#i was just looking to see if anyone had made a music mix inspired by the soundtrack

[i-didnt-hate-it]

The fact that all the reviews that popped up when I searched "I Saw The TV Glow" on YouTube are cis white men with cynical/puzzled 🤔 expressions tells you everything you need to know about the movie.

As Emma Stone would say, "It's not for you! Everything is for you, let them have this one thing!"

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝑒 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝒻𝑒𝓂!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

· ─────── ⋅ ♤ ⋅ ─────── · 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Professor Lenox observed him, immediately sensing the tension. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

404 Veridian Avenue, Studio B  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, Solivan Brugmansia, you came.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong my dear,”  

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

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

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

“Okay,” the voice agreed quietly.  

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

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

It was you.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh wow…”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did want to see you again. 

He needs to see you again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” Sol said, his heart sinking.  

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

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

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

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

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

And then he saw you.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Sol wasn’t so easily deterred. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the worst part?  

He liked it.

No, he loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all too much. 

It was perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you nervous… or excited?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were closer now. 

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

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

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

This was too much. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sol's entire body was on fire. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he sounds so broken.

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

He looks even worse off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

[catnip-plug]

Look Under (Stalker!Ticci Toby x F!Reader) NSFW

HEAVILY inspired by @rabbit-or-rib this idea basically came from them I just wanted to write like a detailed story about it :')

Porn without/minimal plot, reader is female, Toby is a stalker & and hides under ur bed most nights,, yeah pretty sad

Oh shit. What the hell were you doing?

Toby's eyes widened when he heard soft noises up above, most surely from you. He wished he had some goddamned x-ray vision or something like that so he could see through the stupid bedframe above him. His eyes were practically burning holes through the wood already.

He knew hiding under your bed was a good idea. Anyone who doubted him could go fuck themselves, because now he was proven right. At first, it was to protect you, make sure you were kept safe, but now... God, please let this be what he thinks it is.

As if answering his prayers, the first hint he got was a shuddering breath. You had to be touching yourself. On cue, his jeans felt much tighter then they were before.

You let out another soft whimper, and a ginormous grin spread on his face. Oh my god. It's true. This giddy feeling spread through his entire body, mixed with disbelief to make a strange concotion of arousal and excitement. He couldn't believe it.

You were trying to be quiet, biting your bottom lip to muffle the sounds that tried to slip out. It was just really hard to though, especially with how you were rubbing circles on your clit, making shivers run up your spine.

Toby would rather die than miss up on an opportunity like this. Slowly, he unzipped his jeans, careful not to make any noise. He didn't waste a second pulling his half-hard dick out. A gasp above, and he knew you had slid your fingers in. The wet sound of your insides molding around your fingers was like sweet music to him. He quickly wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and began to stroke up. Already it felt so good, he had to bite his sleeve to prevent a shaky sigh from escaping him. He moved his other hand in time with your hand, so as to not make noise, but really, doing so also made him feel closer to you, more connected. In his heart he had already made the vow to finish with you.

You were going so slow, though. With each lethargic stroke he would go all the way up to his sensitive tip, wrap around it, and then slide all the way back down to the base. It was pretty much torture, but he purposefully made it harder for him to keep composure. He imagined slipping up, making too much noise. You figuring out he was there the whole time. But then inviting him, because you just couldn't resist. And you'll tell him how much of a pervert he is, how disgusting and deplorable and morally wrong he was.

"Mmmmm," he hummed at the thought, before immediately shutting up. Did you hear him? Please say no. His heartbeat quickened.

Thankfully, your moans covered him up. And that squelching sound made everytime you pushed your fingers in and out of your cunt.

His dick twitched in his hand; he was so unbelievably hard. But he didn't want to go faster because he was imagining thrusting into you, lining up his strokes with yours. He wished he had a pair of your underwear on him, so he could finish on them and make it a mess. That's what he usually does alone, anyways.

He could hear you getting close. You moaned louder, more unrestrained. It felt so good, especially when your fingers would rub against your clit everytime you pushed in. You were so so close.

"Fuck... oh fuck..." you whined, bucking your hips and riding into your fingers.

Toby grinned wider, the fabric of his sleeve still between his teeth. A euphoric feeling erupted in him and he felt so absolutely elated, like he could die right now and be perfectly fine with it. Actually, no, he'd be upset because then he wouldn't get to experience this.

"Oh god," you whimpered. "Please". You were about to climax, the coil in your stomach tightening to the absolute limit. You fingers went faster, plunging in quicker and hitting that one spot repeatedly.

The stalker continued, stroking himself now at a brutal pace, desperate to cum at the same time as you. Fuck, now it was starting to get good. And he wasnt going to last long, that's for sure.

You rubbed your cl*t at the same time as you curled your fingers, and you came hard, your cunt fluttering about you. A blissful, dirty feeling washed over you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you rode out your orgasm.

Shortly after you finished, Toby's slim fingers ruthlessly stroked faster, squeezing and circling around the painfully delicate tip, yearning so much to cum now. And honestly, it wasn't that hard, especially with the image of your cum sticky inbetween your fingers and your fucked out, panting face. With his teeth clenched so tight around the sleeve of his pullover he thought his jaw would crack, he finished, hips jerking up instinctively as he milked out all of his seed. It's warmth spilled and pooled over his shaky palm, milky white and thick. He allowed himself the tiniest of exhales through his nose, trying to breathe after such a hard orgasm. He laid there, motionless under your bed with his heart over the moon until you stepped off your bed on wobbly legs and stumbled to the bathroom. Only then did he bother to leave through the window, taking one spare glance at your ruined bedsheet before hopping out.

[baekguuuuu]

The Way I Loved You

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Angst, Romance

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s The Way I Loved You. Through flashbacks and present-day reflections, you navigate the highs and lows of both relationships, ultimately confronting what your heart truly wants. A story of passion, longing, and self-discovery, this is a journey of realizing that sometimes, the love that burns the brightest is the one that leaves you scorched.

I met Baekhyun during a summer that I still replay in my mind sometimes, like a sun-drenched film reel I can’t bring myself to burn. It was at a music festival where he’d performed with his band. I wasn’t supposed to be there—my friends had dragged me along, insisting it would be fun that I needed to live a little.

“You’ll love it,” my best friend had said, nudging me toward the front of the crowd as Baekhyun’s band took the stage. She was wrong, though. I didn’t love it.

I fell.

Baekhyun had this way of commanding attention, his voice like honey dripping into the sunlight, thick and golden and impossible to resist. But it wasn’t just his voice; it was the way his eyes sparkled with mischief when he cracked a joke between songs and the way he laughed like the world existed just to amuse him. He was magnetic, and I was the iron.

After the set, I found myself backstage with my friends, courtesy of one’s VIP connections. Baekhyun spotted me immediately as if I’d been glowing in the dark. “Hey,” he said, his voice still hoarse from singing. “Enjoy the show?”

I should’ve played it cool. Instead, I blurted, “You were incredible.”

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “What’s your name?”

Our relationship was a whirlwind, a thrilling ride on the back of his motorcycle, the city lights blurring into a tapestry of excitement. Baekhyun was unlike anyone I’d ever met, a mix of chaos and charm wrapped in leather jackets and calloused fingertips. He made me feel alive in ways that both scared and thrilled me.

We fell fast and hard, like a meteor streaking across the sky—brilliant, unforgettable, and destined to burn out. But I didn’t know that then. All I knew was the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world, the way he made me laugh until I couldn’t breathe, the way he kissed me like it was the only thing that mattered.

Being with Baekhyun was like living in a whirlwind. It was thrilling, unpredictable, and chaotic—sometimes in ways that left me breathless and other times in ways that made my chest ache. We burned bright, but bright flames have a way of leaving marks.

It wasn’t always chaos with Baekhyun. He had a way of being so disarmingly sweet, of pulling me into his world with a smile or a glance. I still remember the night he taught me to play the piano.

We were at his apartment, a modest space cluttered with sheet music and half-empty coffee mugs. He pulled me toward the small upright piano tucked against the wall, a mischievous grin lighting up his face.

“Come here,” he said, patting the bench beside him. “I’m going to teach you something.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I can barely manage using chopsticks. What makes you think I can learn anything else?”

“Because I’m the best teacher,” he said with mock arrogance, his fingers playing a gentle melody that made my heart skip. “And because I believe in you.”

His words made my cheeks flush, but I sat beside him, letting him place my hands on the keys. His touch was warm, guiding my fingers with patient precision. Every time I fumbled, he’d laugh softly, his voice like a soothing balm.

“You’re getting it,” he said, his eyes sparkling with pride as I managed a simple tune.

When I finally got it right, he turned to me, his face just inches from mine. “See? You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice low and earnest.

At that moment, the world outside faded away. It was just Baekhyun and me, the music lingering in the air like a promise. And when he leaned in to kiss me, his lips soft and full of affection, I knew I was falling—fast and hard.

It started with the little things. His tendency to cancel plans at the last minute because something more exciting came up. The way he could be so charming with everyone but distant when it was just us. I told myself it was just how he was, that he didn’t mean to hurt me. And when he apologized, when he pulled me close and whispered how much I meant to him, I believed him every time.

I remembered being at a party, one of those gatherings in which Baekhyun always thrived. He stood at the center of the living room, laughing effortlessly, his charm magnetic as everyone gravitated toward him. The way he commanded attention was almost unfair—effortless, natural, like he was born to shine under every light in the room.

I watched him from the couch, holding a half-empty glass of wine and trying not to let the pang of loneliness creep up on me. Baekhyun threw his head back at something someone said, his laugh lighting up the room, and for a moment, I felt that familiar tug in my chest. He was breathtaking like this—untouchable and dazzling.

But then his eyes flickered to me. Just for a second. And instead of warmth or an invitation, there was... nothing.

“Hey,” I called softly when he finally made his way over, his drink in hand. “You having fun?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” he said, his voice distant. His gaze darted around the room, already looking for his next conversation.

“Baekhyun,” I said, reaching for his arm. “Can we talk for a second?”

He frowned, pulling his arm back like my touch burned him. “Now? Can’t it wait? Everyone’s here—I don’t want to kill the mood.”

Everyone was there. The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

“It’s just... you’ve barely talked to me all night,” I murmured, keeping my voice low.

His eyes softened, but only briefly. “I’m sorry. You know how I get at these things. I’ll come find you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Later.”

But later never came.

I stayed on the couch, watching him charm the room while feeling more invisible than I ever had. He apologized the next day, and the cycle continued.

The apologies became too frequent, and the moments of closeness felt like borrowed time.

“You said you’d be there, Baekhyun,” I said, my voice trembling as I clutched my phone.

“I forgot, okay?” he replied, his tone dismissive, like forgetting my graduation ceremony for getting my Master’s was no big deal.

“You forgot?” My laugh was bitter. “Do you know how embarrassing it was, standing there alone while everyone else had their families and friends?”

“I didn’t ask you to rely on me for everything!” he shot back.

The line went quiet as I stared at my reflection in the window, his words slicing through me like a blade. Rely on him? Wasn’t that what people in love were supposed to do?

For all the chaos that came with loving Baekhyun, there were moments that made me feel like I was the only person in the world. Like the time he surprised me with a late-night picnic under the stars because I’d mentioned missing the quiet of my childhood summers. Or how he’d rest his head in my lap and trace invisible patterns on my skin, murmuring about how lucky he was to have me.

He had this way of making me feel seen, as though I wasn’t just someone he loved, but someone he adored. Someone he respected. With Baekhyun, it wasn’t just about passion—it was about the way he’d hold my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, or how he’d kiss my forehead as if sealing a promise only he could understand.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispered breathlessly as I lay beneath him. He collapsed on top of me, our bare chests touching against one another as we both caught our breaths after expressing love through actions.

He made me feel like a real woman, like I was more than just his girlfriend. Like I was his muse, his equal, and his refuge all at once. And in those moments, I forgot about the fights, the letdowns, the parts of him that hurt me. Because in the way he loved me, I felt whole.

But it wasn’t just the fights. It was the in-betweens. The way he’d light up a room, captivating everyone, only for me to realize I was standing in the shadows. The way he’d make promises that felt so solid in the moment but crumbled under the weight of his restless energy. The way he’d kiss me like I was his whole world, only to turn around and leave me wondering where I stood.

Then came the night that ended it all.

We were standing in the rain, arguing over something I couldn’t even remember now. His face was a mix of frustration and sadness as raindrops traced his sharp features. “Why can’t you just trust me?” he yelled, his voice carrying over the downpour.

“Trust you?” I shot back, my voice cracking. “You disappear for hours, break promises, and you expect me to trust you? You can’t keep doing this, Baekhyun!”

“I’m trying!” he shouted, stepping closer. “I’m trying to be better for you, but it’s never enough, is it?”

I could feel the tears mixing with the rain as I whispered, “I just want to feel like I matter to you. Like I’m not always chasing after you, trying to catch up.”

His silence said more than any words could. And that was the moment I knew. We loved each other but weren’t enough to make it work. Not then.

Although Baekhyun did try to fix it—us… however, it was too late then.

It had been two weeks since we broke up, but Baekhyun still called—persistent, unrelenting, just like the way he loved.

When I answered, his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Can we talk?”

I hesitated. “Baekhyun, we’ve said everything already. There’s nothing left to talk about.”

“No,” he cut me off, his tone firm. “You talked, and I listened. Now it’s my turn.”

Reluctantly, I agreed to meet him at the café where we used to spend lazy Sunday afternoons. When I arrived, he was already there, sitting by the window with two cups of coffee on the table. He looked up, his expression a mixture of hope and fear, and for a brief moment, my heart clenched.

“I know I messed up,” he began the moment I sat down. “And I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to give me another chance.”

I stared at him, trying to find the anger, the bitterness, anything that would drown out the faint longing I felt just being near him. “Baekhyun, we didn’t work. You know that.”

“I can change,” he said, leaning closer. “I will change. I’ll prove it to you, I swear. Just don’t give up on us.”

I shook my head, my voice trembling. “It’s not just about you needing to change. It’s about me, too. I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough for you, like I have to keep chasing you to stay in this relationship. It hurts too much.”

His eyes softened, and he reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Tears stung my eyes, but I forced myself to stand. “I know. But love isn’t enough if we keep hurting each other.”

I left him sitting there, his hand still outstretched, and I didn’t look back.

It wasn’t the last time I saw Baekhyun.

It happened on a crisp evening outside the cozy bistro Chanyeol had picked for dinner. The warm light from the restaurant spilled onto the sidewalk as we stepped out, laughter lingering between us. Chanyeol had his arm around me, casual and protective, as we talked about the movie we planned to watch next.

Then I saw him.

Baekhyun was leaning against his motorcycle, his leather jacket slightly unzipped, revealing a hoodie underneath. His helmet dangled from his fingers, and his eyes, dark and searching, found mine almost instantly.

I froze, my breath catching. He didn’t move closer, didn’t call my name. He simply stood there, his gaze flickering briefly to Chanyeol and back to me.

“Do you know him?” Chanyeol asked, his voice breaking through my trance.

“Yes,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s... Baekhyun.”

Understanding dawned in Chanyeol’s eyes. “Do you want to—?”

“No,” I interrupted, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go.”

But as Chanyeol got his car keys from the valet, I found myself glancing back. Baekhyun was still there, watching us with a calmness that unnerved me.

Later that night, I texted him. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

His reply was immediate. “I didn’t come there to make a scene. I just wanted to see you. I’ll always want to see you.”

My hands trembled as I typed my next message, wanting to leave me alone as I was already with someone. “Chanyeol is everything you’re not. He’s steady, reliable, and perfect in every way.”

His response came after a long pause. “I know. But does he make you happy?”

I stared at the screen, the question echoing louder than I cared to admit.

For weeks after our breakup, Baekhyun had tried. He’d texted me late at night, asking if we could talk, only for me to leave him on read. He’d show up outside my building, waiting in the cold just to catch a glimpse of me, but I’d slip past him with my head down.

At first, I thought he’d never stop. That Baekhyun would always fight for us the way he used to fight for his music. But then, one day, he didn’t. The calls stopped. The texts stopped. The spaces where his presence used to linger felt hauntingly empty.

Chanyeol’s hand rested gently on mine as he drove us back to his place. The radio played softly in the background, something easy and inoffensive. He glanced at me, his smile warm and steady. “You’ve been quiet. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

“Long week, huh?” he said, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah,” I echoed, the word feeling heavy in my mouth. Long, but not in the way he thought.

Chanyeol was perfect. He was everything I thought I wanted. But lately, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing—or rather, someone.

I hated myself for it. For thinking of Baekhyun when Chanyeol was right there, being thoughtful and kind and everything Baekhyun never was. But the heart doesn’t care about logic, decency, or what’s fair. The heart wants what it wants, even when it’s the last thing you need.

Everything in my life was perfect, actually. From the immaculately arranged breakfast trays to the gentle good mornings that greeted me, nothing was ever out of place. Not him, not the way he loved me—kindly, patiently, like I was the most delicate thing in the world.

Chanyeol was different. Steady. Consistent. Reliable in ways Baekhyun never was. He’d show up on time, remember the little things, and genuinely listen when I spoke. He was warm and patient, a safe harbor in the storm that had been my life with Baekhyun.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked as he wrapped his arm behind me, placing a gentle kiss on my bare shoulder. The sunlight filtering through the curtains felt almost too perfect. 

I nodded, offering him a small smile. “I did. Thank you for asking.”

“You know, we could go for a picnic this weekend,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “The weather’s been lovely lately.”

That’s how it always was—planned, predictable, steady. And yet, I found myself drifting off, my mind wandering to a time when nothing about my life was steady. Back to a time when Baekhyun would show up unannounced, his motorcycle roaring in the distance, his grin wide and wild.

“Get on!” he’d yell, not even giving me time to protest. The wind whipping through my hair as we sped through the streets had been chaos—unrestrained, untamed, exhilarating chaos.

“Does that sound good?” Chanyeol’s voice pulled me back to the present.

“Sorry, what?” I asked, blinking at him.

He chuckled softly. “The picnic. This Saturday?”

“Oh. Yes, that sounds… nice.”

When we started dating, I thought I’d found what I’d been missing. He made me feel cared for, and valued in a way I’d longed for during my time with Baekhyun. My friends were ecstatic when I told them about Chanyeol. 

“He’s so perfect for you,” they’d say, their eyes glinting with approval. Even my parents, who were always wary of the guys I dated, took an instant liking to him. They adored his polite manners, his steady career, and the way he treated me with respect.

“He’s everything we could have hoped for you,” my mom had gushed over dinner one night, her smile so wide it hurt to look at.

But there was one thing he couldn’t do: he couldn’t make my heart race the way Baekhyun did.

It wasn’t fair to compare them, but my mind did it anyway. Chanyeol’s hugs were warm, but they didn’t leave me dizzy. His kisses were soft and sweet but didn’t set my skin on fire. His laughter was kind but didn’t echo in my chest like Baekhyun’s.

“You okay?” Chanyeol asked, noticing the faraway look in my eyes.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important,” I lied. How could I tell him what I was thinking about Baekhyun? How much did I miss the chaos, the fire, and the way he made me feel alive even when he was breaking my heart?

Chanyeol nudged my upper body so I could face him. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear; his thumb never left the skin of my cheek.

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

The words from him should have made my heart soar. His voice was calm, steady, full of certainty—the kind I’d spent years craving. But instead of feeling weightless, I felt heavy, like every part of me was tied to something I couldn’t quite see.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my smile politely measured. He deserved that much. 

I knew very well that Chanyeol deserved someone who could give him more than vague responses and distant smiles—someone who could love him the way he loved me—with unwavering calm and clarity. But my heart, stupid and stubborn as it was, still ached for something else. Someone else.

It happened on a quiet afternoon. Chanyeol and I were at his apartment, sorting through takeout boxes while a soft playlist played in the background. He was humming along, his warm, familiar presence filling the room.

I should’ve been content. Happy, even. But as I watched him move around with practiced ease, I felt a strange hollowness creeping in—a sense that something essential was missing.

The second I turned my head, the ghost of Baekhyun’s laughter crashed into me like a wave. Loud. Chaotic. Carefree. And all at once, I was drowning again, swallowed whole by the memory of him.

The weight of my realization grew heavier with every passing day. Pretending that everything was fine with Chanyeol felt like suffocating under the mask I wore. I wanted to be fair to him, to not let my heart wander when he had done nothing but love me. But the truth was, I wasn’t entirely his, and I never had been.

It hit me one quiet evening while Chanyeol and I were watching a movie. He had his arm around me, his steady presence a comfort I knew I didn’t deserve.

I’d sworn I wanted stability, but stability felt like numbness. And as I sat there, nestled in Chanyeol’s embrace, I realized I didn’t feel anything close to what I used to feel for Baekhyun. Not even a shadow of it.

Chanyeol turned to me with a small smile as we sat on his couch. “You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

I hesitated, not knowing how to explain the chaos swirling in my head. “Just... thinking about life.”

“Anything specific?” he asked gently, his hand resting on mine.

And that’s when it hit me—how much I missed Baekhyun.

I missed his fire, his unpredictability, the way he could make me feel like I was the center of his chaotic universe. I missed how he could pull me into his orbit with just one look, how his laughter could chase away the darkest clouds. I missed him, even with all his flaws, because loving Baekhyun was like standing in the middle of a storm and feeling more alive than ever.

Chanyeol was perfect in every way, but he wasn’t Baekhyun. He couldn’t make my heart race or my world tilt on its axis. And I realized then, with painful clarity, that I was holding on to Chanyeol because he was safe, not because he was the one I wanted.

He deserved someone who could love him wholeheartedly, and I hated myself for not being that person. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pulling my hand away.

“For what?” Chanyeol asked, concern etched on his face.

“For not being honest with you. For trying to force something that was never going to work.”

His expression faltered, and I felt a pang of guilt, but I couldn’t stay silent anymore. “I care about you, Chanyeol. But my heart... it’s not here. It’s with someone else.”

“I want you to be happy,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, guilt threatening to swallow me whole.

“Don’t be,” he said, smiling sadly. “Sometimes, love isn’t about who’s perfect on paper. It’s about who makes your heart feel full.”

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The pieces fell into place one by one, each more damning than the last. I didn’t want stability. I wanted fire, chaos, the kind of love that consumed you even when it hurt. I wanted Baekhyun.

One evening, I found myself standing outside Baekhyun’s apartment. It had been months since I’d last seen him, months since we had parted ways under the rain, months since the last time he tried to reach out. Yet, the thought of facing him again made my pulse race and my hands tremble.

When he opened the door, his expression shifted from surprise to something softer, almost vulnerable. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low.

“I know,” I whispered. “But I needed to see you.”

He stepped aside to let me in, his movements hesitant. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something unidentifiable in the air, grounding me and making my heart ache.

“So, what’s this about?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed defensively.

“I…” My words faltered. I had rehearsed this moment in my head countless times, yet now that I was here, I didn’t know where to begin.

“You’re with Chanyeol,” he said, filling the silence. His tone wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t neutral either. “He’s good for you.”

“I ended it,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “He’s not you.”

His sharp intake of breath echoed in the small space between us. “You can’t do this,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t just come back and say things like that. You made it clear you wanted me out of your life.”

“I know it’s selfish,” I replied, stepping closer. “But I had to tell you the truth. I thought I wanted stability, someone who could give me the kind of love that didn’t hurt. But Baekhyun, nothing compares to what we had.”

“What we had nearly destroyed us,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Do you think I’ve forgotten how much we hurt each other?”

“I was scared,” I whispered. “Scared of going back to the way things were. Of us hurting each other again.”

I swallowed hard, tears welling in my eyes. “But I also remember the way you made me feel, like I was alive in a way I’ve never felt since. You were my fire, Baekhyun, and I don’t think I can live without that.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching as he processed my words. “You’re asking me to take a risk again. To go back to something we’ve already proved doesn’t work.”

“Baekhyun… I’m asking you to try,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Because I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

For a moment, the silence between us was deafening. Then, he closed the distance between us in two quick strides, his hands cupping my face as he pressed his lips to mine. It wasn’t the soft, tentative kiss of someone testing the waters. It was raw, desperate, and full of all the emotions we’d kept bottled up for far too long.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against mine. “If we do this again,” he said, his voice trembling, “we do it right. No more games, no more breaking each other’s hearts.”

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. “No more games.”

The space between us disappeared as he stepped forward, his hands cupping my face. His touch was tentative, as though he was afraid I might disappear. “I’ll do better this time,” he whispered. “I promise.”

I smiled through the tears that blurred my vision. “I know you will.”

His lips met mine, soft and tentative at first, as if he was afraid I might disappear. But as I kissed him back, all the walls I’d built crumbled, and the love I’d tried to bury came rushing back like a tidal wave.

The chaos, the fire, the love—it was all still there, waiting for us to embrace it. Together.

It wasn’t easy, and there were times when I questioned if we were doing the right thing. But for every doubt, there was a moment that reminded me why I chose him. The way he held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he’d look at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, his gaze full of unspoken emotions. The way he made me laugh, even on my worst days.

One rainy afternoon, as we sat on the couch, Baekhyun was strumming his guitar while I hummed along to the melody, and I realized something. Love didn’t have to be flawless to be worth fighting for. It just had to be real. And with Baekhyun, it always was.

His fingers paused on the strings, and he looked at me with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re off-key,” he teased, leaning closer.

I swatted his arm, laughing. “You’re off-rhythm.”

“Touché,” he said, setting the guitar down and pulling me into his lap. “But admit it, you missed my genius.”

Rolling my eyes, I rested my head against his shoulder, listening to the rain patter against the windows. These quiet moments felt different now—gentler, softer, like we’d found the balance we used to lack.

I couldn’t help the giggle escaping my lips when I felt his fingers crawl from my knee to my inner thigh. “Seriously?” I clicked my tongue, giving him a playful glare. “Last night was not enough?”

“Never,” Baekhyun trailed kisses from my jaw to my neck; his fingers started to undo the knot of my shorts. “I can never get enough of you.”

We’d both changed in the months since we found our way back to each other. Baekhyun still had his restless energy and still liked to push boundaries, but now he made an effort to include me in his world. And I learned to trust him again, little by little, realizing that love didn’t mean perfection—it meant showing up, trying, and forgiving.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Did you know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me?”

I tilted my head to look at him, my heart swelling at the sincerity in his gaze, trying so hard to focus on his words and not on his touches at the moment. “I think I’m finally starting to believe you.”

“You should,” he murmured, placing a soft kiss on my lips and laying me down on the soft cushion of the couch. “Because I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it.”

We weren’t perfect—no relationship ever is. But we were learning, growing, and most importantly, choosing each other every single day. 

For the first time, I felt like we were enough.

And just like that, the chaos returned. However, this time, it felt like home.

[descendantsramblings]

You are seriously such a talented writer! I was just wondering if I could request a hook x reader where he accidentally eats a love potion and falls in love with reader but like after the spell breaks it turns out he’s actually fallen for her?

Thank you so much sweetness ❤️ and absolutely it’s almost like an accidental Bal I love that

Side Effects

James Hook x Reader

Pronouns Used: she/her/hers

Summary: Someone should’ve warned him that one of the cups Uliana had given him held a little bit more than sprite and Malibu. Now it looks like he’s fallen victim to sugary side effects of a love potion.

Warnings: underage drinking, love potions are always a warning around here but especially right now because someone's drink is spiked with one, Hook is absolutely needy while under that spell and a little ooc but i promise it's due to the potion, flirty and sexual jokes but nothing that is truly nsfw (unless you count hook sleeping in his boxers ig), also a kiss scene that I didn't mean to make like that. so maybe a little spicier than I intended when I started on this idk

Word Count: 4.3K (idk how I did that either, inspired ig)

    Villain parties were so much louder and longer than hero parties were. There was alcohol mixed with  the faint smell of smoke and the type of music she would never hear back in her friend group’s parties. If she was honest with you, (Y/n) was enjoying it, absolutely drinking up the atmosphere around her, despite the fact that she’d normally be asleep by now. Not that she even felt tired, the room was too lively to let her give way to the normal exhaustion that would plague her by this time. She realized suddenly that she was actually kind of thankful Maleficent had invited her, swearing it had been a joke until she got there and the villains looked nearly excited to see her. This was actually fun, she felt relaxed in a way she probably shouldn’t be, two drinks in and singing along to songs she didn’t even realize she knew. Maybe she doesn’t know the words, but she’s saying something. God only knows how she was hoping she could get an invitation next time they decide to do something wild like this. (Y/n) wanted to drink up this feeling every time the cup would be offered to her. 

    Speaking of cups being offered to her, her “party buddy” as he’d deemed himself was heading back to her, sliding a blue plastic cup into her waiting fingers. “Now if you ask me,” his voice is raised over the music, “Malibu is a cheap excuse for rum, but it seemed like it would be more your style than that last drink was.” She nods, taking a sip from the cup which was the third one he’d given her all night. In a normal world, she wouldn’t trust a drink handed to her by just anyone, but something about Hook made her feel like she could. Maybe it was just because she felt like she knew him, the boy had been her partner in Alchemy for the past two years running, sharing little jokes and passing notes. “Yeah?” She hums, tilting her head to the side slightly as if to nod as she reaches out to grab the second cup from the crook of his elbow, holding it steady so he could properly grab it. “Better than the last one?” She nods, taking another sip as she looks at him, “Sweeter. This one doesn’t burn.” “Good, seems like I found your drink of choice, yeah?” The girl nods letting her words come out on a giggle, “Don’t give me that first drink ever again, Hook. I’m serious.” He hums, raising his own cup to his lips to cover his playful smirk, “I’ll get you warmed up to a gentlemen’s rum eventually, Lass.” “Gentleman is a strong word for you, isn’t it Captain? And you’d get me running around with your crew on the daily before you’d have me drinking that for fun.” Despite the callous words there’s a genuine smile hanging on her lips as she watches the boy. She hadn’t realized spending time with him could be so fun, perhaps that was wrong of her. 

    When the pirate looked up from his drink he could tell something felt new. His eyes dancing across her face as if eating up the memory of her like that, so carefree at one of his parties. Tasting the wilder side of life. The blue and green lights making her skin glow, hair slightly mused from where she had been dancing with a rosy tint to her cheeks from the alcohol and teasing little smirk on her face as she stared at him. The smirk coupled with the gentlest look in her eyes. She’d always been stunning to him but right now she looked nearly mythical. The gods should be jealous of her beauty, he was absolutely positive of that. “Have I ever told you that I think you’re breathtaking, Lass?” She looks down, tongue poking out between her teeth as she smiles, “I don’t think you have, Hook, no.” He tucks the dull edge of his hook under her chin, tilting her head up, “Hey, let me see you. Don’t shy away from me.” He leans forward, placing a soft kiss to her right cheek before he whispers in her ear, “And I beg of you, call me James.” 

     The pirate before her was a flirt, (Y/n) was more than aware of that, and it made her hate the way butterflies erupted in her stomach at his touch. The feeling of his lips setting her on fire. “I bet that’s what you tell all your girls,” she teases, trying to sound confident as she shoves his shoulder gently. His hook wraps around her bicep, pulling her against him and her hand finds its way forward to absorb some of the shock of the collison. “What other girls love? As far as I’m concerned you’re the only one here.” She reaches up, smoothing a stray strand of his hair back into place as he takes another sip of his drink. “Is that so?” He nods, staring down at her glossed lips, “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to see you outside of that old man’s watchful eye. I’m so glad you came tonight.” Her hand busies itself behind his back, toying with the boy’s collar as they stand there face to face, “I think you’ve had enough to drink, James. I never picked you to be a lightweight.” He hums, pressing another kiss to her shoulder, “The only thing I’m drunk on is you, love.”  

     Right hand reaching out to his, taking his cup and  she’s laughing, sliding it onto the table behind him, “Whatever you say, Captain. How about you let me take you home?” His ever present smirk turns into more of a genuine smile as he nods, letting the girl untangle herself from him. Normally he’d stay at a party until they had to shut it down, he’d never left this early. But he did feel off, maybe he was drunk? Had he made his drinks too strong to compensate for how light he was pouring hers without noticing? It didn’t matter, not when he was taking hold of her hand and she was letting him. Her thumb rubbing light circles on the back of his hand as she led him through the crowd. The cool air outside felt heavenly on his skin as the girl led him across the rocks of the black lagoon. Wind kissing his face that he didn’t even realize had started to sweat. “Hey, love?” She hums, pulling him slightly closer to her side as they make it to dry, stable land. “You know I meant it when I said you were breathtaking, don’t ya?” She shakes her head, “How long have you been holding onto that one, huh?” “Since last year, the second class project I think. God I should’ve told you how lovely you are sooner, I didn’t realize you’d let me hold your hand if I did.” It earns him a laugh, her hip knocking into his playfully, “Don’t make me take my hand back from you, Hook.” His grip tightens, a whine slipping out of his normally cocky lips, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

    “Wouldn’t I?” She hums, still drawing those light circles on his hand though. “I’ve gotta say, I’m kinda glad you’re a lightweight, James. You make a cute drunk.” He laughs, leaning his weight against her ever so slightly as they wander through the woods, “That sounds like you’re planning to take advantage of me. Not that I’d mind.” “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she stutters over the words, free hand flying up to cover her mouth.”I just meant like, you’re being so sweet right now you know? I’m glad I get to take care of you for a little bit, I feel like every time I see you, you’re watching over me you know? I’m glad I get to return the favor for once.” “You are?” “I am.”

   The rest of their walk to his dorm is filled with light and playful conversation. She hated to admit it, she knew her friends would hate to hear her say it, but Hook was a genuinely nice guy to be around. And his calloused hand felt so nice in her softer one. She was nearly disappointed when they got back to the boy’s shared dorm, not wanting to let him go. “Give me your key, Hook.” He shakes his head, dark feathered hair moving around his pretty features in a way that made him almost look like he was moving in slow motion. “Hook come on, give me your keys. It’s time to go to bed.” He points the golden piece of metal at the end of his arm towards her, “That is not my name, not to you.” She laughs softly, taking his hook into her other hand so she can pull him closer, “James,” the name is drawn out and cooed, their faces meer inches apart, “Would you please give me your key so I can get you into bed?” He pouts, shaking his head again, “Can’t.” 

     “And why can’t you?” She never dreamed him to be this needy and stubborn, part of her almost found it precious. “If I give you my key then I have to let go of your hand and you’re going to leave me.” Her hand lets go of his hook, dipping into the pocket on his jacket instead, “I promise you, James, I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Now can I please,” her fingers wrap around his keys, pulling them out of his pocket. “Thief,” he mumbles, watching her turn away from him to unlock the door. “You’ll thank me in the morning when you wake up in your own bed and not the floor somewhere.” He leans against her, shaking his head, “I always find my way home when I’m drinking, Princess.”: “Not a princess, James,” she sighs, throwing the door open. “You’re my princess.” 

     She ignores the remark, instead letting her eyes travel around the room. (Y/n) is pretty sure that she’s never seen a dorm room look like it belonged to the people residing in it as much as this one did. Maroon and forest green covering the beds, black decor and golden tapestries hanging to the walls. An old torn flag that she was sure once took its home on the Jolly Roger was hanging over Hook’s bed, taking up nearly his whole wall. There wasn’t a gap of space in that room that didn’t scream the two boys’ names. Something about it was oddly comforting. “Nice room, Captain.” He smiles, watching her take it in. She looked nearly awestruck, the boy couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in it. “Thank you, princess.” She rolls her eyes, headed over to the dresser on his side of the room, “Which drawer do you keep your pajamas in?” “Pajamas?” She turns to him, a single brow raised, “Yeah James, your pajamas. PJs? Sleep clothes?” He shakes his head, waving her off as he removes his coat, “Oh no, none of that. Just boxers and an undershirt. If I feel like leaving on the undershirt.” (Y/n) can feel the heat rising to her face as the pirate takes his boots off. Of course he didn’t wear pajamas.     “Okay, well then you get uh,” she swallows, turning around to face the wall again, “Comfortable. And I will face this way until you get in your bed.” James laughs, shaking his head as he shrugs off his silky button up, “I didn’t expect you to be so easily flustered.” “Yeah well, you just told me you basically sleep naked, so.” “It’s just a little bare chest and thigh, not like you’d get to see anything too frisky without wanting to.” “Just get in bed before I change my mind and leave you here alone, Hook.” He shuts his mouth, letting his belt and jeans fall to the ground before striding over to his bed. She can hear his blankets russel as he adjusts, sliding into the stiffly made double bed. “You can turn around now, love. Worst you’re going to see is my shoulders.” She rotates on her heel, slowly opening her eyes to look at him. 

    As promised, Hook is tucked into his bed, shoulders and head barely visible above the maroon comforter and white sheets. He watches her with a soft smile, waiting for her to move. “You said you’d stay with me. Do you need a shirt?” She shakes her head, making her way over to the side of his bed, toeing her shoes off as she goes. “I said I’d stay with you until you fell asleep. Not that I’d stay with you James, you need some rest.” She slides onto the bed beside him, legs stretched out along his side as her back leans against his headboard. James turns onto his side, an arm coming to stretch out over her thighs as he looks up at her, “Well, if you won’t stay the night with me, will you at least let me take you out tomorrow?” She holds her breath waiting for him to laugh at her or something. For him to give her any sort of sign that he’s teasing, or just trying to hurt her. But he doesn’t looking up to her with love struck and hopeful eyes that have her feeling a touch weak. “If you can remember asking me that in the morning, come find me to ask me again. Then I’ll say yes.” He nods, leaning his forehead against her leg as he gets comfortable, “I’ll remember.” She hums, letting her hand fall into the boy’s hair, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, James. Goodnight.” 

     (Y/n) isn’t sure how long she’s been by his side before the boy is softly snoring beside her, she does know the party has ended by the time he is though. Morgie le Fay slipping in visibly exhausted and ready to fall into his bed. The sight of the girl making him jump. “Hello, what are you doing here?” She slides out from under Hook’s arm, grabbing a spare pillow from behind him to take her place. “He was wasted, couldn’t let him just wander around like that,” She stretches the stiffness out of her muscles as she speaks, eyes glancing around to retrace her steps to her shoes. “Hook didn’t strike me as a needy drunk though, it’s kinda cute. He’s probably going to be hungover tomorrow, if y’all have tylenol or anything I recommend leaving some out before you go to sleep.” She slips her shoes on walking to the door, “Goodnight Morgie.” He nods to her, mumbling what he thinks is an audible goodnight as he turns to look at his friend. Needy drunk? Hook’s always been one to fight when he was drunk. The sorcerer couldn’t prove it but something was off about the interaction he just had. It would have to be something he’d figure out in the morning though, the boy too tired to worry now. As long as his friend was fine, which it seemed he was, that issue could wait. 

                           ˚⋆°˖ ～ 🍂࿔ ฅ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍂 ⋅

     Much to (Y/n)’s surprise, Hook did remember asking her out the night of the party. It was actually a sweet little date, just the two of them curled up in the corner of a cafe getting to know each other outside of what Alchemy and the party had allowed them. She didn’t think she’d find herself so excited to be on a date with James, he had a reputation of course, she didn’t want to get her hopes up. But then one date turned to two, and two turned to three. By the fifth date the pirate had asked her to be his girlfriend, something that she hadn’t expected but she accepted, albeit a touch too eagerly if you were to ask her. Not that he’d agree, if it wasn’t for Morgie’s voice in his ear he probably would have asked her on the first date. 

    Now it had been four months of whatever her and James got started on the night of that party and the whole school was hyper aware of the attachment the two had developed to each other. Not that Hook would let other people forget. He was seemingly always touching her, holding her hand or his hook looping through her belt loops with his arm around her side. Pressing needy little kisses on top of her head or softly on her cheek. She adored the attention but if she was honest something about it always felt wrong to her. Not that she didn’t deserve his affection, or didn’t want it. Goodness knew she craved him when he was away. More so like something about it was just, for lack of better words on her end, off. It was as if James never sobered up from that night’s party and she knew she wasn’t the only one who could see it. The boy's friends always felt like they were watching them, it nearly made her skin crawl. And the feeling was getting to be too much for her now, the girl squirming under their gaze from where she sat curled against Hook’s side. She should slip out now, it would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it? 

     Her eyes flickered between the watchful eyes of Maleficent and Uliana before they flickered back up to her boyfriend. Softly tapping his cheek with her index finger so he’d look down at her. “Yes, love?” She smiles slightly, eyes staring at his ever adoring ones. Had they ever looked at her any other way? It was like she couldn’t remember. “I need to head out, I have a project for magical creatures that I need to go finish.” A frown pulls on his lips but he nods, pressing a soft kiss into her hairline before letting her get out of his grip. Eyes following the girl all the way to the door, drinking her in as if he’d never see her again, face settled into the palm of his hand. 

    “God, why are you still acting like that?” Uliana scoffs, glaring at the boy -who used to be her right hand man- in annoyance. “Acting like what, Uli?” He doesn’t peel his eyes from the door, as if she’d stumble back through it if he waited long enough, hoped hard enough. “Like you’re spelled,” she pauses, locking eyes with Maleficent as if they had both realized something dreadful had happened. “Oh my god,” Maleficent’s hand covers her mouth as she turns to look at her friend in shock. Had they done this? The girl was supposed to be the lovestruck zombie here, not Hook. “Oh you are spelled,” the pixie’s voice is littered with a hopeless regret, staring at her beloved friend in disappointment.     “I’m not spelled, Mali, I’m just in love. You of all people should get that, with the way you fall over Hades and all,” his tone is far too dreamy to fit him, the boy finally turning away from the door and back to his friends. “No, Hook, you’re spelled. Uli and I spelled you,” she sighs, shaking her head as she stares at the boy. His face seems to contort into an expression somewhere between confusion and anger, “What do you mean you spelled me?” “Well it wasn’t meant for you,” Uliana sighs, throwing her hands up, “It was meant for the girl. You handed her the wrong cup.” Morgie turns to the girls in shock, the night of the party finally adding up in his mind. Hook was an angry drunk, he knew his friend well enough to know that. The boy hadn’t been drunk at all, that’s why he wasn’t hung over. “You tried to spell (Y/n)? Why?” “We were trying to help him,” Uliana throws a hand out at Hook as she snaps, “He was too scared to ever admit he liked her to her and we were sick of hearing about it. She was supposed to fall in love with him so she would ask him out and he’d shut up.” 

     Hook rises off of his bed, glaring at Uliana with an emotion she couldn’t quite place dancing in his eyes. “So you decided to spell her?” He shoves the sea witch back, not rough enough to hurt her but it gets his point across. “You could have hurt her! What if there were side effects?” “But she would have loved you, is that not what you’d been whining about for a year?” “She wouldn’t have loved me! The magic in her would’ve tied her to me, she wouldn’t have loved me.” “Well she loves you now doesn’t she? So what does it matter?”

    He lets out an exaggerated sigh, turning on his heel to storm out of his dorm. Hook’s friends were calling for him from his room but he didn’t have in him to care. He had to find (Y/n), if their love was real -able to exist past the spell-she should be able to break it, shouldn’t she? They hadn’t kissed yet, the girl always shying away from his lips. Maybe some part of her could tell? Had Uliana told her? Surely not. If it didn’t work, if he felt the exact same after kissing her, he’d go take a dip in the enchanted fountain. That water could undo anything, then he would just have to potentially break the loveliest girl he’d ever met’s heart. Hook couldn’t help but hope she could end the whole thing, or maybe living his life spelled wouldn’t be that bad. Not if it meant he had her. 

    The pounding on (Y/n)’s door made her jump out of her skin. Who in their right mind would be banging on her door like that? Uliana maybe? Had she forgot something and James sent the sea witch to bring it to her? That didn’t seem right, he would always bring her things himself. So who in their right mind was on the other side of her door acting like a mad man?  She didn’t expect to see those familiar dark doe eyes and rich feathered locks behind her door. Her boyfriend looking panicked and a little angry as his eyes take her in. 

   “Don’t shy away,” he mumbles, grabbing the back of her head and threading his fingers through her hair. (Y/n) doesn’t get a second to question him before his lips are slamming into hers, kissing her hungrily like he needed her for survival. A movement so primal it was shocking. Yet she melts into him, hands sliding up his torso, one resting on his chest while the other needily cups his jaw, pulling him as close as she could. His lips were slightly chapped, feeling raw against her own soft ones but she couldn’t find it in her to care, fingers sliding further back on his head so she could softly pull at his hair. Hook groans against her lips slightly at the contact, biting her bottom one and tugging it back slightly as he pulls away. 

    He felt like something had been lifted off of him as he looked at her. She was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, Hook was entirely sure of that, but it was like the fog around her had finally lifted. By god she’d done it. James didn’t even know it was possible to fall in love with someone while you were under a love spell. She pants slightly, looking up at him in shock, “What was that for?” “Oh, Love,” he breathes, moving his hand from the back of her head so he could stroke her cheek, “You just saved me from myself.” Her brows furrow, pursuing her lips as she waits on him to elaborate, no further words seem to come though. “James,” she laughs, though the sound comes out more nervous than she intended, “What are you talking about?” 

    “Uliana, she,” he shakes his head, nudging the girl back into her dorm so he can follow her in, letting the door slam behind him. “I guess it was the night of the party, she handed me one of those malibu sprites we had remember them?” She nods, waving with a hand for him to continue, it was odd, like he had finally sobered up. (Y/n) felt like she could breath around him again, hands lingering on him without feeling like they were doing something wrong. “Well apparently she put a love potion in one of them, she intended it for you but.” “But you drank it, that’s why you seemed like such a lightweight. That's why Maleficent invited me, isn’t it? They were trying to prank me.” The girl shakes her head, dusting off his shoulder. “So what now, do you want to like,” she sighs, looking down, “Do you want to like, break up now that you realized you were just spelled or?” He grabs her chin with his good hand, tilting her head up to look at him, “Do I need to kiss you again or are you going to use your brain?” She looks at him as if he’s grown two heads and he sighs. “Darling, what are the two ways to break a love potion’s hold? I know you pay attention in alchemy, you should know this.” She bites her lip, searching his deep dark eyes like they’re going to answer the question for her. 

     “What breaks a love spell, Love?” She knew this, “Water from the enchanted lake,” there's a pause. She knows the second one, she knows she does. “I haven’t been to the enchanted lake or the fountain. I came straight here from my dorm so what broke my spell?” Her lip finds its way between her teeth, chewing on it as she stares at the boy she’d grown to love oh so dearly. Love. “I did,” she breathes it, pulling the boy closer and connecting their lips again. It’s gentler this time, not as aggressive and needy as the kiss before, this one is full of nothing but love. His hands moving to cup his lover's face, pulling her as close as he could manage. That was his smart girl, she saved him.

[halfmoondaze]

Flickering Desieres

A fic collaboraton with @heavyhitterheaux

Born and raised in Y/H/T, Y/N knew from a young age that she wanted to be a singer and that she wasn’t going to let anything get in her way of her dream becoming a reality. 

She would go on to perform in local bars and coffee shops that were known to have open-mic nights and spend the rest of her time writing her own songs and posting videos of her singing on Tik Tok. 

She posted a song that she had written called “Drowning in the Blue” on the platform, not thinking much of it. However, the song quickly gained traction and went viral, amassing over 230 million views. 

As the song gained popularity on Tik Tok, she quickly caught the attention of music label executives who were eager to sign her. 

After careful consideration, she chose the small independent label “Adagio Records Co.” And the rest was history.

Every single time an opportunity presented itself, she would sing. Whether it be around the house, performing for family, or local talent shows. When she saw an opportunity to sing, she took it.

Meanwhile, Jack had just finished filming his latest movie starring Matt Damon and Casey Affleck called “The Instigator” in Portland. Overall, Jack felt more inspired than ever to go back to the studio and create new music. The last thing that he ever wanted anyone to think is that he was leaving music behind for acting, because that definitely wasn’t the case.

“Look if it isn’t the movie star.” Urban said as Jack entered the recording studio.

“Hey man.”

They did their secret handshake as Jack sat down next to him.

“How was Portland?” Nemo asked.

“Wet.” 

They started laughing from Jack’s response and Nemo just simply shook his head. 

“The label got me this list of the possible female singers we could bring in for the feature” DJ Drama said as he sat down. 

“Shoot, let’s hear it.” 

“Doja Cat?”

Jack thought for a second. “No” 

“SZA?”

“No”

“Y/N?”

Jack pauses for a moment. 

“Who is Y/N? I’ve never heard of her. Is she a new artist?”

“Her song blew up when she posted it on Tik Tok not too long ago. Since you hardly ever go on there, I didn’t really expect you to know.”

As Jack quickly learned about Y/N’s music, he became captivated by her sound as a singer which was something unlike anything he had heard before. A sound that was both fresh and somehow nostalgic. With hints of 90’s R&B, soul, and smooth jazz; mixed with contemporary pop. He found her songwriting skills impressive and authentic. He was hooked. 

At this point in time, the choice was obvious and he couldn't wait to meet her in person.

He felt as though this would be a good move for him seeing as the most he ever did with another female artist was hop on the remix version of a song. However, this time they were starting from scratch and knew that this was something that his fans had been waiting for. New features with new people.

It was true that he was worried about the hype surrounding him and his career dying down, but knew for a fact that as soon as he made the announcement surrounding the single being released, it would pick back up. 

That morning, Y/N showed up early to the studio wearing a men’s button up shirt as a dress, knee socks and sneakers wanting to be comfortable for however long that she was going to be here for. 

“Y/N, you must already know Jack.” DJ Drama introduced her.

Jack went in for a hug but Y/N stopped him reaching out for her hand for him to shake. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you.” 

Jack smiled. 

“Good things, I hope” he joked as he shook her hand. 

Jack went on and introduced Y/N to Urban and Nemo. 

“We are glad to have you here. Thank you for helping us out” he smiled. 

“Happy to help.” 

“Would you like to go over the song?” 

“No, I’m good,” she said as she entered the recording booth and put on the headphones. 

Jack was taken back by her confidence but thought it was very attractive.

“Ok. Whenever you’re ready” he said. 

That’s when Y/N who was supposed to sing the chorus to his song “Locked In” however, she completely changed the lyrics and Jack stopped her mid performance. 

“Can we stop?” Jack asked as he looked over at Nemo who simply nodded his head.

Nemo stopped the track and waited for the both of you to agree on the next steps.

Y/N takes off her headphones and turns to Jack wondering what the problem was, but deep down she knew.

“Those aren’t the lyrics” he said and turned to Nemo. “Do you have a copy of the lyrics you can give to Y/N?. 

“Oh, I know what the lyrics are” 

“Then why aren’t you singing them?” Jack asked not understanding what was happening at the moment.

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, I was told to come here to help you with your lyrics which is what I did.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your label approached me to help you write a hit. And that’s what I'm trying to do."

“My last album was very successful.” 

“I don’t think an album that scored 2.9 on Pitchfork would be considered successful.” 

Jack looked at her stunned, not knowing how to respond.

“No offense, but your music is on a surface level” you replied not missing a beat. “You talk about all this generic stuff like proving your haters wrong, bragging about your conquests…nothing groundbreaking” you paused. “You never reveal anything about yourself.”

Jack clenched his jaw as he crossed his arms, but he didn’t look away from you as you were talking to him.

“I’m sorry?” he raised his brow, feeling a mix of surprise and irritation. No one had ever challenged him like this before.

“You’re not really saying anything” Y/N pressed. “If you want to stand out, you need to be more vulnerable”

He scoffed. 

“And just spill my dirty laundry into the world?” he shot back. “I’m not doing that”

“Suit yourself” Y/N shrugged. “But don’t expect your fans to care for your music if you’re not willing to be real with them.”

With that Jack left the studio without another word, clearly pissed off because of the exchange that had just happened. 

Y/N turned to look at DJ Drama who couldn’t contain his laughter. 

“Did I say something wrong?” Y/N curiously asked because as far as she was concerned, she was simply being honest with him. 

Jack walked out of the studio and headed over to Craig Kallman’s office who was the CEO of Atlantic Records and he quickly knocked on the door. Hearing his voice say ‘Come in.’ He proceeded to enter.

“Jack, what’s up?” He asked as he looked up at him.

“There’s a bit of an issue with the collab with Y/N. I don’t think she’s the right fit.”

Craig simply looked at him before offering his advice.

“Jack, I know it can be challenging working with a new artist, but I think Y/N can bring a fresh perspective and new life into your music.”

Jack sighs as he sits on the sofa across from Craig’s desk. 

“I’ve built my career on my own terms and I don’t want to compromise my authenticity for the sake of a hit song.”

“We’re not asking you to compromise Jack. We’re asking you to explore new possibilities and push your boundaries as an artist.” Craig says, his tone gentle but firm. “Let’s just call it a day and start over tomorrow; I’ll let Y/N know” 

Jack was feeling somewhat reassured but still conflicted. 

He stood up, thanked Craig and exited his office hoping that things would go better tomorrow

[featherlight-touches]

Take your medicine

Xiao/Venti

a/n: I had this saved in my drafts for sooo long, and I finally got around to posting it! I'm still getting used to the characters but I enjoyed writing for them! I hope you enjoy!

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

As Xiao teleported back to the Wangshu Inn balcony after a gruelling day of fending off dangerous foes that threatened the sanctity of Liyue, he was met with an unexpected sight - the carefree Anemo Archon himself, Venti, casually lounging upon one of the chairs whilst playing on his lyre a soothing sound that Xiao was not familiar with.

“It’s you,” Xiao's brows furrowed, a mix of confusion and wariness flickering across his stoic features. What in Teyvat could have prompted Venti to seek him out?

Venti gave a small hum to ensure that Xiao’s words had not gone unheard, but the song he played continued. Xiao, despite his initial surprise, felt a pang of curiosity as to the bard’s intentions.

“Has something happened?” Xiao’s impatience got the better of him and this earned a small chuckle from the Archon, his head turning to give a small shake towards the Yaksha. Xiao couldn’t help but watch the way his neat braids danced with his head movement and because he was aware of the lack of threat, he calmed down and listened.

After a few more moments of soothing music from the lyre, Venti finished his song.

“Hello, Xiao!” he finally greeted, happy and carefree as ever. “Sorry for not responding to you right away, I was suddenly struck with inspiration that I just had to play before it was lost.”

Xiao nodded. “I didn’t expect to see you here, which is why I asked if there was something wrong.”

“Nothing wrong at all, my dear Xiao, I’m simply here visiting an old friend.” Venti’s smile was sweet, and it never failed to make Xiao’s heart flutter once it was directed towards him. “I had just finished my visit to the ever so welcoming Geo Archon, but that old blockhead still-”

“Watch your words, Lord Barbatos.” Xiao growled; his eyes narrow in his annoyance. Venti blinked slightly taken back by the sudden change but smiled in understanding. Xiao was very protective of his Archon and rightfully so.

“Forgive me, I meant Zhongli, ehe.” Venti raised his hands up defensively and stuck out his tongue playfully, trying to pull Xiao back into light-hearted conversation. “How many times do I have to remind you that I prefer to go by Venti now?”

“I will respect your wishes if you show respect to mine. Rex La- I mean, Zhongli is important to me, and I will not have his name be disrespected by anyone, not even you.” Xiao folded his arms across his chest and looked Venti dead in the eyes.

Venti giggled. “Alright, alright, I get it. You know I only jest, I have nothing against Zhongli. Despite his contradicting actions, we are good friends, you know? Just think of it as playful banter.”

“Hmph.”

Venti’s chuckle was nervous but light. “Anyway, how has my favourite Adeptus been doing?”

Xiao decided to give in to small talk he would usually deem pointless because Venti had travelled all this way after all.

“Fine.”

He was an Adeptus of little words. Venti knew this and didn’t seem to mind at all, he only beamed at his response.

“I’m glad to hear it! I hope that Karmic debt of yours hasn’t been giving you too much trouble?” Venti stepped closer to him however, the voices of guests coming up the stairs reminded Xiao that they were not in a confidential space and their conversations were not meant for mortal ears.

“Please follow me, Lord – Uh, Venti.”

“Lord Venti?” of course Venti would giggle at that, and Xiao cursed the heat rising to his face at the sweet sound that was his laughter. “I like that!”

“Enough. Come this way,” Xiao hissed, grabbing onto his wrist and dragging him off the balcony and away from the other guests.

★・・・★

Once they made it into Xiao’s room, Xiao made sure to close the door behind them, securing their privacy. It was only after he turned to notice Venti taking it upon himself to show himself around that he realised he didn’t really invite others into his room.

He rarely slept and only returned to this room when completely necessary for rest, which was a rare occurrence. The room looked pretty much untouched aside from a few objects on the shelves that Xiao collected over the years.

“I… apologize for the mess?” Xiao tried, realising there wasn’t really a mess to apologize for, but he felt like something should have been said. “I don’t usually invite people back here.”

“Oh, Xiao, you needn’t apologize to me. I think this room suits you very well, actually!” Venti held his arms out wide and gave a whimsical spin around the large space. Xiao watched, almost enchanted by his movements. How could he manage to make anything look so mesmerizing? Xiao snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a sudden disapproving hum from the Anemo Archon.

“What is it?”

“It would appear that Zhongli was right to be concerned about this,” Venti’s attention was focused upon the medicines that have piled up on the bedside table, a clear indication that Xiao had been neglecting to take them.

Once Venti’s disappointed eyes turned to meet his, Xiao quickly avoided eye contact and looked off to picture frame that he decided looked more interesting in that moment.

“Xiao,” Venti chided. “Why haven’t you been taking your medicine? Doesn’t it help you feel better?”

“Not really,” Xiao muttered. “Did Rex Lapis order you to investigate this?”

“Ah ah ah,” Venti wagged a finger in Xiao’s direction. “It’s Mr Zhongli, remember? Even I can hear his disapproving tone now. But to answer your question, no, he did not order me to do anything. As if I would do so even if he did.” Venti muttered the last part, almost amused by the accusation. “He mentioned his concerns to me, and I wanted to see for myself if you were taking care of yourself.”

“Both of you can rest assured that I am well and taking care of myself just fine.”

Venti’s eyes gazed upon the medicines again. “Uh huh.”

“I do not need to rely on medicines when I have been dealing with this for years. I am more than used to it.”

“Just because you have been dealing with it for years doesn’t mean you have to continue to suffer with it. If there are easier ways to do it, surely that’s the best choice, right?” Venti approached with a medicine vial in his hand. “Come on, Xiao.”

“It matters not. I will atone for my actions and suffer the consequences as they are presented to me.” Xiao barely noticed that Venti had approached so close until he turned and noticed the grinning Archon just inches from his face. Startled by the sudden closeness, he flinches. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re so stubborn,” Venti giggled and held up the medicine to his face. “Take your medicine.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No, Venti!”

“I’ll tickle you!”

“You- What?” Xiao barely had time to register the words because those pesky fingers were prodding into his sides. The undignified yelp that left Xiao’s lips was embarrassing and he immediately grabbed onto Venti’s wrists. “Stop that!”

“Will you take your medicine?”

Xiao stared at the grinning Archon. He knew that grin. That was a ‘I’m not stopping until I’ve gotten my way’ grin.

“You’re such a child,” Xiao groaned, before another startled yelp was forced from him when Venti’s fingers poked at his belly. “S-Stop!”

Venti persisted, pulling his wrists free from Xiao’s grasp at amazing speed before bringing them to his ribs, unleashing another tickle attack and sang. “Tickle, tickle!”  

Heat rose to Xiao’s face in flustered embarrassment as he squirmed, trying to get away from the onslaught of tickles from Venti but he annoyingly held on to him before he could get too far. Venti was probably the only other person who discovered how ticklish the Adeptus was once he saw the traveller tickle him some time ago.

He could have spared Xiao and acted like he never saw anything. But of course not, he decided to use it against him whenever he saw fit, exploiting his tickle spots with endless torment. Xiao wasn’t much of a giggler, he had breathy laughter, almost as if his voice was not used to making these sounds at all. But as soon as Venti’s fingers traced around to his back and tickled there, that’s when the laughter started to pick up.

“Aw, is your back ticklish, Xiao?” he had the audacity to laugh at him through this torture.

“Venti! – ahaha – stop!” Xiao wheezed, his mind going fuzzy with the ticklish sensations inflicted upon him. “Please!”

“I’ll stop when you take your medicine, Xiao! We care about you, you know? We want you to feel better,” Venti lectured, which would have been received if Xiao wasn’t currently battling for air right now. Venti’s fingers came to a slow halt as his arms wrapped tightly around Xiao in a warm embrace.

Xiao, while catching his breath, stared over Venti’s shoulder in confusion by this sudden contact.

“You don’t deserve to suffer the way you do,” Venti whispered, his voice sounding solemn which surprised the Adeptus. “I helped you once. I’ll do it again and again, if I must.”

“Venti… you don’t need to concern yourself with-”

“Stop saying that!” Venti pulled out of the embrace, placing his hands upon Xiao’s shoulders to lock eyes with him. “I am concerned. Zhongli is concerned, the traveller, heck, I’m pretty sure even most of Liyue is concerned about the remaining Yaksha! Why do you insist on taking on this burden alone?”

Xiao blinked, stunned to silence. He had never seen this side of Venti before; the bard was usually so carefree and mischievous. Did his behaviour really upset him this much?

There was a prolonged silence before Xiao reached for the medicine vial still within Venti’s palm. “I’ll take the medicine.”

Venti’s smile returned at his words, though Xiao could tell that it didn’t reach his eyes.

“My silly adeptus,” he cooed, cupping Xiao’s cheeks into his hands and using a thumb to gently stroke along the bone. “Thank you.”

Xiao hummed in response, his golden eyes looking downwards to avoid Venti’s gaze.

“Will you be heading back to Mondstadt?” Xiao changed the subject, not comfortable with the previous tone of conversation. Venti’s finger booped his nose before he back away from the Yaksha.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he replied, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a loud and obnoxious yawn. “I’m tired.”

“Then you may use my room tonight to rest,” Xiao offered before taking the medicine as promised, which Venti smiled gratefully for.

“Stay with me?” He asked gently, not wanting to startle Xiao. He then giggled at Xiao’s grimace from the medicine before noting the small nod from him.

“As you wish.”

[lethalhades]

The love of an tyrant and a warrior

(hey guys, so it's been a mintue since i've wrote fanfiction so please bare with me. Im very much gratful for you taking your time to read this. also I was inspired from someone on a03 and I loved it so much that i decided to write again.)

Chapter 1: stolen breath

The universe being spared had to be celebrated, bulma’s idea of course.

 The fight was really neck to neck with jiren and goku’s battle being the most exciting anyone has ever seen. Probably won’t see for a while too, yamcha being one of those who won’t be able to. 

Knowing he wasn’t picked to join the battle for obvious reasons he still wanted to at least spectate, He was catching up with Krillin, who was animatedly recounting tales from the tournament.

“So… about that Frieza fight you couldn’t stop talking about,” Yamcha said, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

Krillin’s eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh man, it was hilarious! There was a fighter, his name was toppo. He completely underestimated him and Frieza ended up getting wrecked!” Krillin chuckled, looking up at Yamcha. “I never thought I’d see someone so confident get taken down so fast.”

Yamcha chuckled, imagining the scene, but his thoughts were soon interrupted by an unexpected sight across the room.

There, in the corner, stood Frieza, the infamous emperor of the universe, brooding in silence. To add to the absurdity, a party hat sat atop his head, a mockery placed there by none other than Beerus. The god of destruction clearly found amusement in Frieza’s discomfort.

“What’s he doing here?” Yamcha’s voice trembled slightly as he glanced over at Frieza, uncertainty etched on his face. He hadn’t expected to see Frieza at Bulma’s party, much less in such a humiliating state.

His friend looked over at him and said, “as scary as it is. he’s still a bad guy, but he won’t hurt us as long as Beerus, Goku, and Vegeta are here to keep an eye on him.”

Even that failed to soothe the warrior’s restless mind. Frieza felt the simmering frustration build within him, knowing he couldn’t unleash his ki energy without drawing the others' attention. The moment he considered making a move, he realized they would sense it instantly, and that thought only intensified his anger.

The notion of being so restrained, so monitored, made his fury boil over even more than it had before.

“Hey, Yamcha!” came a cheerful voice from behind him, startling him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Bulma standing there, her vibrant smile lighting up the room. The unexpectedness of her presence made his heart race for a moment, but he quickly relaxed, grateful for her familiar energy.

“You really can’t just sneak up on me like that!” he exclaimed, a teasing edge to his voice. He took a moment to steady himself, still reeling from the shock. “You almost gave me a heart attack! I know you’re fast, but come on, a little warning next time would be nice!”

Bulma chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “My bad! I just wanted to see what was going on over here.” Her playful demeanor brought back a flood of memories, reminding him of the unforgettable moments they had shared.

Even now, her presence filled him with warmth and a sense of comfort he couldn’t quite shake.

Reminded that everything they had shared was now in the past, he felt the need to push those memories deep down. “Nothing special has been happening over here,” he said, forcing a casual tone. “I’ve just been playing baseball.” 

Even though it wasn’t much, Bulma listened intently, her eyes bright with interest. They chatted for a while as the party continued to swirl around them, the sounds of laughter and music filling the air. 

Eventually, Bulma shared some surprising news. “You won’t believe this, but Frieza was revived and actually joined the Universe 7 team,” she said, her tone a mix of disbelief and practicality. She explained how it hadn’t been an easy decision, but given the stakes, they had to consider all their options. Frieza, despite his dark past, was undeniably powerful, and the team needed every bit of strength they could muster. 

“Feels like a nightmare for killin being brought to life.” Yamcha joked.

Bulma felt a slight laugh rise in her throat before she continued speaking. Yamcha found himself intrigued; the nature of their enemies fascinated him, even if it belonged to a world far removed from his own. Glancing over at the emperor, he noticed Vegeta and Frieza locked in yet another heated argument.

Their egos clashed like storms both too proud, too powerful to yield.

"They’ve been going at it since the tournament," she said with a nervous laugh, her tone almost pleading. "But honestly, I’d rather not see them destroy the planet today."

It was as if she were begging Yamcha or anyone nearby to step in and defuse the tension. But these two Vegeta and Frieza had power levels that dwarfed his own.

What could he possibly do to ease the situation?

Feeling Frieza's ki ripple through the air, prickling his skin and those around him, Yamcha knew he had to act quickly. Speed-walking over to them, he tried to keep his voice steady. “Vegeta, lord Frieza… it looks like you two have a little disagreement. Aren’t you tired after all the fighting you’ve done already?”

Both of them turned to look at him. Frieza’s gaze was piercing, radiating contempt as if Yamcha were beneath him. "I don’t need a fragile being breaking up my fights," he sneered.

Before Yamcha could respond, Vegeta interjected, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You’d better be grateful he did, Frieza. He saved you from another trip to hell.”

With that, Vegeta turned and walked away, knowing that Bulma would want him to leave things alone. Yamcha let out a sigh of relief. At least, for now, the peace was kept. Left alone with the emperor, Yamcha found himself unsure of what to do.

Should he try to make small talk, simply walk away, or keep things cordial to stay on Bulma’s good side?

Without thinking, he spoke up, a trace of nervousness still in his voice. “Uh—L-Lord Frieza, maybe you’d like something to drink? Or maybe a bite to eat?” He forced a friendly smile, though his pulse raced.

Frieza’s cold glare met him in response. “Are you trying to tell me what to do?”

“What?! No, never, Lord Frieza!” Yamcha replied quickly, his smile widening as a cover for his nerves. “It’s just…most people are in a better mood after they've had something to eat, that’s all.” 

Frieza’s stare didn’t soften, but Yamcha held his ground, hoping he hadn’t just signed his own death warrant.

“Show me to this food, peasant,” Frieza finally commanded after a long, tense silence.

Yamcha didn’t hesitate, quickly leading Frieza to the spread that Bulma and the others had prepared. There was an impressive variety, but Yamcha noticed Frieza’s gaze lingering on the seafood, especially the snow crabs, which had been cooked to perfection.

“These are snow crabs, and—” Yamcha started to explain.

“Just bring me the crabs. I want nothing else,” Frieza ordered curtly, not even glancing in his direction.

Yamcha hurriedly grabbed a plate and loaded it with snow crabs before setting it in front of Frieza. Without a moment’s pause, Frieza cracked one open effortlessly. Yamcha could only hope they’d meet the emperor’s standards. He sat down across from Frieza, keeping just enough distance to make a quick escape if things took a turn.

Frieza paused, wiping his mouth with deliberate elegance before fixing Yamcha with a cold stare.

“Hmm. Perhaps I’ll reconsider killing you,” he drawled, his tone laced with menace. “Interrupting my discussion with that Saiyan could have been your final mistake.”

Yamcha felt his stomach twist. Frieza’s animosity toward the Saiyans was as strong as ever, but he seemed aware enough of the limits that Goku or even Beerus might enforce. Still, Yamcha knew he was in dangerous territory.

“Uh—well, I’m just…grateful to still be breathing,” Yamcha managed, his smile strained.

Frieza raised an eyebrow, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. “Grateful?” he sneered. “I would think someone in your position should be on their knees in gratitude.”

Yamcha felt a chill run through him. Frieza’s power was unimaginable, and one wrong move could turn him to dust in an instant. He’d faced powerful foes before, but Frieza was something else entirely calculating, merciless, and completely willing to wipe out anyone or anything in his way. Suppressing his anxiety, Yamcha forced himself to remain calm, hoping respect would keep Frieza’s wrath at bay.

With a flicker of amusement in his eyes, Frieza continued. “Yes…you have a certain charm,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps I’ll keep you as a servant. A tolerable price for putting up with these Saiyan apes.”

[mxflowercheck]

Adira&Tilly thing that was in my head for some time

Not beta read like AT ALL

- Hey there?

Tilly leans other a console to look at Adira. They’re curled up almost under it, hugging their knees and staring into nothing.

- Lieutenant Stamets and Doctor Culber won’t be pleased with you staying up late, you know, right? Maybe move to..somewhere they don’t work.

- You’re also staying up late - Adira mumbles, not looking up, but also not tensing or outright sassing Tilly off. That’s a good sign.

- I am, technically, not a crew member anymore. Just visiting while you’re docking. - she keeps her tone light, but allows longing to slip into it. Adira hates being belittled. - So they can scold me, sure, but…i have an escape route.

There’s a huff and then silence. Light, familiar rumble of ships systems. Tilly waits a minute, shifts uncomfortably and tries again.

- Wanna talk about it?

Adira silent for another minute, swaying back and forth a bit.

- Yes. Yes I do. - they look up, and here it is - the firm, determined stare, Adira’s signature. Tilly gives them a slightly awkward smile and sits near them, cross-legged.

- So? Venting? Gossiping? Both? One and then the other to get distracted? I can bring ice cream.

Adira giggles, still looking at the floor. Tilly can see now that their cheeks are still wet from tears. She doesn’t ask even though she wants to bury anyone who made their…well, sibling, feel like this.

- None, i guess? I…It’s about Trill. The symbiont. Gray. - they smile fondly at their boyfriend’s name. - It’s…hard.

- Yeah, i can imagine. I had a parasite in me once - not that Trill is a parasite, but you get the idea, something existing in you. Creepy as hell.

- You did? - their eyebrows shot up and they finally looked at Tilly. - W- How did *that* happen?

- Oh, long story. It’s how we got Hugh back! I tell you later. For now it’s about you - she pokes them with an elbow lightly, - not about me.

- Wow. Okay. - Adira giggles nervously, rubbing their neck. - Can i..can i ask? How did you understand you want to be a teacher?

- Pretty sure you were there. Remember? The arguing cadets, near-death experience?

- Yep, i do. - they scoffed. - I mean..after it? Like, you wanted to be a captain for years! How did you..

- Make that incredible leap? - Tilly smiles and sighs. - Will you throw a screwdriver at me if i give an inspirational speech?

- This time - no. But! - their raise a finger. - only this time.

- Okay, okay. - she laughs and leans back on the console. - I..I mean, when i think about it, I never wanted to be Captain. Shit, when Saru left me in charge..I thought I’d throw up even hours later. It was..awful. But being in charge of this group of cadets wasn’t. And i..at some point it hit me - my mom..my mom is not here. She won’t see me as a Captain. And suddenly it felt pointless. I..I didn’t want to be Captain, i wanted to prove I can. I wanted to be like famous Captains. But now…i have no one to prove this to. And i’m already brave and smart and loyal and- I can be that without being Captain. Maybe I don’t need to try to fit into these shoes, maybe I need shoes that allow me to be myself! To be Tilly. Because i want to be a lot of things I’m not. And maybe will never be. But i can be me.

Adira looks at her in silence, something mixed in their eyes. Sadness. Anger. Confusion.

- Firstly, it was actually very sad. Secondly, - they sigh, hiding their faces in their hands, - I don’t know who i am. What’s me and what’s Tal and what’s Gray’s memories. Where’s Adira. And who should i be? Like..you, you have a goal! You want to be a pretty good person. I want to.. - they stumble upon their own words, their hands shake a bit. - I don’t know.

Tilly moves closer to them, presses their shoulders together, wraps an arm around Adira, pulling them closer. Hugs always help, don’t they?

- You know what, I give up on speeches. How do you feel about a bit of music?

- Um. Fine, i guess? Why?

- There’s a song. - Tilly taps her badge, summoning the holo-PADD. - Really old. Like, it was old even in our time. But i love it, and it kinda has the message I’m trying to get to you.

She doesn’t scroll for a long time - the songs is almost on top of “recently listened”. Tilly opens the text and presses play.

I wish I was big, as big as my house

I'd sleep on the trees, I'd skip every crowd

But I wouldn't fit on my therapist's couch

God, I could really use him now

I wish I was God, I'd never trip up

And if I did, well, so fuckin' what?

I could be cruel and break all your stuff

Yeah, I'd be loved no matter what

But if I was God, it'd get kinda weird

'Cause you would only say what I wanna hear

And then you would die, you'd love me to death

I'd never know who the hell I am

I wish I was me, whoever that is

I could just be and not give a shit

Hey, I'll be whatever makes you a fan

'Cause I don't know who the hell I am

Adira listens attentively and soons gets what Tilly wanted to say. For reason it feels…gut-wrenching. It feels right. It feels like their scream, their words. They don’t notice tears running down their face. They cry shamelessly, but smile broadly, and Tilly pulls them into a tight hug, her curls everywhere, blocking the world around.

- The point is…does it matter, who you are? It’s you, Adira. And you have Paul, and Hugh, and me, and Gray.

- I can just be and not give a shit - they laugh through tears, hugging her back.

- Exactly.

[halucynator]

The surprise

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader

Request (I wasn't specifically requested this but I wanna write it. This was inspired by @annaisabookworm's post xx) : I LOVE MY FAVORITE FANFICTION WRITERS ON TUMBLR BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I WANNA SEE WRITTEN?! I WANT A FANFICTION WHERE MATTHEO OR THEODORE TAKE THE READER TO THE ERAS TOUR AND SHE WEARS THE BLURPLE MINDNIGHTS BODY SUIT COUSTUME AND THEY HAVE A CHAIR T SHIRT ON (ikyk) AND THEIR JAW DROPS AND ARE LITERALLY IN SHOCK ALL NIGHT AND THE READER AND HAVE HAVE THE BEST TIME EVER. AND SHES A HUGE SWIFTIE WHOS HYPERFIXATED ON THE ERAS TOUR AND HE SUPRISES HER WITH FRONT ROW TICKETS- ITD BE SO CUTE-

Warnings: I don't think there is any lmk if there are.

A/n: this post is for @annaisabookworm (and anyone else who's reading this lol). I hope you like ittt 💞 this text is full of Taylor Swift song like puns or jokes or wtv (idk) so I apologize in advance lmao

In the midst of the swirling excitement that is the ERAS Tour, you found yourself standing at the entrance of the bustling concert venue, heart racing with anticipation. Beside you stood Mattheo, your boyfriend, who had guaranteed you an unforgettable night. You were dressed in the most enchanting attire—a blurple midnights body suit dress (which Mattheo had bought for you saying you would look stunning in) which was very well bejeweled - in the words of Taylor Swift and your boyfriend- capturing the essence of Taylor Swift's iconic style. And not to forget, your boyfriend sporting the chair T-shirt that only true fans would recognize.

Two weeks ago you wouldn't even have imagined coming here. Thanks to your boyfriend and now the King of your Heart, Mattheo, you could make your dreams come true. You were going on and on about how much you wanted to go and Mattheo had to give in and buy you tickets. He was going to buy you era tickets anyway, but this made him even more happy for his decision.

As the pulsating energy of the crowd enveloped you, the gates opened, revealing a world of lights, music, and magic. Your breath hitched as you walked through to the other side of the door, feeling like you were about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. Mattheo grinned at your reaction, his eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and delight. Little did you know, he'd been plotting a surprise that would take this night to a whole new level.

With a shared glance that spoke volumes, you and Mattheo made your way to your seats. As the first notes of Taylor's song filled the air, your heart swelled with emotion. But it was not just the music that left you in awe—it was Mattheo's expression. His jaw dropped as he took in the dazzling stage, the dynamic choreography, and the sheer magnitude of the production. His shock was mirrored in your own astonishment, and the two of you exchanged a wide-eyed, incredulous look.

Throughout the night, as Taylor Swift commanded the stage with her powerful presence, you and Mattheo were captivated, utterly lost in the enchantment of the moment. The delicate vocals seemed to transport you to another world. Each time you stole a glance at Mattheo, you were met with a mixture of joy, amazement, and gratitude. It was as if the two of you shared a secret language—a language of shared fandom, love, and an understanding that words could never fully capture.

As the concert reached its crescendo, Mattheo's excitement becomes palpable. He leaned closer to you, a sparkle in his eyes, and whispered, "Are you ready for one more surprise?" Your heart skipped a beat, curiosity mingling with anticipation. And then he reveals it—the pièce de résistance of the night—front-row tickets. Your eyes widen in disbelief as you take in the golden passes clutched in his hand. The surprise is so unexpected, so beyond your wildest dreams, that for a moment, time seemed to stand still and you forgot to breathe. The happiness you felt in that moment was indescribable.

"Tell me why, what I did to deserve such a perfect boyfriend." You asked, looking at him.

"Oh, it's just the way I love you."

The realization sinks in: you're not just witnessing the ERAS Tour from the front row; you're living it, breathing it, and becoming a part of it. Having front row seats hits different. As the final notes reverberated through the air, Mattheo's grin was infectious. His hand found yours, and together, you stood, cheering and applauding, celebrating not just the night but how far you'd come.

As the concert came to an end, the world seemed a little brighter, a little more alive. The memory of the evening was etched into your heart, a tale of love, surprises, and a music that binds you and Mattheo in a way that's uniquely yours.

"I can't believe it's time to go." You said sad about it ending.

"yeah. So did you like it?" Mattheo asked.

"Long story short it was the best day of my entire life." You said.

And with that you exited the venue.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊*•̩̩͙

Thanks for reading! hope you liked itttt! I love this idea sm xx have a nice dayy

[frillsinadress]

WHITE BALL

characters : ace , taiko , tetsu ,  mysterious guest.

warnings : none !

word count : 0.9k

authors note : first post about my doomed poly ship - blood sweat and tears ! tetsu is owned by @elliotrivriv and this was my first major piece on em! heavily inspired by the song by the same name by miracle musical!

winter islands typically were a mixed bag. the snow made it hard for certain islands to get proper resources, so if they had gotten a particularly bad storm supplies may be gone for a while. that is what had happened to this particular island, mixed with a spreadable flu and it made for a terrible trap. 

the cure pirates were welcomed eagerly and within that same day cured the spreading illnesses. all that was left was to monitor the patients to ensure a steady recovery. after a short morning shift taiko had gotten the rest of the day to relax per her crew after a rough day of bloodletting. 

she left the medic building and trudged back to the hotel inn she and her partners were staying at. the coat around her protected her from the frost but to her it would never be enough. on the walk back she caught the sight of a bakery and considered buying something to take back. turning to do so, her name was called and she whipped her head to see the sight of her shorter lover. 

“tetsu! where is your scarf, i’m freezing just looking at you.” she scolded softly once he was closer, only spotting him wearing a coat.he bristled a bit, just as ace predicted she had gotten mad. 

“i was warmed by ace, its good don't worry. just wanted to walk you back to the room since you said you’d only be there a short while.” he replied, and taiko nodded. tetsu and ace were lucky enough to retain heat so well, while taiko was lost to the weather. either way him wanting to walk her back warmed her in an unspeakable way. in all her medicine knowledge and textbook data never did she realized how powerful a medicine love was. her hand wordlessly reached for his, shyly linking their fingers.

“theres a bakery, want to grab something for dinner?” she asked, coughing and looking at the building as to hide her reddened cheeks. tetsus hand was an accepted warmth as he led her into the store to look around. the bakery had some soup they were willing to part with as gratitude for their help, and some meat to throw into it. tetsu had already glared at the slight smile that found itself on her lips, knowing he would be the grill this meat found itself on but said nothing. 

the chatter back was quiet, and light— mostly talking about the patients and how they were doing. but conversation was conversation and taiko was only willing to talk so much if it was either tetsu or ace. she had opened up considerably to them, growing to trust them beyond anyone else. this was not one sided of course, with each of them blooming in their own ways around their partners. taiko still remembers the day marco said she was the closest to ever “domesticating” tetsu. 

she was thankful the inn was quiet, humming softly as tetsu unlocked the lock with a flick of his hand and opened the door for her. the room was pleasantly warm, making her sigh as she took off her heavy coat and boots. this must be aces doing, taiko mused as she ventured further in.  rustling could be heard from the side room and taiko was immediately jumped by her taller lover. she yelped as ace picked her up and spun her around, laughing at her shock. 

“you’re back!” he cheered as taiko steadied herself against him, bluntly glaring at him as she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

“yea not from war, you’re being dramatic!” taiko rebutted, watching as ace trotted over towards the bed. 

“ace no.” she began, her glare sharpening as aces' smile only turned more mischievous. ace held her hips and wrestled her legs off, giggling under his breath as he adjusted her. 

she bickered with him for a moment until he lifted her from him and tossed her upon her, laughing at her playful yells. tetsu immediately weaved his arms around aces waist, lifting him and slamming him into the bed before jumping atop him. taiko groaned as both heavy males were piled atop her and the two scurried to give her some room while not fully getting off her. ace laid on his back and tugged taiko onto him, as taiko latched chest to chest to tetsu. she enjoyed this bundle they often found themselves in, taiko found a blissful joy in being able to catch the typical uncatchable tetsu and pepper his face with kisses. ace enjoyed being around the two, leaning his chin atop her shoulder and making her shiver and complain whenever he got a bit too cheeky with his affections. from his perch he also got to make dumb faces at tetsu, which he typically glared at or on special occasions would reciprocate in the childish act. tetsu relished in the gentle affections of the both, either the whispered words of assurance or the fingers that would eventually weave their way into his hair. 

as the three eventually found the sanctity of slumber, taiko couldn't help but smile at the comfort found in the embrace of her lover’s… 

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

a snicker was heard as teach pulled the receiver away from taikos face, a dark chuckle rumbling his chest. cruel eyes stared down the slumped over form of taiko,

“is that good enough for you little brother? sate that ravenous appetite of yours?” he spoke with grit as he heard the dangerous low growl of tetsu from the other end. tetsus voice crackled, emotions clogging his throat as he was hit with the mixed feeling of relief and despair. taiko was alive - if one could even call the state she was in as truly living. but he hadn’t completely failed yet.

[poison-nekomimi]

Look I can't draw fast so I'm just going to share my current ideas of some GD levels that I either haven't drawn yet or I sketched but don't have their final design so keep in mind that none of the images I share are the final design.

Starting with the main game levels:

Electroman adventures: a superhero who goes around the city trying to save people and stop local supervillains from doing evil. He uses a bo staff like weapon that glows when he touches it as it channels his electricity (I'm trying to restrain myself from sharing too much. There's a lot I could say about him. I'm getting these ideas from the vocal mix waterflame made of the song. It's like an intro for if electroman adventures was a tv show (electroman is seen as an actual character in that video) I'll explain more when I actually get around to drawing him :] )

Blast processing: The local supervillain. He has a rivalry with electroman adventures. He doesn't actually want to hurt anyone though and just does it for fun. He uses a crossbow with fire along with various supervillain technology. (Also had to restrain myself from talking too much with this one)

Polargeist: An ice ghost who was a polar bear in her previous life. She uses an icicle as her weapon (I sketched out her design before actually. This isn't final though)

Theory of everything (1 and 2):

Fairies that use wands and have the knowledge of the universe because it makes sense.

(I've only ever drawn ToE 2. The final design will look better, I swear. Also 3 and 4 do exist too)

Jumper: The easter bunny child. She carries around a basket and uses a wand.

Some random world levels:

Space pirates: A kid in a Halloween costume who uses a gun.

Round one: Previous leader of the toxic factory but got overthrown by space pirates. He is now a guard. He uses a gun (I'm looking forward to telling you the full story, it's funny)

Striker: A knight who is a part horse inspired by the chess piece. He uses a sword.

Frontlines: A guard who is part dog (maybe a fluffy white one) He uses a gun and I also ship him with striker.

Now for some random demons:

Duelo maestro: They're twins because of the 2 player thing. One is a witch and the other is a magician. They both use wands.

Tidal wave: A dolphin mermaid. Probably uses a trident or staff.

Congregation: Some kind of nightmare spirit or something having to do with dreams/nightmares (that idea came from the whole jumpscare meme and also because the level feels ominous and the music reminds me of a nightmare sequence) (this is the one character I don't have a weapon for yet) (he also got rejected by tidal wave once)

Limbo: The classic half angel/half devil and she uses a staff that symbolizes that. She's good friends with congregation and also hates tidal wave but I secretly ship her with tidal wave. (I'm still working on how to work the actual lore from this level like how I did with electroman adventures. These were just scattered ideas from before I read it)

Nine circles: He uses bright flashy lights and carries a scythe around (I just think the scythe would be cool)

I really hope I can draw them soon. I might also do a part two if you want to see that. Also feel free to steal these ideas or take inspiration, I don't mind ^^ I hope you enjoyed reading my silly rambles :3

[ainelane]

Okay so I'm going to put my thoughts on that last reblog here partially because i dont really want anyone to see is and partially because the op made a good point already and this will be more from my perspective as someone who is black, from a bad neighborhood and grew up in a similar situation that inspired gangsta rap.

A lot of rap, including gansta rap, is kinda sad. If you listen to enough of it and at all relate to the lyrics you'd understand, there's a lot of misery and sadness in it. Desire for escapism and a deeper desire to never go back to living that way.

It back when i was younger there were posts on the tumblr or sites like quizazz or faeries and vampires about how "emo" music was relatable and sad because it mirrored peoples experiences and there was this feeling/animosity towards hip hop/rap/pop for not being genuine like those emo/rock and how people had this like persecution fetish about how they'd be judged for liking thw music they listened to (admittedly more of the open hate was pointed at pop [specifically like justin Bieber or the jonas brothers lol]) and when rap got brought up into the mix it was so often written off attacked or dismissed for being kinda evil and vapid (i guess I'm looking for an easy way of saying they considered rap to be meaning less just about pointless violence, drugs ect) when for me rap even gansta rap has been a often times bitterly relatable.

I guess my point is... Listen to Biggie

[jacksonroseroth]

~The Price~Chapter 46~Finale~

Moodboard made by @badwolf-in-the-impala none of the pictures are ours

~

Taddie sang along to an Omens Of Wrath song as she put the finishing touches on her painting. While she had this constant reminder of Thatcher, it soon melted away into just music to her, just another song, just another band. And surprisingly, it gave her fuel for inspiration, at least to keep going and not take as many breaks because she was on a roll. She was practically giddy, as the opening for her gallery was quickly approaching and she was getting more and more pieces to be put up and sold.

While Taddie had begun to distance herself from the bar, she still worked every Friday to Sunday, to help with the weekend rushes. After improving the bar once she became manager, they had begun to attract the right clientele and she was able to feel okay about leaving the bar in the girls’ hands, knowing they had it now that everyone was in better spirits and the crowd was much more pleasant than before. This freed her up during the week to do what she wanted. She visited local museums, sat by the river and painted, took day trips to the beach on bright, sunny days as they rolled into spring. These trips gave her all manner of inspiration for her new pieces that she pitched to the gallery owners and ultimately won her the spot.

Switching off the speaker, Taddie paused her music and heard Juniper’s bell as she ran down the stairs, hearing the loud, booming music finally gone. She giggled and scooped up the small beast as Juniper purred and rubbed against her cheek and under her jaw.

“I know, Juni. I’m sorry, baby. Mama likes to listen to loud things when I work. Come on, you want a lil somethin’-somethin’?” Taddie giggled as Juniper climbed onto her shoulder, perching as she trilled in excitement. Taddie snickered, softly, and went to a cabinet to take out a package of freeze dried fish, then moved around the kitchen to grab a bowl, a pair of scissors and cut up the fish before adding a bit of water to it. She mixed it up and brought it to Juniper’s new cat tower, setting it on the highest perch, Juniper jumping off Taddie’s shoulder and climbing up for her treat. “Good girl, Juni.”

Taddie smiled as she gave Juniper a few pets, then went back to the kitchen to clean up and grab a cup for herself, filling it with ice and water before selecting a flavor packet to sprinkle in, and mixed it. She screwed the lid on top and took a testing sip, letting out an approving ‘Mmm’ as she walked across the floor. She jumped as a knock sounded on the door, Taddie raising a brow as she wasn’t expecting anyone, but assumed it was Ash, as she was the only one with her new address, aside from Dario, Dante, and Sebastian, who’d all helped her move.

“Ash? Hey, what are you doing here? You didn’t say you were--” Taddie called as she went to the door, undoing the locks before pulling it open. Her mouth snapped shut and she nearly dropped her cup as Thatcher turned to her on the porch, giving her a small smile.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here? Why are you here?” Taddie shot at him, irritated, her brows furrowing tightly. Thatcher’s smile faded as he said, “I, um, I wanted to talk?”

“Why would I want to talk to you? I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore.” Taddie said, moving to close the door. Thatcher planted his hand on the door, but quickly pulled his hand back as she shot him a fierce look.

“Taddie, please. It’s been three months. I haven’t talked to you about anything that happened. I don’t know how you are…Taddie, you shut me out. I’m concerned, I’m worried about you.” Thatcher said, drawing his brows together. Taddie sighed and shifted her weight, popping her hip.

“I’m fine, Thatcher. Happy? Can you leave now?” Taddie said.

“I don’t believe you. Taddie-“

“You hurt me, Thatcher! You killed someone in front of me! I don’t know how I can ever forgive you!” Taddie hollered at him. Thatcher took a step back and let out a deep sigh, pushing his hands into his pockets. She let out an irritated sigh and planted a hand on her hip, staring at him.

“That’s why we need to talk. Please, angel-“

“Stop. Calling me that.”

“Talk. To me, then.”

“No.”

Taddie slammed the door and locked it before turning around and leaning against the door, tears slipping down her face. She sniffled and let out a soft sob before she wiped her face and pushed off the door, going up the stairs to her room.

~

It was finally the night of her gallery opening and Taddie was utterly terrified. The owners all told her that her pieces were amazing, phenomenal, but there was still a part of Taddie that didn’t think she’d sell anything during the entire three months and she’d wind up back in Roanoke and the bar. But she pushed that out of her mind as best she could, relieved when she saw Ash and Dario walk in, Dante and Sebastian behind them.

“Ash! Thank God!” Taddie sighed, hurrying over to her and giving her a tight hug.

“Hi! Oh, my God, Taddie this all looks great, babes. I’m so excited for you!” Ash giggled, hugging her back. Taddie moved onto Dario, then the other two, grateful to see familiar faces.

“This is awesome, Taddie. Where’s Thatcher?” Dante asked, glancing around. Taddie’s face fell slowly and she looked away, clearing her throat and shifting awkwardly.

“Um…H-He-He’s, um, not coming…He wasn’t invited.” Taddie said, lowering her voice and suddenly not so happy to see the boys. Dante raised a brow, exchanging a look with Dario and Sebastian before he said, “Oh…Uh-“

“We broke up…” Taddie said, bluntly, making it clear she didn’t want to talk about it any further. Dario gave Dante a nudge and shook his head at the drummer.

“So, where do we go to buy shit? All these are on sale, right?” Sebastian asked with a wide grin. Taddie glanced at him and gave him a half smile as she nodded and said, “There’s a man over by the podium-He’s the one to talk to about inquiries and buying.”

“Sick-We’re definitely buying one each.” Sebastian said with a soft laugh. Taddie’s cheeks turned red and she looked away, bashfully.

“You don’t have to. The prices are all super low. They said it was my first gallery so not to overcharge or I’d never sell anything.” Taddie said, giving him a light, sweet smile.

They all talked for a while longer before Taddie separated herself to go mingle with the others and talk up the pieces. The gallery went on for around 4 hours and by the end, Taddie was exhausted. She’d sold almost every piece, save a few that were too odd for the crowd, and by the end of the night had made around $10,000. As guests began to trickle out, Thatcher slipped in and began to wander around, marveling at her work. Ash and the boys had gone already, something Thatcher was thankful for, since no one really knew he and Taddie weren’t together, save Dario, and he didn’t want it to get awkward.

He saw Taddie in the corner, talking animatedly about something, a wide, excited smile on her face. His own smile lifted, slightly, happy to see her smile once more, but then he turned away and walked out, deciding not to ruin her night, or at the very least not confront her at the gallery. Instead, he got back in his car and drove off, toward her house.

~

When Taddie pulled into her driveway, she sat there for a moment, the exhaustion seeping in, but then quickly went away as excitement filled her once again. Before the night ended, Taddie was pulled aside by the gallery owners, telling her they’d been approached by an art director who was interested in adding Taddie to a show he was putting together in Paris for the spring. After talking everything over with the director, Taddie was offered a spot in a month-long gallery in Paris, where she’d be put up in a house or a studio, and all month long she was expected to paint and submit as many pieces as she could. Taddie was stunned but happily accepted, ready to faint from enthusiasm, got paid for the pieces she sold, and drove home.

As she got out, Taddie let out a small squeal and giggled and she tapped her feet, happily. She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes as she turned to lean on her car, happy tears slipping out as she sniffled. Pushing herself off the car, Taddie opened her eyes with a bright smile and dug in her bag for her keys. She got two steps up before she halted, staring at Thatcher, sitting in a chair on her porch. Thatcher sat forward, out of the shadows so his face was illuminated. Taddie was surprised he didn’t smile at her, try to charm her, instead, his brows were drawn together, tight, and his eyes looked red.

“Hi…” Taddie said, softly, slowly stepping onto the porch.

“Hi.” Thatcher said, his voice rough and raspy. Taddie chewed her lip and quickly looked down at her keys, picking at the keychain. “I’m sorry…I’ll go…”

“Why do you keep coming back?” She asked, tears stinging her eyes as her throat went dry. Thatcher roughly rubbed his hands over his face as he sat back.

“Because I fucking love you, Taddie…I’ve been in love with you for a fucking year now…I-I can’t just let you go.” He sniffled softly. She winced, biting her lip hard, as she suddenly felt guilty for cutting him off so abruptly. His head shot up, tears trickling down his face as he said, “Taddie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did--He had a goddamn gun pointed at you, kitten. I didn’t see or hear anything else. I needed to get rid of him before he hurt you again!”

“Shh, shh…Thatcher, please don’t shout-Fucking hell--” Taddie muttered, going to him and reaching out, before she stopped and pulled back, then beckoned him closer as she went to the door, unlocking it with a deep sigh. Thatcher quickly wiped his face and slowly stood.

“You don’t want me in your home. I-I’m not going to force you to-”

“Thatcher, if you want to talk to me, get in the fucking house…I’m not doing this with you out here.” Taddie snapped, taking a slow breath as her gaze drifted over to him. Thatcher nodded, lightly, and went to her, slowly. She tilted her head up to him and held her breath as he lifted a hand to her face, his fingers hovering over her cheek, then he quickly dropped it and took a giant step back as he looked away. Biting her lip, she looked away and pushed the door open as she turned the knob, Thatcher slowly following behind her. Taddie closed the door once he was in and quickly did up the locks.

As Thatcher turned to her, he saw Taddie leaning her forehead against the door, taking deep, slow breaths before she lifted her head and turned to hang up her bag and set her keys in a bowl by the door. She shrugged off her jacket, putting it in the closet, then let out a light sigh as she lifted a leg, rubbing at the side of her foot, around the straps of her heels. She went to a bench that was up against her couch and sat down with a soft sigh. Thatcher took a step toward her, then stopped, his hands beginning to shake as he restrained himself from reaching out to her. Opening her eyes to lean down and unbuckle the straps, Taddie stopped when she saw Thatcher staring at her, shaking, looking like he was going to explode or break, or both.

Thatcher quickly looked away and cleared his throat as he said, “Sorry, I just-”

“Will you? Please?” Taddie asked, lightly lifting a foot toward him, letting it fall back down, the heel clicking on the floor. Thatcher glanced at her, then fully turned his head to her. She chewed her lip and shot her gaze to the floor as she said, softly, “Please? My feet actually really hurt…I-I’m not used to heels.”

“Of course, k…Of course.” Thatcher said with a light sigh, going to her and kneeling down, sliding his hands over her foot, lifting it to rest on his knee. Taddie bit her lip and tugged at the skirt of her dress, squeezing her thighs together a little tighter. She watched him and tried not to melt as she felt his fingertips brushing over her skin as he quickly unbuckled one heel, then the other, gently lowering her foot back down before he stood and backed off.

Taddie winced and looked away from him as she said, “Please don’t do that…Don’t-Don’t back away like-like I’m gonna yell or-or hit you or something…”

“You don’t want me touching you. It-It’s really hard for me not to. I have to do that, otherwise I will…I’m not trying to hurt you anymore than I have, Taddie.” He said, tearfully and painfully. Her whole body flinched and she quickly stood, moving around the couch as she smothered her whimpers and sniffled, lightly.

“Seeing you like this hurts me, Thatcher…This-You-You’re not like this. You’re not the unstable one. Y-You’re-You’re supposed to forget about me and move on, find someone better.” Taddie said, with a light sob. Thatcher went to her and lightly slid his hands over her arms.

“I can’t forget about you, Taddie. You made my life so much brighter and happier…How do you forget the sun? Or flowers? Music, art?--I can’t forget you. I’d never forget you.” He whispered to her, gently and briefly nuzzling her curls before he pulled his hands back. She gave a tearful sniffle, then let out a sigh before she said, “Please stop pulling away from me…I’ve told you when I don’t want you to touch me…”

“Tell me now…I need to hear it, Taddie. Please…” He whispered back. With a soft whimper, Taddie quickly turned to him and buried her face in his chest, letting out a sob as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Thatcher let out a deep sigh and tightly wrapped his arms around her, walking backwards until he hit something solid, then buried his face in her hair with a light sob of his own. “Taddie, I love you--Please. I need you in my life. I need to go to sleep with you and wake up with you. I’m so sorry I killed him. I’m sorry I did it in front of you. I wasn’t thinking-Just about keeping you safe, Taddie, please believe me.”

“I know. I know--God, Thatcher, I have nightmares about it still. Jack dead, blood everywhere…You come running after me with a gun. I--” Taddie sobbed, lightly, as Thatcher quickly pulled back and gently took her face, looking down at her with a horrified look.

“No. No-Taddie, I’m so sorry. I’m s-God, what have I done?” Thatcher said with a pain in his voice that made Taddie shake her head, quickly, tugging his hands down to mimic him, sliding her hands along the sides of his face.

“I-I kn-I know-I know y-you-you’d never--They’re just dreams, Patch. They’re just dreams. I don’t think that about you. I-I’m-I’m not afraid of you.” Taddie said, tearfully, trying to give him a reassuring smile, but they were both too emotional and Thatcher shook his head, pulling her back into the embrace, holding her tight.

“You should be…God, look what I’ve done to you…I’m no better than him-”

Taddie pushed him away with a huff and slapped him before she screamed at him, “Don’t you ever say that again, Thatcher Price! You are nothing like him! The fact that you’re even remotely upset about this proves it! There’s a reason I wanted to stay! There’s a reason I was so happy! There was a reason why I loved you! You were nothing like him! You never touched me the way he did! You never spoke to me the way he did! He didn’t do the things you did for me!”

“Say it again.” Thatcher said, fixing his gaze on her as he dropped his hand from his cheek, where she’d slapped him, and took a few steps closer to her. Taddie bit her lip and shuffled back, but hit the arm of the couch and began to topple backwards. As her arms flailed about, Thatcher wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer as he repeated, “Say it again, Taddie…”

“S-S-Say-Say w-wh-what?” She stammered, pressing her hands against his chest as he helped her regain her footing and let a little more space come between them.

“There was a reason why you what?” He asked, softly, lifting a hand up to gently push her curls back. Her fingers curled around the edges of his jacket as she let out a soft gasp, not fully realizing what she’d said in the heat of the moment. She shook her head, then she froze as he slowly and gently dragged his thumb over her jaw. Her eyes fluttered shut as fresh tears slid down her cheeks and a deep ache formed in her chest, not realizing how much she truly missed his touch. “Look at me and tell me you love me.”

Taddie’s eyes shot open as she looked up at him and breathed out, “I love you, Thatcher. I do. Th-The entire time…A-At least since-since we-Since-Since I showed you my scar--The way you-you just-You kissed it, you-you didn’t hesitate…”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me? Taddie, I still would have given you the money-”

“I didn’t care about the money, Thatcher! I cared about you! I cared about how you made me feel-I was so. Happy. Thatcher. You made me happy…I didn’t think I’d ever really know what that feels like…What it was like to be truly loved.” Taddie said with a deep, tearful sigh, letting her head drop forward, to rest on his chest. Thatcher slowly slid his arms around her and held her tight, gently nuzzling into her curls.

“I love you, Taddie. I want to be with you-I need to be with you…Please give me one more chance. Please…” Thatcher begged, squeezing her tighter for a moment before releasing her and pulling his hands to her arms, gently rubbing up and down. Taddie sniffled and lifted her head to him, chewing her lip as she drew her brows together. He let out a heavy sigh and dropped his hands as he gave a light nod and said, almost stating for her, “You-You don’t trust me enough anymore…I can’t get another chance.”

“Thatcher…I-I don’t see how I can be your girlfriend after every-”

“Then don’t be my girlfriend…” Thatcher said, quickly, a renewed excitement in his voice, though it shook with nervousness. Taddie blinked and opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but stopped as he quickly knelt down on one knee, tugging a small box from his pocket. Taddie gasped and shook her head, looking incredibly guilty and worried, holding out her hand to stop him as he said, “I want you in my life, Taddie. Forever. I-I don’t want anyone else, I won’t want anyone else…Another rumor in my family is a Price only falls in love once--I don’t think I was ever in love with her, I was in love with the idea of what she could be…But she couldn’t be you. No one could ever be you or replace you. Not in my life and not in my heart…I’m not asking to get married next month…But will you, Thaden Rylin Prior, somewhere in the next few years, marry me, so we can both be happy and loved?”

Taddie let out another gasp and she slid her fingers over her mouth as she saw the same sapphire ring she’d given back to him, now with an additional band of diamonds and sapphires beneath it. She let out a soft, astonished sigh, dropping her hand and sliding her fingers over the stones. She sniffled as her vision blurred with new tears. Thatcher took the rings out and reached for her left hand, gently taking it and raising it, holding the rings in front of her ring finger, waiting.

“Oh-Thatcher…I-I-I don’t know. I don’t--”

“I know…Please trust me again, my love…My angel, my Princess, my kitten…Please, Taddie.” Thatcher said, gazing up at her, his brows raised and drawn tight. As Taddie stayed silent and stared down at him, Thatcher became more and more worried that her answer was no, and she just couldn’t bring herself to say it. He bit his lip and slowly lowered her hand and the rings, letting his head down with a sigh. “Alright…I-I’m sorry-”

“If you. Ever. Do anything like this again, Patch…” Taddie finally said, Thatcher’s head shooting up to hers. He stared at her, holding his breath, until a smile slowly tugged at her lips, Taddie gently biting her lower lip before she sniffled and said, “Are we telling your parents the truth?”

“I already did. I told them before me and Father drove down when I first came here.” Thatcher said. Taddie let out a light chuckle before she asked, “What did your mother say?”

“Mother was pissed. Damn near beat the shit out of me for using you…She really liked you.” He said with a soft laugh before he stood and gripped her hand, staring down at her. “Taddie-”

“We’re not getting married until we’ve been together for at least a year. A whole year…We celebrate an anniversary and everything.” Taddie said, squeezing back as her smile lifted more. “Put the ring on my finger…Then kiss me and tell me you love me.”

Thatcher’s smile jumped across his face as he quickly lifted her hand and slipped the rings onto her finger before scooping her up and crushing his lips to hers as she giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back, eagerly. She sniffled and wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as he spun them around, kissing and sniffling between them. Finally, they broke the kiss and began laughing together, until Thatcher lost his footing and stumbled back, falling over the arm of the couch. Taddie let out a squeal, pulling her legs back as he fell, but Thatcher held her tight, keeping her in place. She pushed herself up once they’d fallen and gazed down at him, tucking her curls behind her ear before dropping her hand down to thread her fingers through his hair.

“I love you, Taddie Prior.”

“I love you, Thatcher Price.”

~Fin~

Taglist @badwolf-in-the-impala @sweetwombatpizza

[writergirl3]

4 Town As Songs I Shamelessly Loop

What it says! I've been feeling way more inspired after my week-long trip away. I dove back into my playlists and came up with this idea. Thanks for anyone who's still stuck around after my sorta hiatus. I'm gonna be updating more often again!

Enjoy my absolutely shambolic music taste and look out for more content soon 🧡

Robaire;

Vision of Love - Mariah Carey

'You treated me kind, sweet destiny! And I'll be eternally grateful, Holding you so close to me.'

Something about this song just screams 'Robaire' to me. The mix of slow jam sensuality and jaw-dropping vocals is so on brand for him.

This song is a classic and I could definitely imagine Robaire singing this either before fame in a talent contest or as a solo artist later down the road. Let's face it, if anyone can rival Mariah's whistle tones, it's Robaire.

Jesse;

Whatsername - Green Day

'I made a point to burn all of the photographs. She went away, and then I took a different path.'

So, I personally hc Jesse as being an ex member of the alternative rock scene. He went through many phases, but his grunge/punk time was one for the books. And like any good punk rocker, he still loves Green Day.

The chilled, mellowness of this song is reminds me of him, too. That and the lyricism, the theme of leaving a romantic interest in the past. I feel like he'd have related to this song with the mom of his kids. He'd definitely have had some long drives blasting this song, screaming out the lyrics as the melody builds.

Aaron T;

Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing - Stevie Wonder

'Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama. 'Cause I'll be standing on the side When you check it out.'

My God, this song is T to a T. The Latin American flavour, the garbled Spanish in the intro, the upbeat playfulness. It's all him.

Plus, we know T is a supportive friend and S/O. He has a positive outlook on life, and he definitely passes that on to his loved ones. Bolstering them up to take on life's challenges while waiting in the wings to support them through it all.

Aaron Z;

Lavender Haze - Taylor Swift

'Staring at the ceiling with you, Oh, you don't ever say too much. And you don't really read into my melancholia.'

I won't lie, this song gave me inspiration to do this post in the first place. Something about it reminds me of Z. Maybe it's the purple aesthetic, the sombre beats, the whole vibe of giving no f*cks. I don't know, it's all just very Z.

Plus, I feel like he's a night owl. Finding peace in that time of the night when everyone else is asleep and he can let his imagination run wild. Part of him comes alive at that magical midnight hour, and that's what this song is all about to me.

✨Bonus ✨; In the modern AU, I hc Z as having a fat secret crush on Ms Swift. T's definitely planning an embarrassing encounter between them at some point.

Tae Young;

Intro; Persona - BTS

'Persona, who the hell am I? I just wanna go, I just wanna fly. I just wanna give you all the voices till I die. I just wanna give you all the shoulders when you cry.'

I know, I know- picking a K-pop song for Tae-

Buuuuut, I genuinely feel like this song is so Tae. It's all about discovering yourself through supporting those you love most. As I hc Tae as bisexual, and we all know he's the youngest, he's still growing into himself. But he has so much love to give, and the members and 4 Townies see that.

Also, this song is super rogue but honestly such a bop. It's catchy and a lil feisty, and we know that Tae isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

---

Musing Meaninglessly Masterlist

[minevn]

(I'm sorry for the mistakes) Are you okay? Sorry to intrude, but I hope your mental/physical state is ok and you are taking good care of yourself! (^-^*)/

Hi! It's okay, thank you for asking! I typically like to do asks in order, but I thought this would be a good ask to kind of get things out there and talk about what's been going on with me and Mine!

As for if I'm okay, I don't really know. I can't say I'm okay but I know that it could be a lot worse(because I've felt way lower then this before) I'm not really sure how to take care of myself other then repressing things but I am seeing a therapist and we've been talking about how to handle my emotions as they come. I do wish that I was able to see a therapist before my repressive coping habits took over but due to circumstances I'll get into later I just wasn't able to.

As for Mine stuff, I am still very slowly but surely working on my asks. I do have a few done but once again I like to answer my asks in order. Last night I thought it would also be smarter to do my asks backwards from how I've received them so that way I could just que them all up instead of writing the first ask I got and then lacking motivation and ideas for the later asks. I guess rn I'm going through a bit of writers block? I think it's that mixed with my extreme lack of motivation. As for my event, I have thought about lowering the number and then raising the numbers again for a later milestone! I tend to always put a lot on my plate and 50 requests may have been a bit more then what I could handle as of now. Another thing as well is that even though I love drawing, I don't draw super often. I get hit with random waves of motivation and it's very easy for me to lose that motivation. So I have the sketches mostly done for the drawing requests I've gotten, but if I have no motivation to draw then the drawings turn out looking wonky and just all wrong and then I'm no longer proud of them. I still plan on doing the events and I'm so sorry that my lack of motivation happened like as soon as I hit 100 followers, It doesn't feel fair to you all but I seriously cannot thank you enough for your continued support. Everyone has been so nice and no one has come into my dms rushing me with anything, seriously thank you all so much for that! Another thing as well is that Mine is not my only story, if you follow my main account I have most of my stories listed there and there's like over 50 stories. it's like that because I have so many ideas but once again I lose motivation so easily, and as mentioned earlier I like to put a lot on my plate, I don't like to just work on one story at a time and it causes me to get burnout which I'm sadly going through with Mine. I was answering asks nonstop when I got them, getting asks motivated me to get up out of bed, I was so happy and overjoyed to get asks, and don't get me wrong I still am! I love getting asks and seeing what ideas you want me to write for, although I was also overwhelmed at first, I had gotten so much support which I hadn't expected to ever. I honestly wasn't expecting anyone to like my stuff but I was ready to still work on Mine because I work for ME. But I wasn't happy with how the sprites were turning out, I wasn't getting inspiration for any music soundtracks, and I'm struggling on the script, I've got Minato's week planned mostly but it just feels so BORING! He's the first route, it needs to drag you in a bit more. So far there's been like no yandere tendencies which sure maybe that fits for Minato, but I'm just not proud of it at all so I need to rewrite Minato's week planning. The more I wrote asks the more I felt disconnected to these characters, it felt like I wasn't writing them like I was before, which I tried telling myself that it was fine because when I first made this blog Mine hadn't even been in the process for a year and I thought we could go through developing these characters together, but it just didn't feel right. I also started to dislike their designs. I felt that I had designed more interesting characters before and they just felt so boring, I like their hair and faces, mainly clothes design is where it felt lacking. Jun, Aki, and Yani have the designs I like the best honestly, their clothes feel more intricate.

Anyways yeah that's me and what's been happening, sorry for the long post and venting. I'm still working on asks when I find the motivation to and I did make some progress on them a day or two ago. I hope I can get out of this slump and come back better then ever. Once again thank you all for being patient with me and for supporting me still! I love you all!💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

I'm going to go a bit more in depth with things, sorry for the long post! You don't have to read what below if you don't want to, it mostly explains more of what's been happening with me, but I've also touched on a lot of my reasons for not posting above! Honestly I lot of it is venting, so please don't read if you're struggling with any below!

TW FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, DEATH, ABUSE(?), MENTAL ILLNESSES

So a couple years ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and I didn't really understand it, like it didn't feel like it's affected me that much but I've learned a lot more about it and can definitely see in which ways it has impacted me. When I started Mine I wasn't exactly in a high state of Mine but getting asks and seeing people like my work for once in my life really raised my moods, but I really struggle with staying happy. No matter how much I want happiness to stay, it always leaves. Right now I'm going through one of my lows. Honestly, I typically ignore my lows the best I can, It sometimes work and sometimes it doesn't, this is one of the times where I can't repress my feelings, and as mentioned earlier I do think a part of it is because I've been talking to my therapist about embracing the negative feeling, admit that I'm not happy and work through it instead of hiding it. Not that I blame my therapist, I'm really hoping that it works and I'm choosing to listen to my therapist because I want to get better, honestly I could've ignored everything she told me and kept repressing my feelings but I want to be happy so I'm really trying to embrace the fact that I'm not okay and work through it! I don't know how long this low will last, but when I get out of this low I want to work on Mine and get the same excited and happy feelings I had when I first started. Mine might go through some changes but overall I want these characters to have the same personalities and backstories, the only thing that might change with them is their clothes.

Along with my bipolar disorder, I've been diagnosed with major depression with psychotic features, anxiety, ADHD, and PTSD. Needless to say these all impact me greatly. The lack of motivation, struggling to get up out of bed or go to sleep at a normal time, and even eating and drinking and going to the bathroom. I've always found it easier to take care of others rather then myself because that's just how I was raised. To always put others above myself. As I've gotten older I realized that that's not how that should work, but it was already pushed into my brain and I still struggle to take care of myself. I'm always stressed, can't sleep right and I can't wake up before 5pm. Sometimes I'll sit in one spot, fidgeting while I wait for some motivation to strike. But I can't even think because of course when I think my mind never goes to good things. Thoughts about just wanting to give up(Which don't worry too much, I won't do it, even if the thoughts get to be too much), my repressed memories coming back, mom and her death and neglect before dying, dad and his temper tantrums, my grandma and how she's one of the only people in my life to care and love me, and how I wish I could talk to others easily but of course my mind gets fuzzy and I can't speak and how almost all of my friends have left me, how I feel defective and unlovable. The thoughts don't stop, every time it just gets worse and worse and I can't stop questioning what I did wrong and why no one wants to be my friend. People just use you and then toss you out when they're done and it's so cruel, I want someone who actually wants me in their life and who values me as much as I value them, someone who treats me like a person with actual feelings rather then a robot or an object. But it's so hard to find people like that, as I said there's a lot of cruel people out there and to those who aren't cruel I have a hard time trusting them due to past experiences and I know it's not fair to those kind people but gosh being vulnerable is so hard. And I know it's really early to question if I'll ever meet anyone I can trust 100% because I'm only 18 but gosh do I know about death, I know that death doesn't care about your age. I could die later tonight or sometime this week or next month or maybe I do die in many years, but then what about the people I meet and value, will they be taken away from me as well? Do I want to put my heart on the line just to end up losing them eventually? Could I handle another death? I don't know? I really don't, It already hurts to think about losing my sister and my bestest friend in the entire world, I'm already so lucky to have them in my life, what if I lose them too?

I'm going to start getting into things that I didn't get into earlier this post. I put it down here because it might be triggering and I didn't want anything too sensitive to be at the beginning, I want people to be able to skip this stuff for their own mental health. As mentioned earlier I wasn't able to get therapy for a bit because I didn't have a legal guardian. My mother passed when I was 11 and I've never met my biological dad. My sister I mentioned earlier is my half-sister(I call her sister cause it's easier and no matter what she's still my sister) and her dad took me in very shortly after my mother had passed(I won't be calling him my stepdad, once again because it's easier to just say dad and no matter what he's still my dad, no matter what grudges I have against him) Anyways I didn't have a legal guardian for 6 years, finally getting adopted in January. I had no insurance as well(Btw I don't blame my dad for any of this, he kept getting scammed by the shitty lawyer. So yeah I couldn't get therapy and well I learned how to repress my feelings because of my dad, because y'know he can throw tantrums and be angry and cry all he wants but god forbid someone else is angry or sad. Looking back at it though, mom played a part as well, she just neglected me and didn't give a shit and I learned that no one cares about me.

On a lighter note because gosh I need it. I don't plan on going until I get out all or most of my stories! But my stories have a lot of morbid themes and concepts. One because me too, but I still think it's important to touch on things I haven't been through because others might have and it's a morbid world. I want those people who feel alone in this world to feel seen and heard. Abuse does happen, death happens, suicide is very real, hate crimes happen every day and yet I feel people don't talk about it as much as they should. Like sure the topic will blow up, but after like a couple weeks or months, boom it's forgotten and that's just...wrong. I plan on making it very clear that the topics I write about in my stories are not meant to idolize or romanticize these topics or to make jokes at them, it's just that messed up things do happen. I know how it feels to be and feel alone, like no one will ever understand what you've been through, and I want my stories to be some kind of comfort for those people. I'll put clear disclaimers and tw's on my games and stories so those who don't want to witness that stuff can avoid it. I understand that as well! Like yeah the world is messed up but I already go through that and I don't want to see it in media and stuff, I've definitely been there too. I think I want my games to encourage people who might be struggling to not give up though! You see these characters go through something tough but they're still alive and they get there happy ending(Though not all of my stories have happy endings)

Anyways yeah that's me and what's been happening, sorry for the long post and venting. I'm still working on asks when I find the motivation to and I did make some progress on them a day or two ago. I hope I can get out of this slump and come back better then ever. If any of you are struggling with anything mentioned above, I hope you're able to get help, please don't give up, you're important! Once again thank you all for being patient with me and for supporting me still! I love you all!💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙