#SoL - Colors of Fall Challenge

[vibelladonna]

❛ 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.”  

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[pamsimmer]

When I made "Lunar" someone asked for a legacy challenge for human sims. So I finally wrote one!

Since some people don't like big legacies because it takes forever to finish, I made another small legacy! Only 5 gens.

If you know my stories from twitter or my "pamsimmerstories" you know I usually use a lot of adult themes and this is not different, so be aware this can be a little dark.

TW: Spouse death, while giving birth; Drug Use, alcohol and other drugs; Child Abuse, Neglect; Infetility

LEGACY CHALLENGE: "Dream Odyssey"

Basic Rules:

Start as a Young Adult - any gender you want

Normal/Long lifespan (which one you prefer)

You can use freerealestate cheat if you want to begin.

When I put ( / ) is because you can choose what you prefer or if you don’t have said pack you can choose the base game one.

Colors are not mandatory, but it could be fun?!

Requirements: Cottage Living, University, City Living, Nifty Knitting, Horse Ranch, Get Famous, Get Together, Snowy Scape, Island Living, Seasons, Parenthood.

Mods recommendations (Not required):

McCommand Center,

UI Cheats,

Long Distance Learning,

RPO.

Basemantal Drugs

Generation 1: “Dandelions” by Ruth B.

You moved from your parents to live in a big city and go to your dream college (San Myshuno Institute)*. You’ve always wanted to be a doctor/veterinarian and this was finally happening!

One day you met the love of your life in between classes (preferably someone you met that is also at uni) you get married, but one day you caught them cheating and you feel like this is the end of the world.

So you leave everything and go to Henford on Bagley and become a farmer. You meet someone that makes you open up again and you two have a beautiful family.

*if you don’t want to use mods like the ”Long Distance Learning” by Ravasheen, you can just pretend you’re going there living in San Myshuno

Traits: Good, Animal Enthusiast/Loves the Outdoors, The last one you pick, to make things interesting, pick a bad trait like high maintenance

Career: Start as University Student in San Myshuno (you can finish it and start the career or you can just drop university in the middle of your term); End up as a farmer in Henford

Skills: Logic/Vetenerian and Cross-Stitch

Hobby: Cross-Stitch or Knitting

Aspiration: Country Caretaker

Relationship: fall in love at university, get cheated on, runaway to Henford and meet someone new. You can have children with the first one if you want to or you can wait until you meet the second sim. It’s up to you.

Color: Green/Yellow

Generation 2: “High” by Miley Cyrus

You grew up in the middle of a bunch of animals, your parent was a nature freak and you became one as well. But your kind of animal is a bit different from your parent. You love horses and you dream in live at Chestnut Ridge and have your own horse and participate in competitions and earn money from it.

You find love, but when your wife is giving birth to your baby, she dies (your sim could be a woman and you use cheats to make her pregnant and if you don’t use mods as RPO/Pandasama you can also cheat to kill the sim).

[The Sims 4 killing cheats: [death.toggle true - kill your Sim] I've never used it, so I don't know if it really works]

So you see yourself as a single parent juggling between parenting and taking care of your horse and participating of competitions.

Traits: Horse Lover, Rancher, the last trait you choose.

Career: Autonomous as Horse Competitor, you can try odd jobs as well

Skills: Riding, Painting/Nectar Making

Hobby: Painting/Nectar Making

Aspiration: Championship Rider

Relationship: Meet someone, become a widow/er. You can find love again if you wish.

Color: Orange

Generation 3: “No Love In LA” by Palaye Royale

When you were born your mother died and you never met her. Your other parent was always busy with his horses and competitions that you now hate Chestnut.

You want more for your life. As soon as you age up, you go to Del Sol Valley and you’re finally able to follow your dream of becoming a star! You want to be a famous actor/actress. But not everything is like you thought it would be, you thought you would become a 5 star celebrity quickier than you did. But you never give up.

Find a celebrity and get married to them just for fame (I guess you’re gonna need cheats for them to meet).

[Modify Relationship

You'll need the full name of your Sim and the celebrity Sim (or vice versa). If it doesn't work, try " LTR_Friendship_Main" at the end.] (I also never tested this one...but in case you don't have mods, try this)

One day you’re gonna meet someone who’s a nobody and fall in love, you’re gonna cheat on your partner and get pregnant/get someone pregnant.

You have two choices:

leave your spouse and be with your love or

stay in a unhappy marriage and pretend the cheating never happened (if your sim is a male, never talk to the pregnant sim again and one day a child shows up at your door, this is gonna be the heir. And if your sims is a female, pretend the kid is your husband’s child. It doesn’t matter, you’re gonna fail as a parent no matter what).

Traits: Self-Assured, Ambitious, and a bad trait of your choosing

Career: Actor

Skills: Acting, Dancing, Photography

Hobby: Photography and also dancing, go to nightclubs often, drink a lot (if you don’t play with mods pretend your sims is an alcoholic, if you play with mods like basemental your sim is definitely an alcoholic and maybe had a drug addiction, let’s go dark here)

Aspiration: Master Actor

Relationship: Marry for fame and cheat on your partner and get pregnant of impregnate someone this is how your heir is gonna be made.

Color: Red

Generation 4: “Flares” by The Script

Your parent should never be a parent.

You grew up in a spolight because of your parent, but you hate it. Everything is so fucked up and you just want to run away as far as possible.

When you become a teen, you're going to run away from home and go to Mt Komorebi, drop from school and work in a part time job.

To scape your own mind you start a few hobbies such as snowboarding/skiing/climbing.

When you’re young adult you meet someone while doing one of those things and you two fall in love. You two start a family and are very happy.

Traits: Adventurous, Loner, and a trait of your preference

Career: Teen: Part Time Job; Young Adult: Salaryperson

Skills: Two of these: (You can choose: Snowboarding/Skiing/Climbing)

Hobby: Choose two from 3 (Snowboarding/Skiing/Climbing)

Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast

Relationship: Find love when your sim is a young adult and this sim is gonna be actually happy :)

Color: Grey

Generation 5: “Light” by Sleeping At Last

Your parents were loving and you loved Mt Komorebi, but you feel like you need to run away from the cold mountains of Mt Komorebi.

When you grow up you want to live in a summery place, so you choose Sulani.

You fall in love more than once, but your relationships never work. You’re also infertile, but you want a kid so baaaad, so you decide to adopt one after years of trying.

You're going to raise a kid alone, maybe get yourself a dog as well? You want to be the best parent someone could be.

Traits: Family Oriented, Child of the Ocean, and a third trait of your choosing

Career: Any of the freelancer careers

Skills: Parenting, Flower Arrenging/Singing

Hobby: Flower Arrenging/Singing

Aspiration: Superparent

Relationship: All your relationships will fail, no matter how hard you try. One day you finally realize it and just accept that you’re going to be alone and you can be happy like this. Then you adopt a child (could be a baby if you want to) and maybe a pet as well.

Color: Blue

[eljeebee]

It's Isabella Manalo!

Sim submission for @changingplumbob for the bachelorette challenge she's organizing!

She's an aspiring Musical Genius, who was born in Tartosa and raised in Del Sol Valley!

Belle is a cousin of Beatrice Valderama, renowned model and now-girlfriend of a Vanderburg Royal, Lord Seamus II. She loves her dear cousin very much, even though Belle had been compared to Bea a lot of times. She doesn't hold it against her cousin though, and she tries her best to get all (and deserving) spotlight when it comes to her career as a singer.

Unfortunately, trying to live and get other people's attention to her work gets her frustrated that she became a hot-headed person. Still, this hot-headedness has driven her to become an ambitious music lover. No matter how many times she tries getting inspired from her birthplace and in her hometown she knew that there's just one thing that Belle thinks that she lacks: a subject, or a muse, if you will, that she could dedicate her music to.

Profile

Name: Isabella Manalo

Traits: Ambitious, Music Lover, Hot-Headed, Muser

Aspiration: Musical Genius

Identity/Orientation: Cis female, Demisexual, She/Her

Eye color: Brown

Birthplace: Tartosa

Resides in: Mainly in Del Sol Valley; Tartosa on Holidays

Likes: Dancing, Writing, DJ Mixing, Guitar, Piano, Singing, Wellness, Orange, Red, Yellow, Deep Thoughts, Stories, Affection, Discussing Hobbies, Discussing Interests, Gossip, Complaints, Luxe Decor, Modern Decor, Mid Century Decor, Country Fashion, Polished Fashion, Preppy Fashion, Idealist Sims, Emotional Decision-Makers, Cerebral Sims, Hard-Working Sims, Soul Music, Singer Songwriter Music, Retro Music, Romance Music, S-Pop Music, Winter Holiday Music

Dislikes: Fishing, Gardening, Baking, Deception, Silly Behavior, Ambitionless Sims, Egotistical Sims, Pessimistic Sims, Easy Listening Music, METAL MUSIC

Wardrobe

Entry Details

ALL IN (Hit me up whenever, wherever, ask box or DMs)

Even though the main part is to woo Deanna, I will not stand in the way if Isabella falls for someone else!

Isabella is monogamous.

Isabella is open to woohoo in later parts of the competition, so long as she had already gotten to know the other person properly.

I also don't mind if she flirts with Joey, ahem.

Download is sent privately.

[mermaidenmystic]

The Mermaid of Marden by Solomon Shiv Landerman, aka “Sol”

artist note: The Mermaid of Marden is a legend in or around the Herefordshire region of the UK wherein there was once a Small Church atop a hill with a reknowned bell that rang out along the countryside to announce the service. But there was one who did not appreciate the sound. A Mermaid who lived in a ‘Pool’ or lake at the bottom of the hill. One day the bell was being rung by its passionate priest and the fastenings which had been worn down- snapped and the bell went ringing down the hill until it reached the water and sank. The legend goes onto tell of an ambitious attempt to raise the old giant bell from the water but they didnt realize the sleeping mermaid with in it! Well it is said that she not only had Mermaid strength- she had the spirit of a woman from Herefordshire! She awoke and promptly threw the bell back into the water and before diving in her self told the poor priest and his flock never to bother her again. From then on it is said she was happy and got plenty of beauty sleep. It is also said that on a quiet day- the inhabitants of Marden and Herefordshire can here the very soft and distant ringing of a bell in the air… As you know I adore Mermaids and making art of them. I created this as part of the FOLKTOBER challenge of October 2021. She was done completely with Gouache as part of the love affair I am having with the medium. Another thing I enjoy about Gouache is in a sense the paint and colors seem to breathe and change as the day goes or the light falling upon it changes. The piece can change from a fairytale feeling to a mysterious legend depending on the time of day. That is this Artists opinion of course.

[satoshi-mochida]

Stories from Sol: The Gun-Dog launches February 20, 2025 - Gematsu

Science-fiction visual novel Stories from Sol: The Gun-Dog will launch for PlayStation 5, PlayStation 4, Switch, and PC via Steam on February 20, 2025, publisher Astrolabe Games and developer Space Colony Studios announced. It will feature English, French, Spanish, German, Japanese, Traditional Chinese, and Simplified Chinese language options.

The companies also unveiled the new “Full-Color Mode,” which makes the game playable in full color. An update for the previously released demo featuring this new mode is available now for PlayStation 5 and PC, and will launch for Switch on September 19.

As previously announced, PM Studios and Meridiem Games will publish physical editions of Stories from Sol: The-Gun Dog in North America and Europe, respectively. The physical edition will be available for PlayStation 5 in North America, and for PlayStation 5 and Switch in Europe.

Here is an overview of the game, via Astrolabe Games:

About

War is over. War is just beginning. Planetary Calendar 214. Four years have passed since the end of the Solar War. Our protagonist, scarred from the loss of his crewmates in the war, is re-assigned to the Jovian patrol ship Gun-Dog as it’s dispatched with orders to investigate mysterious signals coming from the edge of Jovian Space. Unknown to the Gun-Dog’s crew, a new danger looms deep in the ocean of stars, threatening not just the Gun-Dog but all her crew. Take on the role of the Gun-Dog’s security officer as you attempt to save the ship from an unknown assailant whilst navigating the paranoia, conspiracies and vendettas that break out amongst the crew. As camaraderie falls apart can you overcome the challenges that await?

The Game: A Love Letter to Retro Anime and 80s Science-Fiction

Stories from Sol: The Gun-Dog is a visual novel adventure in the spirit of classic PC-9800 titles. Featuring a vintage green screen aesthetic, Space Colony Studios strives to create an “era-accurate” game that exudes retro vibes in every way, from the text to the visual effects. As the Jovian patrol ship sails into the darkness among the stars, the players will feel like they are on an adventure in an 80s Sci-Fi as they solve the mystery they find themselves in.

The Story: A New Threat Emerges From the Void

Humans have long since freed themselves from the grasp of gravity, but they are still unable to escape the hold of war. It’s year 214 of the Planetary Calendar. Four years have passed since the end of the Solar War and an uneasy peace persists throughout the solar system. The Jovian patrol ship Gun-Dog is sent on a reconnaissance mission to investigate mysterious signals coming from the edge of Jovian space. What starts as a routine assignment quickly escalates into a battle for survival as an unknown threat terrorises the crew.

The Gameplay: Investigate. Interact. Analyze. Advance.

Utilizing traditional point-and-click adventure mechanics, during your time on the Gun-Dog, you can navigate various locations on the ship, examine the details of the richly realized backgrounds or talk with the different crew members on board. You will need to listen closely to the characters’ words to reveal important clues or duplicitous intentions and keep your eyes peeled for key items and interactive elements in the backgrounds that you can use to advance the story.

The Characters: Get on Board With the Crew of the Gun-Dog!

All stories are about people and the cast of The Gun-Dog bring the story to life, so much so that their charm and charisma convinced the team at Astrolabe Games to board the Gun-Dog and sign up to be the publisher. From the elegant yet distant Captain Bartermews, to the bubbly Lieutenant Commander Cassandra Quinn, to the assertive and domineering Chief Mackenzie Cathays, The Gun-Dog features an extensive cast of characters for you to meet. Each crew member has a distinct personality, role and history. Get to know them and their quirks and decide whether to work with or against them to unravel the mystery that lies at the story’s heart.

The Place: Adventure in an Entirely Explorable Ship!

The main stage of the first installment in the Stories from Sol series, as the Jovian patrol ship Gun-Dog heads into deep space it serves as the setting for the game’s story. It has been exhaustively realized. Rich and evocative descriptions of the ship, including the constant rumble of the engine room, the bustle of the bridge, the silence of space pair with an extensive range of scenes that have been meticulously designed and animated in detail to deliver an immersive experience. Inspired by the best that anime has to offer the ship even features “Armored Frames,” mechanized, human shaped, weapons of war.

Watch a new trailer below. View a new set of screenshots at the gallery.

Release Date and Full-Color Mode Trailer

[cc-for-cy]

The Ricky Montgomery Legacy Challenge

Inspired by @dizzywhims' Sour Legacy, I decided I wanted to make a legacy based on my favorite album, Montgomery Ricky by Ricky Montgomery!

The rules on this challenge are pretty lax, as I built it more for myself, however, the more I sat on it the more I wanted to actually put it out for everyone! So, here's all the rules! Make sure to tag either @cc-for-cy or @heretoreadmyfics and use the tag #montgomeryrickylegacy if you do this challenge, I would love to see it!

Rules written out are under the cut and make sure to STREAM RICK (OUT NOW)

| 0 - Rules

This challenge is NOT base game friendly, and uses almost all the packs. Feel free to alter this challenge if you do not have a pack used. 

Mods are encouraged! Try not to use many cheaty mods however. Basemental Mods is encouraged for two generations but you may not use them if you feel uncomfortable with it. 

Unless specified, drama, how many kids you have, etc are totally up to you!

This challenge is very storyline based! Feel free to go insane with the storyline, and use my descriptions as a baseline. Requirements are, of course, required to happen. You may also edit or add challenge rules depending on how hard you want the challenge to be, as this challenge is written for beginner storytelling.

Heirs can be any gender, HOWEVER the challenge is written for a patriarchy, and patriarchy is preferred.

If you play this challenge, please tag me, @heretoreadmyfics or @cc-for-cy and tag it #montgomeryrickylegacy

---

| 1 - California

“I am just a boy, but with a little bit of a culture, I'll go far

I want the world to know that I'm not just a photograph!”

Having just moved back to Del Sol Valley, you’re ready to get started on your big break! You swear you’re not going to fall into the pitfalls of stardom, saying “I love all my fans” when you don’t, becoming someone you never saw yourself as, but… Will that sentiment ring true when you finally get all you want?

Aspiration: World Famous Celebrity

Traits: Self-Absorbed, Creative, Ambitious

Career: Actor or Entertainer (Musician Branch)

Requirements:

Max the Acting and/or an Instrument (guitar, piano, violin, etc) skill

Date a celebrity and have at least 1 child with them

Become a 5 Star celebrity

---

| 2 - Get Used To It

“You want a garden, but you got a balcony

And you’re always looking for some company”

Growing up being a top celebrities kid, your life was luxurious, filled with parties, and general monkeying around- even some trying to make it on your own, but it wasn’t that important to you… Until it was. You used to be crazy with creativity but now.. you don’t feel as important as you once did. And you’re gonna have to Get Used to It. 

Aspiration: Live Fast (Teen), Party Animal

Traits: Non-Committal, High-Maintenance, Childish

Career: The OPPOSITE of whatever you majored in (EX. Drama Degree -> Go into Business)

Requirements:

Max out the Gardening skill

Go to University

Have an eventful teenage/YA life that settles down halfway through, to your dismay

Have at least 2 different partners before meeting the one you marry

DON’T complete your aspiration

---

| 3 - Cabo

“Ashes, ashes, dust to dust

I think I found a place for us”

Once your parents finally settle down, they never really let you have creativity. They never let you have anything, really, saying that the real world would end all your hopes and dreams, and for a while you believed that, until you met them and suddenly your life felt colorful and loved. But.. You had to keep it secret. Because your parents would just tear that down like all your other dreams. 

Aspiration: Soulmate

Traits: Romantic, Gloomy, Clumsy

Career: Painter (Either branch)

Requirements:

Max the Painting skill

Take a vacation and meet your partner there. 

Partner must have blonde/white hair. 

Keep your relationship secret from your family your entire life

Eventually live in the place you met your partner in (if available)

---

| 4 - My Heart Is Buried In Venice

“My heart is buried in Venice

Waiting for someone to take it home”

After seeing what love your parents showed, you thought romance would be easy. You had no idea what they went through, and when you finally found a partner you knew you were going to be everything to them. But maybe the issues your family had plagued you, because suddenly you were worried that nobody would ever love you the way you did to others. And the life you had with your partner crumbled, and over a small argument, they left, seeing your flaws. And now you’re alone, waiting for someone to take your heart home.

Aspiration: Serial Romantic

Traits: Paranoid, Romantic, Overachiever

Career: Civil Planner (Either branch)

Requirements:

Max a vacation based skill (ex. skiing, snowboarding, rock climbing, selvadordian culture, herbalism, etc)

Have a relationship break off after an argument (can be autonomous or not)

Have at least 1 kid with the partner that breaks up with you, and that has child has to be heir (may have more afterwards)

---

| 5 - Dont Know How

“I wanna do it but I don’t know

I don’t know how”

Seeing your parents relationship crumble over something so small never really gave you the confidence to ever even approach someone- so for most of your life you were alone and unloved, and kinda a nerd.. Until you see her and goddammit she is so out of your league! But even looking at her makes your knees buckle and your heart beat so hard- so you’re gonna try dammit, for the first time ever, to win someone out of your league! But.. Do you know how?

Aspiration: Nerd Brain, Villainous Valentine

Traits: Socially-Awkward, Self-Assured, Nerd

Career: Scientist

Requirements:

Have the Nerd Brain aspiration, but change it after competing the first two parts, and switch to Villainous Valentine

Meet someone who changes your life by being really hot and proceed with a romantic endeavor that gets your confidence up! Then cheat on them.

Every woohoo has to be a try for baby. You’re confident like that. 

Max out the rocket science and/or programming skill(s)

---

| 6 - Line Without A Hook

“She’s a, she’s a lady

and I am just a line without a–”

Insecure and bad. That’s what most of your relationships have felt like. It didn’t help that your parent had a sexual promiscuity problem, which probably didn’t really help your endeavors. But once you get someone, you are determined to never let them go- no matter what!… But. Your relationship becomes codependent. It becomes a problem- you can’t stop being around them. And your problems are cropping up again— so what do you do? You’re a line without a hook. You leave. 

Aspiration: Angeling Ace

Traits: Erratic, Perfectionist, Jealous

Career: Conservationist

Requirements:

Be best friends with your spouse, but eventually leave and abandon your family 

(abandoning family is considered the end of this generation)

Max out the fishing skill

Finish the frog collection

Never live alone

---

| 7 - Last Night

“Last night

I was fine!”

You weren’t super young when your parent abandoned you, but definitely old enough to destroy your teenage/YA life. It seemed like they always had something else better to do than love you, like for example loving your other parent way more. Were you really wanted? You spend your days forever at the bar, drinking and trying to forget. Eventually you’re dragged away, every time. By someone who allegedly loves you. 

Aspiration: Master Mixologist

Traits: Loner, Snob, Dance Machine

Career: Culinary (Mixology Branch)

Requirements:

Go to nightclubs/bars at least once a week

Be close/best friends with the parent who didn’t leave you. 

Have a partner, but cheat on them with a one night stand, that results in the heir. 

Master the mixology skill

---

| 8 - Mr Loverman

“I’m Mr. Loverman, 

and I miss my lover..”

Your life was always a little bit of a mess, but you keep going. Eventually you meet the love of your life, and you love and live with them as hard as you can. For so many years… But eventually… you lose them. And you mourn that love for the rest of your life, falling deep into problems that are generational. 

Aspiration: Soulmate

Traits: Cheerful -> Gloomy, Music Lover, Slob

Career: Freelancer (Writing Branch)

Requirements:

Lose your spouse, never remarry

Have a nuclear family (at least 3 kids + a pet)

Fall into old habits, start sabotaging relationships + going to bars.

Max the Cross-Stitch skill

---

| 9 - Snow

“Bury me six feet in snow”

Once one of your parents dies, your other parent becomes very vindictive towards the rest of your family. You took the heat of it, and quickly your life fell apart. You get into a toxic relationship, and lose who you were slightly in the process. When everything seems calm, you jump ship. You aspire for your kid to have a better life, and bury your skeletons to make sure they will. 

Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast and/or Super Parent

Traits: Adventurous, Self-Absorbed, Family-Oriented

Career: Law (Either Branch)

Requirements:

Have a toxic relationship with your partner, break it off when it starts to get better

Have one kid, and max out all their skills as a toddler/infant

Max the Archeology skill

---

| 10 - This December

“This December

I’ll remember”

Your parent always wanted better for you. But you can’t help but think about the generations before you, how all their problems ruined their life, and how it seemed like every generation passed it down to their children. But you decide no more, this isn’t going to happen to you. Instead of fall into the pitfalls of your parents, you break the generational trauma, and decide to live a life free of the problems you know your family has been through. Don’t forget to look back, and see how far you’ve come. This December, you’ll remember everything. 

Aspiration: Successful Lineage

Traits: Family-Oriented, Loyal, Insider

Career: Education (Either Branch)

Requirements:

Fall in love healthily, get married, and adopt.

Celebrate the winter holidays the hardest. Go all out!

Master the Wellness skill

Reminisce on family often.

[marinaiguess]

Blaze and Rouge hanging out and stealing stuff together in Murder of Sonic

ah, i love them so much. have never thought how these two would hang out, so this is gonna be fun!

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

"Give that back."

She looked at her as they both halted, looking kind of surprised with her request. "Give what back, darling?"

The other sighed in annoyance, she didn't know how much patience she had left in her. "The Sol Emerald, Rouge. I can sense them you know. You just stole one from me."

Visiting Sonic's world was always a delight, often hiding tons of surprises. And this trip did not differ at all. She wouldn't miss Amy's birthday party for the world (or the cake, since, in this dimension, they were absolutely delicious) but for a moment, she thought that was all there was. That this was just a birthday party. Amy's request to have them wear specific outfits seemed oddly specific but she supposed that this was how birthday parties worked in this world. Not that she ever had a proper, informal birthday party herself in her own kingdom, so how should she know? She was just following the request; disappointing Amy, no less on her birthday, was something she would despise to do. However, not much to her surprise, the party turned out to be something entirely different; a Mystery Game.

That didn't exactly make sense to her at first but she accepted it of course. Her friends seemed to like the idea so maybe she had to try it first before drawing a deduction. Sonic in particular was very excited about it and even explained to her how this was supposed to go, before getting wrapped up in a conversation with Vector. Her remaining quaries were answered by Amy herself. Like, the question of where she would be stationed.

She wasn't expecting to be partnered with Rouge. It made sense, given their 'lore cards', for both of them to be in the casino station, but she wasn't expecting it. Indeed, Sonic's world was full of surprises. Rouge didn't seem bothered by that, by the fact they barely knew each other or that she was a fire-weilding princess that could set her on fire any time of the day. On the other hand, she had a lot of thoughts regarding the matter. If anything, Rouge wasn't a complete stranger to her, which made things much harder to handle. They weren't friends, not really, but they weren't stangers either. And she could handle the latter group just fine, she'd practiced it lots of times in her own kingdom. But something in-between? Yeah, she definitely had her reservations about it.

If anxiety took the best of her as they were together, trying to find the best way to handle their social situation, she managed to hide it pretty well.

"'Steal', is a very strong word, Blazey. I'd prefer the term 'borrow'." Rouge crossed her arms as she smirked at her.

"Using the word 'borrow' explicitly states that you would return it eventually." Blaze countered, mimicking her actions while also raising a brow at her, almost in a challenging manner. "Would you?"

"Eventually." she winked. But at Blaze's unimpressed expression, her smirk faltered. "What?"

The cat only raised her palm as a response, standing perfectly still otherwise, still maintaining her poker face and really giving Rouge a run for her money.

"You're no fun, you know that?" Rouge let her arms fall.

"I know." Blaze smiled. "Now, the Emerald please?"

Rouge pouted, before taking the cyan-colored gem out of her glove to admire it, even for one last time. "Well, it was worth a shot."

"It definitely was." Was her reply as she got tossed the Sol Emerald, catching it without any problem. Rouge still aproached her immediately after that, holding her by the shoulder. That earned her a side-glance but she went on unbothered.

"Want to make this actually fun?" Rouge grinned at her, almost deviously, like she was planning something.

Blaze brushed her hand off and started walking again. "I don't think your idea of fun matches with mine." She simply stated. And while it was true, she had a feeling of what Rouge might be suggesting and she wanted to avoid getting entangled in such a case.

"Aw, come on, darling, what are we supposed to do for the next few hours?" she grabbed her by her shoulder again to make her stop.

"Follow Amy's request and keep her happy on her birthday party?" Blaze said with a perfectly even voice, trying not to sound too annoyed.

"That, but also, this is a party, so we can have fun at the same time." she blew her a kiss playfully, giggling at how Blaze scrunched her nose in response.

"Alright." She rolled her eyes. " What do you propose we do?"

"Hmmm...we could..." she tapped her finger on her chin while staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with an idea, "...search for the secret treasure of this train?"

Of course she didn't come up with this right now. "Secret treasure?"

"Well, yes!" She exclaimed, clearly excited. "Actually, I'm sure there are a lot more than just one lying around here, so you can also practice your 'treasure hunting' skills while we're at it!"

"Treasure hunting skills?" Blaze knew Rouge referred to herself as a treasure hunter but if said skills were the ones used to take the Sol Emerald away from her, then she doubted that they both understood the concept of treasure hunting in the same way. "You mean, you want me to steal something for you?"

"Find a treasure." She emphasized, as her hand flew to her face to massage her temples. "Man, it's so obvious that you hang out too much with Sonic. But even he knows to let loose from time to time."

Rouge noticed the blush on her cheeks and she smirked but managed to compose herself and not make any snarky comment about that. Maybe some other time. "Besides," she added, "we could do it by your own rules and return the treasure afterwards. I'm sure you'll be fine with that."

She was fine with that but she didn't know if she should be. If it was right to search the train and steal someone's property just to return it back not long after. Rouge's scrutinizing gaze, accompanied by her confident and smug smirk was all she needed to make her decision, even though she felt like this wasn't a choice she had a say in to begin with.

There was something behind that smirk, behind her expression that felt weirdly familar. Blaze couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was but it was a rare occurence that this ever happened to her, that she found a person whose mannerisms reminded her of someone else's, without her being able to name the other person.

With a sigh, she gave up, giving Rouge her first win against her. "Fine, let's see how treasure hunters enjoy themselves."

Blaze did really have fun that day, even if she hadn't expected it at first.

She snorted at the thought. Full of surprises.

[tookyourdadsarrow]

Intro Post ~

[Looks cautiously to and fro]

Don't tell Kyra, but I miiiiiight have taken her "secret" phone when she wasn't looking...

Not for anything bad of course! Just wanted a means to properly introduce myself ;)

🔥 Alex, Daughter of Hestia; Unclaimed...

Name: Alexandra Calida Alavez Age: 12 Pronouns: She/Her Godly Parent: Hestia; At the moment, I'm unclaimed Mortal Family: Sol Alavez (Dad) Camp Half-Blood Cabin: #21, once the truth has been revealed; for now, I tend to chill in Cabin #11 (Hermes)

Fun Facts About Yours' Truly -

🕯Favorite Color: Various shades of red and orange, though yellow is also starting to really grow on me... 🕯Birthday: November 24th (smack in the middle of Autumn; every four years, my birthday also falls on the day of family feasts)

🕯Hobbies: - Sparring with my Spear - Cooking and Baking - Writing and Telling Stories - Just... being there for others I suppose

🕯Favorite Snack: Bread, both savory & sweet

🕯Demigod Powers: - Pyrokinesis (i can control fire?!) - Food Enhancement (purify food/sense if it is tampered) - Limited Healing (through the food I cook) - Warmth & Serenity Inducement (make you feel warm & at peace ~)

🕯Best Camp Half-Blood Skills: - Cooking (some say the food I touch feels blessed ~) - Spearmanship - Lighting a Flame - Generally the Camp's Peacekeeper (do you all have any idea how many fights I had to break up and negotiate through)

🕯Dream Job (if I weren’t a demigod): I tend to be very... low-key. If I had to choose, maybe a quiet desk job. However, I also find I have a passion in helping others, so with that in mind I wouldn't say no to being a therapist or counselor of some sort!

🕯Background: I'm an only child. My dad never really felt the need to go out and settle down with someone else, so for the longest time it was just the two of us. Unfortunately, after I went through an unnatural accident two years ago my dad decided to start dating a nasty woman, Kathleen, and let's just say we haven't had the best relationship...

But now, after my dad has disappeared and I've been brought to camp Half-Blood, I have to deal with the challenges of being a demigod while also being unclaimed! Thank goodness for Kyra, otherwise I don't think I would have managed so well (she's fantastic)!

🕯Personality: Optimistic, passionate, though relatively introverted and a bit too altruistic for her own good, it's not too far off to say Alex is the kind of person who puts her loved ones before herself. She is always willing to lend an ear and be a pillar of support to those who need it, especially if they are near and dear to her heart. Though she is a pacifist at heart, preferring to use her words in resolving conflict, Alex will use her actions to send a message if she must!

Though she has been left unclaimed, for the time being, she does not let this deter her away from the others at camp. While still a bit of an outcast, Alex has learned to hone her abnormalities and embrace her half-divine blood (even if she has found herself growing... resentful... of her godly mother); but above all else, she is determined to find out what happened to her father!

🕯Favorite Camp Memories: - Cooking a meal for her fellow demigods for the first time - Telling a beautiful story over the campfire, one with a happy ending - Meeting Kyra for the first time (girl quite literally was a beacon of light in all the chaos)

🕯Little Extra Detail: I can't help but imagine and create little stories about the things I see, no matter how small the subject is about: - Those campers walking off to train in the woods, who knows the trial they are preparing for? - That fox carrying a stick in his mouth, or an adventurous spirit set out to complete his own little journey? - Two fireflies, illuminating the other even when they have the means to glow so beautifully on their own...

Where will their story go from here?

[rcsetorn]

Name: Beatrix Alias: Rose of May Titles: General, Lady Nationality: Alexandrian Race: Human Age: 28 Gender: Female Sexuality: Heterosexual Birth date: April 19, 1772 Occupation: General of the Alexandrian Army

Height: 5'8" (172 cm) Weight: 157 lbs (71 kg) Hair color: Chestnut Brown Eye color: left: magenta right (blind):pale due to pigment loss Complexion: Fair

The general of Alexandria’s beauty is spoken just as highly as her famed swordsmanship. Tall and curvy. Large brown curls that fall about her shoulders. Calloused hands and faint scars scattered across her body do not take away from her splendor. Beatrix’s attire consists of a red and white sleeveless duster with her symbolic rose embroidered upon the back. Her large belt carries the scabbard for her blade, Save the Queen. And though she’s sacrificed defense for speed, her gauntlets, boots, and a metal eyepatch covering her scared, right eye remain heavy armor for that of a paladin.

Positive: Loyal, forgiving, formal, leadership, self-sacrificing Negative: Merciless, arrogant, holier-than-thou, jealousy Likes: Competition, swordplay, tea Dislikes: Black magic, vanity, rambling Alignment: Lawful Neutral Myers-Briggs: ESTJ

Beatrix is a soldier first, a lady second. Loyalty is a quality placed in high regard, tied to the Alexandrian people and the royal family. She possesses outstanding leadership skills, gaining her respect among soldiers, citizens, and enemies alike. Her superior attitude can oft be hypocritical, as it’s a trait she looks down on others for- especially when one does overcome her, leaving the general rather bitter. The Alexandrian General tends to mask emotions in both features and voice, specifically when in combat, as there is a certain thrill she wishes not to be known by others, though beckons for challenges. She attempts to hide her true feelings to others, considering them a weakness that could get in the way. However, her actions sometimes speak for themselves- placing her kingdom and others before her own needs. Others often find her behavior hostile and stern, yet underneath those thorns is a gentle heart. Despite the pride she has for her military position, Beatrix feels the touch of loneliness.

♛ Though modest, there remains a barrier among social class. Where her life is devoted to protecting her country and its people, she still has a slight superior outlook above others. ♛ She is incredibly strong and confident, but Beatrix will suppress and evade issues concerning herself and her feelings even among friends. ♛ A perfect soldier. No matter the order, it will be executed without question- even if innocents should perish by her sword. ♛ After the events of IX, Beatrix attempts to avoid some unnecessary conflict during walks and outings as opposed to her pride putting others in their place midst a crowded street. Not out of a desire to avoid fights, but feeling it beneficial after her and Alexandria’s involvement in the invasions of other nations.

***FFIX spoilers*** (this means you Sol)

From the Sleepless City of Treno, Beatrix seemed to be a prodigy with a blade from her youth and, romanced by the aspects and glory of war, enlisted in the Alexandrian royal army at 13 years of age. Skilled and never knowing defeat from any challenger, her arrogance grew, as did her reputation within the ranks and unto the royal family.

At 17, the king and queen requested she duel her senior of the Knights of Pluto, Adelbert Steiner. Though Beatrix was to be the obvious victor, Steiner emerged victorious by sheer luck. In doing so, Beatrix lost her right eye in the fight. So great was the determination to overcome the humiliation, the single loss fueled rigorous amounts of unhealthy training that in a year's time Beatrix had bested 100 knights, earned the title of "continent's best swordsman", and taken command as General of the all-female Alexandrian army.

During nine years, Beatrix's fame and devotion to queen and kingdom have not gone unnoticed. By way of Queen Brahne, Beatrix allies herself with a newcomer with a taste for war hailing from the Outer Continent by the name of Kuja, who manipulates his way into good graces.

With pieces strategically putting into play, Beatrix follows Brahne's orders conducting an invasion with Kuja's black mages into Burmecia, and later infiltrating, the City of Illusion, Cleyra to take a crystal shard- a key component needed to summon a powerful eidolon.

Though the Rose of May has doubts concerning her queen’s methods and reasoning their actions against the other kingdoms, she remains silent, even after learning of the Queen’s intentions to execute the Princess Garnet. For surely the Queen would not kill her only daughter. Realizing how blind she's been upon seeing the attempt made before her, Beatrix regains her clarity of the oath she made years ago and turns her back against her queen.

After Brahne's death, the general finds herself aiding Princess Garnet to take her mother's place as ruler. The coronation ceremony turns horrific when Kuja returns to call upon Bahamut and invading Alexandria with monster of the Mist. As Steiner and Beatrix evacuate civilians and fend off attacks from enemy forces, the great eidolon Alexander is summoned to protect the city. It's during the aftermath does Beatrix truly come face to face with with the error of her ways- to destroy Burmecia and then have her home destroyed in turn.

Beatrix remains with her beloved city, taking responsibility and leading efforts in wake of the destruction.

Midst rebuilding, there's reports of disturbances at the Iifa Tree. Taking charge alongside Regent Cid of Lindblum, Beatrix leads a fleet against a hoard of dragons surrounding the ancient tree of life while clearing a way for Zidane to enter Memoria and stop Kuja. When victory seems won and their enemy dead, Beatrix resumes work in Alexandria.

After two years, everything is rebuilt and life is returning to normal. Beatrix feels she's done all she can for Alexandria and attempts resigning her place as general in secret. However, she's caught while leaving and begged to stay for her work is not over. And discovers she'll not suffer alone in her guilt.

[carmensolny]

How to Choose the Perfect Slide for Your Kid: Top Trends and Safety Tips

In the world of children's entertainment, few things spark as much joy as a well-designed slide. Whether it's at the local park, a friend's backyard, or your own home, slides offer endless fun and excitement for kids of all ages. However, when it comes to choosing the perfect slide for your little one, there are several factors to consider to ensure both enjoyment and safety. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the top trends in kids slides and provide essential safety tips to help you make the best choice for your child's playtime adventures.

1. Understanding Kids Slides:

Before delving into the selection process, it's crucial to understand the different types of slides available in the market. From traditional playground slides to inflatable options, there's a wide variety to choose from, each catering to specific age groups and preferences. Toddler slides, for instance, are designed with shorter heights and gentler slopes to accommodate younger children, while larger slides with twists and turns are more suitable for older kids seeking an adrenaline rush.

2. Top Trends in Kids Slides:

In recent years, the landscape of kids slides has evolved, with manufacturers introducing innovative features to enhance safety and enjoyment. One prominent trend is the incorporation of vibrant colors and playful designs to stimulate children's imagination and creativity. Additionally, slides with adjustable heights and modular components have gained popularity, allowing for customization to suit different age groups and skill levels.

Another emerging trend is the integration of interactive elements such as water sprays and sound effects, transforming ordinary slides into immersive play experiences. These interactive features not only add an element of excitement but also encourage physical activity and sensory exploration.

3. Safety First:

When it comes to children's play equipment, safety should always be a top priority. Before purchasing a slide, thoroughly inspect its construction and materials to ensure durability and stability. Opt for slides made from high-quality materials such as durable plastic or metal, with smooth edges and secure fastenings to prevent accidents.

Moreover, consider the location and placement of the slide, ensuring it is placed on a level surface away from obstacles and hazards. Regularly inspect the slide for any signs of wear and tear, and follow manufacturer guidelines for assembly and maintenance to ensure long-term safety.

4. Choosing the Right Size:

When selecting a slide for your child, consider their age, size, and developmental stage. Toddlers and younger children may prefer smaller slides with low platforms and gentle slopes, while older kids may enjoy larger slides with taller heights and more challenging features.

Additionally, take into account the available space in your backyard or play area, ensuring the slide fits comfortably without overcrowding or obstruction. Measure the dimensions of the slide and compare them to your available space to avoid any surprises upon delivery.

5. The Importance of Proper Footwear:

Finally, don't overlook the importance of proper footwear when using slides. Encourage your child to wear supportive shoes with good traction to prevent slips and falls, especially on slick surfaces. Avoid shoes with open toes or loose straps that could get caught on the slide or cause tripping hazards.

In conclusion, choosing the perfect slide for your kid requires careful consideration of various factors, including design, safety features, and suitability for your child's age and size. By staying informed about the latest trends and prioritizing safety, you can create a fun and engaging play environment that sparks joy and fosters healthy development.

Looking for high-quality kids slides and accessories? Check out Carmen Sol's range of durable and stylish play equipment designed to inspire endless hours of fun and adventure for your little ones. With a commitment to safety and innovation, Carmen Sol offers a wide selection of slides and playsets that combine quality craftsmanship with vibrant aesthetics, making them the perfect choice for your child's playtime adventures.

[espithewarlock]

hello espiiiiiii 🤍🤍🤍🤍 for the wrapped thing, 20 and 30 pls? ✨

anything for you, sol!! 💚

20 - Which work of yours have you reread the most?

I reread my stuff constantly while I'm working on it. Every fic gets at least one reread in gdocs before it gets loaded to AO3 & one reread in AO3 before I hit post. After I hit post I am extremely unlikely to reread any of them, with few exceptions:

Love Comes Wearing Disguises (Baker!Pierre x Prince!Charles)

Coloring Outside the Lines (Ferrari!Pierre x OnlyFans!Charles)

Bittersweet, That Glitter (Dragon!Pierre x Potions Apprentice!Charles)

These three fall into what I call my long-form oneshots and I adore them so much. These are the fics that feel like me, like my signature works, and I'm thrilled with how each of them turned out. (The fact that other people like them too is, frankly, mind-boggling.)

30 - Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Probably that I work very well with prompts. 1016 week was the first time I had written works using prompts and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it and the stuff I managed to produce for that week.

My PWFE is going extremely well, and it's something atypical for me but I'm enjoying writing it quite a bit. The prompt I got for that was very inspiring!

So I have plenty of my own ideas that I'm working on, and I'm also looking forward to more prompt-based challenges!

(And can I also add that I am continuously stunned by the outpouring of love & support from the Piarles community? It's so lovely to write in such a positive space.)

[ladyhoneydee]

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 20

Aaaand we are officially 2/3 of the way through my Song(fic) Challenge! I am very excited to be here, and with my progress so far! I'm doing a lot of things I've never done before this month--which extends to today's fic, which is a bit different!

Today's prompt was "a song that makes you feel cozy", and I had a bunch of options for this one, since I have an entire 4.5hr playlist of slow cozy love songs. I ended up going with "One and Only" by Teitur, though, which you may better recognize as the song from the water tower fireworks scene in the 2000s classic mermaid movie, Aquamarine. The instrumental in this song has always reminded me of the OST for the farming adventure sim Rune Factory 3, and so I deviated from my usual LoZ to write for a new fandom instead--for the first time in nearly four years!

Stars Above, Stars Below

Game: Rune Factory 3: A Fantasy Harvest Moon

Pairing: Micah/Marian

Word Count: 1582

Keywords: romance, love confession, handholding

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but sometime between running away from that two-handed weapon she called a syringe, waking up after fainting in one of the dungeons with her tending his bedside (gleefully overcharging him while she was at it), and their walks along the beach through the summer and fall, feelings had blossomed in his heart like the flowers he grew in his fields. He couldn’t help but to fall for her chaotic charm: her determination, her humor, her desire to understand the world and herself, her selfless desire to help others that still never outweighed her selfish desire to help herself.  Micah was a slow grower, but Marian made him want to keep up.

Read the fic on AO3, or under the cut!

The stars shone down on the Sol Terrano Sand Sea with dizzying brightness. Above their heads, Micah saw galaxies upon galaxies, layered atop one another like celestial tulle in one of Evelyn’s designs. Violet splashed into emerald green; silver sparkled atop indigo. He hadn’t known a night sky to contain so much color before in his life. Even if he’d had all his memories, he was pretty sure that would still be true. 

Of course, he hadn’t stargazed with Marian before like this, either. Perhaps every sky shone brighter with her by his side. 

She lay next to him on the dune. The sand, still releasing a soothing warmth from the day’s heat, cushioned them like the finest of mattresses. If Micah wasn’t hyperaware of his date’s every breath and shift in position—she never could sit still for too long—he might have found it comfortable enough to fall asleep. 

A warm glow flared to life in his heart at the thought of falling asleep next to Marian someday. Spirits, he was truly head over heels for her, wasn’t he?

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but sometime between running away from that two-handed weapon she called a syringe, waking up after fainting in one of the dungeons with her tending his bedside (gleefully overcharging him while she was at it), and their walks along the beach through the summer and fall, feelings had blossomed in his heart like the flowers he grew in his fields. He couldn’t help but to fall for her chaotic charm: her determination, her humor, her desire to understand the world and herself, her selfless desire to help others that still never outweighed her selfish desire to help herself. 

Micah was a slow grower, but Marian made him want to keep up. 

“Micah, are you cold?” Marian asked suddenly. His brows drew together in concern at the slight quiver in her voice. 

“Maybe…a little? Why?” Was she the cold one? The desert did get chilly at night, it was true. If she wanted to go back…well, it would be a little disappointing, since they’d only been out for half an hour or so, but he would gladly walk her home to the apothecary if that was her choice.

“You just have those little gaps in your sleeve on your shoulders! It’s perfect for a shot, you know.” In the past, Micah might have shuddered at a comment like that, but after seasons of getting to know her—and watching her sense of medical ethics slowly improve—he only smiled affectionately up at the sky. “I thought maybe you’d be cold, with those exposed.”

“Oh!” Micah considered it, for a moment. He was a bit cold, if he was honest. Not enough to want to leave, or that it was unpleasant, but enough that he could feel it, and knew he’d feel nicer if he was warmer. “Maybe a little. …What did you have in mind?”

He snuck a peek over at Marian’s face beside him, and found her staring up at the sky with wide eyes, and a blush so hotly red he could see it even in the dark on her cheeks. “Well, I have my cloak with me, and it’s so warm and fuzzy…I thought, if you were cold, we could…share it? Like a blanket?”

Micah’s own cheeks flamed at the thought, and he turned back upright himself so as not to be caught with the incriminatingly gleeful, shocked smile on his face. “S-share a blanket? With you?”

Marian twitched beside him, just for an instant. “Um, yes? But you don’t have to if you don’t want to! I can just keep it to myself.” 

Oh, no, it hadn’t been a twitch after all. It had been a flinch. Micah’s heart dropped into his stomach. 

While he was feeling guilty, Marian had kept on rambling. “Actually, I might have some medicine here somewhere that would raise your body temperature—”

Micah interrupted as Marian’s hands darted to her skirt pockets. “No, no! I…want to.”

“To take medicine?”

“No!” His voice was too loud, but spirits, Marian could be so endearingly dense sometimes! He made a conscious effort to lower it. “To share your cloak, Marian.”

“Oh!” Micah wasn’t sure if she was trying to mask the delight in her voice at all, but if she had, she had failed. The pressure bearing down on him from his accidental near-rejection of her advances lessened, and he took a full, deep breath. “You should’ve said so from the start, silly!”

He laughed. “You’re right, I should’ve.”

There was silence for a few moments. Micah resisted the urge to look back over at Marian, worried that he would see something on her face she wouldn’t want him to see. Instead, he searched the sky above for any stars of the same candy-cloud blue as her hair. Many came close, but there was never an exact match.

“I’ll…scoot closer, then!” Marian said eventually, her voice high. “Although, I should take off my cloak first, I guess…”

She sat up beside him, and Micah watched, eyes wide, as she untied the large yellow bow that held the cloak together around her shoulders. Her shoulders weren’t anything new to see—they’d shared the beach before, after all—but under the desert starlight, her skin seemed to almost glow.

Or maybe that was a side effect of some new medicine she was researching. He wouldn’t be surprised. 

Marian laid back down, and began to scoot across the sand towards him. They’d been about a foot apart before, but that distance shrunk quickly. Micah felt his heart thump-thudding in his chest. Not to leave her hanging, he scooted forward too, until his left arm bumped into her right. 

Marian swiftly shook out her cloak and let it flutter down over them. The warmth was immediate: between the sturdy-yet-comfy thick fabric, and Marian’s own body heat that had radiated into that cloak all day long, he felt like he was in a soft cocoon of coziness. Not to mention the way feeling Marian beside him, with all her sharp edges and hesitant presses against his side, made his own internal temperature skyrocket.

“This is a lot warmer,” he said, although he felt quite foolish at such an inane comment. Why couldn’t he be more suave? What was he so scared about? “Thank you for sharing your warmth with me, Marian.”

“You’re welcome!” That higher-pitched tone was still there, but she seemed genuinely pleased by his words. He could take comfort in that.

They lay together under the cloak-blanket, and Micah felt them both begin to relax, ever so slowly. His own tension at not saying the right thing and the new challenge of functioning normally with Marian so close began to abate as he simply enjoyed her company, and Marian’s posture beside him became less rigid. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight.” Spirits, why had he opened his mouth? What a useless thing to say.

“They really are!” Marian agreed. He smiled at the zeal in her tone. No matter where, Marian was Marian. 

Still no stars in Marian’s color in the sky above them. He was beginning to think that the only celestial body in the whole universe with it was lying right beside him.

Micah took a steadying breath, and then reached out with something besides his stumbling words.

Under the cloak, his tentative hand found her own. His fingers grazed across her palm, and he felt her shiver, just before their fingers intertwined. 

Oh, oh. If Marian was a star, he was a supernova. And yet, the feeling of her hand in his brought a strength and courage he hadn’t felt before.

“Marian…there’s something I want to ask you.”

He turned his head to the side, instinctively seeking out the familiar aubergine of her gaze. To his surprise, she was facing him already, eyes widened, mouth poised in an ‘o’.

“I…really like you, Marian,” he confessed, heart thrumming in his throat like a hummingbird’s wings. “No, I—I love you. I don’t think I could’ve gone another day without telling you.” 

The recipe for the silver-and-ruby engagement ring flashed in his mind’s eye, and he rushed to clarify. “I-I mean, I’m not ready to get married, I still have so much to do with the farm, and Vale River to free! And I know you still have dreams too at the apothecary that you want to focus on! Not that you’d have to give them up if you married me, of course! I only mean—” Spirits, he was digging himself into a hole here. “I’d like to promise myself to you, though, for the future. If you’ll have me.”

Marian’s gaze had transitioned from shocked, to confused, to amused, as he spoke. Now, she stared back at him with unbelievable tenderness. 

“I like you too, Micah,” she whispered, eyes sparkling. “And I love you. And I’d be the silly one if I turned down such an adorable guinea pig.”

Micah cracked a grin despite the seriousness of the moment. He squeezed her hand once, twice, three times. I love you. 

Someday, he’d tell her of the significance of the motion, and they would repeat it all the time, until he could get three squeezes back even while she slept beside him in their marriage bed, blue hair tickling his face and legs tangled with his. For now, he stared into the stars in Marian’s eyes, knowing that they were a reflection of the same joy and excitement in his own. 

[winchesters-favorite-girl]

Raking Leaves

A/N: So this is my entry for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing‘s Seasons of Love-Colors of Fall Challenge and my prompt was raking leaves.

Word Count: 1091

Warnings: Fluff

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“Sam?” Dean stated as he watched his brother do lawn work outside of the bunker’s garage while sipping on his coffee, “What’re you doing?”

Sam glanced up before returning to work, adding more leaves into the already large pile, “Raking leaves; what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Well, yeah you’re raking leaves.” Dean said with a confused face, “The question is why? We never do homey housework stuff like this, there’s no need, so, why are you doing it?”

“Cause.” Sam simply stated as he continued his work.

“Cause why?” Dean pushed.

“Are you done yet Papa?” Your ten-year-old voice shouted from within the garage. Dean shot Sam another puzzled look before looking behind him to watch you excitedly run over to the brothers. “What’s taking so long?” You questioned your father.

Sam playfully raised his eyebrow at your impatience, “If you want this to go faster you could always grab a rake.”

Making a funny face you shook your head, “I don’t think so; that looks like a lot of work.”

“It is,” Sam replied with a chuckle, “Hey kiddo, can you go grab me a water? When you come back you’ll be good to go.” Quickly nodding your head you bounded back into the garage and into the Bunker for what your father requested.

Once you were out of earshot Sam continued to add leaves to the enormous pile he already had as Dean once again asked why he was raking leaves.

“Because I told Y/N I would!” Sam responded in an annoyed tone, “Why is it bothering you so much?”

“Woh calm down, I was just wondering. You’re the one who got all defensive when I asked why you were doing it. You gotta admit; it is kinda weird.” Dean told his brother. “So, why did you tell Y/N you’d rake leaves and why is she so excited?”

Sam stopped raking the leaves and stared at the rake in his hands, letting out a sigh Sam began to speak, “When I picked her up from school we drove by some kids playing in the leaves and she asked me why she never got to do that.”

“So you decided to be a good dad and give her some leaves to jump in.” Dean joked with a smile that diminished when he noticed how visibly upset Sam seemed, “Hey man it was just a joke, I think it’s cool you’re doing this for the munchkin. Hell, I might even partake in the leaf jumping.”

“How many other childhood activities has she missed out on because we are always on the road?” Sam questioned with a sad look on his face.

Dean’s forehead creased in concern, “Where’s this comin’ from?”

Sam let out another sigh, “Think of all the stuff we missed out on when we were kids, now I’m realizing all the stuff Y/N’s missed out on; I just wanna make sure I’m being a good dad.”

“And you are.” Dean finished for his brother, “Sam, you’ve always bent over backwards to do whatever you can so that Y/N felt like a normal kid. I mean she mentioned wanting to jump in leaves and you went out and bought rakes and have spent your morning doing worthless yard work so that she’d have a pile to jump in,” Dean said, pointing his finger to emphasize his words, “And I bet when she destroys that pile of leaves you’ll rake it all up just so she can do it again.”

A small smile appeared on Sam’s lips with his brother’s words, “Yeah, I probably will.”

“That’s cause you’re a good dad.” Dean stated as a matter of fact.

“Got your water Papa!” You called out as you ran to Sam.

“Thanks kiddo.” Sam replied, grabbing the water from you.

“The leaves ready?” You questioned, glancing at the pile with a look of pure happiness.

“Yup, they’re ready, are you?” Your father asked with a large smile on his face.

“Oh yeah.” You replied, stepping closer to the huge pile of leaves that stood in front of you, glancing back you reached your hand out towards Sam, “You’re gonna jump with me aren’t you Papa?”

The brothers let out a small laugh followed by Sam handing Dean the rake he was holding. Dean was fast to grab it and sent Sam a knowing look that screamed ‘I told you that you were a good dad.’  Rolling his eyes Sam returned his attention to you, lifting his hand up, he grabbed your hand that was reaching out for his. Your hand was engulfed by your father’s who gave it a tight squeeze.

“On three?” You asked. Sam acknowledged by nodding his head, “Okay, one, two,-“

Your count was interrupted by Sam grabbing and pulling you into the pile of leaves with him. Letting out a squeal you sat up in the pile and gave your father a bewildered look.

“Papa!” You playfully shouted before grabbing some leaves and tossing them in Sam’s face, resulting in a playful leaf fight. Ten minutes later you were lying on the ground in laughter as the leaves were scattered around you.

“You two done?” Dean questioned with a large smile on his face.

Looking over at Sam you bit your lip, signaling that you were in thought. Turning your head to face your uncle you shook your head, “Nope; you gotta play too Uncle Dean.”

“Oh no, I’m too old to-“ Dean tried to say but the puppy dog eyes you were giving him stopped Dean in his tracks. Letting out a fake groan he nodded his head, “Fine, I’ll play in the leaves.”

“Awesome!” You shouted as you leaped up from the ground, “You guys rake up the leaves, I’m gonna go to the bathroom; I’ll be right back.” You told them before taking off into the garage.

Dean stood there for a moment while Sam remained seated on the ground, both had happy looks upon their faces before Dean started to chuckle, interrupting Sam from his thoughts.

“What?” Sam asked.

Dean continued to laugh as he shook his head, “Your kid totally just conned us into raking up more leaves so she could just make a mess of them again.”

Sam was silent before he couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. Standing up he shook his head, “She has us wrapped around her finger.”

“Maybe,” Dean replied as he grabbed the rakes from the ground, handing one to Sam he shot him a smile, “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[deanssweetheart23]

Somewhere Only We Know

Title: Somewhere Only We Know: Autumn Leaves (Part 1)

Summary: Dean Winchester doesn’t believe in love. He doesn’t believe that he deserves to be loved, doesn’t believe he deserves the happiness of it after everything he’s done. And then she waltzes into his life. The girl that brings with her colors and life and feelings he never thought he’d experience. The girl with the scars that match his. Is the one year he gets to spend with her enough to change his life forever? Or will it break him beyond repair?

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester, Marty Blye (OMC)

Word count: 3928

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Mentions of blood and violence. References to death, grief and loss. Language. Sexist remarks (and Dean being his amazing self). 

Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @@thing-you-do-with-that-thing‘s  Seasons of Love Challenge (Colors of Fall) and for @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba ’s 250 Writing Challenge. Ladies, thank you both so much for letting me participate and allowing me to combine your prompts, I fell in love with this and I hope you like it as much.

Special thank you to twin @ravengirl94 for always finding time to help me.

My prompts were a secret gif that has been inserted into the fic below and Dive by Ed Sheeran (which is one of the most amazing songs ever and screams Dean’s name, tbh). 

This will be a mini-series of four parts. (Every new part will be posted seasonally). 

Without further ado. Enjoy <3

Dean doesn’t really like autumn.

He knows most people do, knows that they love the flutters of color and the crispy breeze kisses, the valleys and the leaves and the scarlet of the sky, but he’s never able to fully appreciate them, to feel the magic of it all in his bones and his heart in the way other people do.

Autumn is not a time of magic for Dean.

It’s not painted in colors of change and new beginnings. Everything he sees in the curved pumpkins and the rays of cold sunshine, everything he can see, reminds him of his mother’s smile and the way her arms wrapped around his little frame and of the embers, those warm, bright embers of fire that swallowed up his entire childhood.

So, when a possible shapeshifter case takes him and his brother to Denver, one of the best cities for fall travel, according to the local newspaper, he rolls his eyes and grumbles under his breath until his brother points out that he looks like a petulant child.

And when he realizes that he’s bound to spend an hour of his life in that horrible coffee shop with the extravagant lantern pumpkins and the autumn themed menu because his brother is meeting a friend from Stanford, he’s crestfallen.

Letting out a loud sigh, Dean clears his mind and goes over his newspaper for what feels like the hundredth time that day, trying to find something, anything that he’d be able to link to their case.

He has no such luck.

With a roll of his eyes, he takes a look at the miserable fall themed wreaths that hang from the walls, and, reaches for the menu. Everything in there, every single thing, is pumpkin flavored.

God. 

He hates autumn.

Maybe he could just-

“I’m sorry.” Someone shouts, voice unexpectedly soft as a blast of cold wind dances through the open door and reaches him, scraping at his skin. “Crap, I’m so sorry.”

Dean looks up, bemused, only to find one of the most fascinating girls he’s ever seen standing right in front of him.

She’s beautiful, even in that tacky black and orange workwear that seems to be the coffee shop’s signature sign, and, despite her disheveled and flustered state, the warmth she radiates, the way she way just stands there and demands attention, makes it impossible for him to take his eyes off her.

“I tried calling but my battery’s dead and the traffic was-”

“This is the third time you’re late this week, Y/N.” A man –her boss, Dean assumes, says, lips screwed into a scowl.

“I know. I just-”

“The only reason I agreed to this was because Josh vouched for you. But if this keeps happening, I can’t-”

“It won’t.” Y/N states firmly, jutting her chin, though he can swear her voice wavers a little bit. “This will never happen again. I promise.”

The man takes a long look at her then, so cold and calculative that manages to make even Dean want to crawl out of his own skin, and sighs, scarfing down the chocolate biscuit he’s been holding.

“It better not. I’ve said this already and I’ll say it again. Your brains don’t matter here, Y/N.”

Y/N nods, sternly, hands clenched by her sides until they’re white-knuckled.

“And drop one of those buttons.” He smirks, waving at her shirt. “You’re a waitress, not a nun.”

“I-”

And maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but her flushed cheeks and her narrowed eyes are enough to make his blood boil.

So, he raises his hand and-

“Excuse me,” he says, pointing to the empty table in front of him, “can I get a cup of coffee here?”

Mr. Jackass nods in his direction and smiles, a pained, plastic smile Dean would absolutely love to punch off his face, then throws Y/N a crisp white apron.

“Drop the button.” He mutters again, jabbing a finger warningly at her.

Y/N waits for one, two, three seconds before her boss disappears into the kitchen, then turns on her heels to approach him, fidgeting with a chain that’s hanging from her neck.

She clears her throat, quietly.

“I, uh,” she smiles, a half smile that’s nervous and bashful, “thank you about that. I-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, kid.” He cuts her off softly, glancing towards the kitchen. “He’s a bit of a dick, ain’t he?”

She chuckles, hasty and fuzzy and just a tad nervous.

“Honestly? He’s,” she turns around to make sure no one is listening, then leans a bit closer, “yeah. But I got bills to pay and he pays me, so…”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” Eyes that lock onto hers. “I get it.”

She nods, but she’s still a little timid, still acts like what had just happened is somehow her fault and Dean wants to do something to change that, wants her to know that no ass has the right to talk to her like that, no matter who he thinks he is.

He can’t.

Her forehead puckers.

“Uh, coffee.” She says, the words rolling out of her tongue as if she’s never spoken them before. “You wanted me to get you coffee.”

He chuckles a bit under his breath, and huffs out an awkward yeah, scratching the back of his neck, something sheepish.

“Black sounds nice.”

She grins, a lazy grin that’s braver than ever before, and bites her bottom lip.

“What, you’re not a fan of pumpkin spice?”

“Do I look like I’m a fan of pumpkin spice?”

A snort.

Amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Black coffee it is.” She writes something down on her notepad. “Anything else I can get ya?”

“Actually,” he licks his lips, glancing at the menu in front of him, “I noticed you got pies?”

“Yeah, ‘bout that,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m not supposed to say this, but you don’t –you don’t really want to try those pies.” She scrunches her nose up. “They’re, uh, terrible.”

He lets out a laugh, breathy and loose.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I just,” he rubs at his scruff, “I really love pie.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t try this one. Don’t let us ruin it for you.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I appreciate the concern. But. Nothing can ruin pie for me, sweetheart.”

“Well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Romeo.” She says, and her eyes smile at him, sparkling and honest and sunny.

Maybe autumn isn’t so bad after all.

The pie really is that bad.

It’s dry and tasteless and even though Dean has spent most of his life eating at out-of-street diners and shady looking restaurants, he’s pretty sure he’s never tried something so horrible before.

He still stops by that coffee shop the next day though, and when she notices and throws a surprised glance his way, he smiles his most charming smile and says that cherry pie might be better.

Again, he’s wrong.

The pie is just as awful –if not worse, and Sam’s grumbling about how they should have just skipped breakfast would have probably driven him up the damn wall, if it weren’t for the way Y/N beams at him every time she catches him staring.

“Yeah, no,” Sam pulls him out of his thoughts as he shuts his book closed, hazel eyes locking with his, “the Odyssey is not better than this.”

“Not bet –dude, that thing doesn’t even have a plot.”

A pointed look.

Fingers pushing off the hair from his face.

“It does. It’s just a bit elusive.”

“Well,” Y/N cuts in, prompting Dean to smirk when he sees her in front of his table, her apron hastily tied around her waist, “that’s one way to put it.”

Sam looks up, brows furrowed into quite an offended scowl, but she only grins, a grin that would have been devilish if it weren’t for that childish spark in her eyes.

“Coffee for my knight in the shining flannel,” she gloats, sliding the white mug towards him, “and a smoothie for his friend with the terrible taste in books.”

Dean snorts.

Sam shots him a pointed look, and juts his chin, just a tad offended.

“Right.” He rolls up his sleeves, ignoring his brother’s monstrously self-satisfied grin. “Can I ask why do you think this is terrible?”

“Uh,” she rocks back and forth on her heels, nose scrunched up in the cutest of ways, “because of the made-up words? Or the run-on sentences? Or. How about the mere length of that thing?”

“It’s experimental.”

“It’s bullshit.” She objects, eliciting a soft chuckle from Dean. “Slaughterhouse Five is experimental. Mrs. Dalloway is experimental. Finnegan’s Wake? That’s just a load of crap people pretend to love because it makes them sound more intellectual.”

Sam straightens then, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips and Dean knows, right in that moment, that there’s not a person in the world Y/N wouldn’t be able to win over.

“Sounds like you’ve got pretty strong views about it.”

“Oh, Sunflower has pretty strong views about pretty much everything.”

Dean blinks in surprise at the voice, but when he opens his eyes again he hears Y/N’s rosy laugh and watches as she throws her head back in amusement, and something heavy settles over his stomach.

Peering over his shoulder, he sees a guy in his early thirties smiling at Y/N lovingly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

The man is tall, with blonde hair almost as long as Sam’s and blue eyes, face dusted with facial hair and laughing lines.

Y/N smiles at him, a smile that’s etched with love and intimacy, a profound intimacy he knows he’ll never have with her.

His hand drops to his side.

“Marty, what are you-”

“You left your jacket at my house this morning.” The man explains with a soft laugh and reaches over to envelop Y/N in his arms, lips landing on her forehead in a sweet kiss.

Of course.

“And when you told me your boss wouldn’t be coming in today, I figured I’d stop by to give it back.”

“And get free coffee in return.”

Marty chuckles, rich and delighted and adoring.

“And get free coffee in return.” He agrees, brushing some hair off her face.

And even though Dean knows that it’s insane, even though he knows nothing would have happened between them because he wouldn’t let it, wouldn’t allow himself to have her for a quick roll within the sheets and then let her go, it still hurts a little that she’s with someone else, still makes his jaw clench when he notices the way she touches him, fingers sliding over her skin like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

He swallows, hard.

She doesn’t notice.

“Well, then,” she mumbles, corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile, “let’s go settle your payment.”

Marty nods, and wraps an arm around her waist, and she turns to Dean and smiles, a smile that mends and breaks him at the same time.

“Be right back.”

Three seconds pass and Dean can already feel his brother’s eyes burning holes on him, can already see that annoying, knowing smirk of his floating across his features.

“Shut up, Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Sa, complains, heat still in his eyes.

Dean sighs and glances at the counter just in time to see Y/N laughing at something Marty has said, head buried into his chest while he kisses her hair.

She looks happy.

Somehow, it doesn’t seem enough.

It isn’t until that same night that Sam brings Y/N up again.

Dean has been trying not to think about her too much, has been trying to remind himself that she has a boyfriend that loves her and kisses her forehead and lets her stay the night, but she still finds ways to slip through the cracks of his mind.

And.

His brother won’t shut up about her.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam” Dean groans, slamming the refrigerator’s door shut, “I’m trying to work here.”

Sam smirks, delighted and just a bit brash.

“And?”

“And your stupid questions won’t let me.”

“Dude, I only asked if Y/N’s boyfriend was there yesterday, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean snorts and spreads his hands, forearms on the table, “three times.”

“Because you won’t tell me.”

“Because I don’t know.”

The youngest Winchester chuckles, brows arched slightly.

“Right. Because you didn’t spend the entire day ogling her.”

Dean opens his mouth then because he’s so done, so absolutely done that he’s ready to give Sam a piece of his mind, when a sound catches his attention.

His eyes drift to the police scanner they keep in the room.

He doesn’t know why, but his stomach churns.

2-7

Can you head to 1624 Market St Ste 226? Caller reports being trapped, possible dead body. Fire is on the way.

1624 Market St Ste 226

1624 Market St Ste 226

1624 Market St Ste 226

The coffee shop’s address flashes before Dean’s eyes as the dispatcher’s voice rings loudly into his mind.

Everything around him begins to move in slow motion.

His chest hurts.

“Dean-”

“Don’t even say it.” Dean growls, the muscles in his back going rigid. “They’re okay. They got to be okay.”

He reaches for his gun and grabs a silver knife on his way out, mind drifting to the shapeshifter, to how every single victim killed had been murdered so close to that coffee shop, to how her boss missed work the day after one of the attacks.

He swears under his breath.

He’s going to kill that son of a bitch.

Dean doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen so much blood.

He’s a hunter, he’s been a hunter ever since he was a kid, and yet, he doesn’t even remember the last time the blood was literally everywhere, spluttered across walls and tables, staining the floor in disturbing patterns that killed any expectations he might have had.

The room’s dark and he can feel it, can feel the death that’s lingering upon it, and is ready to abandon all hope when he sees Sam pointing towards the kitchen, gun raised.

She’s tied on a chair, clothes almost shredded and coated with blood, cuts and scratches littering her skin.

She’s alive.

Sam takes her rag off and Dean braces himself, gets ready to tell her that it’ll be okay, that that monster’s dead and will never hurt her again, gets ready to find a way to explain how her life will never be the same, but the sound she makes, the way she almost chocks on dry air, ruins him.

“He’s got him.” Y/N wails hysterically, fighting against her restrains. “John –I’ve never seen him like that before. He tried to… Marty… Please, you have to help Marty. I can’t-”

“Y/N, hey,” Sam coos, cupping her face with his hands, “hey, you got to breathe for me. Where is he?”

But Dean already knows, so he heads for the small room in the back and doesn’t stop until he finds him on the floor, a man lying in a pool of his own blood.

The blue of his eyes is fading now, nothing like the vibrant color he’s seen that same morning, and his skin’s pale, lifeless.

“Marty,” he says, sliding to his knees next to him. “Marty, can you hear me?”

The man blinks.

“Y/N,” he rasps out, words low and slurred and laced with blood, “Y/N-”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Y/N croaks as she limps towards them, Sam shouldering some of her weight.

She crouches down on the ground next to him and cradles him in her arms.

“Y/N.” Ragged breath. “I saved you.”

A whimper escapes her.

“Yeah. Yeah, baby, you did.”

“I-”

“Sssh, don’t speak,” she runs her fingers through his hair, soft and tender like she’s trying to help him fall asleep. “I got you now. I got you.”

“Well,” he breathes, reaching out for her hand, “I always knew I was gonna die next to you.”

“Don’t say that.” She puts pressure on the open wound on his neck. “You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

“Don’t cry, Sunflower.” He dabs away some tears. “I don’t like it when you cry.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Mars.”

“Can you…” His words come out slower now, pained, breathless whispers that scratch the air between them before cutting into her skin. “Can you sing our song?”

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone make a more broken sound than the one Y/N makes in that moment, but she nods and smooths a hand over his face.

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away

Wild, wild horses we’ll ride them someday

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away

Wild, wild horses we’ll ride them someday

Marty’s breaths come out shorter as she sings, and when he tries to sing along, she hushes him and cradles his face into her chest, whispering soothing words and empty promises, her saltiness blending with his blood. A bitter mix.

She doesn’t let go.

Instead, she sobs as his tears wet her skin, sobs as the blood starts to drip from his mouth and he can’t speak anymore.

And when he takes his last breath and is left empty and breathless and cold, a dead weight in her arms, she cries harder, sobs until she can’t breathe anymore, there on the floor, just a red mess of limbs and heartache.

And Dean knows.

The sound will haunt him forever.

He sees her again two days later.

She’s standing in the middle of a small park just a few blocks away from her house, braced against one of the tree trunks while golden leaves dance under the autumn sun.

The air’s chilly, the light breeze dusted with the blooming scent of orange trees, the red cape she’s wearing swaying along with it and, for a second, Dean’s back at that coffee shop, back at that night that he’d failed everyone, that he’d failed her, and she’s laying, on the floor, just a crumbled-up piece of paper with Marty’s lifeless body in her arms.

And he guesses he should be used to this by now, used to seeing innocent people die and lose loved ones, used to that hollowness that loss brings along with it, but he’s not.

He clears his throat, quietly.

“Hey,”

A broken, half-smile.

“Hi,” she turns around to face him, eyes red and lashes wet, “I, uh,” she wraps the cape tighter around herself, “thank you for coming. I know I should have called earlier but-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shakes it off, head dipped as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “M’ just glad you took me up on that offer.”

She nods, the furrow between her brows hitching.

“I had to. I never,” deep breath, “I never got to say thank you.”

He laughs, despite himself, but it’s bitter and broken and sad.

“Good. Don’t.”

“Dean-”

“I couldn’t save him, Y/N.” He says, harsher than he intended to. “Marty’s dead and that’s on me.”

“No, it’s not. You,” she pauses, reaches out and lets her fingers wrap around his clothed arm gently. It’s a strangely intimate move, one that catches him off guard, but the pressure around his skin is pleasant and needed and reassuring, and he doesn’t dare pull away.

“You saved my life. And Marty’s death, it hurts, but I don’t blame you. I could never blame you.”

“Kid-”

“You’re a good man, Dean.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough.” She retorts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You hunt monsters for a living and expect nothing in return. That sounds pretty noble to me.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“You never lose an arguments, do you?”

She huffs out air through her nose, not quite a laugh.

“Yeah,” she smiles, a smile as fragile as spur sugar. “Marty used to say that it was because of my eyes. They can make people do just about anything.”

It comes out in a soft whisper, quiet and low, like she can’t actually believe it’s true, but Dean knows it is, because he can feel it every time she looks at him, can feel it in the way she could rob him blind with those big Y/E/C orbs of hers and he still wouldn’t complain.  

He chuckles, a low, gruff chuckle, and runs a hand over the back of his neck.

“How long had you two been together?”

She knits her brows a bit at the question and squints at him, as if she doesn’t quite understand what he’s saying, then shakes her head and lets out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, no. It wasn’t –it wasn’t like that.” She wraps her arms around her small frame and gnaws on her bottom lip, seemingly thinking about something.

“Marty was my best friend. I, uh,” she rubs at her forehead, “I lost my mum when I was five so, my dad had to work crazy hours to raise me and Marty’s mum… She helped a lot. We grew really close and he just ended up being family, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, running a hand over his face, “yeah, I do.” He hesitates for a second. Then. “How is his mum holding up?”

“No, she doesn’t… She died six years ago.” Y/N says, voice wavering just a little bit. “Four weeks after my father, actually. And his dad was never really a dad, so… All Marty and I had was each other.”

And she says it with her eyes cast downwards, says it with a shrug, but Dean’s stomach churns and plummets and his heart aches, because he knows what it’s like to lose the only person you have in the world, knows what it’s like to be left alone, how it breaks you and leaves you hollow and numb. 

She doesn’t deserve this.

God, she doesn’t deserve this at all.

He doesn’t say anything.

Words wouldn’t have been enough anyway.

Instead, he reaches out for her, slow and a bit reluctant, and lets her meet him half way, then takes her soft, small hand in his and squeezes, a silent, wordless reassurance that someone is there, that someone will always be there for her.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “now you got us, too. So, if you ever need anything, I’m one phone call away.”

She chuckles.

“Like I said,” she intertwines their fingers together, “you’re a good man, Dean Winchester.”

He smiles, a soft, sad smile that melts his rough edges and breaks down his walls and when she leans in to kiss him goodbye on the cheek, he realizes that no one, absolutely no one, had ever made his heart beat faster with a single brush of her lips against his skin.

And he prays to God he’ll see her again…

A/N: This was a bit of a slow burn, but the ride is so worth it, you guys, you’ll see...

Forever Tags: @ravengirl94 @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @trexrambling @percywinchester27 @winchestersnco @hannahindie @emilywritesaboutdean @escabell @kathaswings @thevioletthourr @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @ultrafandomcat @impala-dreamer @imagining-supernatural @tiny-friggin-human @pickupthatamulet @keepcalmandcarryondean @atwistoffate @atari-writes @becs-bunker @becominglionhearted @wordstothewisereaders @sgarrett49 @myrabbitholetoneverland @iwriteaboutdean @spngeronimo @ruprecht0420 @polina-93 @mandilion76 @juanitadiann @atc74 @captainemwinchester @mogaruke @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @wellthatsrandomkek @jayankles @winchesters-flannels @akshi8278 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @a-glass-of-orange-juice @ravenangel33 @holahellohialoha @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @dancingalone21 @torn-and-frayed @blushingdean @castianityislife02 @sinistersaltqueen @easelweasel @carryonmyswansong @emoryhemsworth @superapplepie @princess-of-erebor1992 @bebravekeeponfighting @carryonmywaywardcaptain @sebastianshoe @stellaa33  @pillow223 @kleinkariertebetrachter @there-must-be-a-lock @samisimportant @jessilliam-caronday

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Cross out tags don’t work for me, I’m sorry!

[torn-and-frayed]

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Pumpkin Spice

Word Count: 1138

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing ‘s Seasons of Love - Colors of Fall Challenge. My prompt was pumpkin spice latte. 

Feedback and Constructive Criticism Always Appreciated

“Jens.” You nudged your boyfriend who had fallen asleep on your shoulder, waiting to film a scene. You’d both been sitting outside in the pouring rain all day and night waiting to film. You were cold, miserable, exhausted, but you’d had the foresight have coffee delivered. Jensen on the other hand, did not. “Jensen.” You nudged him again when he grunted in response the first time, unwilling to wake up. “We gotta finish this scene babe, get up.”

“Gimme.” Jensen reached out, grabbing your extra large cup from your hands and downing a huge gulp of your coffee before you could stop him. He choked, swallowing it down and glaring at you like you’d just kicked a puppy. “That’s not coffee!” He glared harder at you, his lips forming an angry purse and you couldn’t help but laugh.

 “It is absolutely coffee.” You giggled. “It’s a pumpkin spice latte.”

“That’s not  - it – no, babe. No.” Jensen stuttered and you raised an eyebrow, sipping your latte, nonplussed. “How are you drinking that shit?”

 “I like pumpkin. I like lattes. I like caffeine. I like sugar. Why wouldn’t I drink this?” Jensen’s face contorted into an adorable sleepy scowl and he let out a noise that signaled his absolute disgust with you.

 “It’s like I don’t even know you.” Jensen groaned. “You’ve destroyed coffee.”

 You slid out of your seat, grabbing Jensen’s hand in your free one. “Come on, drama llama. Let’s film this scene so we can go home and sleep.”

 Jensen took forever filming this scene. It was a simple scene, kissing in the rain. You wanted to kill him. You were soaked through, freezing, tired, and all you wanted to do was put on warm clothes and go to sleep. But Jensen was intentionally fucking up this scene and you knew it. “What the hell, Jensen!” You let out an almost inhuman screech after the 7th time he screwed up the kiss. “Come on!”

 “Sorry!” Jensen held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll get it right this time, I swear!”

 “I’m gonna get pneumonia because of you!” You sassed back, pushing his chest.

 “Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart.” He smirked. “I’ll take care of you.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, taking your place back on your mark.

 “We just need one good shot of the kiss from this angle.” Phil said. “Then we can let you go.” You shot Jensen a warning glare, that if he fucked this up, you would absolutely kill him. He winked back, asshole. “Action!”

 Jensen wrapped his hand around your neck and pulled you in for a kiss. This wasn’t a Dean kiss. This was very Jensen and you melted into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and moaning into it despite yourself.

 “Cut! That was perfect!” You broke away first, stunned that he’d put that much into a stage kiss, only to find Jensen staring back at you with a smug, shit eating grin on his face.

 “Good?” Jensen questioned, licking his bottom lip and wrapping his arm around your waist. Your head was spinning too much to answer with more than a nod. “Let’s go home and get to sleep.”

 As soon as you got back to your shared apartment with Jensen you stripped out of your wet clothes and changed into a pair of his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. You threw your hair up in a messy, damp bun, not bothering to shower, and collapsed into bed. Jensen followed not far behind, chuckling when he noticed you were already dead to the world when your head hit the pillow.

 The next morning you woke up to an empty bed, and a completely empty apartment. Jensen’s call time was earlier than yours, but traditionally you’d go to set with him. He let you sleep in today, bless him.

 Once you were showered and pulled yourself together, you arrived to set, still haggard from the night before. “There she is.” Jensen approached, a soft smile on his face, and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Got you a coffee.” He extended his hand to give it to you but you stopped him and pulled him back, glaring up at him. “What?”

 You didn’t say a word, kissing him again, lingering longer this time. “I knew it!” You yelled, shoving him backwards. “Your lips! They taste like pumpkin spice latte!”

 “I accidentally took a drink out of your cup instead of mine.” Jensen shrugged as you took your cup from him.

 “Then you didn’t fuck up those kissing scenes last night on purpose to taste the pumpkin spice on my lips?” You looked up at him, raising your eyebrow quizzically.

 “What?” He burst into laughter, shaking his head, but he was nervous. You’d caught him. “No. I wouldn’t – Y/N that makes no sense!”

 “Let me have a sip of your coffee then.” You reached out, trying to take his cup away and he held it above his head, just out of your reach. “Jensen!” You warned. “Let me have a sip if it’s just coffee!”

 Before you knew what was happening, Jared ran by, snatching Jensen’s cup from his hand and handing it to you. You took a sip, confirming your suspicions immediately. “I fucking knew it, Ackles!” Jared’s laughter could be heard from the other side of the room, where he’d run to avoid Jensen’s wrath. “You kept me out in the cold rain last night for hours just to keep kissing me because you liked the way pumpkin spice tasted!”

 “Ok. Alright.” Jensen put his hands up in surrender; reaching out and taking his latte back from you. “I did keep you out all night, because I liked the way that latte tasted and I didn’t wanna stop kissing you. I admit it.”

 You held in the giggle that threatened to spill from your lips and looked up at Jensen through your lashes, pursing your lips in thought. “How’re you gonna make it up to me?”

 “I can think of a few ways.” Jensen murmured, pulling you into his warm body and nuzzling into your hair. “Already got you your own latte this morning. I can still get you a pumpkin roll and some pumpkin pie…”

 “I like it.” You nodded against his chest. “Pumpkin kisses too?”

 “I’ll grab a bag.” Jensen chuckled.

 “I like mine homemade.” You giggled and pulled him down to you, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“So cheesy.” He murmured against your lips. “I love you.”

 “I know.” You winked and turned away, sauntering off to hair and makeup.

 Jared approached, putting an arm around Jensen as they both watched you leave. “You’re really falling hard for her, huh?” Jared laughed, watching Jensen’s expression as he watched you.

 “Yeah.” Jensen nodded and swallowed, never looking back at Jared. “I’m gonna marry her.”

Part 2: Tragedy Strikes 

Jensen Tags: @a-girl-who-loves-disney @adaliamalfoy @aiaranradnay @akshi8278 @apeshit7x @ariannnawinchester @arryn-nyxx @autopistaaningunaparte @babydanixox @bakabozza @beacon-hills-chance-harbor @betterlattethennever @blacktithe7 @bloodysideofhell @boredoutofmymindstuff @bringmesomepie56 @capsofwinchesters @captainradicalpassion @chaos-and-the-calm67 @charliebradbury1104 @chickenmcsade @clarewinchester @d-s-winchester @dancingalone21  @deanswhiskeyveins @deanwinchesterisamazing @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @docharleythegeekqueen  @dragontearsandunicornfears @dreamsfromthebunker @duckieburns @duherica @ellen-reincarnated1967 @emohermione @emoryhemsworth @escabell @evansrogerskitten @evilskank-inthemegacoven @fangirlingfanatic2442 @feelmyroarrrr @gabavaldman  @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @growningupgeek @impala-dreamer @impalaimagining @itseverythingilike @iwantthedean  @iwriteshortstuff @jalove-wecallhimdean @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @jayankles @jensen-gal @jensen-jarpad @jojo-nz @jotink78 @kalliravenne @kgbrenner @kittenofdoomage @kittycat-cas @lenaabs @like-a-bag-of-potatoes  @maddieburcham1 @mayasmedberg @meeshw777 @mogaruke @my-supernatural-dreams  @nichelle-my-belle @not-moose-one-shots @nothingeverdies @notmoose45 @outerxorbit @percussiongirl2017 @percywinchester27 @petrovadixon @riakie @riversong-sam @rlawson418 @ruprecht0420 @sammysflannels @sandlee44 @silver-and-green @sis-tafics @skybinx-blog @smoothdogsgirl @soobi89 @spn-fan-girl-173 @spontaneousam @starswirlblitz @stilinski15 @summoningsupernatural @supernatural-girl97 @supernatural-jackles @supernatural0826 @taste-of-dean @tattooedluci @teepartyy @the-angels-stole-the-tardis @thelastxgoodthing @thereisnolumos @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @wayward-marvel-sommer1196 @waywardjoy @whit85-blog @winchestdiaries @winchester-writes  @winchesterprincessbride @winchesters-favorite-girl @yellowtheremarvelfan @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou

[sillesworldofwriting]

Sexy Vampire

Title: Sexy Vampire

AO3

Words: 978

Challenge: Seasons of Love - Colors of Fall

Prompt: Trick or Treat

Pairing: Jared x Reader x Gen

Warnings: angst, mention of sex, mention of biting, fluff

Summary: Halloween is just around the corner and Jared has an idea for your Halloween costume.

Author’s Note: My entry for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing Seasons of Love - Colors of Fall Challenge. I hope that you will like it. Thanks to @tngrayson for beta-reading!

You were lying on the couch in the living room, your head pillowed on Jared thighs as you were waiting for Gen to lay Odette down for her nap.

“Have you decided what your costume for Halloween will be?” asked your boyfriend as he stroked your hair. “There’s only one week left.”

You sighed. “No, not yet. Maybe a mermaid to go with Gen’s outfit for Odette and herself?”

“I’m still all for the sexy vampire.”

“We’re going trick or treating with the kids. I don’t think a sexy vampire would be appropriate.” you chuckled.

“True,” Jared sighed. “Maybe you could do that when the kids are visiting their grandparents or the Ackles’ the next time? I really would like to see you as a sexy vampire.”

You turned around and looked up. His smirk told you everything you needed to know. “You would, wouldn’t you? Not afraid that I would bite?” you teased.

He chuckled. “I would beg you to bite me.” Leaning down to you, he captured your lips in a kiss. You moaned into it and opened your mouth as his tongue asked for entry.

“Starting without me I see.” said Gen suddenly from the staircase and you two broke apart to look at her.

“We would never!” exclaimed Jared grinning.

You stretched out your hand in her direction. “And you’re always welcome to join us,” you said smiling, which made Gen chuckle.

“I sure hope so,” she responded and came in your direction to take your hand. “That’s my husband after all.”

“And what am I?”

“My beautiful girlfriend.” Gen kissed you just as deep as Jared had and you knew that you wouldn’t go to sleep any time soon.

The week was over faster than you thought and suddenly it was already Halloween. In the end you did go with the mermaid costume to match Gen with Odette. The boys were of course going as Ninja Turtles.

“Can you take a picture for my Instagram?” Gen asked you after you both were changed.

“Sure,” you answered and she got into position. You snapped the photo, smiling. She and Odette looked so cute in their outfit. It was a great idea.

“Just let me post this one real quick and then we can go.” explained Gen, concentrating on her phone after you gave it back to her.

You nodded. “Take your time. The boys are still occupied with drawing on their bags.” You laid your head on her shoulder and watched her making the post. “You look so cute, you know that right.”

Gen chuckled. “Thanks, sweety.” She turned her head to give you a kiss on the cheek. “I wish I could make a post about us.”

You smiled sadly and buried your face into her hair. “We agreed that now is not the best time to go public with our relationship. We need to wait until Odette is a bit older.”

She sighed. “I know. I still want to. You shouldn’t be a secret.”

“I’m not. Everyone who is important to you, to us, knows about us. That’s enough for me.” You gave her a kiss on the back of her head. “Come on. Let’s go trick or treating and have fun with the kids. I’ve been looking forward to this!”

Gen sighed again but nodded. “You’re right. We’re here to have fun. It’s Halloween after all!”

You smiled at her. “That’s the spirit!”

“Tom! Shep! It’s time to go!” she yelled across the yard and shortly after the boys came running towards you.

Tom took your hand in his while Shep did the same to his mother and together you left the yard to pick up the Ackles’.

“The kids are out like a light,” sighed Gen as she closed the door to the master bedroom. She sat the baby monitor onto her nightstand. “You about done?”

“I need another minute! Don’t rush me,” you called back from the bathroom. Gen shook her head and sat down on the bed.

You looked one last time into the mirror to make sure everything was perfect. Finding nothing out of place, you smiled to yourself and made your way out of the bathroom to join Gen in the bedroom.

“What took you…?” Gen began but stopped herself as she saw you.

You smirked. “What do you say? Sexy enough?”

She smirked as her eyes darkened with lust. “Jared will be so jealous.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Come over here my sexy vampire.” Gen held her hand out to you which you gladly took. “My God, you even have teeth. This is so hot.”

“I’m glad that you like it.” If you were honest with yourself you were a bit insecure about the whole costume since you have never before worn something so openly erotic. But going by Gen’s reaction your fears were unfounded.

“I don’t like it, I love it. It makes me want to ravish you here and now.”

“We will get to that,” you chuckled. “But we need to take a picture first. Jared needs to know what he’s missing.”

Gen giggled as she pulled out her phone. You maneuvered yourself behind her and laid one arm across her chest pulling her to you. Opening your mouth so that your teeth were visible you looked directly into the camera with a sinister eye, pretending to bite into Gen’s neck.

She snapped the photo and giggled again. “I can see his reaction already.”

You chuckled as you took the phone from her hands and turned it off. “He can wait until tomorrow. Now I have a damsel in distress to suck dry.” you murmured into her ear to make a shiver. It had the desired effect.

Gen turned to you and kissed you deeply. “I can’t wait.” she whispered and nibbled at your lips.

You didn’t get any rest that night but you couldn’t complain about the reason.

The End

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