm okay, Link." You croaked at last. How long had it been since you last spoke coherent sentences? "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Of course." His warm smile alighted butterflies in your stomach; however, his features faltered slightly and his eyes turned downcast. "I, um..."

Quiet hesitance warbled his voice into a gut-wrenching tune; you gently cupped his hands, running your thumbs over each scar as you steadily held his gaze.

"I don't want this to be a one-time thing, I want..." He sucked in a quivering breath. "To be with you."

A kiss, soft and sweet, silenced all the doubt pounding away in his chest. Your lips moved purposefully, taking time to convey all the pent-up feelings that had been swirling inside you for so long. You dangled your arms behind his neck as you pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to meet his blown-out pupils.

"I want to be with you too."

Relief unfurrowed his brows and relaxed his jaw.

"Really...?"

"Yes! Though to be honest, I've always pictured our first few moments together as a couple in a more... innocent setting." You gestured to... everything and Link's belly flexed in laughter.

"So did I. But gods..." His lips ghosted the curve of your shoulder, traveling up your neck, and ending at your ear. "You felt so good, (F/N)..."

"L-Link..." You whimpered, your body lowering back down while your now-lover towered above you. Without warning, an arm snaked under your knees and the other wrapped behind your back. With a yelp, you spilled into his arms and two towels fell into your lap.

"The baths are just around the corner." A soft warmth bloomed on the center of your forehead. "Let's get cleaned up, shall we?"

♤♢ ~ bonus scene ~ ♡♧

"Your Highness, are you sure about—?"

"Yes, yes! I've already got it all figured out. All you have to do is pack your things and go!" Zelda shoved two official-looking documents into your arms and scooted you and Link closer to the door. Your dug heels were no match for the princess's sudden prowess.

And what could those documents possibly be?

Why, records of a cabin rental in Faron Woods, of course!

"B-But what about Link? He's your personal knight, after all."

"I've already arranged security details with one of the squadrons. They will be watching over me until you both get back. In regards to who will be overseeing your duties, I have a few staff members who will help me keep track of everything."

"Your Highness—"

"It's decided!" Zelda exclaimed with more effort, her energy sapped from lugging two unwilling bodies. "You both have been working so hard, so I've been thinking about giving you a weekend off for awhile. Now that you're a couple, this is a perfect chance to have your own little romantic getaway!"

"Wait, Princess Zelda..." Link started slowly, the gears in his head churning away. "It says here there’s only one bed. If you didn't know we were a couple until now... Why did you prepare a cabin with a single bed for the two of us?"

"That...!" Though your back was toward the royal, you could clearly see the 'oh shit' expression on her face. The corner of Link's mouth twitched into an amused smile while your cheeks scarleted.

"Zel, I swear to Hylia, I'm—"

"—gonna have a wonderful time in the woods where you can be as loud as you want. Farewell, and safe travels!"

With one last push, Zelda managed to shove the two of you out of her office before a resounding slam sounded the finality of her decision. But Zelda's closing remarks hung in the air, thickening the atmosphere in blood-chilling realization.

"What's wrong?" Link's sing-song voice mismatched the gravity of of the situation.

"Oh gods... Oh gods oh gods oh gods... How many people do you think heard us last night?"

"Enough for the whole castle to know who fucked you breathless." His face lowered until you were eye-level with his mischievous simper.

"Link!"

"Her Highness was right—you are fun to tease."

"LINK!!!"

#link #link x you #link x reader #link x reader smut #loz link #loz link smut #loz link x reader #link legend of zelda #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #loz smut #legend of zelda smut #legend of zelda

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auraisereigh · 19 days ago

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"Shadows and sparks"

Oneshot

Xaden Riorson x reader

Request + Blurb: Could I request first year reader constantly getting on Xaden's nerves and pushing his buttons until the reader sees Violet and Xaden making out one night and suddenly reader stops interacting with Xaden, which drives him crazy? wc: 5.7 ☆ NO SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. No specific pronous used, i think.

My first request! thank you so, so much lovely! <3

Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me

It had been weeks of trying to get my sword swing right. With daggers, I was skilled—extremely skilled—but swords were a different story. They were heavier, harder to handle. So, I’d started asking Xaden for help.

For the last few weeks, Xaden had been working with me, but it never seemed like he actually wanted to. That thought alone filled me with insecurity.

Today, I had one of those rare moments as a first year where I had nothing on my schedule. I saw it as the perfect opportunity to get in some extra training.

But for that, I needed Xaden.

Lucky me, he just happened to be in the training room, his friend Garrick not far off. Both of them were clearly caught up in their own routines.

I hesitated for a moment before slowly making my way over to him, sword in hand. I always doubted myself when asking for his help. Sure, he did help, but it never felt like he actually enjoyed it. Maybe he only did it because I’m a marked one.

“Hey…” I said quietly, my voice barely audible. I swallowed hard, steeling myself before trying again. “Would you mind helping me with that swing? I think I almost have it.” I tried to sound casual, throwing in a touch of friendliness for good measure.

He stopped mid-movement and turned toward me, his cold eyes locking onto mine. Yep, definitely annoyed.

I sucked in a deep breath. “Just a moment…please?” I tried again, my tone softer this time.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall to his side. He dropped his sword. “Just a moment,” he said, his voice as sharp and cutting as the blade in my hand.

Xaden was always the same when he gave instructions—sharp, and to the point. Even after the session ended and he stepped off the mat, he didn’t soften. No goodbye, no comment on what I should work on. It was strange—he always had something to say, some correction to offer for next time.

Not today. Today, I had officially pushed all his buttons and that made me feel horrible.

Later that night, about an hour before curfew, I wandered through the massive halls of the Riders Quadrant. With the freezing months settling in, a nice hot drink seemed like a good idea.

I turned toward the courtyard when I heard voices—two of them. A man and a woman.

“We’ll both regret it,” the man said, his tone low and laced with frustration.

No…wait. That’s Xaden’s voice.

“Naturally,” the woman replied, her voice calm and familiar. Violet Sorrengail.

As quietly as I could, I moved toward the edge of the wall. I peeked around the corner, but I immediately wished I hadn’t.

Violet and Xaden. Kissing.

I bit my lip. No, it wasn’t just kissing—she was practically climbing him.

I stepped back from the wall, sucking in a shaky breath to stop myself from trembling.

I never felt anything romantic for Xaden—or at least that’s what I told myself. He was helpful, even when he never seemed to want to be. But seeing them together…it hurt more than I expected.

It's probably better this way. If i don't talk to him, i won't have to face the humuliation of knowing he chose someone else.

The urge to look again, to confirm what I’d seen, was huge. But I knew what I saw. No need to make it worse.

♤

It had been five days since I last spoke to Xaden—or more accurately, since I started avoiding him. The ache in my chest hadn’t eased, no matter how much I tried to bury it.

I spent most of my free time practicing. Training felt like the only way to get him out of my head, though it never worked completely.

It was nearly dark, the training room clearing out as the hours ticked by. I swung my sword again, harder this time, pouring my frustration into each movement.

“Use that much force, and you’ll cut your own head off.”

I froze at the sharp voice behind me.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to face Xaden. You can do this, I told myself.

“I don’t recall asking your opinion,” I said, keeping my tone neutral as I buried my emotions.

He raised a brow, the scarred one. “You asked me to teach you,” he argued, his voice just as sharp.

“Do you think I don’t notice you slipping out of every room I walk into? Avoiding me like I’ve done something wrong?” He steps closer, his voice low and cutting. “Tell me what I did.”

I scoffed and turned back toward my mat, but before I could pick up my sword, his hand wrapped around my wrist.

“Let go,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to pull away.

“No,” he said firmly. “Not until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me. And don’t lie—we both know you have.”

His grip didn’t loosen, but his tone softened slightly, the sharp edge still unmistakable.

“I don’t get involved in relationship drama,” I replied sarcastically, giving him a pointed look.

His frown deepened. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You and Violet,” I said, raising a brow. “I’m not getting between that mess.”

His grip finally loosened, and he stepped back, confusion flickering across his face.

“Violet and I are not…that is not—we’re not together,” he said sharply.

“She climbed you like a tree five nights ago,” I deadpanned, meeting his gaze head-on.

For a moment, he just stared at me. Then, to my shock, a grin spread across his face—wider than I’d ever seen.

“You’re jealous,” he said, his tone almost teasing.

“Excuse me?” I shot back, taken aback. “I assure you, I am not jealous. I just refuse to be part of a mess.”

He stepped closer, and I instinctively backed into the wall. His hands came up, caging me in.

“I assure you,” he said softly, his voice dropping lower, “there’s nothing between Violet and me. What you saw was her first time experiencing the mating bond between our dragons.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he beat me to it.

“Surprisingly, I only have eyes for you.”

My breath hitched, his words catching me completely off guard. “You don’t show it,” I managed to say after a moment. "All you’ve ever done is push me away.”

His brows furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. “Because I can’t think straight when you’re around. You’re stubborn, infuriating, and you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

He sighed, the softness in his expression almost foreign. “It’s difficult to teach you when all I want to do is kiss you.”

Excuse me? There is no way that this man just admitted that. The usual cold, emotionless man that I had been stupidly falling for did not just admit to want to kiss me.

"what?" I whisper out, not trusting my voice to talk any louder or say anything else.

One of his hands cup my face and I can feel my cheeks flush. "All I want to do is kiss you." He repeats, his voice is just as confident as before.

I think for a moment before I speak again. "Then why don't you?" The question is soft and I can barely even finish it as his mouth crashes on mine.

The kiss is rough, just as I expected from this man. His hand on my face tightens and his other hand goes to my waist. He squeezes my waist softly as the kiss deepens.

Gods, this man.

After a few more seconds he pulls away, leaving my breathless as I lean against the wall.

"That was..." I start breathless. "Perfect," he finishes for me. A smile creeps up my face, I can feel my body heat up more every second.

"yeah....yeah, it was perfect," I repeat and I lift my eyes to his. He seems to be feeling the heat to.

"we can finish what we started in my room." He proposes and my eyes widen slightly-- not in fear, no, in anticipation.

I nod my face quickly. "Yeah sounds amazing. Sounds perfect." I say with a smile. He gives me a grin.

"Let's go then." He says grabbing my hand.

♤

#xaden x reader #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #fourth wing #iron flame #onyx storm #the empyrean #bodhi durran #brennan x star #brennan sorrengail x reader #mira sorrengail #violet sorrengail #brennan sorrengail #fen riorson #garrick tavis x reader #liam mairi #bodhi durran x reader #emprean story

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jj0k3rs · 7 months ago

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hsr men when you're sick ! (hsr x reader)

last post for the night, hope you enjoy !

requests are open ! ty guys for sending some, they will be completed tomorrow!!

characters included: jing yuan , sunday , argenti

---------------------------♤--------------------------

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rikabluejay · 26 days ago

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MDNI!!!!!

Hard thoughts

Just thinking about….

♤Sunghoon is known for his calm demeanor and soft interior, but you’ve learned the hard way never to piss him off. The moment you push him too far, the shift is instant. His normally gentle touch turns firm, his gaze darkens, and the air between you thickens with tension. You can feel it in every controlled movement, every slow breath he takes, as if he’s waiting for the right moment to remind you that his patience isn’t limitless. By the time he’s done with you, your ability to walk away will be the last thing on your mind.

♤Sunghoon is also known for his protective side, especially when it comes to his loved ones, and it’s no different when it comes to you—except it’s much more intense. You’re his, and his alone, and the moment someone dares to cross your boundaries, you can feel the shift in him. His calm demeanor cracks, and a dangerous edge takes over. He’ll intervene if necessary, but when you’re alone, that protective fire doesn’t fade—it intensifies. He takes it out on you, guiding you through his frustration in ways that remind you just how much you belong to him.

♤You’ll take whatever he gives you, no complaints, because deep down you both know that nothing is ever “too much” for either of you. You thought you were the kinkiest person you knew—until you met Sunghoon. He pushes boundaries with a gentle, calm hand, showing you a side of yourself you never thought existed. With him, you learn just how far you’re willing to go, and every moment leaves you craving more, trusting him completely to guide you to places you’ve never been before.

♤When you’re good to him, Sunghoon makes sure you’re rewarded, and in his eyes, you’re always deserving of it. “Good girls always get rewards,” he murmurs, his voice smooth with satisfaction. Whether it’s bringing heaven to you with tender care spending hours between your legs, he’ll do whatever it takes. For his princess, he’ll always go the extra mile, giving you what you crave because you’ve been such a good girl to him. His care and intensity intertwine, making every moment feel like a reward, just for you.

♤You both had a rule—the only time you’re allowed to touch yourself is when he’s abroad, on a call, sometimes even a video call. But the moment he’s back in the country, the rule is clear: you absolutely cannot. You, however, broke that rule, and Sunghoon caught you. It’s probably the only time you’ll ever break it—or maybe just the first time, because when you’re feeling mischievous again, you know Sunghoon’s not the kind of man to let anything slide. He’ll remind you of that rule, in ways that leave you breathless, pushing your limits and testing how far you’ll go before you beg him for forgiveness.

♤Sunghoon knows exactly how to tease you, drawing it out until your last ounce of patience snaps. He enjoys watching you squirm, the way your breath catches, and the frustration builds in you. Every move he makes, every whispered word, is designed to push you closer to the edge. And when you’re on the verge of tears, he knows he’s won. If you manage to stay good, he’ll reward you, but if you don’t—his punishments are relentless. His words cut deep, sharp and unyielding, making every second feel like an eternity as he tests just how much you can take before you break.

♤Sunghoon is always in control, but you can see the flicker of amusement in his eyes when he’s teasing you. He enjoys watching you try to hold it together, knowing exactly when to push you just a little further. And when you finally snap, he’s there to catch you, making sure you’re okay, but leaving you craving more.

A/N: lol idk if this is my best work but enjoy people😮‍💨 you can leave me asks and requests if you want to✨

#enhypen #enhypen hyung line #smut #sunghoon #enha imagines #enhypen drabbles #enha smut #enha x reader #enha #enha sunghoon #enhypen x reader #enhypen sunghoon #hard thoughts

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httpsserene · 5 months ago

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𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 | 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞

✦➜♤ F1 KINKTOBER 2023 | httpsserene's first kinktober event (10 separate kinks with f1 drivers).

✦➜♤ 1K SPECIAL - TRACK LIMITS | max and charles don’t mind receiving a five-second penalty for slipping past your boundaries. seeing a black and white flag doesn’t scare them in the slightest; not when you're performing so well under their guidance.

♤ 2K SPECIAL - THE DANIEL RICCIARDO EDITION | it's his one-man show. you ask for danny ric, and he will always over-deliver.

3K V-DAY CELEBRATION - ROUTINE MAINTENANCE | 3k followers prompt list & nsfw alphabet requests.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐀 -> 𝐏 (𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐑 -> 𝐖 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨)

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ ...coming soon...

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

➜♡ SEAL YOU LATER | alex makes the worst first impression. you try to stay mad at him, no matter how badly he tries to make it up to you.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ ...coming soon...

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

♡ HOBBY HOPPER | nobody can keep up with your growing list of hobbies, except fernando.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ ...coming soon...

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ ...coming soon...

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

✦➜♤ F1 KINKTOBER 2023 | witchcraft & aphrodisiac kink *view in special editions

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ ...coming soon...

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

➜♤ F1 KINKTOBER 2023 | tender sex & cockwarming kink *view in special editions

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ ...coming soon...

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ ...coming soon...

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

˖♡ - ̗̀ ⇢ ...coming soon...

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

♤ YOU GOT ME TOUCHING | there’s no reason for charles to be jealous of men who are stupid enough to think they have a chance with you.

♡ BED HEAD | your daughter is her father’s twin.

♡ CUDDLES | morning cuddles. (poly!fic with max verstappen)

✦➜♤ F1 KINKTOBER 2023 | corruption kink w mv1 & orgasm denial kink *view in special editions

✦➜♤ TRACK LIMITS | max and charles don’t mind receiving a five-second penalty for slipping past your boundaries. seeing a black and white flag doesn’t scare them in the slightest; not when you're performing so well under their guidance. *view in special editions

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

♡ 1-800-HELP-ME-PARK | fans notice that charles’ cars are suddenly being parked perfectly. come to find out, his (secret) girlfriend has been parking his ferrari like butter.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

♡ SINGING IN THE SHOWER | lando’s usually well spent sunday off with his girlfriend is different this time around. you put off your everything shower and wash-day causing some edits to the usual routine. how the night ends, however, is 100% lando’s fault.

♔♢ EMOTIONAL AFFAIR | lando has many regrets, the most painful one being the fact that he encouraged you to date oscar.

♡ SNORING | lando snores.

♡ GROCERIES | you know a thing or two about baking, because you’ve baked a thing or two.

➜♤ F1 KINKTOBER 2023 | body worship kink *view in special editions

➜♡♤ SIP OF SUNSHINE | as a cart girl, you’ve never been intrigued by any of the men you serve on the green. by complete chance, you meet carlos and lando—they monopolize your summers for the unforeseeable future. (poly!fic with carlos sainz jr)

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

✦♧ LET'S GO GOLFING | maybe you shouldn’t be late to any event you go to, or bare minimum don’t make any bets you know you’re not going to win. having no hand-eye coordination is not great when you’re being forced to play golf.

✦♡ POSH SPICE | a few years ago, everybody was saying you were too pretty for lando, but now they’re drooling over him? you will not be letting this slide.

✦♡♧ MAMA Y PAPA | you and lando are blessed with a beautiful baby boy.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

♡♢ BEST I EVER HAD | oscar really just wants to hear you laugh again.

♡ UPTOWN | best i ever had - part two

♡ GROCERIES | you know a thing or two about baking, because you’ve baked a thing or two.

➜♤ F1 KINKTOBER 2023 | car sex & squirting kink *view in special editions

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐬

✦♧ WHO TOLD HIM TO GET JACKED | oscar’s girlfriend is feral on main.

✦♧✢ HOT AND READY | you accidentally leak a private song you made as a birthday gift for your boyfriend.

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 (𝐑 -> 𝐖)

#table of contents.#toc: page one.#serene's chapters.

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twisted-lies · 2 years ago

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༊·˚ Day 22 of @multieditors-teahouse pride month challenge!

Lesbian Couple :: Matching Lesbian Togachaco Icons

♡ / ⇆ if saving | credit if using

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withleeknow · 1 year ago

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updated: 08.01.2025 · latest: wishful thinking (08)

request & blurb masterlist bts masterlist

schedule + wips · taglist · requests · faq · ko-fi

come claim an emoji ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

♡ = fluff · ♤ = angst · ♧ = smut

the fics are sorted from most recent to oldest.

⌜ BANG CHAN ⌟

💌 DRABBLES:

outside clothes ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.5k ⤷ he’s warmth and happiness personified.

like you used to ( ♤ ) — est. relationship; 0.6k ⤷ “kiss me like you did the first time under that shitty street light near the corner of my old apartment.”

⌜ LEE MINHO⌟

☁️ ONESHOTS & SERIES:

moonstruck ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 4.7k ⤷ years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail.

wishful thinking ( ♡ ♤ ♧ ) — friends to lovers, friends with benefits au ⤷ the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

💌 DRABBLES:

lost cause ( ♡ ♤ ) — est. relationship; 0.6k ⤷ it would be so easy, wouldn’t it? for him to pack up before he realizes somewhere down the line that he’s wasted his time and effort on a lost cause?

october 23rd ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 1k ⤷ his big eyes, usually keen and sharp, always soften to a dizzying degree when they look at you.

lifeline ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.7k ⤷ there’s a touch that minho is familiar with, one that makes him drop whatever it is that he could be doing just to be there for you.

whiskers ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.6k ⤷ sometimes he calls them whiskers, sometimes he calls them moons.

seasons of you ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.7k ⤷ minho falls in love with you four times a year.

anchored ( ♡ ♤ ) — est. relationship; 1.0k ⤷ in those instances, you don’t necessarily need him to say anything back, you just want to feel seen and heard.

sweeter ( ♧ ) — est. relationship; 1.4k ⤷ “say it, bunny. make me happy.”

happy place ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.8k ⤷ every pretty color he sees and every beautiful adjective in his vocabulary? that’s all you.

magnolia ( ♡ ♤ ) — est. relationship; 0.4k ⤷ there are some things that you just have to process on your own, some motions you have go through by yourself.

thirteen percent ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 1.2k ⤷ it was beyond endearing, but it was also fucking 4:18am.

my moon and stars ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 1.1k ⤷ he’s full of surprises today, it seems.

forgetful ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.9k ⤷ no matter how callous his facade is, he is still the type to love you quietly. tenderly. completely.

remedy ( ♡ ♤ ) — est. relationship; 1.2k ⤷ “you don’t have to talk to me. just… stay with me for a while.”

away from you ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.9k ⤷ absence makes the heart grow fonder - maybe there’s some truth in that.

fujifilm x100v ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.3k ⤷ your fujifilm x100v, minho always says he hates the thing.

endgame ( ♡ ♧ ) — est. relationship; 1.1k ⤷ the thought of ever loving anyone else seems like an impossible one. he’s it for you. this is your endgame, right here.

quiet ( ♡ ♧ )— est. relationship; 0.6k ⤷ “i always like your voice. you know that.”

in the dark ( ♡ ♤ ) — friends to lovers; 0.6k ⤷ he’s too stubborn for his own good and he’s too good for his own sake.

fold ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.9k ⤷ “you lasted 58 minutes. so close. almost made it a full hour.”

to build a home ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.5k ⤷ home isn’t always a place. sometimes, home is a person.

⌜ HWANG HYUNJIN ⌟

💌 DRABBLES:

the nut graph ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.8k ⤷ your boyfriend loves the rain; there’s something so charmingly idyllic about the rain and he’s nothing if not a romantic.

rue de rivoli ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.9k ⤷ any city is love when you’re with him.

⌜ HAN JISUNG ⌟

💌 DRABBLES:

parallel lines ( ♤ ) — best friends au, unrequited love au; 1.3k ⤷ so quick, so easy. the process of leaving you, done in mere minutes.

⌜ KIM SEUNGMIN ⌟

💌 DRABBLES:

six minutes ( ♡ ) — friends to lovers (?); 0.8k ⤷ “i don’t think a kidnapper would get up early and google how to soft boil eggs either.”

⌜ OT8 ⌟

letters i didn't send to you ( ♤ ) — est. relationship; 0.7k ⤷ take me home, will you? let's go back to new york.

somewhere only we know ( ♡ ) — est. relationship; 0.6k ⤷ maybe it’s just being with him, maybe it’s just being in love.

#navigation #masterlist

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vibelladonna · 2 months ago

Text

❛ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── ·

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Solivan Brugmansia, or just Sol, a super mysterious artist who kinda blends the lines between being the creator and the creation himself. His piercing eyes and his quirky style pull you into his world of raw creativity and quiet intensity.

When you're invited to his studio to complete a college art project, you’ll be sucked into his art, his silence, and that eerie feeling that he sees way more of you than you expected. The real challenge? Keep your focus on your brushwork.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Fem Body! Reader, Forced Proximity, Domestic Fluff (At the start), Artistic Passion, Obsessive Behavior, non-consensual, unwanted touching, grinding, dubious consent, predatory behavior, penetration, very rough sex, whiny submissive Sol at one point and dominant Sol at another point, same goes to you—reader as well, and somewhat long ass word count—I got carried away, took two days straight to write—I’m so so sorry.

I honestly wasn’t planning on writing Sol because, let’s face it, he already gets plenty of love from the fandom (and, not gonna lie, he scares me—a LOT). That said, I still love his character design and how he was created! But someone asked for more, so here we are. I’ll be putting together a master list soon and opening up requests since I wasn’t expecting so much love for my Crowe fanfic. Seriously, thank you! Anyway, hope you enjoy reading this one!

You stood outside the apartment door, the faint hum of the building’s creaky pipes filling the silence. A faint scent of paint and something sweet—floral, maybe—escaped through the crack at the base of the door. Your fist hovered briefly before you knocked, your knuckles rapping gently against the wood.

You'd come here to his apartment for a college project on Expressionism, drawn by his reputation as the quiet genius in your class. The space was a living embodiment of his mind—a sanctuary of creativity and controlled chaos. Canvases leaned against walls, his surfaces erupting with bold strokes and raw emotion. The air hummed faintly, tinged with the smell of oil paint, charcoal, and the faintest trace of something floral—perhaps the namesake of the mysterious Solivan Brugmansia—Sol for short.

There was a pause. The sound of footsteps approached, deliberate and unhurried, before the door clicked open.

Sol stood there, framed by his apartment’s warm, ambient light. His black hair, streaked with vibrant green, gleamed faintly, catching the dim overhead light. The half-up, half-down style gave his sharp features an ethereal quality, the long central streak of hair falling between his orange and crimson eyes while two smaller strands framed his face.

Today, he was dressed as part of the canvas he worked on. A black shirt, fitted but comfortable, paired with matching pants, both splattered with faint remnants of past creative frenzies. Over this, he wore a painting apron streaked with the vibrancy of forgotten colors—a kaleidoscope of blues, yellows, and pinks. It looked almost ceremonial, as though he were a priest of Expressionism itself.

“Hey,” Sol said, his voice soft but resonant, as if each word had been weighed and measured before leaving pierced lips. He stepped aside, gesturing you in.

You entered cautiously, suddenly hyperaware of how much space you were occupying. Sol’s apartment was an eclectic mix of chaos and artistry. The walls were lined with shelves stuffed with books, jars of brushes, and sketchpads in various stages of use. Canvases leaned haphazardly against one wall, his surfaces alive with strokes of vibrant, chaotic color.

A large easel stood in the corner by a wall, its frame splattered with years of paint, and next to it was a table strewn with tubes of oil paint, jars of water, and what looked like a half-finished sculpture.

The furniture was minimal but intentional. A worn, paint-streaked couch sat across from a low coffee table, which had been overtaken by sketchbooks and coffee mugs. The faint glow of string lights wound around the ceiling added warmth, softening the industrial feel of the concrete floors.

Sol closed the door behind you, the lock clicking faintly. “Shoes off, please,” He said, his gaze flicking briefly to your feet. He was wearing socks, his black shirt, and matching pants, giving them a striking silhouette beneath the paint-streaked apron he wore. “Do you always live like… this?” you asked, gesturing vaguely at the organized chaos.

Sol glanced around as if seeing the space through your eyes for the first time. “It’s functional,” He said simply, before pulling a stool toward the easel and sitting. “I know where everything is.” He reached for a brush, spinning it absently between his fingers. “Did you bring the sketches?” You nodded, pulling a folder from your bag. “Yeah. I mean, they’re rough. I wasn’t sure if they’d fit the theme.” You hesitated before handing them over.

Sol didn't say anything right away. Instead, he put the brush down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he flipped through your work. His gaze was intense, those fiery eyes scanning each page with a focus that made you feel bare.

His eyes were a masterpiece in themselves, an intense study of Central Heterochromia: an inner ring of burning orange encircled by an outer hue of crimson red. When he looked at you, it felt as though he were dissecting your very soul, layer by delicate layer.

“This one,” Sol said finally, tapping one of the sketches. It was an abstract piece—a swirl of jagged lines and harsh shading. “It’s raw. Honest. Use this as your foundation.”

“Really?” You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing his accidentally. Sol didn’t pull away. “I wasn’t sure if it was too… messy.”

“That’s the point,” Sol said, his voice quiet but firm. He set the folder aside and stood, moving toward the table where his paints were arranged. “Expressionism isn’t about clean lines. It’s about emotion. About what’s inside.” He picked up a palette, his long fingers deftly squeezing out colors in no particular order. “You brought what’s inside. I’ll help you pull it out.” You couldn’t help but watch as he moved, each action deliberate and fluid.

“So… how do we start?” You asked.

Sol turned to you, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips. "You start by not overthinking. Paint what you feel. I'll be here if you need guidance." He handed you a brush, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before pulling away. "The colors are ready. Paint whatever you like.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the lights and the soft beat of your heart. Something in his presence was grounding, even as his piercing gaze seemed to strip you down to your essence. You took a deep breath and stepped toward the easel, the weight of Sol's quiet encouragement settling on your shoulders. "All right," you said, gripping the brush a little tighter.

"Let's do this.” You added.

Sol’s eyes followed your every movement, unblinking and intent. The way your hand gripped the brush—a touch too tight, almost desperate—and the soft inhale you took before the bristles kissed the canvas was enough to captivate him.

To Sol, it was as though he was watching the birth of a masterpiece, even if the real art hadn’t yet materialized on the canvas. He was utterly mesmerized, a silent spectator to something far beyond mere paint and pigment.

Then, in a sudden, mischievous shift, you dipped your brush into a light green on the palette and, without hesitation, swiped it across his cheek. The coolness of the paint startled him, his eyes widening as he froze in place. For a beat, Sol said nothing, stunned into stillness. Then, slowly, a small smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth, the icy veneer of his composure cracking ever so slightly.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement glimmering in his crimson-and-orange gaze. “Really?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest undercurrent of a chuckle as he wiped at his cheek with his fingers. “Was that necessary?”

As he spoke, his hand casually reached for another brush, dipping it into a bold shade of red.

Your grin widened at his reaction, a playful spark lighting your eyes. “Necessary?” you teased, tilting your head. “Maybe not. But it was definitely worth it. Besides,” you added, twirling your brush between your fingers, “your reaction was priceless.”

Sol’s smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing as though calculating his next move. He leaned forward slightly, closing the space between you as the red-tipped brush hovered just inches from your skin. “You’re asking for it now,” he said softly, his tone playful but laced with a subtle edge. “Challenging an artist in his territory? Bold move.”

Your heart skipped at the proximity, but you held your ground. Meeting his gaze with equal intensity, you let your smirk turn sly. “Oh, I’m not just asking for it,” you quipped, your voice low and teasing. “I’m daring you to try.”

Sol’s eyes darkened, his playful expression giving way to something more intense, almost… predatory.

The brush in his hand swayed, the paint clinging to the tip as it hovered closer to your face. His voice dropped to a whisper, sending a shiver through you. “You don’t even know what you’re playing at,” he murmured, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smile.

Then, with a sudden and deliberate movement, he swiped the red paint across the bridge of your nose. The cool sensation made you blink in surprise, but the shock quickly melted into a laugh. You reached for another brush, dipping it into a rich green. “Rules, you say?” you said with mock defiance, a glint of mischief dancing your eyes. “But isn’t breaking them half fun?”

You drew the brush across the canvas instead of retaliating directly, your strokes bold and deliberate. Sol’s eyes flicked between the emerging shapes and your determined expression, his lips twitching with a mix of admiration and confusion.

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, the sound rich and unexpected, sending a pleasant chill down your spine. “You’re not only cheeky,” he said, watching the paint flow in deliberate curves. “You’ve got the right attitude for this. Art isn’t about staying in lines—it’s about breaking through boundaries.”

His words carried a teasing edge, but beneath them was a subtle warmth, an acknowledgment of your courage and creativity. Still, as his gaze lingered on you, there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“Careful, though,” he added softly, a smirk creeping back to his lips. “You might end up inspiring me more than the canvas.” The tension hung in the air like a taut string, electric and alive, as the two of you exchanged another glance.

You noticed the way Sol cast fleeting glances, darting his eyes between the canvas and your face. His expression was perfectly schooled, calm, and unreadable, but the tiniest flicker of amusement betrayed him. You knew he was holding back, his true opinion hidden behind that enigmatic smirk. Your eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of determination flaring within you as you paused your brush mid-stroke.

You met his gaze with a sly smile, your voice dripping with playful accusation. “You’re such a liar. Just say it—I’m bad at painting.”

Sol chuckled, a soft, throaty sound that was more amused than menacing this time. The smirk on his lips grew, and he didn’t bother to hide it as he leaned slightly against the edge of the table. “All right,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “The truth? You’re terrible at painting.” Before one could object, he held up a hand, his expression mock-serious.

"Your brushwork technique is messy, your composition is unbalanced, and your color harmony… well, let's just say it's as chaotic as your personality.” He said.

Your jaw dropped, and a flicker of indignation flashed in your eyes. But you composed yourself quickly, raising your chin in defiance. "Oh, is that right?" you retorted coolly, crossing your arms. "Well then, I suppose you think you could do a lot better."

Sol’s crimson-and-orange eyes gleamed with mischief, and he raised an eyebrow as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “Of course I could.”

Without waiting for permission, he stepped closer to the canvas, grabbing a clean brush from the palette. He leaned forward, studying your piece intently, his head tilting just slightly as he took in every line and stroke. For a moment, he said nothing, and the quiet stretched between you.

Then, with a smirk, he glanced back at you. “But don’t worry,” he said, dipping his brush into a pale yellow. “I’m not going to paint over your work. That would be cruel.” His tone softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he added, “You’ve got potential. Under the right tutelage, of course.”

You watched as Sol began painting over the blank spaces on the canvas. His brush moved lightly, in long, deliberate strokes. Each movement was precise, controlled, and yet carried an effortless grace. His hand didn’t hesitate, the tip of the brush gliding across the fabric like it was an extension of himself.

Your eyes drifted to his hand, caught by its hypnotic rhythm. It was larger than yours, bony yet strong, the veins along the back prominent as they flexed with the motion. The way his fingers gripped the brush with such confidence… It made you wonder, for a short second, what it might feel like if those same hands brushed against your skin instead of the canvas.

You blinked, startled by the thought, and shook your head slightly. But your gaze returned to his hands almost immediately, as though they had a gravity of their own. Something was captivating about them—the way they moved with purpose and elegance, the way the bristles danced under his direction.

“What?” Sol’s voice broke your trance, and you snapped your eyes up to meet his gaze. His lips curved into a teasing smile as though he’d caught you staring. “Don’t tell me I’ve already inspired awe.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes to cover your embarrassment. “Awe? Hardly. I’m just… observing your technique.” You gestured vaguely toward the canvas, trying to sound nonchalant. “Mm-hm,” he murmured, clearly unconvinced.

He leaned back slightly, his free hand resting on the table as he continued to paint. “So, what do you think? Learning something?”

Your lips twitched into a small smile, your earlier indignation melting into something lighter. “Well,” you began, tilting your head, “I can see that you’re good with your hands. I’ll give you that.”

Sol paused, glancing at you sidelong with a raised brow. His smirk deepened, taking on an almost dangerous edge. “Careful with compliments like that,” he said, his voice soft but laced with a playful warning. “You might give me the wrong idea.”

Heat crept into your cheeks, but you held your ground, determined not to give Sol the satisfaction of flustering you. Instead, you stepped closer, the faintest hint of a challenge in your stance. “Oh, I’m sure you’re used to hearing it,” you shot back. “You’re practically begging for praise with the way you show off.”

Sol laughed, low and rich, the sound like velvet brushing against the charged air between you. Straightening, he set his brush down and leaned slightly against the table, his gaze never leaving yours. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his smirk widening just enough to make your pulse quicken. “But it’s working, isn’t it?”

Your brow lifted, and you tilted your head, feigning disinterest even as you studied him. His piercing gaze, the subtle confidence in his posture, that maddening smirk—it was infuriating how self-assured he was. And yet, there was something magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to look away.

You rolled your eyes, breaking the moment with a scoff. “Fine,” you said, lifting your brush again and stepping toward the canvas. “But don’t expect me to call you a genius. Not yet, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Sol replied, his voice tinged with amusement. He shifted slightly, leaning down, watching you with a quiet intensity. The air between you felt electric and playful but threaded with an undertone of something deeper, something neither of you dared to name.

You focused on the canvas, trying to tune out the way his gaze burned into your back. But as the moments stretched, your thoughts wandered again. Did he feel it too—that spark, that pull? Or was it just your imagination running wild?

“Do you want me to guide you?” Sol’s sudden question cut through your thoughts, startling you. You glanced over your shoulder at him, your brush hesitating mid-stroke. “Guide me?” His expression flickered with faint amusement as he straightened, stepping closer. “Your brushwork on our painting,” he clarified. “Are you sure you’re paying attention?”

The flush on your cheeks deepened. You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts—most of them about him—that you’d completely zoned out. Trying to cover your embarrassment, you huffed, lifting your chin slightly. “Of course, I’m paying attention,” you retorted, though your voice betrayed you with its defensiveness. “I’ve been observing, just like you said.”

The corner of Sol’s mouth quirked, a small, knowing smirk that sent a spark of irritation and something else through you. “Is that so?” he murmured.

Before you could respond, he moved closer, standing just behind you. The air around you shifted, warmer now, charged with his presence. You felt the heat of his body at your back, the faint rustle of fabric as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath against your ear.

“You’re about as good at lying as you are at painting,” Sol said softly, his voice low and teasing. “You haven’t been paying attention to anything but me for the last five minutes.” Your protest died on your lips as his hand—larger, warmer—wrapped gently around yours, guiding your grip on the brush. You froze, your heart pounding as his chin rested lightly on your shoulder, the weight and proximity making it hard to breathe.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Just follow me.”

Your hand moved under his guidance, the brush sweeping across the canvas in a smooth, deliberate arc. Together, you created a perfect swirl, the paint gliding like silk beneath the bristles. Your breath hitched, your gaze darting to his face out of the corner of your eye.

Sol’s focus was entirely on the canvas, his eyes following the line of the brush with the same intensity he’d given you earlier. A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he added another gentle stroke, the motion fluid and practiced. When his gaze finally flicked to yours, the warmth in his expression sent a jolt through you.

“Pay attention, please,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady the rush of emotions his proximity stirred. But then his eyes lingered a moment too long, and a small, knowing smirk curled at the edge of his lips again. Finding a burst of courage—or recklessness—you turned your head slightly, your faces just inches apart now. “I thought you said I wasn’t paying attention,” you said, your tone playful, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Sol’s smile deepened, his eyes flickering between yours and the canvas. “You weren’t,” he said, his breath brushing against your skin. “But maybe you’re finally getting the hang of it.” His low chuckle reverberated softly against your back, and the way his fingers guided your wrist—it was impossible not to feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

You swallowed hard, determined to keep your focus on the canvas in front of you, but Sol's presence was utterly overwhelming. "Maybe I just needed the right tutor," you managed to say, your voice wavering just enough to betray how unsteady you felt.

Sol let out a quiet laugh, warm and teasing. "Maybe you did," he replied, his tone carrying a playful edge. His hand adjusted slightly, guiding the brush into a smooth curve. “But you’ll need to focus for it to work.”

Easier said than done. He leaned in closer, his chest brushing lightly against your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck. Your heartbeat hammered, your skin prickling with the awareness of how close he was. His scent—a faint mix of paint, something floral, and the slightest hint of musk—filled your senses, making it almost impossible to concentrate.

The brush wavered slightly in your hand, the line on the canvas faltering. “Careful,” Sol murmured, his lips almost brushing your ear. “Don’t move too much. You’ll smudge our work.”

Your grip on the brush tightened as you fought to focus, but it was no use. The combination of his steady breathing, the warmth radiating from his body, and that damn smirk you knew was probably still on his lips—it was too much. Your arm shifted slightly, your elbow bumping against his.

Sol sighed, soft but pointed, his hand slipping away from yours. “All right,” he said, straightening up and stepping back. His tone was still calm, but there was a flicker of something firmer beneath it, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “If you can’t be still, maybe we need to change tactics.”

You blinked, turning to face him. “What do you mean?”

Without a word, Sol reached out, his hands firm but careful as he grasped your waist and guided you backward. Before you could process what was happening, you found yourself seated in his lap, his hands steadying you.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Wha—Sol!” you sputtered, heat flooding your face as you tried to wriggle away. “Please stop moving,” he said, his voice quickly said, almost in a warming tone. His arms rested lightly on either side of you, effectively caging you in. “You said you needed the right tutor. This is part of the lesson.”

Your protest died in your throat as you felt his breath against your ear again, his warmth surrounding you completely now. Your pulse was racing, your cheeks burning, but there was something about his calm composure—like this was the most natural thing in the world—that left you utterly speechless.

“You’re too restless,” Sol said, his voice softer now, almost teasing. “You’re going to ruin our painting if you keep squirming.”

“I—I’m not squirming,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you. “Sure you’re not,” he replied, his smirk practically audible. His hands moved to guide yours again, steady and sure as he returned your focus to the canvas. “Now, relax. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Despite your flustered state, his voice and the firm yet gentle pressure of his hands steadied you, guiding the brush in smooth, deliberate strokes. The rhythm of his movements and the closeness of his presence made it impossible to think about anything else.

As you followed his guidance, your breaths began to sync with his, the tension in your shoulders loosening slightly. His hand stayed over yours, directing the brush with practiced ease.

“There,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “See how much better that feels?”

You swallowed, glancing over your shoulder at him. His gaze was focused on the canvas, but the faintest smirk still played at the corner of his lips. His eyes flicked to meet yours briefly, and the intensity in them sent another wave of warmth rushing through you.

“I think you just like being in control,” you said, trying to sound teasing, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Sol chuckled, his breath brushing against your neck. “And I think you like making things harder than they need to be.”

Your heart raced as his words lingered in the air, the tension between you palpable. But before you could respond, Sol’s hand guided yours in another gentle stroke, pulling your focus back to the canvas. “Now,” he said, his tone a bit more playful, “are you going to let me teach you, or do I need to keep you here until you finally pay attention?”

The challenge in his voice made your cheeks burn even hotter, but you rolled your eyes, gripping the brush tighter. “Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll pay attention.”

“Good,” he said, leaning slightly closer. “Because we’re not done yet.” Your pulse raced as Sol’s hands guided yours, the rhythm of the brushstrokes steady under his control. He sat perfectly at ease, holding you on his lap like it was just another part of his creative process.

And you? You were anything but composed.

“When doing this stroke, pay close attention,” Sol murmured again, his voice low and coaxing, his breath brushing against your ear. All you needed to do was Relax. As if you could do that when every inch of you felt like it was vibrating with awareness of him. “No pressure,” he added, his hand over yours, moving the brush in a smooth arc. “Unless you want to mess up and start over.”

You scoffed, tilting your head just enough to glance back at him, a mischievous spark lighting your eyes. “I think you like having me mess up,” you said, your voice laced with defiance. Sol’s lips twitched into a smirk, but he didn’t take the bait. “Maybe,” he said, his tone calm and measured. “But it’s our project. If we waste more time because of you being difficult, that’s on you.”

Something about the calm way he said it made you bristle. You shifted slightly in his lap, testing his patience as you pressed back just enough to feel the firmness of his chest against your back.

“I’m not being difficult,” you said, your tone saccharine and falsely sweet. You turned your head more, your eyes narrowing as you added, “I just think you’re enjoying this a little too much, Sol.”

His brow arched slightly, the only indication that you’d gotten under his skin. “Am I?” he asked, his voice still maddeningly even. But as you shifted again—this time deliberately moving in a way that pressed closer to him—you felt the way his body tensed beneath you.

The faintest hint of red crept into Sol’s cheeks, and his hand on yours tightened slightly before releasing, his composure faltering just enough to make your lips curve into a triumphant smile.

“See?” you said, turning fully now so you were half-facing him, still perched on his lap. “You do enjoy it.”

His crimson-and-orange gaze flicked over you, lingering for just a moment too long before snapping back to your eyes. Something about him was... off.

Not in an unsettling way, but in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. The piercing gaze from those luminous eyes seemed to see more of you than you intended to show. His silence spoke volumes, each glance and measured movement a language of its own.

The way he painted and the way he carried himself made it hard to distinguish where the artist ended, and the art began. Sol wasn't just quiet. He was quiet. And in that stillness, you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame—a dangerous, beautiful thing you couldn't resist.

You noticed it then—the way his expression shifted, the way his pupils dilated slightly as he took in the way your outfit clung to you, a simple, black shirt with a matching pencil skirt, looking like a dress, more fitted than he’d probably realized earlier.

“You’re pushing your luck,” Sol said softly, his voice carrying a warning edge. He was stiff beneath you, his posture taut, as though holding himself together with sheer willpower.

But you weren’t backing off.

Instead, you tilted your neck and leaned in, your face stopping mere inches from his. “Am I?” you whispered, the deliberate echo of his earlier words carrying a teasing, brash confidence.

His reaction was almost immediate. The flush on his cheeks deepened, painting his pale skin with a rosy hue that crept to the tips of his ears. You shifted back slightly in his lap, letting your back brush against his chest, and the sudden contact made him jerk awkwardly on the stool.

Sol swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edges of the seat as though he was anchoring himself. “Please stop,” he said, quieter this time, his voice almost a plea. But the way his molten gaze locked onto yours betrayed him—he didn’t mean it. “Aw.. Why?” you asked, tilting your head with mock innocence. “Am I distracting a great artist from his work?”

His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as his hands flexed on the stool. The tension radiating from him was palpable, and it only spurred you on. His composure was crumbling, piece by piece, and you were determined to break it completely.

“You’re impossible,” Sol muttered, his voice strained.

The triumph in your smile grew, and you leaned closer, just enough for your breath to tease the sensitive skin of his neck. “You could always make me stop,” you murmured, your voice soft and challenging.

For a moment, Sol didn’t move, his gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes. His breathing grew heavier, each exhales brushing against your cheek. You could almost hear the war raging inside him, every bit of his control battling the undeniable pull between you.

Then, in one swift motion, his hand slid to your waist. The firm but steady grip steadied you as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against the side of your neck in a fleeting, feather-light kiss that sent a jolt of electricity racing through you.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed back further into him, daring him to take another step.

Sol’s response was immediate. His teeth grazed your neck, the gentle nibble enough to leave you breathless and your pulse hammering in your ears. His other hand moved to your hip, holding you firmly in place as he pressed another kiss to your neck, this one lingering longer, his lips warm and insistent.

“Still think I’m enjoying this too much?” he murmured, his voice rough and ragged against your skin. Your smirk faltered as heat flushed through you, your ability to respond stolen by the heady sensations he was creating.

Sol chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck, sending another shiver coursing through you. “What’s the matter?” he teased, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “You’re quiet now.”

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady. “I-I’m just giving you a chance to prove your point,” you said, though your defiance was flickering with every second.

“Oh, I’ll prove it,” Sol murmured, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin.

His fingers brushed the hem of your top, skimming the fabric aside to expose more of your collarbone. He continued his trail of kisses, his lips soft but deliberate, his teeth occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin and likely leaving faint red marks.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your mind clouded with the sensation of his mouth, his hands, and the heat of his body enveloping you. When you shifted slightly, testing his patience, Sol growled low in his throat.

He tugged you closer with a sudden movement, turning you slightly on his lap so you faced him. His hands gripped your hips, firm but careful, making sure you wouldn’t lose your balance. His body pressed flush against yours, his thighs anchoring you in place, leaving no space between you.

The sudden awareness of your positions sent a jolt through you, the contrast between his firm frame and your softness making you hyper-aware of every point of contact. His chest brushed yours as he leaned closer, his voice low and dripping with intensity. “Was this an accident?” he asked, his gaze burning into yours. “Or was it on purpose?”

You swallowed thickly, turning your neck behind yourself to allow your eyes to drift to the hollow of his throat. Slowly, you reached out, your index finger tracing a light, teasing path along his collarbone. “Possibly… both,” you murmured.

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could trail your touch any lower. His grip was firm but not painful, his expression a mix of frustration and desire as he forced you to meet his gaze.

“How long,” he asked, his voice dangerously soft, “are you going to keep staring at me?”

Your lips curved into a slow, teasing smile as you tilted your head. “As long as I want to,” you said with a defiant edge. “What’s wrong? Are you going to punish me more?”

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, and his other hand pressed against the small of your back, holding you steady as he leaned in closer. “Don’t be cocky,” he warned, his voice dropping to a rough, predatory whisper. “You don’t want to know the kind of things I’m imagining.”

You glanced down at the growing tension between you—at the unmistakable bulge pressing against your thigh. A flicker of boldness sparked in your expression as your fingers teased over his chest. “I think I already know,” you whispered.

Sol’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching as he tensed beneath you. His lips brushed your ear, his voice a strained mix of frustration and want. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmured, his tone rough, almost ragged.

Before you could form a reply, Sol leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle—it was raw, demanding, and full of the hunger he’d been holding back. Your eyes widened in shock at first, the boldness of his move catching you completely off guard.

But that shock melted quickly, replaced by an undeniable pull that made you lean into him.

Sol’s hands moved to your hips, gripping firmly as he turned you fully to face him on his lap. The motion was smooth but decisive, his strength evident as he shifted you effortlessly. Your knees now rested on either side of his thighs, your bodies pressed flush against one another.

The new position heightened the intensity, your chest brushing his with each labored breath. Sol’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, while his lips moved against yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

You didn’t hesitate, your hands moving to the sides of his face, holding him there as you matched his fervor with your own. The kiss deepened, turning messy and desperate, your mouths moving in sync as though trying to consume each other completely.

Sol broke away for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, his eyes burning into yours with a heat that made your skin tingle. “You’re relentless,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his fingers pressing into your lower back.

You smirked, your lips brushing his as you replied, “And you’re loving it.”

Before he could respond, you leaned back in, reclaiming his mouth with a force that left him no room to argue. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching behind him to untie the apron, quickly removing it from him to have a clear view of his chest.

Slowly, your index finger drags itself down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. The urgency of the moment consumed you, and your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling at first, then unfastening them one by one with increasing speed.

Sol groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you and making your pulse race. His hands moved again, one slipping up to cradle the back of your head, the other gripping your waist to keep you anchored against him.

As his shirt fell open, your hands splayed against his bare chest, your fingertips brushing over his warm skin. The contrast between the cool air and his heat sent a shiver through him, his tone muscles tensing under your touch.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your eyes raking over him as you took in the sight of his now-exposed chest. His skin was pale smooth, his collarbone pronounced, and the faint sheen of sweat glistening under the low light made him look utterly irresistible.

Sol’s lips twitched into a smirk at your lingering gaze, though his eyes were heavy with want. “Like what you see?” he teased, though his voice was uneven, betraying his arousal.

Instead of answering, you leaned in again, your lips finding the hollow of his throat. You pressed open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as your hands continued their exploration. Sol tilted his head back slightly, giving you better access as a low growl escaped him.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “And you’re complaining?” you shot back, your tone dripping with challenge.

Sol’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs grazing the edge of your ribs as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours again. “Not a chance,” he murmured against your mouth, before pulling you into another searing kiss.

The kiss deepened, growing more fervent with each passing second. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the strands silky yet wild, as his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his bare chest against yours, the intoxicating rhythm of his lips moving over yours—it was overwhelming, drowning out every thought but him. Your breaths mingled, uneven and ragged, as you both surrendered to the storm of desire building between you.

With deliberate boldness, your hand began a slow descent, sliding over his toned stomach to the waistband of his pants. While he remained engrossed in the kiss, you let your fingers drift lower, brushing against the hardness beneath his pants. A sharp intake of breath escaped Sol’s lips, his body tensing against yours. His grip faltered briefly, but his response was immediate.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his heterochromatic eyes ablaze with unfiltered desire. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he tried to regain control. “You’re playing with fire,” he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, both warning and temptation.

Instead of pulling away, his hands found your hips once more, his fingers digging in just enough to ground you, to anchor himself. He tilted his hips slightly, pressing into your touch as a shudder ran through him. His challenge hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown at your feet, daring you to keep going.

Your lips curved into a sly smile, your voice laced with teasing defiance. “Then I’ll just have to handle the heat,” you murmured. Leaning closer, your breath ghosted over his ear as you added, “Didn’t you say I need to work on my brushwork?”

With deliberate intent, you slid your hand along the curve of his waistband, unbuttoning his pants with practiced ease. Sol groaned low in his throat, the sound reverberating through his chest and into yours. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you impossibly closer as if trying to meld you into him.

“I didn’t mean… this,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed how much he wanted it. His lips found your neck, trailing heated kisses along your skin as he fought to keep his control intact. His body trembled beneath your touch, his breath hot and ragged against your throat.

Your hand ventured lower, and as his pants gave way, you were met with the proof of his desire. The sight of his cock—pale like his skin, flushed with need, and curve glistening pink tip—sent a wave of heat through you. You couldn’t help but marvel at him, at how his body responded so wholly to you.

Sol groaned again, his head falling back as he fought the urge to completely unravel. “F-Fuck this shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and raw.

With a sudden burst of need, he grabbed your hand, his rough fingers intertwining with yours as he guided you to his cock, wrapping your hand around it.

His eyes burned into yours, a silent plea and a command wrapped in one. “If you’re going to do this,” he growled, “then do it right. After all, I’m the tutor,”

The juxtaposition of his firm grip and your softer touch sent shivers through him, his body responding instinctively to your every movement. He bit back a curse, his jaw clenched, yet his eyes remained locked on yours, filled with both vulnerability and hunger as he helps you move his cock up and down.

The way his hand enveloped yours, guiding you with deliberate control, sent a jolt of heat through your body. His skin was hot beneath your palm, pulsing with need, the intensity of it making your breath hitch. The sensation of being so intimately connected, of having him at your mercy, was intoxicating. Your lips curved into a sly, knowing smile as you met his gaze with a sultry intensity.

"Then guide me, Sol," you murmured, voice low with a hint of teasing.

His eyes darkened, his breath catching at your words. For a moment, it seemed as though he might lose his composure entirely, but instead, he pressed closer, the heat of his body radiating into yours. His hands tightened over yours, steady and commanding, as he guided your movements with aching precision.

"Guide you?" he rasped, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "Gladly."

His fingers wrapped firmly around yours, leading you in a slow, deliberate rhythm around his cock. Each movement was an exquisite torment, a maddening mix of control and surrender that left you craving more. His voice, low and gravelly, brushed over your skin like a caress. "Like this," he whispered.

The feel of him beneath your touch was overwhelming, a mix of heat and tension that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken. As his hand fell away, relinquishing control to you, the look in his eyes—half-lidded and burning with need—was almost too much to bear.

Taking charge, you continued the motion, your strokes deliberate and teasing. Sol's breaths grew heavier, his head falling back slightly as he tried to stifle the low groans that escaped his lips. But he couldn’t hold back the quiet whines that followed, each sound unraveling you further.

The weight of you on his lap, the way your hips shifted against him—whether intentional or not—drove him wild. His hands gripped your waist tightly as though grounding himself was the only way to keep himself from losing control—and you from falling.

His face flushed a deep red, his jaw tightening as his breaths came faster, his body trembling beneath you. His arousal was undeniable, glistening with beads of precum that caught the light as they slid down his length. The sight alone was enough to make your stomach tighten with desire, but it was the sounds he made—low, broken groans turning into quiet, breathless whimpers—that truly undid you.

Sol’s tired yet desperate eyes met yours, silently begging for more, even as his body surrendered entirely to your touch. The vulnerability in his gaze was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help but feel a wicked thrill at the power you held over him. Every gasp, every shudder, every barely audible plea only pulled you deeper into the moment, the fire between you burning hotter with each passing second.

You begin rudding the slit on his tip, dipping your finger on the pre-cum, smudging it across the tip, “A-ahh…” That alone sent a chilling feeling down his spine. Then you wonder for a second.

Just how far you could take this?

And, as if he could read her mind, Sol’s voice was broken into another gasp at the feel of her finger on his tip. You smirked, leaning in close to his ear. “Does that feel good, Sol?” You smirked, leaning in close to his ear.

Sol let out a strangled, guttural moan, his body shuddering at your touch, his breathing labored and strained. He gripped the edge of the stool as if holding on for dear life, his knuckles turning white. "Y-Yeah," he managed to gasp, his voice trembling the words out.

"Feels... so good." His head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as you continued your ministrations, his body completely at your mercy.

As he tried his best to muffle the pathetic whimpers that were threatening to escape his lips with his free hand covering his mouth, Sol was coming undone, every touch, every gentle caress pulling him closer and closer to the edge. And he couldn’t get enough of how your delicate fingers all wrapped nicely around his cock.

Hearing his voice, broken and needy, sent a thrill coursing through you, intensifying your desire for him. This side of Sol—a man usually so composed and enigmatic—was uncharted territory, and you were quickly losing yourself in the discovery.

You leaned back slightly, just enough to drink in the sight of him, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. “Just good?” you purred, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “Or does it feel better than that?”

“Pumpkin,” he rasped, his voice deep and trembling with barely contained restraint. It took everything in him to hold back, but the way your sharp, half-lidded eyes bore into him, your smirk only widening as your hand pumped him faster—it was driving him to the edge. “I-I’m close, please… please...” He moaned,

“Oops, sorry~” you cooed, amusement dancing in your tone as if you weren’t purposefully unraveling him by slowing down.

Sol’s body jolted under your touch, another strangled moan escaping his lips as his grip on the stool tightened. He was trembling, the effort to maintain control wearing thin. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one sharper than the last. “Come on… Please…” He whines, “Let me cum, I want to cum… Will you let me, pumpkin?” He begged.

His breathing is ragged, tiny beads of sweat rolling down his cheek, some of his hair sticking to his face as you pump his cock—dare you say, he looks hot like this.

You grin again, that same slow, cat-got-the-canary sort of smile from before. Are you enjoying this? Maybe it’s just a teeny bit too much.

“Mmh, I don’t know,” You say, tone light and mocking, considering it while pumping him faster. “Are you sure you’ve been good enough to deserve that, Sol~?”

Sol's face flushed crimson as he groaned under your touch, his body reacting with an involuntary twitch. He could barely hold himself together, the effort nearly breaking him. Your teasing, the way you toyed with him like this. It was enough to drive him insane with need. And yet... he loves it.

“Please,” he panted, his voice choked with need. “Please, pumpkin... don't tease me anymore.”

You grin, your breath catching in your throat for a brief moment at the sound of his pleading. He’s so desperate, and again—it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Before you get to reply, you are stuck watching, listening to him. With one last stroke, he came. You feel a warm, sticky substance splatter against your face, and you gasp in surprise, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When you open it back up, you see your hands are covered in… his cum.

He whines, trembling under your touch. “Fuck…” He grumbles… before chuckling breathlessly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. He looked at you, his eyes darkened with desire, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You're a tease, you know that...?" he murmured, his voice still hoarse. He reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers leaving a smudge of his cum on your skin.

You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed at the touch of his fingers against your face. You can still taste him on your lips. “I’m aware, and I love it,” You say, your tongue darting out to lick a stray bit of his cum away, “Such a good boy.”

Sol's heart skipped a beat at the sight of your tongue running across your lips. He could hardly contain himself, his body still thrumming with a mix of need and satisfaction.

"You're... you're going to be the death of me, Pumpkin," he said, strained and thick. "I swear... you're going to drive me insane." Before you could respond, his hands shot forward, gripping your wrists roughly, halting your movements. “You know, It takes a true artist to know how to use their hands,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his frustration and desire boiling over.

“Right now, I feel inspired. With your body so close to mine—” his gaze flicked to you, sharp and burning, “—you gonna feel so good once I get through painting you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, his grip on your wrists firm and electrifying. Yet, you didn’t back down. Instead, your smirk deepened, and you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Aww, it’s cute when you get all frustrated like that.” you quipped, resuming your teasing pace despite his attempt to rein you in.

Sol’s jaw clenched, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as his eyes blazed with irritation and helpless desire. “Teasing me like this,” he gasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his need, “You deserve to be punished.”

“Sorry? Punished?” You repeated, arching a brow, your smirk faltering for a moment as curiosity mingled with arousal.

His hands released your wrists, moving instead to the hem of your shirt. Slowly, deliberately, he began sliding it upward, his touch igniting sparks along your skin.

He lifted your shirt, his movements were unhurried yet firm, tossing it aside without a second thought. The cool air kissed your bare skin, making you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat in Sol’s gaze. His eyes roamed over your body unabashedly, dark with want, his intensity sending your pulse racing.

The way he looked at you—devoured you—was intoxicating. You felt your breath hitch, your skin tingling under his gaze as if he were leaving invisible marks with every flick of his eyes. Sol leaned in slightly, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers cascading down your spine. “Now let’s see if you’re ready for what you started.”

The lace of your black bra barely had a chance to tease him before Sol unclasped it with uncharacteristic haste. His breath caught in his throat as the fabric fell away, leaving your bare skin exposed to the cool air. The curve of your shoulders, the elegant line of your neck, and the sight of your hardened nipples sent a shiver of desire coursing through him.

You were breathtaking, more so than any image his mind could have conjured. The reality of you—your warmth, your movement, the way you bared yourself so freely—was utterly consuming.

As you slipped off the remaining layers with deliberate ease, Sol found himself captivated, unable to look away. "You're staring," you teased, your voice low and sultry, tinged with amusement. "See something you like?"

He tried to respond, but the words caught in his throat, his mind blank save for the raw need coursing through him. He swallowed hard, his gaze trailing shamelessly over your body, lingering on every curve, every delicate line of skin.

He wanted to touch, to claim, to make you his in every sense. But he hesitated, almost afraid of the depth of his desire. The way you looked, so confident and alluring, made him feel as though he was standing on the edge of a precipice, and all he wanted was to jump.

Sol's hands moved almost without thought, tracing the length of your legs, the curve of your knee, the delicate arch of your foot. His reverence for you bordered on worship, a devotion so intense it frightened him. He had tried to keep it at bay, but now that he had you like this, so open and vulnerable, he felt the weight of his restraint snapping.

He was a man who could get lost in his own obsession, and with you, it was dangerously easy. Sol didn’t just want you—he craved you, a hunger so profound it threatened to unravel him entirely.

With trembling hands, he slid your pencil skirt down your hips, the fabric pooling on the floor with a careless toss. He left the lace of your black panties on, unable to resist the way they hugged your body so perfectly. His lips found your neck, pressing kisses against the sensitive skin as he let his hands explore.

The only thing separating you now was the thin layer of fabric between you, damp with evidence of your arousal. Sol’s thumb moved instinctively, pressing gently against the damp spot, and the soft gasp you let out was like fuel to the fire burning inside him.

Your reaction sent his heart racing, his body trembling with restrained need. But when you whispered his name, your voice breathless and trembling, it pulled him back from the brink.

“Sol,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “Wait… you’re going a little too fast.”

The words hung in the air like a sudden stillness before a storm. Sol froze, his hands pausing mid-motion on your body. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling heavily as he pulled back, his intense gaze locking onto yours. A mix of frustration and unspoken yearning flickered in his eyes, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Too fast?” he echoed, his voice hoarse and tinged with disbelief. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’re the one who started the fire, said you can handle it, and now you’re telling me to slow down?”

He let out a soft, strained laugh, the sound laced with both amusement and restraint, as though he was trying to tether himself to reality. Still, he relented, easing the intensity of his movements.

Slowly, he reached down, unzipping his jeans and pushing them just enough to loosen their grip, his shirt discarded in the process. His gaze softened, though the heat in his eyes remained, a smoldering flame that refused to extinguish.

“This is still your punishment, Pumpkin,” he murmured, a crooked smile playing at his lips as he leaned in, brushing a featherlight kiss to your lips.

The kiss was different this time—rough, more forceful. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw and down to your neck, each kiss feeling like a vow unspoken. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you suspended at this moment. He moved further, his lips exploring your collarbone and sternum with reverence, his warmth leaving a trail of fire across your skin.

His hands trembled slightly as they cupped your chest, his touch reverent but firm, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. His breath hitched as he brushed his thumbs over your nipples, the gentle pressure sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice thick with wonder. “So damn pretty.”

Your mind swirled with the weight of his words, his touch, his presence. The heat between you was overwhelming, your body arching into his hands as he explored with care and devotion. Each kiss, each touch, sent waves of sensation rippling through you, leaving you breathless.

“Sol…” you breathed, your voice trembling with both hesitation and longing. “Please…”

But instead of heeding your plea, he pressed forward, his lips finding the sensitive peak of your chest. He kissed you there with aching tenderness, his tongue tracing slow circles as his hand mirrored his movements. A soft moan escaped your lips, and he hummed in approval, his grip steadying you as you began to unravel under his touch.

He paused only to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with something deeper than desire—an emotion too profound for words.

He quickly shifted you, his hands firm yet careful as he turned you toward the painting you and he both made. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, the contrast heightening your awareness of his every movement.

He moved behind you, his breath warm against your neck. For a moment, he hesitated, his fingers brushing down your skin to the fabric of your panties. He slid them down slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent, before throwing them on the floor.

He forced you to lean on your back against his firm chest, the back of your head resting against his shoulder as his hands stayed on your hips.

Soon his hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face upward with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. His gaze locked onto yours, a tempest of emotions swirling in his red-orange eyes—desire, restraint, and something unspoken yet intense.

“Sorry, Pumpkin,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet whisper, “but I need you.”

He adjusted your position, the shift sending a jolt of sensation through you as his cock settled snugly against your bare heat. A soft, broken sound escaped your lips—a breathy, high-pitched “A-Ah!”—and your half-lidded eyes met his. In his fiery gaze, the pupils seemed to ripple, almost heart-shaped, as though they reflected his overwhelming hunger for you.

Sol began to move, rubbing cock rather fast and rough against your cunt, his hips pressing forward until he found that sweet, electrifying spot. Your voice spilled out again, light and melodic, each sound like a chime caught on the breeze. His movements became more assured, each thrust purposeful as he reveled in the way your body responded to his.

He had you now—completely, utterly his.

Your bodies melded together in perfect rhythm, your breaths and sighs tangling as if they were one. Sol’s senses were flooded with you: the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the faint tension in your spine that dissolved beneath his touch. Each reaction, each sound you made, only drove him deeper into the intoxicating realization that you were exactly where he wanted you—wrapped in his embrace, utterly lost in him.

He has you in his grasp, but he wants to hold onto you tighter.

He focuses on where your lower bodies meet, tongue poked between his lips and furrow in his brow. Drives his hard cock rubbing against your bare cunt, catching the crown into your clit until you’re shaking underneath him. Sol can’t think anymore, lost in the feeling of wonderful pleasure.

If it feels so good like this, being inside you might be too much.

So close in proximity that Sol can hear each of your short pants. Erratic and almost thoughtlessly driven by one single thing: pleasing you. Feeling each other, all wrapped up together.

Drawing out those moans as he pinches your nipples at your tits, making you feel how hard he is. How pent-up, needy, and fucking horny he is all for you. Just humping your soft, sweet cunt makes Sol want to risk everything he’s got with you.

The push and pull of too much and not enough at the same time. It’s so fucking euphoric. Your cunt keeps wetter and wetter, and Sol doesn’t know if it’s you or him - his pre-cum dribbling agasint your needy cunt. He can feel your pussy pulse and tremble. Your spine goes stiff, and Sol pulls away to look at you.

You’re so pretty. You’re on edge, in complete bliss, and so fucking pretty only for his eyes to see.

“A-ah, Sol—please, wait,” you gasped, your words trembling as pleasure coursed through you. Sol froze for a moment, his eyes wide and blazing, the sound of your plea cutting through the haze of his need. Frustration flickered across his face, mingling with something softer, something more conflicted.

He didn’t want to wait—couldn’t—not with the way your body moved beneath him, flushed and trembling, your breath hitching with every touch.

Your mind was a haze of heat and sensation, your body barely keeping up with the overwhelming pleasure that had left you spiraling. And when you both reached that peak together—his cum spilling over as yours soaked on tophim in return—it was a moment that burned itself into his memory.

A first—he made you come with him. The sight of you arching against him, your cries echoing in his ears, left him undone, his breath ragged and unsteady as he trembled, listening to your pretty moans.

Sol’s hands remained firm on your hips, anchoring you as his gaze devoured you. Again, the image of you—writhing, broken, and entirely his—was seared into his mind, a memory he wanted to relive over and over again. His heart pounded as he leaned forward, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both desperate and adoring, his tongue teasing yours in a way that left you breathless.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, I need…” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raw with emotion. His nose nuzzled against your cheek before he kissed the corner of your mouth, his words pouring out in a slow, deliberate cadence.

“I want to see it again,” he said, his tone steady but trembling with need. “I want you to cum again, Pumpkin.”

The vulnerability in his voice stirred something inside you, but your body was already at its limit. You pulled back slightly, your breath still uneven as your gaze met his. “Sol, I... I don’t think I can,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

His eyes darkened the fire in them dimming for a moment, replaced by something closer to concern. His hands softened their grip, and he leaned back just enough to study your face, his expression caught between worry and restraint. “Did I hurt you?” he asked gently, his voice quieter now, though the tension in his body remained.

You shook your head quickly, your words coming in a rush. “No, no, you didn’t. I just—”

“Then you can keep going,” he interrupted, his tone almost pleading, his patience unraveling at the edges. His gaze was intense and unwavering, and you felt your resolve waver under the weight of his need.

“Sol,” you tried again, shaking your head as you placed a hand on his chest. “I’m tired. You’ve... you’ve worn me out. And you’ve got to be tired too—don’t you think? What about our project?”

His brows furrowed as he let out a frustrated groan, his body taut with tension. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “It can wait.”

Your breath caught as his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips again and pulling you against him yet again. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin. “You look so damn good like this,” he murmured, his voice tinged with reverence. “Messy and perfect—covered in our cum.”

A shiver ran through you as his hands explored your body, his touch deliberate and reverent. "How much more should I paint you?" He kissed a trail down your neck and shoulders, his lips soft yet possessive. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a fresh wave of heat through you, despite your exhaustion.

“Sol, please,” you whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

He didn’t respond, his silence heavy with meaning as his hands moved lower, his touch firm but gentle, as though committing every curve and contour of your body to memory. His fingers brushed over your thighs, then between them, the featherlight touch making you tremble.

When he finally touched you—his fingers tracing over the sensitive folds of your cunt, slick and sticky from your shared cum—a sharp gasp escaped your lips. He groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he focused on you, his movements both precise and overwhelming.

“Can you feel it?” he whispered, his voice rough but laced with tenderness. “How much I want you, need you? How much I love you?”

The words struck something deep within you, and though you were overwhelmed, you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull of his touch, his voice, his very presence. He didn’t need to say it aloud; every caress, every glance, told you everything he couldn’t put into words.

Sol was an artist, and you were caught in the vision of it—a dangerous one. You’re trembling with anticipation. A sense of contentment washes over Sol as his breath fans over your neck.

Sol can feel how worked up you are. You’re quiet and tense. Some part of him wants to leave you like that, waiting, but the other part of him wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for. He gives into the latter because that’s what he wants more.

He used his free hand that was grounded you to lap, reaching down to lift his now hard cock agasint your bare cunt with a deep sigh, and a pleased hum.

He loves the way you smell, the scent of sex and arousal mixed with the fancy soaps you keep in your bathroom.

Your pussy is as pretty as you are, a sheen of arousal all along your slit. Your clit peeks through, swelling from need. Sol uses his tip to kiss your opening without thinking. He starts slow. Lays his cock flat against the seam of your cunt before dragging it up and down once, rubbing you again however, this time, it almost slips inside of you.

You lose a little of what little control you had. Your body jerks back against him, and you bite back a moan. Sol felt that—he can’t get enough of you. Neither can you.

He moans in appreciation, repeating the gesture as he pulls your pussy closer. He gazes and looks down at you. You’re so pretty it makes him want to please. He repeats this over and over, grinding on your clit on his hard and needy cock, throbbing against the soft, smooth muscle as he gains a sort of rhythm.

He gauges your reaction when he tries something new, adding pressure until you’re squirming underneath him. When you start growing noisier, Sol knows he’s hit the right pace.

And he stays like that for a bit, your pussy soaking more of his cock. He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing his fingers between your folds. You let out a soft "A-ah" above him, making him want to laugh. He keeps at it, his fingers sliding far enough to tease your entrance. Your hole is squeezing without him having done much at all, his middle finger teasing and prodding.

“Sol stop! Don’t t-tease so much,” You pant. Sol nearly blows again, listening to you talk like that. He didn’t think you could be so cute.

Sol couldn’t help but smirk, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "But I love teasing you," he whispered against your skin, "hearing you pant and moan, wanting more but not quite getting what you need."

His finger kept playing around your entrance, just kind of going in circles on your sensitive bits. "Besides, it's fun to watch you squirm to my touch," he said, sliding his middle finger into you like it was nothing. It's not that hard. You're so wet for him, it's crazy. Your walls feel super soft and inviting, all syrupy when he touches them.

Sol loves the way your cunt feels, taking his time to go in and out slowly enough that the tension just fades away. He really gets in there with his middle finger, and when it looks like you're not tense anymore—he goes and adds another one. He's doing both at the same time—and there's this moment where it's just a whole lot of sensation for you.

Eventually, it stops being just a sensation, and it shifts into pleasure. He presses his fingers into you hard, really massaging that soft spongy spot, he can feel you lean forward, nearly lurching forward.

Your back arches, mouth hanging open, “S-Sol!” You moaned.

Another feeling of pride spreads through his chest, his whole body. He wants you to let go again just like this. While he fingers your weepy cunt—he wants to see how far he can push. How wet you can get before he ever gets inside.

His fingers can feel the way your walls tighten up so hard and the tremors of the aftermath. Your back curves against him as you cum again closing your thighs, hard for him, and he can feel it.

He can feel you cum over his cock once more. He can see you, see the pleasure crash into you like a tidal wave. A second. Sol made you cum twice in a row, this time without him. You practically pry him off as you ride the wave of your high. You sighed deeply as you watched Sol lick his fingers. "You taste so sweet, all because of me~" He breathed out, looking down at you.

“Are you done?” You asked, tiredly wore out.

Sol's eyes darkened at your question, his body still thrumming with a unsatisfied need. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind.

"Done?" he echoed, his voice rough. "I'm far from done, Pumpkin.” He sits you up on his lap, fixing you to completely lay back naked and beautiful, tugging open your thighs for your cunt to rest on top of his cock once more. “Sol I can’t please.” You quickly reached onto his shaft, stopping him.

Sol's mind went blank when you touched him, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. His breath hitched, and he looked up at you through hazy eyes, his body quivering with need. He wanted you, desperately, but he also knew he had to stop.

"Pumpkin," he panted, his voice strained. "I... I don’t think I can handle any more of your teasing.” He said with heart eyes, “Just let this happen, please.”

His tone is so needy, so desperate, and it shoots straight through you, making your body shiver. You can feel just how badly he wants you, needs you. Already itching to do it a third.

"I-I wasn't trying to tease you,” You whisper, your voice soft and shaky. “I’m just... I’m just tired, Sol. I am.”

You try to pull back, even just a little, to put some space between them, but he's holding you tight against his back, “We’re almost there. Just one more…” He breathes out, stroking his cock, guiding the tip to your cunt opening, ‘I wanna feel you…” He mumbled, slowly pushing himself inside, “A-Ah, Sol!” You pleaded, trying to close your legs, but he forced them open.

“Don’t fight it.” He warned, pushing himself in. Your cunt squeezes your opening, not letting his cock inside before he goes in frustration while biting your neck to distract you, “Ahhh!” You mown in pain.

His hands gripped you tightly, anchoring you to him as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. He was completely undone, his desire for you eclipsing everything else, his body responding to the need pulsing through him.

In the haze of his hunger, he vaguely registers the absence of protection, but it barely registers in his mind, overshadowed by the overwhelming need to have you. A fleeting moment of tension flares before it melts into pure, white-hot pleasure, every inch of being inside you sent him aflame.

You feel incredible—like nothing he’s ever known. His arms tighten around your body, pulling you closer, coaxing you down another inch on his cock. His lips find your neck again, this time with more urgency, his teeth sinking more into your skin as he fights to hold himself back.

The taste of you, the feel of you—it’s almost too much. He wants to make this last. He won’t let it slip away too quickly. Sol’s not ready to lose himself just yet; he wants to savor every second of this.

Sol lowers you steadily until all of him is inside. Your expression is slightly pinched, and your whole body trembles, uncomfortable, almost in pain as you adjust to his size. You arch your back, hands reaching to take root in his hair. “P-Pumpkin!” He moaned. The sensation of tension on his scalp makes his cock twitch inside you.

The pressure is almost too much, making you gasp in the air through your teeth. You hold on tight to his arms, “Oh god,” You moan, your head falling back. “You’re... you’re actually intense. I can feel...” Your voice trails off, replaced by a whimper. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, overwhelmed.

Before you get a chance to adjust to the feeling, he picks your hips and slams them back down on his cock without breaking a sweat. You nearly scream, your hands immediately reach down, squeezing his wrists, trying to make him slow down. He gives you a wry grin; he almost wants you to plead for your mercy.

“Aw.. want me to go slower?” Sol asked, “You have to beg for it~” Your eyes widen, and another soft gasp slips past your lips, your body tensing against him. The pressure and the fullness are almost too much, overwhelming in the best way possible.

He feels so good, so good...

You nod slightly, your voice coming out as a whimper. “Please,” You whispered, “Just stop, please...” Your body shakes as you speak. “Too much... too much at once...”

Sol's eyes gleam with a feral look, his body trembling with the effort to control himself. He pauses for a moment, his hands stilling on your hips, his breathing ragged.

"Too much for you, huh?" he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. "You can't handle it, can you, Pumpkin?"

There's a hint of challenge in his tone, a hint of desire to keep going, to push your limits even further.

Repeating the motion but slower showing his hint of worry. He knows he needs to be careful, rocking you steadily onto his cock. The pace is controlled and smooth, a rhythmic pass of your hips over and over.

Your insides threaten to dissolve him whole, turn him liquid from the inside out as he makes you ride him in reverse, moving his hips up and down while keeping you in place.

He watches as your breasts bounce as he leans forward, his chin coming to rest against your neck just enough for Sol to see the concentration etched upon your face. He watches you as you discover your pleasure in this moment—it makes you look utterly captivating. The feeling of him is nothing short of exquisite.

He shifts his hands to your hips to pull you closer to him, not changing the rhythm he wanted as you hug him tight.

The room resounds with the sound of skin meeting skin: a sticky smack as your body strikes Sol's thighs with enough force. Every nerve in his body is on edge, alive with sensation. His hand glides gently before your body, teasing your clit as he urges you to ride him.

Sol forces as he feels you again, a new surge of excitement drenching him. He's becoming more sensitive to the times when you approach your climax. Your wetness is so invitingly greasy for him because of him. It is so messy that it's running down his length down onto his balls, turning his pants into a wet puddle from underneath you.

He feels you stiffen in expectation—little contractions that bring you to the brink. His breathing comes in quick, shallow bursts as he watches you chase your climax, his hands gripping your hips as if to bring you even closer.

He knows he can't hold on much longer, the way you feel, the way you look riding him, your smell—god your pretty moans. It’s all too much. But he pushes down the rising tide, wanting to prolong this moment

His voice came out in a strained whisper, his grip tightening as he spoke. "I'm gonna cum soon. I want you to come right after me, yeah? Can you do that for me, Pumpkin?" He gently lifted your chin, locking eyes with you. His gaze searched your face, watching as your expression blurred with the overwhelming sensations.

Your mind felt hazy like everything was fading into a fog, too overwhelmed to form coherent thoughts. The pressure building inside you was almost unbearable—so huge, so intense, hitting you all in the right spots.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible, filled with a desperate need. "Yes, yes, I can do that... please, Sol, please..."

You could feel his desire building with you, like an unstoppable wave crashing over both of you. "Please, please, please..." You whispered it over and over, lost in the need for him, unable to say anything else.

Sol's eyes blaze with a renewed intensity, the plea in your voice driving him over the edge. His hands tighten on your hips, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"Pumpkin..." he pants, the words almost catching in his throat. "Pumpkin, I... I can't hold on much longer."

Your eyes are wild, and your body is trembling, every muscle tight and tense, “S-Sol, ah…” You laugh, breathy. The third time you cum is less intense than you thought. It’s a shorter wave, a softer sort of orgasm that seems to ease you more than it does anything else, more hazely and oversensitive.

But you can feel still his cock inside of you, how close he is, how close he’s been. Even still, you clench around his cock hard—getting so much wetter than you were a minute ago.

"Ah, f-fuck..." Sol growls, the sound catching in his throat. He's right on the brink now, his body straining with the effort of holding back. And then your muscles clench around him, the sensation enough to drive him over the edge.

"Looks like I have to catch up, hold on..." Sol moans, his voice a low, gutt, picking up your thighs, “Sol! Wait—what are—!!” He loses himself completely, slamming himself inside you rather rough and fast, his balls slapping against your cunt.

He wants more of you—all of you—after all, you can take more of his paint, you are his true canvas.

Finally giving into the sensation that’s been drowning him, He feels it in his entire lower body. Every atom of him finally catches up to the high of the release. It’s so intense when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out than heavy breaths. His eyes shoot open, then go back closed.

The coil in his stomach loosens more slowly at first than all at once, like a car crash. When Sol finally cums he sees nothing but white hearts in his vision. He can’t scream, can’t speak—so he holds onto you tight and finishes inside you, cock deeply buried inside of your pussy. So much cum spurts out of him, thick and hot painting your walls, so much in fact that it was leaking out of you, dripping down.

Sol tried his best to keep all of it inside of you, as it'd ruin his version. He didn’t even try to pull out, he rode out his orgasm with heart eyes, still fucking you slowly, wanting to keep all of himself—and cum, tucked deeply inside of you.

The sensation lingered long after the moment had passed. When Sol finally opened his eyes again, he found you collapsed against him—your body wrecked, spent, trembling from the overwhelming intensity.

You felt achingly sensitive, every nerve alive and raw, yet your mind remained a hazy blur, struggling to grasp onto anything, while your body felt heavy, as though you were floating just above the surface of consciousness. Everything was a gentle, blissful silence, a welcome respite from the chaos.

Just how long had it lasted? How many times had he brought you to the edge? The last time he counted, it was three, maybe more after what he pulled. He couldn’t be sure. The last clear memory he had was of you, twitching on top of him, your back pressed firmly against his chest, every part of you quaking from the intensity.

Sol took a slow, steadying breath, his own body still trembling from the exertion. He looked down at you, your limp form lying against him, completely drained. The exhaustion in your body was palpable, and in that moment, a part of him realized he’d pushed you farther than he’d intended.

“Pumpkin...” he whispered, his voice soft and concerned as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer into the warmth of his embrace.

“You did so good for me... You okay?” He waited, but you didn’t answer.

Your mind was still foggy, still trying to make sense of the world. Words felt distant, impossible to grasp and form into something coherent. Your body felt like it belonged to someone else—limp, exhausted, utterly spent.

A soft, unintelligible noise escaped your lips, a simple affirmation that you were still with him, still connected. It was enough to make him nuzzled you into his chest, his body instinctively seeking the comfort of his warmth of his wonderful creation.

Sol chuckled quietly, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He knew exactly what he’d done to you—how thoroughly he had worn you out—and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of quiet pride.

You were his, finally.

He gently played with your hair, twisting it with his fingers, his touch tender as he held you against him, giving you time to recover, knowing you needed it before you two could complete the art project that’s—he thinks that’s due tomorrow?

Oh well… if you don’t wake up in time he’ll complete it all for you.

“You’re adorable like this,” he murmured softly, his voice low and affectionate heart-shaped eyes, holding you tight against him, “All this... started from a simple brushstroke.”

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