#this was originally just a one hour painting study

[nimscrem]

Sunset for two

[stealingpotatoes]

every year i think "there's no way I can draw as much as I did last year" and then then I make myself look like an idiot. ending 2023 with a genuinely disgusting number of arts this year:

anyway call me a tree bc i'm abt to get real sappy: thank you all so much for a genuinely INSANE year in terms of how much i drew, how much i improved, and how much LOVELY support i've gotten!!!!!!! like my followercount more than quadrupled from the start of the year and i just can't believe?? there's this many of u?? that like my art???????? dead on the floor i love you all SO much!!!! thank u!!!!!!!!

[thatonetargaryen]

Pretty in Pink

Ambessa x Reader

Part Two of: Pretty in Pink

Synopsis: Fear of the unknown weighs heavily on your mind as you are captured and taken by the enemy’s ruthless General—Ambessa Medarda. You are sure you will be destined for a life of pain and humility. You are pleasantly surprised, however, when you find out the General simply likes to see you pretty in pink.

cw; afab!reader; princess!reader; reader is drunk; mentions of alcohol consumption; not proofread; Ambessa being a lil infatuated with you; men and minors dni

Special thanks to @hell0-ki55y for original prompt. Hope you enjoy 🎀

Taglist:

@fruitfulfashion

@m-281

@ivorydevil

@lostintimeandmusic

@trizxyp

@pearldaisy

@sunnyvoodka

@ricejucie

@5675nnnnn245

……

The blaring sun was high in the sky as you practically stumbled off the ship. You squinted your eyes as you placed a hand over your eyes.

The fact that you were drunk off your ass was obvious to everyone watching. You reeked of ale and your hair was in a tangled mess. The guard escorting you off the ship kept a safe distance—in case you decided to throw up yesterday’s remains.

You and your three ladies-in-waiting finished three full bottle of Noxian ale that you stole from the top deck. Not knowing when you’d see each other again—you decided that you all would share one last drink. Well…more than a drink.

Despite the searing headache and vertigo you had—signs of a major hangover—for once in days, the last thing on your mind was where you were and why you were here. Right now, all you needed was a cold shower, a cup of hot tea, and a warm, comfortable bed.

Ambessa watched you from a distance as you stumbled off the ship. News from the guards that three bottles of ale were missing was brought to her in the wee hours of the morning. Now, the culprit—or culprits—were clear to her as they all drunkly attempted to hold themselves up. She didn’t know whether to be offended, angry, confused, or just plain amused. Or maybe all of the above.

One thing became clear to her through—pink was definitely your color. The light pink dress you wore complimented your skin and your e/c eyes. Your h/c hair, though messy and tangled, flowed down your back as your light skirts blew in the wind. The soft pink that tinted your cheeks added more fuel to her fire as she continued to study you. Maybe she could make them pink for an entirely different reason…

She shook her head, her grey coils moving effortlessly with her head as she tried to shake those thoughts from her head. She gestured to one her many servants waiting for her command. “See to it that she has comfortable quarters. Get her a bath…she desperately needs it.”

The servant nodded grimly. They walked over to you as you practically leaned on the guard beside you. She grabbed your forearm and pulled you towards her, “Please follow me, m’lady. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

You looked at her for a moment. A belch came from the depths of your throat, and you laughed as you held your chest. The servant grimaced and turned on her heel, not waiting for you to follow her.

You continued to quietly laugh as you were led into the castle by the servant. You studied it in awe as you gazed upon the intricate details and carvings of stone imbedded into it. Your castle was not even a quarter of its size. If it were grand from the outside—imagine how it looked on the inside.

You continued to looked at it as you mumbled under your breath, “Gods….”

…..

You could hear the servant in front of you audibly huff as you struggled to follow her. She was mumbling something inaudible, but you couldn’t make it out. Instead, you stared at the many hallways you passed in awe.

The hallways varied in colors—but they were limited to crimson, gold, and hints of silver. They were adorned in various paintings, statues, and sheer drapes with thick golden rope. There were hollow mannequins of armor, which scared the shit out of you when you first saw it when you walked in.

You stopped when you got to one painting after climbing a ridiculous mountain of stairs. It was one of the woman who took you, Ambessa Medarda. Behind her stood what had seemed like a younger version of herself, a young woman with dark brown kinky hair braided into a bun with striking green eyes. Beside her stood a young man slightly taller than her with short tendrils of black coils and full lips.

You stared at the picture for a moment, studying it, before slurring to the servant—“Who’s that?”

The servant stopped her hasty walking, and turned to you. With a mix of annoyance and hesitation, she walked over to you and looked at the painting you were talking about. She pursed her lips before speaking.

“It’s her lady with her two children, Kino and Mel Medarda. The painting was done years ago….”

You stared at it in awe, connecting the dots in your mind. “And where are they now?”

The servant was broken from her trance as she looked back at you and shook her head. “It would do you good not to pry in her lady’s business. Come on, you reek of ale.”

…..

The next few hours were a blur for you. You vaguely remember being thrown into a hot bath, being scrubbed from head to toe—even under your fingernails—and your hair being detangled, washed, and brushed. You remember your freshly washed and dried hair being braided into a loose braid down your back. A sheer nightgown was put onto your nude body, and they finally let you sleep.

The bed was like sleeping on clouds. It was luxurious compared to the one you had used on the ship. That hard, stiff mattress was long forgotten as you sunk into the cool, silk sheets. With a sigh, you were out like a light.

You woke up a few hours later. You yawned as you stretched your limbs and hummed as you took the time to appreciate the best sleep you had in days. You rubbed your eyes and breathed in the lavender lotion they smothered onto your body.

The door to your chambers was abruptly opened as a servant made their way into your room. No knocking, no ‘May I come in?’…..They just bombarded into your room.

Then again….this wasn’t really your room.

In her hand was a plethora of extravagant dresses. They practically engulfed her frame as she struggled to hold them, and she looked over the mountain of dresses to look at you.

“May I put these on your bed?”, she said, breathing heavily.

You shot up from the bed and made room for the dresses, “Of course. Help me help you.”

You took some of the dresses from her hand and carefully placed them on the bed. You stared at them in awe. Each one had a different design, some lighter than others, while some were heavier and more delicate than others. But they all had one thing in common.

They were all pink.

You looked to your right as the servant set the rest of the pink dresses down. “Who are all these dresses for?”

She gestured towards you. “They’re for you, m’lady. From her lady Medarda.”

Confusion made its way onto your face. Dresses? For you? And why are they all pink?

The servant broke you from your thoughts, “The lady Medarda wants to see you for tea. I’ll help you get on a robe and such.”

Your heart dropped at her words. The last person you wanted to see was that woman. You toyed with the cuffs of your nightgown as you spoke softly, “Now? Well, let me get ready and I’ll…”

“There’s no need. She said just the robe is fine.”

You grimaced, not feeling comfortable at being in her presence with just a robe and sheer nightgown. The servant threw the robe over your shoulders, and led you towards , or what you assumed to be, Ambessa’s quarters.

When you got there, there were no guards stationed at her door. The servant knocked and announced her and your presence through the grand double doors.

“Come in.”

The servant pushed open the doors. It was dark outside by now, and the only source of light in the room was the fireplace. The chamber itself was grand, grander than any you’d ever seen. It was probably twice as big as the one you were given, and the bed was huge and adorned with gold and crimson silks. Despite that, it looked as if hadn’t been slept in.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you entered the room. Ambessa Medarda sat at an intricately carved wooden table near the fireplace. She was adorned in a sheer crimson robe and you quickly darted your vision to avoid the sight of her visibly large chest. Her grey coils fell down her shoulders as she looked towards the servant. “Leave us”, she said sternly, leaving no room for argument. The servant slightly curtsied before scurrying out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Now it was just the two of you. The tension in the room was thick, and the fire did little to prevent sweat from collecting on your brow.

Ambessa gestured towards the char opposite from her, “Why don’t you sit, child?”

You sighed as you walked over to the chair. You took a hesitant seat as you studied the contents on the table. There were two porcelain tea cups that sat prettily on the table. In between the two sat a kettle. Ambessa leaned over the table and poured you a cup of tea, “This should help with the hangover.”

You froze at the mention of the hangover. How’d she know you were drunk? Stupid question. Everyone knew you were drunk earlier today, and the remnants of your hangover still weighed heavy in your mind as your head slightly spun. Your cheeks reddened at the mention of it, and you struggled to find your words. Instead, you muttered a small ‘Thank you’.

Ambessa chuckled at your reaction. She leaned back in her seat as she sipped her own tea. She set down the cup and looked towards you, “You know…if I were captured by an enemy—the last thing I’d think to do would be to get drunk. Stupid drunk at that.”

You stayed silent as she continued to speak, “And to steal not one—but three bottles of ale and think we wouldn’t notice. Bold, little one.”

You continued to stay silent as you took in her words. You slightly shook your head as you looked into your lap. “You wouldn’t understand….”

Ambessa’s grin faltered as she barely heard your words. “What?”

You looked up, but not into her face. “My ladies in waiting took the ale from the top deck and for that I apologize. But the fact that we got drunk, I cannot. I have known those ladies for as long as I can remember, and with everything that’s going on…we didn’t know if we’d see each other again. So we decided to have one last one with each other….the ale wasn’t really planned, though.”

Ambessa hummed as she poured another cup of tea. “Hm…How sentimental…..”

She looked up at you, her golden eyes burning into your face. “…but that ale is expensive, what if I had decided to punish you for it?”.

You looked her in the eyes right back. “Then it would’ve been worth it.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment. She looked as if she were searching for something in your gaze. Finally, you looked back down at your now cold tea as you took another sip.

“I wouldn’t have brought them here, y’know…”, Ambessa muttered softly.

You furrowed your brows, not catching her words, “Hmph?”

She spoke louder, her voice taking up the room, “I wouldn’t have brought those ladies here if I would not have let you see them. I brought them to be of company to you. Why would I bring them if not for you? I have enough servants kissing my arse already….”

You sat back, surprised at her words, though you ignored the last part. You nodded at her words as a small smile graced your lips at the gesture. “I appreciate that….”

She stared in awe at your soft smile, and bit the inside of her cheek as she nervously stirred her tea. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like this about, well….anyone. She cleared her throat, “Did you like the dresses?”

You nodded. “They were very beautiful and, well….pink. Why are you doing all of this for me? My ladies, the beautiful room….and now the dresses. I love it all, but….”

You looked at her, and the moonlight from the window illuminated her face. She spoke softly, softer than you expected her to, “Princess, I didn’t bring you here for the intentions of hurting you, as you might’ve already concluded. The circumstances are…tragic, being given away to save you and your kingdom. But the main reason I wanted you was for a distraction. An escape from everything. The court, the nobles, the endless amount of work that I have yet to attend to, the wars, the treaties….it’s a lot. And it’s taken me years to admit that to myself. Now that I’ve finally faced the music and realized that it is all too much, I decided to take you in. I need someone to care for, someone to worry about not because I have to but because I want to. Someone to…dote on, to put it into simple terms. You’re a princess, after all, you should be used to it.”

Her words left you speechless. You felt a mixture of relief knowing you would be safe and not tourtured—but slightly confused on what being ‘doted’ on meant. You were a princess, yes, but being doted on by one of the richest women in the world was an entirely different thing.

You ran your hands over your thighs, now feeling a little more comfortable knowing her intentions. “So you’re basically going to pamper me?”.

She smiled at your words, “It’s more to it than being pampered, child. All of your needs will be taken care of, and anything you want I’ll try my best to get. Of course, you’ll need to carry yourself accordingly in front of the court and at gatherings—otherwise, I don’t ask much of you.”

You thought back on the elaborate dresses she bought for you, and you couldn’t help but ask, “Why pink?”

She shrugged her shoulders as she drunk the last of the tea, “Why not?”

……

The next few weeks were more than pleasant. You had become accustomed to your new life rather quickly. The constant pampering and gifts—who at first you thought were annoying—were now something you looked forward to. Dare say, even expected.

You had also gotten used to court life in Noxus. There was always something new, with rumors and gossip spreading like wildfire. The hottest topic seemed to be you at the moment.

The pretty princess ,Y/N, from a small, unknown kingdom—taken from her home as a sign of peace between Noxus and Castile. No one knows what Ambessa really uses you for, but every time they saw you, you were adorned in a beautiful pink gown and jewels worth whole manors. Whether the gown be simple and light, or daring and elegant—you never failed to look gorgeous.

The nobles didn’t really like you at first, not seeing much gain in becoming your ally. However, when you and Ambessa were once spotted having tea in the gardens, it seemed as if everyone wanted to become your friend. You gave them all tight lipped smiles and short greetings—knowing their true intentions.

Your relationship with Ambessa grew as well. The two of you would talk over breakfast or lunch, sharing the latest talk in court. As she got to know you better, you opened up about your past, and in turn, started rambling about her son Kino. Sometimes, you had to tune out her words and simply admire the structure of her face as her brows furrowed on the topic of her son. When she called you out on it, you denied it with a heavy blush on your face.

Your ladies started to notice the small thing you had for Ambessa, and started to tease you every chance they got. They’d make small jokes, or bump your shoulder when they caught you watching her train. You denied the allegations to no end, but you both knew there was something deeper than what was spoken.

One thing that couldn’t be denied was the blossoming of something new. Something that would last for years to come, and you both looked forward to it.

Your tough, sweet General, and her beautiful princess—pretty in pink.

……..

Hope you enjoyed. 🎀

I need ideas 🙏🏾

[nonsensical-pixels]

as anyone who knows me will know, my house is a zoo i am a sucker for small rodents, especially guinea pigs and hamsters. last year for my 17th birthday i shared these deco guinea pigs, so this year today, for my 18th, have the natural progression of that post: a 4t2 conversion of @kaisosims' rodents pack! 20 new, modular, decorative fur-baby items & accessories for your sims to adore 🥰

everything that could have fitted slots has slots; the hamster shelf, notably, has a grand total of 15! all of the cages are stackable, i.e.: you can put the animals (which are purely deco) in them, then stack them on top of any other surface--the given ones, or a counter, study table, etc.! more info can be found under the cut 👇

this set was originally supposed to be my... wow... 1000 followers and 17th birthday gift. but back then my cc skills honestly kinda sucked and the slots + transparency drove me to insanity. over a year, 1500 more followers, and a mental crisis later, here we are, with the final product of over 30 hours of hard work! 👏 in any case, thank you all so much for 2500 followers!

tysm to @skittlesplays for suggesting this set in the first place btw, you know me so well anna!! if you'd like to see my other, mechtasims pet set, which i converted in her honour, check out my 1000 followers gift weekend starting here.

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF 🐹

credits go to @kaisosims for the original ts4 meshes & textures, they are so adorable! and of course to all of you, for sticking with me through another birthday 💖

DESCRIPTION

Originally by Kaisosims for TS4. Converted to The Sims 2 by nonsensical-pixels.

THINGS TO NOTE

Pretty much everything that can have a slot, has a slot!

All cages can be placed on other surfaces, like tables, counters, etc.; if you want to place an animal inside of them, do that first, THEN place them on the surface.

Everything is decorative; nothing is functional… yet.

Art pieces are in the Paintings category, surfaces like the Cage Stand are in Surfaces -> Misc, and everything else is in General -> Pets.

You may note that some items have drastically different polycounts from the TS4 originals; this is because TS4 automates the appearance of backfaces, but TS2 doesn't recognise them, so I had to add my own.

ITEMS INCLUDED

Art (28 polys) Cage Stand (398 polys) Cleaning Supplies (424 polys) Ferret (682 polys) Food (100 polys) Guinea Pig (484 polys) Guinea Pig Enclosure (4356 polys) Guinea Pig Enclosure Top (1008 polys) Hamster (520 polys) Hamster Cage (1758 polys) Hamster Table (308 polys) Rat (456 polys) Rat Cage (2140 polys) Small Cage (988 polys) Substrate (144 polys) Treats (1876 polys) Tube (640 polys) Wood Wall Art (380 polys) Zoom Pet (341 polys)

20 items total. Collection file included for added convenience!

much love from my lil piggies: bethany, ivory, emily, and alex!! they're getting new cages for my birthday, just like my sims' piggies 🐽

once again, thank you guys all so much for the support! i wish i could've added more to this gift but i guess this weekend's content will be compensation... 👀 if there are any issues that you find with this set, please don't be afraid to let me know! otherwise, i'll see you in the next one. happy simming, and when you download this, do keep in mind,

Love, ~ Ky 💓

[neiptune]

et nunc et semper

cw: NSFT, 3k+ wc, female reader, ancient rome au, slavery, mentions of violence, sexual exploitation, power imbalance, intercourse, fingering, reader has greek origins, sae is head of the most gorgeous domus and you, a slave, eventually become his favorite concubine. one that just so happens to fall in love with the person, other than his brother, sae confides in the most: his most trusted slave, oliver

Sae is a good dominus.

When his brother sold you to him, grown bored and easily irritated after so many years of service, you were expecting complete and utter disinterest at best. However, prepared just in case you wouldn’t be as lucky once more, you also braced yourself for the worse scenarios: corporal punishments, torture, sexual exploitation. Rin’s kindness had always rested in his complete indifference and when he announced you were to be sent away, you spent entire nights awake, praying his brother would be just as merciful.

Against all odds, however, Sae grew fond of you. As soon as he learned you were able to speak Greek, he summoned you to his tablinum. You knew being one of the most trusted advisors to the emperor came with immeasurable privileges and richness, something you were reminded each day you spent in that domus: not even Rin’s residency had as many elaborate marble decorations and paneling, grandiose paintings and a garden one could very well get lost in.

The tablinium is where very few slaves are allowed, only the ones Sae trusts enough to let into the room he receives his clients in. The first time you stepped inside, well aware of teal eyes studying your every movement, you tried not to appear too fascinated by the walls decorated with such rich fresco pictures, nor by the busts of the Itoshi family arranged on pedestals on the other end of the room.

However, you couldn’t help yourself. You were born a slave but your parents were not: your mother was Greek, could read and write, made it a point to teach you both Latin and her native language. Back then you thought you’d never get to see Piraeus firsthand, hence why you were so drawn to the unusual frescoes Sae chose for his study. Aesop’s fables, represented so beautifully you raised your hand with the intention of tracing outlines you wouldn’t even be allowed to observe in a different household.

“Read for me”, Sae said that afternoon, shaking you from your stupor. He pushed a scroll towards you and it was surprising to suddenly discover his interest in science and philosophy. You were there, standing by his chair for hours, reading Anaximander’s theories and studies out loud, until the room grew dark and your voice hoarse.

It became a daily appointment: each evening, you knew your master’s expectations was to find you in the tablinum right after dinner. Never one to sleep much, sometimes he’d keep you there the entire night, your voice the only sound in a household where slaves were barely allowed to speak if their master happened to be around. You read for him without eating, drinking or sleeping, and when the sun would rise you were simply sent back to your duties.

And then, suddenly, he started asking questions too. What did you think of Aristotle, Herodotus, Plutarch? Was his pronunciation beyond saving? When you switched to poetry, Sae allowed you to sit next to him, so that he could follow along, eyes focused on your finger as it grazed each verse, to make it easier for him. He scoffed at Aristophanes’ comedy, which you suspect was a way to hide actual amusement. He enjoyed Sophocles and his tragedies. Then, he enjoyed watching you, the first time you read lyric poetry for him.

“It’s supposed to be accompanied by music, isn’t it?”, he asked, eyes boring into yours. You just lowered your head further and apologized, briefly stated that you didn’t want to sing for him without asking for permission first. Sae granted that permission.

He started touching you, a gentle brush of the fingers at first, to make sure your hair didn’t hide your profile from him. He’d then grasp your chin and tilt your head back to make sure you looked at him while detailing your impressions over a piece you’d just read. You never grew tense under his touch, not even when he’d grab your jaw if your tone got too low or you paused to clear your throat in the middle of a sentence. You did whatever was expected of you. Let him part your legs and sneak a hand underneath your tunic, obeyed when he ordered you didn’t stop reading as he touched you.

Like his brother, Sae grows restless easily and your submissive nature ended up irritating him. You were a little too unfazed, a little too good at carrying on, as if he wasn’t making a wet mess of you with his expert dexterity.

And so he ordered you’d kiss him, crawled onto his lap with your legs spread wide open for him, gasped and moaned and whined into his mouth. Loud, for all to hear. He wasn’t rough, perhaps it was the most gentle you’d ever been touched by a man, by a dominus. He’d take you right there, on his lap, on the table, on the floor. With time, you learned what he liked. On some days, you were allowed boldness: whispers to his ear of how good he felt, how much you desired him, more than any other man as no one could ever compare. Your fingers would card through his hair and pull at the soft strands right as he throbbed inside you, buried so deep you felt him in your throat as tears he’d lick away stained your cheeks. You’d keep your nails clean for he liked it when you scratched his back, you’d gently bite the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

And then, on some other days, you’d let him use you as he pleased, mouth shut, legs parted. He’d be stressed, angry, sometimes too irritated by either his marriage or matters of politics you’d never understand. You were always there for him, far from being the only slave he fucked, but certainly an interesting exception Sae didn’t want to get rid of and instead kept by his side most nights, in his personal bedroom, arms around your body pressed close to his as he softly asked you’d speak to him in your language.

You thought you could fall in love with him, you really did. He’d bring you with him on his travels and you’d find yourself missing him whenever he’d be back to his main residence, where his wife was. Where his children were. Sae would always come back with gifts, still does, and you know his affection has never been less than sincere. Being his favorite concubine means being draped in a cloak of newfound protectiveness, it means being owned social respect. It means being special. He sees you as more than a slave kept as sexual luxury, he cares about you. Wouldn’t that be enough to make a woman fall in love?

And then, one day, Sae came back and brought his most trusted servant with him. One you had never met before.

While you’d occasionally be with him during journeys or whenever he’d retreat to his country house for a couple of weeks during the summer, Oliver was always by Sae’s side. His mother was Sae and Rin’s father’s slave, he was born in their household and is Sae’s domestic worker. Oliver carries out a range of duties: cleans, prepares food in the kitchens, delivers missives. He’s probably the man, other than his own brother, Sae trusts the most in this life. They have a relationship intimate enough for him to keep Oliver as a secretary and an accountant too. He was the one asking his father to pay for a slave’s education, to make sure he could serve him better. You can imagine the affection he has for Oliver runs deep enough to grant him freedom from ownership, one day.

It was your demise and greatest stroke of luck. You never in a million years could’ve imagined how frail the equilibrium you were relying on was, a crimson thread mercilessly severed by a single touch of his fingers. It was desperate, the way you were drawn to him. When he talks, when he looks at you, you feel like a person and not a possession. A dangerous thought to have, and yet.

The days spent helping him in the kitchens, in the garden, the afternoons you’d catch glimpses of him laughing with other servants, all the times you were forced to be on Sae’s lap while he sat across from you, detailing the latest information about his most pressing affairs, eyes only daring searching yours when your master would be deeply focused on a document or a letter. Oliver had such a way of carrying himself, with a dignity you’d never seen in a slave. He wore a perpetual mask of neutral detachment with his master but when Sae would leave, on the fortunate occasions when he wouldn’t be around and all the eyes and ears of the residency could be considered far enough to grant you enough intimacy, Oliver could drop the act his life depended on.

He’s smart, curious by nature. Speaks Greek with a better accent than your master’s and yet still comically distorts some words, which makes you laugh. He’s knowledgeable about horticulture and spends hours curating the gardens surrounded by the peristylium each day, you’d often observe him from the patio as he tended to violets, saffron, thyme, rosemary, carnations. With expert hands that would leave no place for doubt should another slave or the master himself have noticed, he once plucked a rose and bowed as he offered it to you. A slave bowing to another slave. It made your heart flutter.

You hated yourself for desiring him, not because your mere existence revolved around the axiom of any individual desire being forever forbidden, but because your selfishness could cost him much more than his freedom. If Sae so much as imagined Oliver touching you, he could’ve claimed his life and yours with a light snap of the fingers. 

You didn’t care about your life, not really, but his held so much value. He was about to be freed, there was too much at stake for you to ruin everything.

Oliver is infuriating and stubborn, any attempt at avoiding him went up in smoke as he was just as desperately drawn to you and refused to give up on the one thing he ever wished for himself. Whatever he would do of his freedom with no one to share it with. You had insinuated yourself in his heart like dripping water that hollows out stone and for once in his life he, a person who wasn’t allowed to own anything but his feelings, felt alive.

And yet, he waited, persistence confined by respectful boundaries Oliver never once forced you to cross. He waited, exasperating, confident, beautiful in a way that made you wish there were marble statues and saturnalia dedicated to him. In a way that made Sae dull, someone you couldn’t hold anything but gratitude and affection for. A man you could never love the way you loved Oliver, a man you’d never kiss for the first time on your own accord, brief and sweet in the middle of the night, by the kitchen. You remember his eyes and how dangerously beautiful the moonlight reflected in them was, how searing the second touch of his lips felt against yours, the way he’d silently asked for permission he didn’t need, the uncertainty swarming in those eyes almost bringing you to tears.

You didn’t know what being asked for consent meant and you had no idea what choosing to lie with a man would do, how different the pleasure would feel. Despite being uncomfortably taken against the wall, it was the first time you ejoyed sex. Even on exceptional days when Sae would care about your pleasure too, it always felt like making you finish was a stubborn challenge he’d test himself with. Another proof of his ability, void of any sincere care.

Oliver was different. He strokes your skin with genuine tenderness, never chases his own high without making sure you’re feeling good too, without being absolutely certain he isn’t hurting you somehow, or being unintentionally too rough. Some nights he’d drop to his knees, a servant serving you, making you fall apart on his tongue without ever looking away from your face, so beautiful when contorted in pleasure. He’d catch you when you wouldn’t be able to stand any longer, gently lay your trembling body on the hard ground and push your tunic further up, to be able to still look at you before diving in once more. He wouldn’t ask for anything more on those nights, kissing your palm tenderly when you offered to grant him relief too.

“Get some rest”, he’d whisper against your lips before leaving you cold and alone once more. 

Neither of you expected Sae to free you first.

One day, he’d summoned you to the triclinium, the magnificent dining room where he receives his illustrious guests. Oliver was there, standing by the entrance, expression neutral and eyes never daring finding yours. Rin was there too, reclined on his left side on soft cushions while other slaves served him courses of fruits and warm, sweet wine.

“Lie with me”, Sae’s order surprised you: it wasn’t rare for him to keep you close in front of clients, friends or other servants but members of his family were his only drawn line. Obedient, you positioned yourself in front of him, propped on one elbow on the same couch. 

“She’s worth much more than the amount I paid you, brother”, he murmured into your skin, one hand lazily pushing your tunic to your hips.

Oliver’s love had changed you. Made Sae’s touch intolerable, newfound feelings of guilt and shame churning in the pit of your stomach for the very first time. You didn’t wish for his fingers to explore your skin, you didn’t want Rin to watch, or worse, claim his own fair share.

“What, just because you made her your Greek whore?”, the mockery, for the first time, hurts you. These feelings could get you killed.

“Be respectful of my Greek whore”, Sae buried his face into the crook of your neck and you stayed frozen, “she’s also my liberta, now”.

Your breath hitched in your throat and he chuckled, pulling you possessively against him with an arm around your waist. A liberta. A freedwoman.  

Rin’s scoff didn’t faze you.

“Look at me”, Sae’s grasp on your throat burned as he tilted your head backwards and spoke against your mouth, “you are free. I wish to keep you with me as your patronus. Will you stay?”.

For a moment, you feared you might not be able to speak, too overwhelmed by feelings interlaced within you like both ribbons and snakes.

“You honor me”, you were finally able to whisper.

In a way, this was everything you could ever wish for and the worst thing to ever happen to you. It was perfectly clear what being freed meant: you would forever owe him eternal gratutide and reverence. He made sure you’d remain in a legally defined position of obligation for your entire life, a bond that would last forever. You had never felt more trapped.

“Oliver, serve some wine to your mistress”, Sae’s gaze never left yours as he quietly ordered. Your heart squeezed painfully as you kissed him, doing everything in your power to keep your focus on your patron and nothing else.

Now, on nights like this, when you lie tangled in warm sheets with your lover, you’re even more dreadfully aware of what’s at stake. His freedom, your freedom. Both your heads, probably.

This bedroom in Sae’s domus now belongs to you, along with all the valuable possessions within it. He provides financially for you and finally grants your most intimate moments their due privateness. His slaves are your slaves, you are free to wander around the house as you please, accompany him publicly for everyone to see. Rin once said he’d never seen him treat his own wife with such devotion and Sae simply pulled you closer in response.

“This one’s different”.

He loves you, you know he does. When you read for him the world stops, Rome and perhaps the entire empire dissipating into thin smoke. His own dimension ruled by your voice alone, eyes shut when the pads of your gentle fingers explore him, lips he would start wars for.

But all that ceases to exist when you’re in Oliver’s arms, his nose grazing your neck, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating in a chest pressed to yours.

“Does he hurt you?”, you ask and he peels his weight away from your body, propping himself on one elbow by your side instead.

“No”, he replies quietly and smiles when you reach to grab his other arm and place it around your waist. You then hum, fingers tracing scars you’re familiar with. Faded marks on his chest, his back, his shoulder and arm. Oliver’s gaze softens at your unspoken worry.

“His father”, is the explanation he offers, “Sae never touched me”. His thumb starts stroking the skin above your hip and you sigh, relieved, melting into him like you always do.

“Does he ever hurt you?”, the question makes you chuckle but Oliver is serious, scowl getting deeper.

“No”.

“Does it feel good? Does it feel the same?”.

His hand disappears underneath the sheets and you jolt weakly against him when knuckles graze your bare skin before fingers start collecting the slick that still trickles out of your spent hole. You take his face in your hands and pull him closer to make sure he looks at you, not wanting your next words to sound as if you’re only speaking under the effect of the pleasure he’s providing.

“Never. It could never-”, a gasp when he dips one finger inside you, “it will never”.

For the following minutes, the only sounds in the room are your soft whimpers against his mouth and the increasingly wet, lewd noises produced by his fingers, the increasingly restless roll of your hips barely able to meet movements that drive you insane.

“I love you”, he murmurs, a low groan bubbling up from his throat when he curls his fingers and you see stars, muffle a moan into his neck, one hand closing around his wrist and nails digging into his skin. You’re still shaking when he pulls you into his chest, brings one of your legs around his hips. There’s a familiar hardness pressing against you and you tentatively rub yourself against it, face hidden into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“I will buy you”, you whisper, “I will buy you from him and set you free”.

Oliver stills your movements with a gentle hold of your hips, his other hand stroking the small of your back. Having you close is, once more, enough.

“He will never sell me”.

“Then you should stop seeing me. He will grant you freedom one day but if he ever finds out…”.

“What an absurd suggestion”, a quiet laugh shakes him, “giving up on the one thing that gives my life meaning at all”.

“He’ll take your life, Oliver. You could die because of me”.

“Then so be it. I would die after having lived”.

You pull back and meet his only half playful gaze.

“Don’t mock me. And don’t you dare leave me alone in this life”.

“Is that a request or an order, mistress?”.

Your groan elicits a chuckle. Oliver kisses the crown of your head, wraps his fingers in your hair.

“He owns my freedom, everything else is yours. I don’t fear punishment, only an existence void of you”, he speaks in Greek, attentively, and your heart throbs painfully once more. You kiss him, soft and gentle, then decide to be just as playful while your thumb delicately grazes the portion of skin underneath his eye.

“Really?”, you also ask in Greek, “I heard rumors of his wife requesting to lie with you. Does that feel the same?”.

He offers a boyish smile, gently bumping his forehead against yours.

“You’re ridiculous”.

“Not a very convincing answer”.

Oliver sighs.

“It feels like nothing, woman”.

You hum, feigning pensiveness.

“They say she’s beautiful”.

“She is”.

“Just so you know, this conversation is not going well for you”.

Oliver chuckles, lowers his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. He stays here, lips brushing against yours, in hopes you’ll swallow his next words and let them take root in every crevice of your body. Maybe then you’ll believe him.

“Aphrodite herself wouldn’t be a match for you”.

“Flatterer”, you whisper, amused. It’s not lost on you, the way he intentionally used her Greek name instead of naming her Roman counterpart, Venus.

Oliver smiles, taking a second to observe features already carved into his very soul. He cups your cheek and thinks he wouldn’t mind dying like this, with you turning your head enough to press your lips to his wrist, eyes softened by sincere adoration.

“In love”, he corrects.

[loustica-lucia]

Heroes of the Dragon Age

An animation I've made for Dragon Age Day 2023, featuring my main Warden (Alyssa Cousland-Theirin), Hawke (Eleena Amell Hawke) and Inquisitor (Sulevin Lavellan)!

It's to this day one of my best artwork and I thought I should share it here too! 90+ hours between the original sketch, outfit design, the rough animation, rotoscope, inking, flat-colours, background shading and even the audio :')

Interested in the process? I detailed it below since it was my first time doing something like that:

I would like to start by saying I'm not a professional animator!Everything you've seen here is the result of experimentation and a lot of practice to learn and understand how 2D animation works.

My first idea started in May 2023. I just finished rewatching DA Absolution for the X time, and wanted to analyse why I loved the intro so much. (Even after countless rewatch, I never skipped it once.) I was inspired to study it with my main three protagonists!

Then came the first test with Alyssa Cousland-Theirin, my Hero of Ferelden! I tried to understand which part to separate for the animation. Mainly the hair and cape because it flows a lot more than the rest! If I recall, my first idea here was to make her counter flame attacks (?). Then, as the camera turns around her, I tried to add a grid to know how the camera would work around it.

I ended up making the clip longer, so she could position herself to the further left and leave space to the two other protagonists.

Now it was time to try to animate Sulevin Lavellan, my Inquisitor. I really kept that quick doodling style just to capture the vibe without putting too much time/effort into it! The background would be static to contrast with Alyssa's. I also loved the idea of a rogue sneaking!

Instead of working on Eleena Amell Hawke, my Champion of Kirkwall, I went back to Alyssa and started working with Clip Studio Paint 3D models (this entire animation has been done on the EX version of the software!) It helped for rotoscope animation and maintaining likeness! That's when I got the idea to make the background swirl around the character to let the eyes be guided by the rest of the screen!

After a couple more hours, I planned the entire animatic with 3D models and quick doodles! I finally found a cool pose for Eleena Hawke, which was honestly the hardest of the three to imagine for some reason? I tried many other poses but ended up picking an animation from the game!

This whole time, I was studying a bunch of background ideas and how studio Red Dog Culture House (who made Absolution) work! Thankfully, they have a YouTube Channel where they shared some BTS content so I could analyse it!

Then, I simplified my character and their original designs in the style of the studio! These outfits are how I imagine them after Trespasser. Alyssa as the Queen of Ferelden, looking for a cure to the Calling, Hawke following Fenris to Tevinter & Sully as a Red Jenny Inquisitor!

The idea for Sulevin's animation actually came from a piece I doodled on a live stream, when I was drawing pose studies and turning them into finished artworks haha As for Alyssa, I wanted to draw the fight that got her facial scars!

Once their designs were ready and the background ideas too, I made the rough version of the animation! Basically a sketch done on top of the 3D models to add the details, staying pretty rough just to capture the idea and movements.

Then it was time to start the lines! I decided make a folder per frame, so I could separate all he main elements and draw them one by one. It helps keeping the likeness of a character in the different frames without having big "jumps" between frames! In fact, every parts were coloured differently to recognize them, and then I used vector erasers and masks (Ah yes, the entire lineart is done in vectors of course! It's easier to adjust and save time when working on similar frames!)

At first of course, everything overlaps! But I find it easier to draw too much and erase after, just to make sure everything is coherent in each frames! The cool thing about CSP is how you can change the colour of the layers in one click! So all the coloured lines turned into black in one second, and I could reverse it just as quickly to double check!

Then I started working on Sulevin! I made a blue line to mark where her feet were, as the sketch in the background wasn't perfectly straight! (Like Sulevin's sexuality 🤭😂) The silhouettes were very quick to do, but I had fun adding more & more details as she came closer to the foreground!

I really wanted to add that little dagger trick, but I remember it required me to change the pacing of Eleena's apparition, as it was recovering her arm too quickly! I had to change the pace of multiple frames quite a lot during the project, to make sure the flow was right! For Eleena, most of her animation remained around her arms and the staff itself, as magic would be the most difficult part! That way each character has their own focus: Alyssa has a very animated background, Sulevin got the grappling hook and Eleena the ice!

Then it was time to start adding colours! Just like for the lineart, I separated every colour on it's own layer, so I could easily adjust the colours later if needed. I added one colour at the time, going through all the frames, and then another colour!

I made full palette tests with the colours I would use for their background at this point, checking if the details remained readable! Alyssa was the most challenging in terms of clothes, because I made her a very detailled armour! I had to simplify the Theirin heraldry, vectorize/redraw the Cousland, and make a brush for her cape's pattern!

Once I was done adding the flatcolours, I started the background, and oh boy it was a wild ride. For the cave, I painted multiple tests. I imagine was to use CSP panorama tools, which transform a texture into a 3D sphere, so each corners must match to look good. Sadly, it made the background very blurry, so after hours of testing, I changed ideas. Instead of the random fire balls (?) I originally imagined for Alyssa, I made three simple frames of a Rage Demon to attack her.

I ended up using the cave as a repeated pattern to make it turn 360° around the character. For Eleena, I mixed inspiration from the comics, Dreadwolf & Absolution, using warm colours matching Hawke's signature red. Just like I made the cave very grey/blue to match Grey Wardens. For Val Royeaux, it was more complex because I wanted to make it green, matching the Inquisitor's signature green. But bright green couldn't work, and the original colour during day time was blue/white/gold. So I added more leaves, played around the design a bit! After adding the rage demon, I made the shading! It was surprisingly easy and quick to do now!

I clipped a white layer on the flatcolours to not be distracted by the colours, and made thin lines to separate the light/shadows, then simply filled everything with the bucket tool! Then you set the layer to multiply and remove the white layer, and you have celshading shadows! Now the character looks out of the picture, so I added layers of blue in color burn, saturation and substract blending modes to make her look like she's in the right setting! Of course, I did the same with the other two, giving Hawke a red overlay and Sulevin green shadows!

Then I added the details, it went from white irises, to sword/staff smears to earrings and smaller finition that goes on top of these layers. To add the lights, I simply selected the shadows and reversed the selection! Using warm and cold tones to create contrast with the purple/bluish shadows! I also added more ambient light layers for Alyssa to reflect the Rage Demon fire. Now it was time to add ice magic! My first attempt had too many frames, making it look weird! Sometimes it's better to lower the frame rate to make things less bumpy!

Then I downloaded some cool ice brushes on CSP assets that made it look less like blue magical flames! But when I covered the screen in ice, I realized "Oh wait, I could make a cool transition from the ice, to blue lyrium turning red?"Red Lyrium truly links these three games and The Veilguard somehow! I spent the next hour painting over the idol and putting it in a black background, with lyrium and then the golden Dragon Age title text.

For the SFX, I used free youtube libraries sounds & "Darkspawn!" comes from the violent human female voice set (iconic for ""Can I get you a ladder? So you can get off my back!"😂🤭) After editing all that, the animation was finally done!

Here's the final math:

About 15 hours for the sketching/rough/animatic phase, 30h for the lineart, 25h for colours, 10h for backgrounds, 5h for details & 5h for music & SFX, for a total of 90 hours. Aka the same amount of time it took me to finish Baldur's Gate 3 the first time lol

If you have any question regarding the animation or the softwares etc. do not hesitate to ask, I'll do my best to answer!

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling

[Astarion x reader] The idea never left my mind, and I so very badly need this right now. Heavily inspired by this cutscene where Tav chooses a dialogue option and Astarion's eyes just deviate-- (gif above, just wait for his eyes to look at you WKDKWKDK) |Word count: 2k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 2 here!!

Also, this is more heavy on the world building rather than dialogue. If I end up making this a series, I might write with more dialogue in mind but it was just necessary to do this first afhjaqfbnjkafbnebn--

A story in which an overworked art student longs for a fictional character that they've devoted so much of their time to.

Alternatively; Astarion realizes there's someone else watching him. And he can't wait to get acquainted with them.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

One.

Two.

Three.

It takes you three seconds to comprehend what just happened. Three seconds for you to try and save the progress you’ve already made so far. Three seconds for you to feel the chill of dread run up your spine. 

You’ll admit, perhaps you were simply tired. Attending a prestigious school for the arts doesn’t exactly leave you with much free time to indulge in more calming forms of recreation. Your course requires you to consume a wide array of media to expand your library of creativity, after all. All in the name of generating more interesting media to entrance and enthrall your audience with your original work. 

Maybe all the moving pictures and swimming texts have caused you to greatly misunderstand what you are seeing. Surely, your favorite character isn’t looking directly at you, right?

Right?

But before that, let’s review what might have happened earlier to explain just what exactly in gods name is happening.

Shall we?

——

You purchased the game a few months back. “Baldur’s Gate 3.” A game that took the players and immersed them in the world of Dungeons & Dragons, introducing them to the mechanics of tabletop RPG as they did. It seemed interesting enough. And if the concept of character creation and storytelling didn’t sell you on the idea of it, the pretty faces on the cover certainly did.

So, with the little money you could spare from your part time job at your own institution’s library, and with what little sanity you had left to argue with, you impulsively bought said game. And it was fun. Exhilarating. Electrifying. 

Until you ran into a problem.

Astarion. The rogue, elven vampire that you have chosen to romance after careful deliberation. You scoffed to yourself. He was one of the biggest reasons why you purchased the blasted game at all. You’ve carefully studied the character in all his glory, from his striking carmine eyes and delicate unstained curls, to his aptitude for bloodshed and all manners of gore. He was such an interesting character, giving you more and more reason to pursue him as the story progressed. Yet the same can’t be said about your relationship with him. Or at least your “Tav’s” relationship with him. 

You’ve had some difficulty in deepening your relationship with the ex-magistrate. It seemed as if no matter what options you chose, no matter what manner of advances you made, he’d be quick to dismiss you. Painting you as a desperate little pup as he did. Denying you the opportunity of further knowing him. You’ve created and overwritten more save slots than you'd like to admit, perusing each one to select different lines of dialogue only to be rejected time and time again.

You thought it strange. But perhaps this was simply the way his route was meant to unfold. He was such an incredibly complex character after all. Perhaps this was meant to prove the party’s loyalty. 

But that didn’t stop you from being frustrated with other aspects of the gameplay. You've spent countless nights hunched on your work chair, back curving like a dead bug as you analyzed each and every possible outcome in combat. Eyes, bloodshot from cutting your sleeping hours short, just to endure the story until you were at an appropriate place to log out. And hair, flicking and curling out in different directions due to you weaving your hands through them in exasperation. 

You saw your reflection on your screen as it darkened to load the next scene and you couldn't help but stare at your character in slight envy. You know full well that however you designed them, it wouldn’t affect how the others perceived you, and yet you couldn’t help but pretty them up for your own interest. You designed it with yourself in mind, but making them far more attractive than you would ever be. Effortlessly beautiful as they stirred to wake up in the forest you settled in for camp.

How could Astarion ever turn this beautiful being away? If not for their heroism, then surely their looks would be enough to draw him in, no?

And speak of the devil. Once you could control your character again, you readied them to interact with your sharply dressed companion. Wanting to try your luck once more as the bright sun shone upon your character like a promise of a new day. Unfortunately, you’re greeted with a look of boredom, oh so familiar, that you sigh. “I hope you’re not here to beg—” Mocking him, echoing the words you’ve come to expect with faux mirth in your voice. But you cut yourself short when you realize he has yet to say anything. 

Strange.

 What’s even stranger is that he's just staring at you. Well,--- he’s staring at Tav. Your character.

“What the fuck…?” You move your mouse around, clicking to try and toggle the dialogue options to no avail, screen stuck in a cinematic close up of his face. Much like how the camera always pans when awaiting your response. 

However, unlike the common script of his actions that you’re used to, the one that you’ve memorized like a well practiced dance, his eyes smoothly glide off of your character and onto you. 

You freeze, but your heart doesn’t. The beating of your chest growing stronger the longer he looks at you. Eyes, blood red like rubies, boring into your own. He regards you, blinks, and then smiles that deviously charming smile of his before your screen turns dark. Your computer turns off, and you stare in shock of what just happened.

‘No fucking way, no fucking way, no fucking way—‘ You’re not delusional, right? Sure, you’re tired, but no fucking way did you just imagine one of the hottest characters you’ve seen in a while break the fourth wall just to fuck with you.

You laugh to yourself.

Yes, you’re just tired. Nothing like a good four hours of sleep can’t remedy. Although, as you get up from your chair, foolish as it may seem, you grab a used shirt from your floor, and hang it on your computer in the case that those piercing eyes come to life once again while you sleep.

——

You stir awake after your short slumber. Your body, heavy like lead, though not at all a feeling foreign to you. You think about what happened last night, wondering if it was all a dream. Yet as you get ready for the day, you notice your dirtied clothing still on your computer. Covering it as if it were a petrifying doll from a horror movie. You feel childish for doing so, reasoning that you were simply stressed from the events that taken place prior and removed the cloth.

As you did, your screen was brought back to life. Showing you the next night as if your little "tryst" with Astarion never happened. An entire thirty minutes or so of progress seemingly gone. Thankfully, you saved just before your game went haywire and you attempted to load up your last slot. 

Zzzt Zzzzt!

Alas, your game was not cooperating once again. You tried the save just before that and the same error screen presented itself to you. ‘Maybe this is a sign that I should just fucking work instead.’ Irritated at the thought, you moved to log out of the game but a familiar voice convinces you otherwise as the screen returns to normal. 

“Why, hello pup. How was your awfully short slumber?” 

‘Is this— a romance scene?!’ Astarion had never initiated an interaction before! Perhaps the game gods were granting you mercy. Or maybe, something you did last night might have given way for this line of dialogue to open up. Regardless, you happily took the opportunity and began reading your choices.

“Why, hello pup. How was your awfully short slumber?” ━─━────༺༻────━─━

Well. Thank you.

It’s none of your concern, fangs.

Better now that you’re here.

What happened last night?

━─━────༺༻────━─━

What…did happen last night? You don’t recall anything past the blackening of your screen, but it looks like you did something after that which caused this dialogue.

You don’t want to squander this opportunity, who knows when this will happen again, but your curiosity gets the best of you. So you save, and choose option 4. 

“Oh, you poor thing. Spooked you, did I?” He laughs, seemingly taking in the look of confusion that graces both yours and Tav’s face.

“What do you think happened last night?”

“My fucking game crashed.” You answer automatically.

Tav moves to open their mouth but is silenced with a tut. “Not you, spawn.” His eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement, but the way his mouth is pulled in a tightly-lipped smile offers you further insight otherwise. 

“I need your answer.” His eyes are on you yet again, and you feel the world begin to spin.

——

You stir awake after your short slumber. Your body, heavy like lead, though not at all a feeling foreign to you. You think about what happened last night, wondering if it was all a dream. Yet as you plan to get ready for the day, you notice you’re not exactly in a state to do so. You expected to wake at dawn, the dark and cool air to greet you as it fills your room and envelops your walls. Instead, you wake to see an endless amount of evergreen and the smell of the dark and damp grass beneath you filling your senses.

And if spending hours, weeks, months, of playing this damned game has taught you anything, you know that you now reside in the heart of the forest that you usually set up camp in. But this time, you're far from your bedroll and the fire that your party created.

One.

Two.

Three.

It takes you three seconds to comprehend what just happened. Three seconds for you to try and save the progress you’ve already made so far to no avail. Three seconds for you to feel the chill of dread run up your spine. 

And this chill so does love playing games.

You clamber away on your knees when you hear that deep chuckle of his emanate from right beside your ear. Creating as much distance to inspect this figure you’ve yet to face.

You see Astarion in all his vampiric glory. ‘Well, for a vampire spawn, I guess.’ You comment to yourself. Crimson eyes, darker than you imagined, with full, dark lashes contrasting his pallid skin and pure hair that glow under the moonlight. An unsettling, and cursedly attractive, smirk curls onto his lips. His ivory fangs on full display as he does.

“It seems as if those useless artifacts were worth something.” He marvels at his handiwork, his prize, and approaches it with confidence. 

“Well, your character certainly is more ‘prettied up.’” He circles you, carefully appraising his newest asset, and grins. “But you are far more intriguing.”

A simple, “What the fuck?” is all you can muster.

“Although, you are very cute. Cheeky little pup, aren’t you?” He jests.

A simple, “What the fuck?” is all you can muster which earns you a click of his tongue in response.

“You’re not broken, are you? Or am I to anticipate your little ‘what the fuck?’s as your only contribution?” Long, and incredibly masculine, fingers crawl and curl to grasp your chin like a spider. 

“I’ve waited months to have you. And now here you are, finally within my grasp.” The statement causes something to stir within you.

“What do you mean, ‘months?” 

He narrows his eyes, possibly trying to comprehend your stupidity.

“I’ve been watching you. Waiting, for the right moment. Interacting with this– caricature of yourself until you could deny yourself of me no more.” Blood rushes to your head. Your cheeks burning in embarrassment for seeming overly eager. And in panic as his intentions have yet to be cleared.

“And now that I’m here? Do you want to kill me?” You feel your heartbeat in your ears, awaiting his response. Your eyes wide in fear, yet trying to fake heroic bravado in the attempts to gain the upperhand.

And in this moment, he thinks you absolutely invigorating.

“Oh no, sweet pet. I’ve waited far too long for that. I’m going to make you mine.”

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Should I make this into a series? "The adventures of a misplaced artist in Baldur's Gate!!" Or something like that. Let me know, lol

[vivicas-dollhouse]

Colors

You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece

Genre: smut

Characters: bloody painter/helen otis, fem reader

Desc: Art school was always a dream, but the constant competition was suffocating. You always felt behind, especially when the guy painting in red in front of you was so perfect.. but getting to know him, you realized your just like him.. he is art. And you're his muse.

Cws: porn with plot, pnv sex, sex tape, mild degrading, blowjob, friends to lovers, nice helen bc my original idea was very different, idk its fairly vanilla

4.1k words, enjoy!

You were fascinated by him.

The man who sat at the front of your still life class, quietly painting whatever was in front of him with the skill of a seasoned artist, one whos paintings hung front and center in an exhibition. He used the same red hue to sketch, and when you had thought about it, it made sense. It was a unifying underpainting, it harmonized everything into a crimson tinged tone.

You had never dared approach him, he seemed so focused that you felt it would be rude to interrupt, but he drove you insane. His blue eyes seemed to cut into your heart, shattering the shell you had built up over the years of ridicule over your skill level. You didnt want to get close to him in case he did the exact same thing, you weren't worthy of his attention.

Yet, he noticed you.

It had started with a bump, a accidental nudge as you set up your station. You had apologized, as your paint stained his blue jacket but he simply dismissed it.

“Its ok, art is messy,” he had said, face deadpan except for a glint in his eye that sent a flutter through you. He had simply walked away afterwards, setting his station up and beginning. Yet, you found him glancing over his shoulder at you every once in a while, falling behind on his work in favor to meet your eyes. You had smiled back at him, watching for a smile from him, but his face had remained stoic.

After the class had concluded, you stood back and admired your piece, or what you had of it. Time had gotten away from you yet again, your smock stained with acrylic despite the lack of paint on the canvas. You furrowed your brow, sighing with defeat.

“Its not that bad you know,” a voice spoke from behind you. You jumped, turning quickly to see the man in the blue jacket.

“O-oh, you think?” You stammered, watching as he stepped towards the painting.

“No, it just has a few technique issues. You have the colors matched pretty well, its just the foreshortening giving it that uneven look.” He said, turning to meet your flustered face. “My names Helen by the way, its nice to meet you,”

“Hi, my names (Y/N), im glad you like it. I have seen your work too, its beautiful,” you smiled. His face remained still as you began to pack up your station. “I love that red underpainting you do,”

His face seemed to brighten as you said this, a shocked look in his eyes. “Oh, that? Its just an old habit. It makes it look more… human.” He trailed off.

“Well i think its smart. Do you want to go eat something with me? I think we are holding up the next class,” you giggled, watching for any hint of a smile. Nothing.

“Id like that, thank you. Theres this great coffee place close to the main campus, do you like scones?”

–

It was easy to see why he liked this coffee shop, it was quiet, just some ambient chatter with excellent pastries. You werent a fan of coffee, but the tea you had bought hit the spot.

You had spent at least two hours there, just talking and flipping through each others sketchbooks. It was interesting to see how his brain worked, the hundreds of life studies in that same red wash of what seemed to be thinned watercolor. He wasnt judgmental of your works, simply pointing out some things you could change and showing you techniques on how to fix it. He complimented your cartoons, something that most people didnt take seriously as an art form.

“No, really, it is good. I cant draw cartoons for the life of me, its its own skill set. I think its cool that you can have two distinct styles, it shows range.” He flattered, taking a sip of his mocha.

You smiled, rubbing the back of your neck. “Thank you, it doesn't really get taken seriously at this art school. Its what got me into art, i wish people understood like you do.”

He set his coffee down, closing his sketchbook. “I do have to go unfortunately, but we should do this again. It really was lovely, i dont have many friends and your nice to talk to. We should come back after next class, if you want to.” He said, standing and collecting his items.

“Id love to!! And im glad i can be considered your friend,” you beamed, packing up your pens and pencils.

He looked at you, a gentle smile playing at his lips. “Thank you for this, really. Be safe getting home.”

Your heart fluttered as you looked at his smile, something you didnt realize you needed until it was staring you in the face. Helen… was your friend.. at least enough to want to meet again.

That was enough for you to smile the whole way back to your dorm.

–

As the week flew by, you caught glimpses of him around campus. You had never noticed him around before, but now that you knew him, you saw him everywhere. He lingered in the shade, always drawing something in his sketchbook as people walked by. Walking from class to class became a wheres waldo game, just trying to locate him in the campus grounds. You were getting obsessive, and you knew this. It was hard not to be, he spoke with such an eloquence and was eager to teach you anything. You spent the time in the cafeteria daydreaming with a slice of pizza that you were back at the cafe with him.

Then the day came.

You sat at your easel, trying to focus on the subject and not on his presence. You wanted to impress him, show him that you had learned something from his tips. But every time you glanced over, you saw his painting getting more and more life-like and you were floored. Every time you looked at your own piece you felt discouraged. How do you get to his level?

The professors timer went off, signaling the end of the allotted painting session. You stepped back and looked at the figure you had drawn, removing your smock.

“Hey, it looks much better,” he said, walking up to see the work. “Your anatomy has improved, dont beat yourself up. I can tell you dont like it, but thats to be expected. I dont like my work either.”

You smiled, a warm flush running over your face. “Thank you, I appreciate it. Yours is better though.”

“Its impossible to compare art, since everyone has different definitions of what art even is. You saw that banana taped to the wall fiasco, didnt you?” He teased, just a hint of a grin showing through his face. You laughed, picking up your bag.

“I did, isnt that fucking awful? We paid thousands of dollars to go here and a banana beats us,” you playfully smiled, turning to walk out the class with him.

“I am more and more confused by rich people every day. I dont know if this is controversial, but i do not understand abstract art.”

–

“Cmon, you seriously have never had crème brûlée?” Helen asked, face deadpan like you had come to expect. It had been about a month and a half of weekly meet ups, and you had come to realize that he only smiled when he was ecstatic. He had smiled more and more every time you met, and he had taken the time to get to know you on a deeper level than friends. He had asked to take you out to dinner.

The text you had received from him said it was “upscale dining” and that he would treat you to whatever you wanted. Your heart had skipped a beat when you read it, a warm glow smattered across your face.

“No, i really haven't,” you grinned, taking a sip of your soda. You recoiled at the taste, a salty tinge having been added to the drink somehow. “Ew, did you put something in this?” You smacked your lips. The taste was like a warhead, an almost spicy sensation in the mouth.

“No, the waiter took your drink and i got you lime sparkling water.. i figured since you liked sprite it would be the same, im so sorry,” he smiled, watching you take another sip.

“Im trying to like it, but damn, that is NASTY,” you joked, setting the drink to the side.

“Do you want me to get you something else? I can call the waiter,” he offered, taking a sip of his own drink.

“Can i have some of yours?” You asked, a thinly veiled flirt.

You hadn't exactly been secretive about your feeling for helen, you knew he knew. He had been bringing you gifts, you had been paying for food and taking him around campus. There was a mutual fondness for each other that had lead to this first real “date” he had arranged.

“Its cherry sparkling water, id doubt youd like it anymore than that,” he sighed, watching you attempt to drink more. “You dont have to drink it you know,”

“Its a willpower thing now, i will finish this,” you asserted, watching him smile.

God, you loved that smile.

“Ok, your funeral,”

“What, you trying to kill me via carbonation?” You giggled, taking another sip and cringing.

He laughed, a rare noise from him that made your heart skip a beat. “No, i just think your cute is all. Stubbornly cute.”

You made a small noise of flustered laughter, your face going red as you buried it in your hands.

“You cant just SAY that,” you mumbled, voice muffled from your hands.

“Well its true, i cant lie to you, it would be mean,” he smirked as you uncovered your face.

Your eyes locked, a mutual smile across both your flushed faces. “Since when are you flirting with me?” You giggled, watching as his mind searched for an answer. You could see the gears turning, struggling to find an answer to your prodding. He wasnt the type to compliment, at least not in the past. He had said something here or there, but the statement played through your mind like a song.

“I dunno, maybe im losing it,” he looked away, an odd expression on his face. It was a mix of his usual blank look and something you couldnt name. Almost sad..

“Do you want to get some drinks? Or could we head back to my place?” He asked, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“Y… your place?” You blushed, your mind blinking like a green light in a storm, something so beautiful and simple, it just felt right.

“Yeah, only if you want to,” he shrugged.

“Yeah ill do drinks. Im a lightweight, but id love to go back to your place! Maybe we can watch a movie?” You grinned, a happy glow on your cheeks.

“Sure, i have some streaming services. Ill get the waiter, my treat.”

–

The headlights rolled by on the dark highway, the soothing sound of the radio with the cool air making you even more tired. You had gone quiet, even though it was only 10pm, you felt exhausted. You were probably just full and happy, but in the back of your mind something felt wrong. You werent sure what it was, maybe you were getting sick.

“Do you want the aux? I hate late night radio,” he said, exiting the highway.

“Oh, yeah sure. You might not like my music, its very 2010s,” you replied, reaching for the cord sticking out from the beat up cars radio.

“I dont mind, as long as its not gonna put me to sleep,” he mumbled.

You went to lift your arm, but it was heavy. It was a strain to move your fingers, the sway of the car making your body flop to the side. You sighed, making a small grumble of confusion.

“You ok?” Helen asked, turning onto a neighborhood street.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes with a great deal of effort. “Yeah, just really tipsy,”

You looked out the window, watching as the apartment complexes rolled by and entered into a couple houses. “You live in a house? You must be rich,” you teased, the car pulling into a small mobile home.

“Yeah, inheritance money. Its not much but it works.” He put the car in park, removing the key with a click. The inner car lights came on, with you struggling to see.

“Jesus that's bright,” you muttered, opening your car door. You stepped out, swaying and stumbling on the gravel driveway.

You felt a hand wrap around your waist, a warm tingle radiating from the touch. You looked up at him, slowly smiling as you let him lead you inside.

“This is nice,” you blushed, leaning into his body. His grip on you tightened, an almost possessive grasp on your body.

“It is isnt it?” He calmly opened the door, the cool ac feeling nice on your warm skin. You hadn't realized how hot you had been until you fully entered the house, the lights clicking on revealing a cozy little living room.

“Oh wow, you ARE rich,” you laughed, kicking off your shoes.

“Not really, most of this is second hand. Its not really cheap living near campus, so most of my money is used on rent.” He said, removing his shoes and signature blue coat.

You went to walk forward, but stumbled almost immediately. You squeaked as you fell, quickly being caught by helen.

“Are you sure your alright? You ARE a lightweight.” He pulled you into his arms, his blue eyes quickly sweeping over you. You rested your hands on his chest, his face quickly turning red.

“Maybe.. i think ill be ok though.. at least when im with you,” you sighed dreamily, eyes softening as he led you into his living room.

“Im glad you have so much faith in me,” he teased, sitting you on the couch. “Do you want a drink? I dont have soda but i can get you a water,”

You watched him walk into his kitchen, opening the fridge. “Waters good,” you slouched back into the couch, resting comfortably in the soft cushions. He handed you a water, sitting next to you.

“What do you want to watch?” He asked, clicking on the tv.

–

You stared blankly in his eyes, spit still connecting your lips. The tv played in the background, the sound of your gasping overshadowing whatever episode of house md was on. You were more focused on his hands running up your shirt and his lips reconnecting with yours. You whined into his lips, lost deep in his love. He pushed you down into the couch, his plush lips enveloping your senses. Your reasoning was lost, you drunk him in like the water in a desert, gently resting your arms on his shoulders. He moaned a bit, moving to be fully on top of you. His pressure on your hips was a gentle one, slowly rocking into you. Your lips parted for a moment, both gasping for air.

“Please,” you breathed, a love drunk smile spreading across your face.

“Please what lamb?” He whispered, brushing a hair out of your face. The pet name sent a shudders through your body, your legs spread just enough that he could wedge his leg between them.

“Please fuck me,” you moaned, head going blank as you watched his brain turning the gears.

“Cmon, say it again,” he whispered, lips meer centimeters from yours. You made a small whine of desperation, running your hands through his soft black hair. “Say it again for me,”

“Please fuck me,” you begged, louder this time. He kissed at your neck, trailing kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. He sucked at the skin, gently leaving little hickeys all over you.

“Please please please, please just fuck me,” you whimpered, listening to him humming into your collarbone.

“Thats it, good girl (y/n),” he pulled away, seemingly satisfied with the number of marks he had left all over you. “Can i take off your shirt?”

You nodded needily, lifting your arms as he quickly pulled it off. He tossed it to the side, sliding off his own shirt while you removed your pants. You kicked them off, laying in just a black bra and panties. He quickly got on top of you again, bashing his lips into yours hungrily, your mouths opening to each other. You hazily bit at his lip, gentle gasps escaping both of you as his tongue poked at your bottom lip. You let him in, whining as he ran his hand up and down your torso, sliding up and around your neck. He didn't squeeze, he just held it there possessively, claiming it as his. You deepened the kiss, rolling your hips into his as he groaned into your lips.

You parted, huffing for air as you quickly removed your bra. You laid there as he stared at your bare chest, running his hand over your soaked panties as he pulled them to the side. The tent in his boxers was noticeable, a wet spot forming on them from his precum.

“Lay back, ill give you head, please let me,” you whimpered, watching him quickly comply. You quickly got between his legs, sliding his boxers down just enough for his dick to leak onto his stomach. You pressed kisses to the cloth over the rest of his shaft, listening to him groan and feeling his twitch through his boxers.

“Can i record you? I wanna watch this back over and over to see that cute face,” he whispered, reaching for his phone.

You stared at him, baffled. You had never even considered the idea of a sex tape, no one had ever thought that highly of you, even past boyfriends had never had THAT much interest. The idea may have been strange, but you couldn't help how horny it made you.

“Please, go ahead,” you smiled, watching as his face reflect the light of the screen.

“And.. go,”

You went back to kissing through his boxers, taking care to look up at the camera while doing so. Your face was on fire, the idea of being captured like this by a camera forever was one you didnt know you liked.

“Cmon (y/n), just be good for me,” he whispered, watching as you pulled the boxers the rest of the way down. You spat on his dick, looking up at him through your eyelashes. Wrapping your hands around the base, you took the length in your mouth eagerly. He groaned, resting his hand in your hair. You sucked at him with hollow cheeks, lips and cheeks wet.

“Thats it, your doing so good,” he praised, holding your chin up while his dick popped out of your mouth. You ran your tongue up it, licking over the back while working your hand up and down the base. “Smile,”

You looked into the camera and smiled, the spit and precum rolling down your chin as you went back down on him. You slowly wrapped your tongue around him, gliding up and down his cock while he mumbled swears.

“You look so hot like that, all whored out for me. Look at the camera for me. Im gonna paint this, it's worth more that way,”

You whined, but obliged anyway. Your spit leaked out your mouth as he looked at you through the screen.

“Stupid slut,” he said, gently forcing your head down. You gagged as he kept his dick down your throat, grasping at his legs. “Hold on, just calm down for me..” he whispered, rolling his hips into your mouth as you sputtered. He let up on your head, pulling you off of him with a pop as you coughed.

“Cmon, take off your panties for me,” he demanded, a cold look on his face as you did so.

“Your not actually gonna paint this are you?” You whimpered, throwing your panties off the edge of the couch.

“Spread,” he calmly commanded, pushing your legs apart. You obeyed, watching as he zoomed in on your dripping pussy. “Look at that, such a whore,”

You watched him gently run a finger over your clit, such a small sensation that left your thighs twitching. He pulled you into him, aligning himself with you, slowly pushing his way inside. Your head rolled back as you whined, slowly being filled up by his cock.

“Look at that, thats gonna be a masterpiece,” he growled, moving into you as slowly as he could, gently rocking back and forth into you. He put the camera into your face, gently pulling you into him by your hips. “Look at her, shes totally cock drunk,”

“Please, more,” you whined needily, rocking into him trying to get any relief.

“Shhh, art takes time, and your gonna be patient, arent you?” He looked into your eyes, his gaze going over the screen and directly at you. You nodded quickly, and he smiled. “Good girl,”

You whined as he slowly rocked into you, slowly moving his free hand to your clit. He grazed over it, earning a pathetic mewl from your lips as you tried to buck into the touch.

“No, be patient. Your doing this on my speed. Understand?”

You whined sadly but nodded. His gazed softened a bit, making a sad noise. “Your so needy aren't you lamb?” He purred, speeding up ever so slightly.

“So needy,” you sighed, gasping as he pointed the camera down at your pussy and ran a finger over your throbbing clit. “Fuck-”

“Dumb slut, im not even doing anything and your melting,” he bit, slowly applying pressure in gentle circles. He quickly wet his fingers and reapplied them, losing a bit of resolve. He began to thrust into you at a quicker pace, turning the camera back to your desperate face. “Thatll be great in a gallery,”

“Fuck, please,” you babbled, drool leaking out of the corner of your mouth.

“Cmon, thats it, just make those dumb little noises for me, stupid slut,” he groaned, quickly rutting into you. You made strangled cries, the new stimulation melting you down into a noisy mess. The camera stayed on your cock drunk face, your cries all being captured on film.

“Fuck, faster, please fuck-”

“Look at her tits, she looks pathetic.. look at the camera,” he growled, with your head quickly snapping to the camera. “Say your a whore,”

You whined, choking on your own spit. “Im a fucking whore,” you gasped, back arched as your body gave into him.

“Smile and say it again,” he moaned, keeping his eyes on the screen so he could properly get your face.

You grinned, a dopey smile across your flushed face. “Im a stupid fucking whore,” you moaned, voice becoming ragged as you uncontrollably moaned. He pushed into you quickly now, a hand holding you down by your waist.

“Whos whore?” He gasped, quickly losing control as the slapping of your wet skin got sloppier and sloppier.

“Im your- fuck- your fucking stupid whore- fuck-” you gasped, head rolling back as he panned the camera back to your pussy.

“Tell me when your close,” he huffed, digging his nails into your skin as he panted.

“Y-yes sir,” you whined, a gurgling noise rising in your throat as your moans got louder.

“Sir huh? You are so fucking cute, the neighbors are all gonna hear what a dumb whore you are. My dumb whore, my stupid- fucking- whore- shit,” he rolled his head back as you felt him tear through you, wrecking your insides.

“G-gonna cum s-sir,” you whimpered, thighs shaking as he turned the camera back to your face.

“Look in the camera and say it,” he hissed through his teeth, quickly losing control. Your body tensed, the intense pleasure rolling through you in waves

“Im fucking cumming- im fucking- ah-” you moaned, a high pitched whine escaping your throat as he pulled out and came on your stomach. You both shook, gasping for air as the hazey room fell silent. The only sound was the quiet tv in the background and your breathing.

“Shit…” helen gasped, turning the phone camera off.

“That was so good.. fuck..” you huffed, eyes half lidded and empty.

“Let me get you a towel,” he whispered, reaching for the tissues on the side table. He passed you one, wiping the cum off his dick while you wiped his off your stomach.

“God… i need this to be a permanent thing…” you smiled, watching him look at you.

“Is that you asking me out?” He asked, a shocked look on his face, one that was out of place for him.

“Yeah, i guess it is,” you smiled gently, sitting up.

“Id love to be your boyfriend,”

--

Fic title

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter 5 - Behind Enemy Lines

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary: Natasha learns that she and R aren't friends

W/c: 4.5k

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

Note: This chapter is the last one I had fully written before. So, be prepared for slower updates on this.

It’s late, later than usual, for Melina to be working. The sun had long since set, and most of the scientists in the lab had retreated to their sleeping quarters. The corridors outside were quiet, save for the faint echo of footsteps from patrolling guards.

While Melina remained, she was too dedicated to her work to stop now. She absentmindedly adjusted the cuff of her lab coat as she leaned over the microscope, jotting down quick notes. The faint blue glow of the computer monitor cast sharp shadows across her face, deepening the lines of focus that seemed to be permanently etched into her brow.

Another failed batch. The data blinking back at her confirmed what she already suspected. Still too unstable. Still too many variables. Dreykov would not be pleased.

She sighed quietly, rolling her neck to relieve the settled stiffness. The test pig stirred restlessly in the cage across the room, sensing her presence.

“You’re still awake too,” she murmured under her breath, her voice softer then, almost warm, as if speaking to the animal anchored her somehow. Melina returned to her notes, methodically crossing out dosages and recalculating figures. She was already thinking of adjustments—how to make the serum more precise and eliminate the cognitive dissonance in the subjects' brains. How to make obedience effortless.

The sound of footsteps outside the lab door snapped her out of her thoughts.

One of the junior researchers peered in, hesitant. "Comrade Vostokoff? It’s almost midnight."

Melina didn't look up. "Go. Get some sleep."

"But—"

She cut him off with a glance sharp enough to send him retreating without another word. She didn’t have the patience tonight.

She returned her eyes to the computer screen, squinting at the figures and notes from previous dates, when she heard the door swing open again.

"I thought I said good night," Melina spoke, irritation bleeding through her words. She looked up to see Nora standing there with a notebook in hand.

"I hope I'm not distracting you," Nora stepped further inside, her voice measured, almost careful.

Melina blinked at her, her irritation slightly softening, though she didn’t say so. Nora rarely appeared in the lab at this hour—always observant, always keeping her distance unless she had a reason.

"You should be asleep," Melina said simply, leaning back from the monitor. "It's late."

Nora offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe you'd let me sit in. Watch."

Melina studied her momentarily, weighing whether to send her away like the others. But Nora stood steady under the scrutiny, notebook clutched tightly at her side, eyes flickering only once toward the monitor.

"You’re not here just to watch," Melina said, quiet but knowing.

Nora shrugged, but there was tension behind it. "I wanted to see the new data for myself. The last batch failed."

Melina’s lips twitched at that—not quite amusement, but close. "You’ve been paying attention. This isn't your field of work, Doctor."

Nora didn't answer. Her gaze darted between Melina and the monitor. She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the notebook.

Melina narrowed her eyes, taking in the subtle changes in Nora's expression. She was nervous. Uncomfortable. And Melina could tell it wasn't just from being in the lab after hours.

"Is there something else?"

"You've been away," Nora admitted. "I just wanted to check in on you."

Melina tilted her head at that. For the past month, Dreykov had sent her away on business. The details were confidential, as usual, but Melina had spent much of the month in the field with Widows, working on various projects. She knew Nora would have noticed. She noticed everything.

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" Nora pressed, and her voice was softer than usual.

Melina stared at her. She didn't respond.

"I've met one of your girls," Nora said, and Melina perked up. "She's sweet."

"Yelena?" She asked.

"Natasha," Nora shook her head. "Seems that Dreykov is taking her under his wing."

Melina’s expression didn’t shift much, but Nora caught the subtle way her fingers paused over the keyboard—a faint look in her eyes.

“Natasha,” Melina echoed as if testing how the name felt. She hadn't seen it much since she returned from Ohio. She tried to erase her memories of the girls out of her head. They were better off without her.

Nora nodded, observing her. “She’s sharp. Observant. Quiet, but not out of fear.”

Melina said nothing, returning her gaze to the monitor. The data in front of her suddenly seemed less important.

“You said Dreykov’s taking interest?” Melina asked, voice-controlled.

Nora flipped her notebook closed, resting it on the table. “Yes. I heard them speaking. He likes girls who don’t flinch.”

That earned a slight twitch at the corner of Melina’s mouth—whether it was pride, worry, or something else, Nora couldn’t quite tell.

“She’s too young for that,” Melina murmured, more to herself.

“We were younger,” Nora reminded gently. "How was the field?" She asked, changing the subject.

Melina shrugged. "Successful. He's satisfied."

"That's good," Nora nodded, but she couldn't help how her eyes searched Melina's as if looking for something more.

"How's your girl?" Melina asked, seeing the same look in Nora's eyes that she'd been sporting a few moments before. Nora’s fingers brushed absently over the cover of her notebook, but her focus stayed on Melina.

“She’s still so young,” Nora said, almost an afterthought. “They all are.”

Melina’s jaw tightened slightly, her eyes returning to the screen before she leaned back in her chair. “Dreykov prefers them young. Easier to mold."

Nora gave a quiet laugh, humorless. “And harder to break. Or so he thinks.”

“You shouldn’t care about her,” Melina reminded her. 

They both knew better. Neither had the right to feel ownership over you or Natasha being in the program. The Red Room didn’t permit attachments—it trained them out of you and punished any signs of weakness. Nora’s eyes didn’t waver. “Neither should you.”

Melina’s mouth curved into something faintly resembling a smile but didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I don’t,” she lied smoothly.

Nora nodded, accepting the lie as it was given. “Neither do I.”

Alone. And in this quiet, they could admit what they couldn’t anywhere else: that maybe they did care in whatever fractured, guarded way they knew how.

“She keeps her guard up,” Nora murmured again, softer this time. “Not because of me, but because she knows better.”

Melina's gaze flickered, something unreadable passing over her features. “They all learn eventually.”

Nora swallowed, letting that settle. She glanced at the clock on the wall—far past midnight now.

“I should go,” she said, standing and tucking the notebook under her arm.

Melina didn’t argue.

******

It’s the third time you’d watched that particular movie.

It was practically ingrained into your brain—the overly bright colors, the overemotional voices, the storyline you could recite in your sleep. Another movie you hated. Another lesson you were expected to absorb.

A damsel in distress. A girl too soft, too trusting, too naive. And, of course, a man would come and save her. Always a man.

Your lips moved silently, matching the characters' dialogue before the sound reached your ears. The instructors watched from the side, arms folded, waiting for the moment you slipped up—waiting for the accent to falter, the rhythm to break.

You didn't. None of you did. Not then.

They made sure of that.

Each of you mimicked the sing-song American cadence perfectly, the way your tongue curled right on certain words, the exact pitch of surprise or fear when the girl on screen gasps over and over until it is second nature. Until it was indistinguishable from real.

You glanced sideways at the others, expression carefully blank. No conversation was allowed during these sessions. Just repetition. Watching. Parroting. Learning how to sound like something you were not.

Someone you were not. Your back ached from the folding chair you'd been given, prompting you to stretch a little higher in your seat. You disliked Snow White.

Too much happiness. Too much hope. The girl was too trusting, and everyone knew how that turned out.

You were never allowed to talk about what you were watching or learning. What they wanted you to become. But you did anyway. This was the portion ofthe  class you almost enjoyed. The part where each of you would take turns practicing with a partner—mimicking the lines, the tone, the accent until it was second nature. No one could tell the difference between you and some average American girl.

“Romanoff,” the instructor barked, eyes scanning the room before landing on you. “With Y/L/N.”

You caught Natasha’s gaze across the room as she stood, her face unreadable. You knew better, though. Knew the sharpness in her eyes wasn’t just from the drill.

It felt purposeful. They deliberately paired you two, watching and waiting for something to happen. Rumors flew fast in the Red Room. Word around the compound was Natasha was taking your place and had been since you'd started privately training her.

You stood slower than you should have, weighing it.

And then you spoke before you could stop yourself.

“I’d like to switch.”

The room went still.

A few heads snapped toward you—eyes widening just slightly before they quickly refocused on the floor. No one asked to switch.

The instructor arched a brow, stepping toward you until his boots stopped right before you. "Who do you want instead?” he asked finally, voice clipped.

It was a test. Everything here was a test.

You flicked your eyes past Natasha, settling on a girl two rows over—one who wouldn’t challenge you. One who wouldn’t look at you like Natasha did like she knew the parts of you you’d rather keep buried.

“That one,” you answered simply.

A pause. Too long.

But then the instructor nodded once. “Fine.”

He snapped his fingers at the girl and motioned for her to move. She did, her eyes wide, darting between you and the instructor.

He gave the command, and you started over, the girl beside you stammering as you mimicked the lines perfectly.

You could feel Natasha's eyes burning into the side of your head, but you didn’t turn.

*****

The hallways were always eerily quiet during transitions. No one said a word as they shuffled to whichever classroom they belonged to. The silence was suffocating and suffering, depending on how you viewed it. In a sea of girls, Natasha couldn't shake the irritation in her chest. You had ignored her entirely this whole day. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much.

She tried to tell herself it was just another part of the game they played here—getting inside each other’s heads, testing limits. But it still didn't sit right with her, that moment when you chose another girl. Not because it made her feel insignificant—she wasn’t the type for that—but because you decided to distance yourself. She could see you just a few feet ahead, an invisible space around you, as the other girls tried to keep their distance. Even when you didn't try, they acted like you were the odd one.

"Why’d you do it?" Natasha asked finally, her voice quiet but sharp enough to break the stillness between you two.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you kept walking, gaze fixed ahead as if you hadn’t heard her.

“Why?” she repeated, slowing her pace to match yours.

You glanced at her briefly, eyes flicking up to meet hers, but only for a second before they quickly dropped back to the floor. “Just didn’t feel like working with you,” you muttered, the words half-distracted as if you didn’t mean them.

It stung, though. And Natasha wasn’t sure if you were even aware of it.

“Did I do something?” she pressed, her voice softer now, but there was still an edge to it.

You stopped walking, turning to face her. You were quiet for a moment, staring down at her, before you stepped forward, closing the space between you.

"Why are you still talking to me, Romanoff?" You asked quietly, the words a little too cold, a little too distant. "You're the one who doesn't need my help anymore."

Natasha stared at you. She didn’t know how to respond. "I don't understand what you mean."

"You are so naive," You shook your head.

"Is this how you treat your friends?" Natasha tilted her head. "Is this what friends do?"

“Friends?” The word tasted foreign in your mouth. “What do you know about friends? We don’t get friends here. We get missions.” You bit the word off like it was a curse. “You’re just... another assignment. Another thing Dreykov wants us to do.”

Your voice was colder than you intended. It came out more venomous than you'd meant, but the anger had already crept in. Natasha’s eyes flickered with something—disappointment? Confusion?

But that was the thing you couldn’t allow. You couldn’t afford to care. Not about her. Not about anyone.

“I’m not some charity case, Romanoff,” you continued, stepping even closer to her and narrowing your eyes. “I don’t need you to ‘save’ me. And I don’t need you looking at me like you understand a damn thing about me.”

"I understand that you're afraid," Natasha began.

"Oh, no, we are not doing this here," You shook your head.

"Then come with me, and we can talk elsewhere," Natasha challenged.

You glared at her, not moving.

Natasha rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Fine."

She grabbed your wrist and started tugging you along with her.

"Let go!" You hissed.

"No, because if I do, you'll run away."

Natasha's grip tightened as she dragged you further down the corridor, the other girls parting to let you both through. You glared at them, and they quickly averted their gazes.

You should've pulled your hand free. You should've resisted. But somehow, you let her lead you anyway.

"This isn't necessary," you muttered, trying to pull your hand away, but she gripped tighter.

"It is, though," Natasha insisted.

"How?" You scoffed.

"Because if I didn't force you to listen, you wouldn't. Because if I didn't drag you away from here, people would have surrounded us."

Natasha pulled you into an empty room, glancing around quickly before shutting the door.

"We're alone now. Talk."

You swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes. "Talk about what?"

"About the fact that you're acting weird and ignoring me."

"You really are naive," You shook your head.

"Stop calling me that," Natasha growled.

"What's it like being so good at everything?"

Natasha's face twisted, confused. "What?"

"Being Dreykov's new eye candy," you continued. "Getting the attention you want. Making him smile."

Natasha blinked, trying to make sense of it. "Is that why you're acting like this?"

"Acting like what? You're not my friend, Romanoff. You're competition."

"So this is what you're like," Natasha scoffed. "You're jealous."

"No, I'm not." You denied. "I tried to warn you how he is. I've given you every single tip I could, and you keep running into him. What makes you so special?"

"He's taken an interest in me," Natasha explained. "I can't fight that."

"He doesn't care about you, Romanoff," You spat. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"What are you scared of?"

"You're the one who should be scared," You sighed, settling onto a desk. "He's planning to send you on a mission soon."

Natasha froze. Her mind immediately went to everything you'd warned her about before.

"What do you mean?"

"It's why he's having me spend so much time with you. Why he wants you so close," You explained.

"How do you know this?" Natasha asked. "Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"He wants it to be unexpected, I guess," You shrugged. "It's not uncommon."

Natasha looked up, meeting your eyes. "Have you done this before?"

"His missions," You nodded. "Of course I have."

Natasha swallowed, the words heavy in her stomach. "Is that what the other girls call me? His newest girl?"

"They call you a lot of things," You murmured, averting your gaze.

"Like what?" Natasha asked.

"Like you're lucky, or maybe stupid," You paused, chewing on your bottom lip. "They think that's why you're suddenly getting special treatment. They don't know like I know."

Natasha studied your face for a moment. "And what is it that you know?"

"I know how he gets," You folded your arms across your chest.

"You're always so vague," Natasha sighed. "Why can't you just tell me what this mission is about?"

"It's painful sometimes to talk about," You admitted quietly. "I don't have anyone to talk about it with. I'm not supposed to trust you."

Natasha’s brow furrowed at your last words, the soft confession slipping out before you could bite it back. "You're not supposed to trust me," she repeated slowly. "But you do?"

You stared at her, jaw tight, arms still crossed like armor. You weren’t sure if it was trust, but it wasn’t distrust. You weren’t supposed to let anyone close. But somehow, she kept inching past the walls anyway.

"I don't know," you muttered finally. "Maybe I’m just tired."

Natasha tilted her head, voice quieter now. "Tired of what?"

Of course, you didn’t answer. Instead, you shifted.

"You don’t want to know what his missions are like," you said, voice low and flat. "It’s not something you come back from the same."

Natasha swallowed hard, her hands shaking slightly at her sides. She knew what you were implying. She knew how bad it could get, but hearing you say it...

"You don't think I can handle it?"

"You think too highly of yourself," You shook your head.

Natasha flinched, hurt. She hadn't realized until then how badly she wanted you to believe in her.

"At the sparring session tomorrow, throw it," You spoke after a beat of silence.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, confused. "Throw what?"

"The match. He's watching," You shrugged. "You need to make him angry."

Natasha stared at you, uncomprehending. "I don't—"

"Make him mad, and he won't send you," You said, cutting her off. "Trust me."

"How will I know?" Natasha asked.

"You won't."

Her brows knitted together, frustration mounting. She wanted to shake you. To demand more than half-formed answers and vague warnings.

"You're not making any sense."

"That's the point," You sighed.

Natasha stared at you, her jaw clenching. "You're asking me to lose on purpose," she said like she needed to hear it aloud to believe it.

You didn’t flinch. Just gave a slight nod, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"But why?" she pressed. "Why does it matter if I win or lose?"

You hesitated. "Because if you win, you’ll prove something to him. That you’re ready."

"And if I lose?" she asked, voice sharp.

You shrugged again, but your posture was stiff now—too casual to be real. "Then maybe you’ll get to stay a little longer. Maybe he’ll decide you’re not worth the effort."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, mind racing. She couldn’t piece together why you cared so much—why you’d rather she humiliate herself in front of the others, risk punishment, to avoid catching Dreykov’s attention.

Her throat felt tight. "What about you?"

You blinked, caught off guard.

"If I throw it," she said carefully, "what happens to you?"

For a second, your expression cracked—just slightly. Something flickered there, something too fast to name.

"I can handle it," you murmured, voice almost flat.

Natasha shook her head, stepping closer. "Why are you doing this?"

You didn’t answer, eyes hard as stone now. Guard back up.

Natasha exhaled shakily. "You’re not telling me something."

"You don’t need to know everything," you said softly, but something bitter was under the words. "Just do what I told you." With that, you left her with her thoughts, knowing you were late for your next class.

*********

The mat smelled faintly of sweat and old rubber. The other girl, Irina, circled Natasha like she was sizing her for something bigger. Natasha was quick on her feet, sharper than usual. Every movement practiced was efficient. She was winning, and they both knew it.

But then—

"At the sparring session tomorrow, throw it."

Your voice crept in, steady, certain. It lodged somewhere in the back of her head.

Natasha feinted left and landed a sharp hit on Irina’s ribs. Irina stumbled but recovered fast. Natasha could end this. She should end this.

She didn't.

Instead, Natasha pulled back. Letting her strikes land softer. Slower. Testing.

Her eyes flicked up once—to the far end of the room. A shadow near the door. Watching. Not moving. Just there.

Her pulse kicked.

She pivoted wrong on purpose, leaving her side exposed. Irina didn't hesitate and landed a blow to Natasha’s shoulder, sending her down harder than necessary. Natasha grimaced, letting its weight pin her.

Someone nearby laughed under their breath.

The instructor clapped once. "Again."

She rose, brushing dirt from her palms.

"Make him mad, and he won’t send you."

Irina rushed her, and Natasha braced for the impact. All she saw next was black as the blow she received was hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

"Good," the instructor called. "But she can take more than that."

A sharp kick to the ribs. Pain radiated.

"Better," the instructor commented, tone bored.

Irina smirked, circling her again.

Natasha moved too slowly. She took another blow to the chest, and at that time, her knees buckled. Irina didn't stop.

"I give," Natasha rasped, but the other girl wasn't listening.

Her fists rained down. Once. Twice. Over and over.

"Irina," the instructor called.

But the blows kept coming.

"I give!" Natasha yelled, louder this time.

The instructor intervened.

Natasha curled in on herself, shielding her face, waiting for the next hit. It didn't come. There was a silence across the training room. Natasha didn't move. Didn't breathe.

"Up, Romanoff," the instructor said.

Natasha looked up, and her vision was blurry. The pain was a dull throb in her ribs. Her lungs. Her stomach.

She wondered if that was it. If she’s done enough.

She didn't look for you but knew you were in the crowd. Watching, too.

*******

The girls filed out of the room one by one. The quiet chatter left with them as they discussed the match they just watched. Natasha walked on unsteady feet, hiding the pain behind short breaths as she headed for the door.

She doesn't make it out of the room.

"Romanoff."

She froze. Dreykov didn't look up from the clipboard in his hands.

His voice was clipped. Barely interested.

"Is this what you consider effort?"

Silence stretched. Natasha kept her posture straight, breathing steadily.

"Sir, I-" She attempted to defend herself.

"You had one task. And you couldn't manage that."

Still not looking at her. Like she was barely worth his time.

"You’re not here to coast on yesterday’s results." A pause. "If that’s what you plan to do, I’ll find someone else." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I brought you for training with y/n because I thought you were ready.

Natasha swallowed, a sick feeling churning in her stomach.

"I had a special mission for you planned," He said. "Something that would move you up the ranks. I will send someone else."

"Yes sir," She answered, her voice small.

******

The steam clung to the air, dense and heavy, curling around you like smoke. The shower room was mostly empty—just you, toweling your hair dry, pretending not to notice when the door swung open behind you.

You glanced up at the mirror.

Natasha.

Her eyes locked on yours, sharp, unreadable.

You didn’t even get a word out before she was moving.

"The hell was that, huh?" Natasha hissed, voice low but dangerous. Her fingers curled tight around the front of your shirt, yanking you closer. "Why did you tell me to throw it?"

You stared back, heartbeat steady even as her grip bruised. You could see the cracks—frustration, confusion, maybe even fear splintering beneath that cold mask.

"Let go," you muttered.

She didn’t.

"Answer me first," she snapped. "You knew he'd be pissed. You set me up."

You exhaled through your nose, eyes flicking past her to make sure no one else was listening.

"I didn’t set you up," you said evenly. "I told you how to survive."

"How to survive?" She said angrily. "Surviving by not being able to move up a rank? Because of you, I failed this test. Because I trusted you. Because I thought we were friends. You keep telling me differently, and maybe I should listen. Maybe he was right."

"Right about what?" You furrowed your brows. You pushed her hands away.

"That you're jealous," Natasha answered, her voice hard.

"He said that?"

"You're holding me back because you think I'm better than you," She pressed like she had to say it out loud to believe it. "That’s why you wanted me to lose."

You stared at her, jaw tight, letting the silence stretch a beat too long. Letting her think she’d won whatever argument she thought this was.

Finally, you tilted your head, your voice quiet, calm, and almost bored.

"You believe that?"

"Yes," She nodded. "I do."

You let the words settle for a second.

"All of the other girls were right about you," Natasha shook her head. "You like being his favorite. You like doing his bidding and parading around here like you don't have to follow the rules."

"You think this is about me?" You scoffed. "This has nothing to do with me."

"Oh yeah?" Natasha challenged. "Then why are you always telling me to stay away from him?"

"I told you the truth," You defended. "This is stupid. You believe what you want. Just know if you put your hands on me again, you will regret it." You stepped into her space, taking advantage of the height difference and staring directly into her eyes.

"Fine," Natasha said. She didn't back away. She wasn't afraid of you. It was almost as if she was challenging you. The sound of the door swinging open pulled you apart. Natasha was the first to leave, limping past the girl interrupting you as the girl gave her a sympathetic look.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Natasha ignored her and kept walking.

You turned back to the mirror, eyes catching briefly on your reflection before you looked away. You hated how your face looked when it felt like this—too exposed and raw like the cracks were showing.

You took a breath. Tried to steady yourself.

It was stupid. You knew better. Friends weren’t a thing here. Not really. The girls didn’t like you; they never had. You learned early that it was easier and cleaner. People couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them close. Couldn’t take something from you if you never offered it.

And Natasha—she was supposed to be the same. Another girl trained to outlast you, outmatch you. Another person you were supposed to watch, measure, and be ready to step over when the time came.

Except she wasn’t. Not exactly. She didn’t hate you. She hadn’t tried to.

Maybe that’s what made you reckless. Letting yourself think for even a second that she was different. That maybe she could be something to you.

But wanting something like that was dangerous.

So maybe you shouldn’t try. Maybe it was better to shut it down now before it got worse.

You flexed your hands once, twice, before reaching for your towel like nothing had happened at all.

----> next part

[strvngeweather]

It's All Greek to Me; a one shot.

🕮 PAIRING: collegetutor!jimin x partygirl!reader 🕮 GENRE: College AU, smut 🕮 WORD COUNT: 4.8k 🕮 WARNINGS: Smut, Smut, Smut 🕮 SUMMARY: After failing your college classes, you need a tutor. But if tutor, why so damn hot? 🕮 AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was originally going to be a full-length fanfic, but I decided to make it a short one. I still may expand on it. Let me know what you guys think. Also, my bestie gave me the idea when she said, "Jimin look like he likes ass." LMAO.

Despite your hatred for hangovers, you always ended up with one.

Today was no exception. As the resident party girl at Loren University, there was no way you would ever miss a weekend rager, but as your alarm clock went off for the fifth time that morning, you began cursing at yourself. Maybe going to a party on a Sunday night wasn’t a good idea.

Scheduling a tutoring session at eight in the morning was an even worse idea.

You had many strong suits, but English wasn’t one of them. It was the one subject you had struggled with since you were in high school. Analyzing the words of dead white men from centuries ago was just about as much fun as watching paint dry. Numbers were much more your thing. They were easy and in the words of Cady Heron, ‘Math was the same in every language.’

But you needed to pass. It’s not as if you were here on your parents’ dime like the other kids. You were a scholarship kid and if your grades slipped, so did you. Out the doors and on your ass. So, when you got your last paper back with a big fat ‘D’ written on it, you knew it was time to take action. And that meant getting a tutor.

You just happened to forget that today, on this bright and early morning, with a pounding headache and dry mouth, you were supposed to be meeting him.

Again, you ask, who the fuck schedules a tutoring session at eight in the morning?

With a groan, you grab your phone, hoping to hit the ‘snooze’ button on your alarm one more time before you really had to get up but when your eyes read the time you realize that it’s damn near eight-thirty. How many times have you hit the snooze button? You wonder but realize you’re only wasting more time. Without a second thought, you hop out of bed and into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and running a comb through your curly hair. Your make-up is smudged, and you still have on the shimmering dress from last night but there’s nothing you can do about it now. You grab a hoodie off your desk chair and hightail it to the school’s library.

.

Inside study room 007, you find a very annoyed, albeit very handsome senior waiting at the table. Laid out in front of him are a stack of books, notebooks, and flash cards. Pens and pencils are lined up neatly in a row. He all but glares at you as enter. Before you can speak, he glances at his watch and then looks back at you. “You’re late.”

“I know,” you say, out of breath. “I got caught up …” you scramble, trying to think of a lie instead of admitting you had spent the night throwing ass to Megan thee Stallion and Cardi B but your folder of excuses in the very back of your brain shows up empty. That might be for the best, you realize as you look over your tutor.

“Partying?” He finishes the sentence for you. His eyes rake over you in judgment. “Maybe that’s why you’re failing English.”

Now wait a damn minute. You scoff, crossing your arms. Your brain is foggy, you desperately need a glass of water – and, not to mention, your skin feels beyond icky. The last thing you can do right now is come up with a proper comeback so the only thing you manage to utter is, “Or maybe English is just hard.”

“You speak it every day, how hard could it be?”

“Whatever,” you say, sitting down across from him.  “Can we just … start?”

Jimin checks his watch again. “We might as well. We’ve got thirty minutes left. Let’s make the most of it.”

“I thought I had you for an hour.”

“Yes, and you were late so that hour has turned into thirty minutes. I’ve got things to do, Ms. L/N. I can’t wait around for you all day,” he replies, picking up a black ballpoint pen. “Let’s get started.”

“I’d much prefer it if you called me, Y/N,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “And you’re Jimin, correct?”

He nods curtly. “Alright, Ms. L/N, your form said you have an upcoming paper that focuses on the themes from Nella Larsen’s Passing. What part of the story are you at?”

You roll your eyes but choose not to correct him about your name and instead just answer his question. “I’m not on any part.”

His eyes brighten. “You mean you’ve already finished? Well, great, let’s jump right into discussion –”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m not on any part because I haven’t started the book.”

Jimin looks at you as if you grew another head. “Your essay for the book is due next week. The book is less than two hundred pages. What do you mean you haven’t started yet?”

You shrug. “I figured since it’s such a short book I could probably finish it and write the essay in the same day.”

“And what day were you planning on doing that since our study session is right now?”

That day was last night but as you both knew you had gotten caught up with … other things. “I guess I figured we’d start the book together and I’d just get the essay done next week.”

Jimin sighs. “Ms. L/N, whatever you manage to vomit onto paper will not bring your grade up in the slightest if you follow your method. I guarantee that.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes – again. “That’s what you’re here for. You’re my tutor so tutor me in the right direction.” Jimin studies you for a moment and then he begins carefully putting his things away into his messenger bag.  “Wait. What are you doing?”

“Ms. L/N, you can reach out to me once you’ve read the book but until then, we have nothing to discuss. I only meet with students who are serious about their education,” he places his bag over his shoulder and nods toward you. “Have a good day.”

“Um, hello! You can’t just leave,” you say, getting out of your chair.

“I can and I am,” Jimin replies, and with that, he walks out of the study room. You begin to follow him but decide against it. What good would that do? He was rude and had judged you from the moment you walked in the door. You didn’t need a tutor like that.

You decided you were going to go to the campus café, buy a large coffee, and then go home to take a much-needed shower.

. . . .

“He was a jerk,” you tell your best friend, Winter, taking a long sip of your mango-pineapple smoothie. “He left right in the middle of our session.”

Every Tuesday was the same. A morning class and then a lunch date with your bestie, Winter, at your favorite smoothie place about twenty minutes away from campus.

She shakes her head but not at him. “Y/N, I love you, but you were late. You didn’t read the material, and you had the nerve to have an attitude. I would have walked out on you too.”

Harsh but it was the truth. You weren’t quite ready to admit that you were somewhat at fault too. “Okay, but I’m saying, he didn’t have to be rude about it though.”

“What’d he look like?”

“He would be fine as hell if he wasn’t so rude,” you answer honestly.

She shakes her head, amused. “What did you end up getting on your essay anyway?”

After the last encounter with Jimin, you decided you’d find another tutor, but in the meantime, you were going to stick with your tried and true. You did exactly what you had told Jimin you would do. You read most of the book in one evening and managed to type up a paper in the same night, confident that you had aced it. But when you looked online, checking your grade, you realized Jimin had been right. Regardless, you weren’t going back to him.

You sigh. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Winter replies. “Because if Jimin is right, then I think you should give him a call.”

“Jimin Parker?”

You and Winter look up to see Jennie Kim hovering above you. Her freshly dyed blonde hair cascaded in waves down her slender face. You may have been the resident party girl, but Jen was the resident party queen.

“Hey Jen,” you say, motioning for her to take a seat. “Yeah, Jimin Parker. You know him?”

She sits between you and Winter. “You mean that gorgeous senior? Ugh, I had him as a tutor last semester.”

“How’d he do?” Winter says, giving you a knowing look.

You lean forward. Jennie was known for many things but having good grades was not one of them. In fact, you wondered how she managed to make it this far without being kicked out. But, if Jimin could manage to get her grades up, then he truly was a miracle worker.

“Amazing,” Jen gushes. “I got an A on my last three papers. I wanted him again this semester but apparently, he’s all booked up.”

You groan as Winter gives you another look. You pull your cell phone out of your pocket and dial Jimin. “Hello?” You reply as he answers. “Hi, yeah, Jimin, it’s Y/N. I was wondering if we could set up a session …”

…

For his sake (and mostly yours) you schedule an afternoon session and this time, you show up prepared. When he arrives, he’s shocked to see you already in the study room.

“Good afternoon,” he says, rounding the table to sit across from you. You get a whiff of his cedarwood cologne. “I see you’re on time.”

“I’m early,” you correct him. “You’re on time.”

“That I am,” he says, taking a seat. You watch him closely as he carefully takes out various pens and pencils, notebooks, and flashcards. He really is handsome, you think, even if he is an ass. “I see we’re studying Oedipus Rex by Sophocles?”

You nod your head. “I read it. I don’t understand it.”

“What exactly don’t you understand?”

“Not a single word in that book. They might as well be speaking Greek.”

He sighs. “Well, it is a Greek book.”

“Clearly,” you reply. “So where do we start?”

“I guess at the beginning.”

. . . .

Things were going smoothly. You found yourself actually understanding the material and surprisingly, enjoying it. But you also found yourself getting lost in Jimin at times. The more time you spent with him, the more you developed a crush. Your mind would wander as your eyes looked over him. You wondered how soft his full lips were. You wondered what his eyes looked like in moments of passion. You wondered how good it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms.

Your eyes were on his arms when he called your name. “Huh?”

“I asked did you want to go over the scene between Antigone and Polynices again?”

You shake your head. “No, I think I understand. Antigone wants him to call off the war, but Polynices’ pride won’t let him.”

“Correct,” Jimin replies with a smile.

Fuck, you think. Jimin had a smile that would make anyone melt. “Jimin,” you begin and mentally kick yourself for what you’re about to ask but you’ve started so you might as well finish. You put on your best flirtatious smile. “What do I get if I ace my next paper?”

He seems to know what you’re hinting at. “You get an A and the satisfaction of knowing your hard work paid off.”

Well, if that wasn’t a blaring rejection, you don’t know what is. “Do you have a girlfriend?” You blurt it out before your brain can even process whether the question was appropriate or not.

He blinks, slightly taken aback. “Yes, yes, I do. Why?”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible even though you feel as if you’ve just gotten stung by a million honeybees. “No reason. You just seem so into your academics; I didn’t think you had time for that kind of stuff.”

“Well, a human being still needs a social life to thrive,” he replies coolly. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You nod. “Yes, and his name is Jose Cuervo.”

He laughs. “I’m sure you have a line of men knocking on your door.”

“Nobody I want though,” you say, mostly to yourself.

. . . .

If crushing on him wasn’t enough, now you were dreaming about him. A week of erotic dreams plagued you. They felt so real. You could smell his signature cologne as he pushed in and out of you, your legs on his shoulders and his arms wrapped around your thick thighs. Each dream ended the same though, just as he was about to finish, your alarm would wake you up and you would spend a good five minutes finishing yourself off before getting ready for the day.

Instead of a study room at the library, Jimin asked you to meet him at his apartment for the study session. He mentioned something about time constraints, appointments, and being unable to book a study room but your brain had been stuck on, “Wanna meet me at my apartment? We can have a quick recap sesh before I have to run out?” He could barely finish his question before you agreed to it.

So, sue you for being curious.

It’s not like anything will happen, you thought as you parked, he has a girlfriend.  You arrived twenty minutes early. Your excitement had gotten the best of you and you knew how much Jimin liked it when you were on time. When you knocked on the door, a man almost as handsome as Jimin answered.

“You must be Y/N?” he asked, sticking out his hand. “I’m Taehyung.”

You nodded, the thought of becoming a Wattpad heroine and having two incredibly attractive men fight over you danced around in your head. You shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Taehyung.”

As he let you in, he explained he had somewhere to be, but that Jimin was in his room and to head right in. You gave the door a light knock but didn’t receive an answer. The door was slightly ajar, giving you the smallest view of a very neat bedroom. You spotted Jimin at his desk, looking at something on his large computer monitor. It looked familiar. Your curiosity ate at you, forcing your hand to ever-so-gently open the door further. This time you could see what Jimin was looking at clearly.

It was you. It was your Instagram feed. He was scrolling through your pictures, pausing at every photo that was a bit risqué.

“Fuck, Y/N …”

That was your name. Leaving his lips. In a moan. Your heart fluttered with excitement. But wait, was he …

As you tilt your head to get a better view, you can see the tip of his elbow on the armrest, bobbing up and down. And up and down. And up and down.

Oh, he definitely was.

You slap a hand over your mouth and tiptoe back to the living room. A few minutes later, you hear a shower turn on and ten minutes after that, you see Jimin emerge in a navy blue V-neck and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“Hey,” Jimin looks at you with a face full of guilt. You can’t help but smile. “How long have you been waiting?”

“I just got here a few minutes ago,” you lie, looking up from your phone that you were pretending to be engrossed in. “I haven’t been waiting long.”

“Good, good,” he says. “Let’s go to the kitchen. The lighting is better in there.”

. . . .

After three weeks of hard work and several study sessions, you submit your paper with all the confidence of Scott Disick. Winter, the best friend that she is, decided that this was the best time to reward your good behavior with a couple of jello shots at your favorite bar. You gobble up the first two and then decide to sip on a blue Long Island iced tea. That’s when you spot him. Sitting in a corner, next to his roommate and another man with tattoos up and down his arms. Instead of his usual tweed blazer and grey slacks, his outfit looks more modern, more casual. A white graphic tee hugs his toned body, and you can’t help but eye his biceps. His cheeks are slightly red, his eyes are glossy and he’s laughing harder than you’ve ever seen him laugh. He looks delicious but you turn around and decide to order another shot from the bar.

You spot Winter getting her mack on with a fellow classmate, Karina, and it’s then you realize that you’re probably going to be alone for the rest of the night. Just as you begin to grab your wallet to pay your tab, a familiar figure approaches you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he’s wearing a smile you’ve never seen before, and it makes your insides flutter.

“I could say the same thing,” you reply. “I never thought I’d see Jimin Park in a bar.”

“I don’t spend all my time in the library,” Jimin says.

“Could have fooled me,” you tease, taking a sip of your drink. “What brings you out among people?”

He orders a whiskey sour before turning to you. “I, Y/N L/N, am finally a single man. My girlfriend of two years has decided that she no longer wants me.”

He’s smiling but you can see sadness behind his glossy eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. “Her loss.”

“Oh definitely,” he says with a slight slur. “You want to know the real reason she broke up with me?”

You shrug. “Lay it on me.”

He leans in close, so close his body is pressed up against yours. He angles his lips to your ear and whispers, “I was too much for her.”

“Oh …”

“Yeah,” his words spill out in a rush, his eyes darkening as they take you in. They pause at your mini-skirt before crawling up your body slowly. You suddenly feel exposed, as if he just completely undressed you, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t love it. His voice lowers to a sultry whisper, “You don’t seem like that though.”

“Seem like that?”

“Like I’d be too much for you.”

“In what way?” You ask, genuinely curious.

He leans toward you, his lips brushing past your ear, forcing every hair on the back of your neck to stand up. “Sexual. You look like a good girl who knows how to take a pounding.”

A million thoughts ran through your head as Jimin broke out into a sardonic laugh. You were called back to that time you caught him masturbating to your pictures. You began to wonder if the prim and proper Jimin was just a façade to hide the sexual deviant he really was. His eyes look over you in a way they never have, and you swore they were clouded with lust. He licks his full lips, and you want nothing more than to kiss them, but you don’t. Instead, you take a step back and laugh, motioning to his roommate. Jimin was drunk and even though it looked like he wanted to bend you over the bar and give it to you, you knew better than to take advantage of a drunk man.

….

A week later, when you enter the study room, the moment you and Jimin exchange glances, you feel awkward. He looks embarrassed as he gestures for you to sit down.

“We need to talk,” he says. “I want to apologize about the other night at the bar.”

“It’s okay, I barely even gave it a second thought,” you lie. You had thought about that moment ever since it happened.

“No, it was inappropriate, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“Jimin, you were drunk, it’s fine. Besides, it was nice to see a different side to you,” you reassured him with a smile.

“That’s not a side that I would like to be representative of who I am,” Jimin admits. “I don’t want to be known as the guy who makes people uncomfortable.”

You laugh. “Believe me, I was the farthest thing from uncomfortable.”

He locks eyes with you for a moment before clearing his throat and motioning toward your phone. “Have you checked your grades yet?”

You gasp, suddenly remembering the paper you had submitted a week earlier. You quickly bring up your most recent webpage, searching for the most recent grade listing. As your eyes glance over your paper and the notes, you realize that Jimin lived up to his reputation. You get up, shoving the phone in his face, squealing.

His eyes brighten, and he gets up as well. “You got an A!”

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Jimin, to your surprise, doesn’t push away. Instead, he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. You take the moment to breathe in his intoxicating scent. The both of you remain intertwined far longer than you both know is appropriate but for some reason, neither one of you makes the move to let go.

Finally, Jimin relents first. He stares you in the face and says quietly, “I knew you could do it.”

You let out a small laugh. “I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you, Jimin”

“As a reward, we can end the session ten minutes early today,” Jimin replies and sits back down.

You find yourself shaking your head. “Can I request a different reward?”

Jimin looks up at you and nods. You look around the small study space. The room you chose was in the back, the library was relatively empty today and the small window the room provided was on the door and could easily be covered up the shade provided. You mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to say next. Things could go downhill, fast, depending on his reaction. Still, you steady yourself, look Jimin in the eyes and say, “I want a kiss.”

“What?”

“A kiss,” you repeat confidently. “I want you to kiss me as a reward.”

“I can’t kiss you,” he replies back, taking study materials out of his messenger bag. “That would be highly ina –”

“Jimin, if you don’t want to kiss me, just say so but don’t use the tutor-student relationship as a reason.”

He sighs. “I …” You watch as he struggles to find the right words.

“You were right about me,” you say, giving him a flirtatious smirk. “At the bar. I can take a good pounding.”

His face turns a beet-red, but he quickly recovers. He stands, walking to stand in front of you. “Just one kiss?”

“One kiss,” you repeat.

He leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips, lingering for only a few seconds before breaking the kiss. “That good?”

You shake your head. “I hardly think that’s worth all the work I put in.”

He smiles, genuinely amused, and says, “Really?”

You nod. “Maybe if it was longer …”

Jimin sighs. “Y/N, if it’s longer, you know what that will lead to …”

“Then let it lead to that,” you challenge, you push. “I don’t know why you have to act so anal-retentive all the time. Not everything has to be perfect. Just k—”

He cuts you off with a deeper kiss. It’s slow and sensual. His hands wrap around your waist, one of them running down the curve of your ass as he palms it slowly, indulging in the fleshy softness. You can feel his dick hardening on your thigh as he slips a tongue into your mouth.

Jimin is using both hands to palm your ass now, his dick grinding into you and a low, deep, moan leaves his mouth forcing an electric sensation to shoot down your spine and vibrate in your core.

“You sure you want this?” he asks through a searing kiss.

“Yes,” you think you say but you’re not sure. Your head is spinning that this is actually happening.

He responds by lifting your pleated skirt and smacking your ass, the sound echoing throughout the room. Fingertips dance between your ass crack, and he uses a knee to part your legs slightly further. You break the kiss, throwing your head back as you feel Jimin’s fingertips slowly rub your pussy from the back. He slips a finger into your underwear, running it up and down your slit.

“How long have you wanted this?” He asks, nipping at your neck. “You’re already so fucking wet.” You try to answer but all that comes out is a moan as he slips another finger inside. “Shh,” he tells you. “You want the whole library to hear you?”

He gives you a bit of a reprieve when his hands slip away. You watch as he pulls out one of the chairs and sits, beckoning for you to stand in front of him. Your skirt is still at your waist, so he pulls your underwear down before pulling you close. You feel his large hands grope your ass again, peppering kisses up and down your hips. Another smack echoes through the room before he uses a hand to caress clit. You move your hips in response, holding on to the table for balance.

He pauses. “Turn around and bend over.” He doesn’t have to ask you twice. You obey, and not a second later, you feel him placing one of your legs up on the study table. “Arch that back, baby.” Your ass juts out just a little more as you follow his directions. A moment later you feel a cool, wet, sensation going up and down the slit of your core. It’s slow at first, as if he’s taking the time to let the taste of you marinate on his tongue but he quickly picks up his pace. The tip of his tongue flickering over your clit. Meanwhile, you can feel his thumb, massaging your anus.

Jimin was an ass man, and he was making that very clear.

Both hands were gripping your ass now as he guided your pussy over his tongue. You work your hips in tandem, stifling a loud moan as your world begins to go white.

But he wasn’t done with you yet.

He moves his tongue from your pussy up to your anus, and you jerk, having never quite felt something like this before. You can hear an amused laugh leave Jimin’s throat as he begins to massage your ass with his tongue. His fingers working your pussy, begging for another orgasm. You oblige, your wetness dripping all over his fingertips.

“Don’t move,” he demands. You can hear his belt unbuckling, followed by the tips of his dick moving up and down your incredibly wet slit. He slides it in with the patience of a saint, excruciatingly slow, forcing whimpers out of you, begging him to go faster. “You sure you want it faster?”

“Please,” you moan.

“Please, what?”

“Please, Jimin,” you manage to utter out.

He gives you your wish and begins to pound you like he said he would. His pace quickens and you can feel every inch of him inside of you. Your pussy wraps around him which causes him to smack your ass, and a deep moan leaves his lips.

You realize he can’t have all the fun though and you begin to throw it back on him, your ass bouncing against him, and he lets you. You can hear your wetness as you begin to drain his dick. You can hear his low grunts of satisfaction as you pick up your pace and when you look back, you can see his dark eyes looking at you in a way you never wanted to stop. “Good fucking girl,” he whispers in a low voice.

You make eye contact which forces him to grip your hips and pound into you harder, faster (stronger).  “One more time baby,” he says to you, maintaining eye contact. “Cum on this dick.” You had already been close, and his words only sent you over the edge further than you had ever gone. You close your eyes, your body shaking in pleasure as you have your third orgasm on his dick.

He follows suit, his cum shooting deep inside of you. You feel his body on top of yours as you both try to catch your breath.

“Was that worth all your hard work?’ He asks.

“I think I’ll have to get A’s for the rest of the year,” you reply.

“The rest of your life.”

[moonstrider9904]

All good things start with coffee

Chapter 1 of Le Coeur

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Next chapter

Chapter summary: On an otherwise typical day, the owners of the Coffeewick can't help but notice an enforcer standing guard outside their coffee shop.

Tags/warnings: Steb x Original Female Character, other OCs are in the fic as well. Canon divergence, flirting, pining, crushes, teasing. Just a cute intro chapter.

Word count: 4.4k

On the corner of Alpine Road and Reverie Lane, on the northwestern quadrant of the intersection, there was a lovely building called The Coffeewick. It had been named by its owner long before she had even laid eyes on it, long before she—and her trusted business partner—turned it into the staple it became. Before them, the building that would go on to become the Coffeewick was already a catch. With its front facing south, it overlooked Bonan Plaza, one of Piltover city’s most renowned parks filled with trees bursting with life, benches to sit and enjoy life, fountains, even monuments to some of the City of Progress’ brightest minds. Shops, boutiques, even some apartment complexes were in the area, and before it became filled with life, the Coffeewick didn’t really fit into any of these categories. It was a little building that stood there, right on the corner, that could amount to anything.

When looking at the Coffeewick between its neighboring buildings, it certainly looked small. It had merely two stories—two apartments in the top story, each with one bedroom, a small kitchen and restroom and just enough room to make it the coziest home one could conceive. The roof of the Coffeewick wasn’t regularly used for anything other than the greenhouse, a valuable asset to those who lived in the little building, and in the remaining space of the rooftop where chairs and a table, and a series of warm fairy lights above the makeshift outdoor living room for the nights in which the Coffeewick’s two residents would decide to spend some time up there. The rooftop rarely saw the presence of outsiders.

But the ground level of the Coffeewick was the crown jewel, the dream that had been given hours of work and planning and love until it became a reality. It was a cute little coffee shop run by a human woman and a Yordle, both avidly passionate about their place in the world. The walls were a light cream color, creating a fitting canvas for the decor placed around it, mainly revolving around delicate green foliage and the same warm fairy lights wherever they could be placed, from the dark oak furniture to the edges where the walls met the ceiling, even flower pots dangling from the roof. Shelves were placed along the back wall where both owners kept a collection of their favorite cups, and at times, they added seasonal plants and decorations there as well.

These shelves, of course, ended where the counter began, the same place that originated the magic—and science—of the brewery. The counter was of the same dark oak as the shelves, tables, and chairs, contrasting with the floor that was a wood of a slightly lighter tone, balancing out the roof and delightfully bringing out the green plants and the lights, as though to emphasize the life that the Coffeewick had, that was breathed into it. The outer face of the counter was simple, with an intuitive sequence where a visitor would arrive, order, pay, and receive their heart’s desire.

But at the back, the main attraction was the coffee machine, designed and perfected by the owner herself throughout years of study, capable of brewing coffee in different volumes, temperatures, and consistencies, roasting and grinding beans, and it also contained an attaché for frothing milk. The machine itself took up almost half of the space along the back wall of the counter, after which there was an assortment of utensils, a small oven, a rack of syrups, sugars, and spices, followed by pastry racks, and finally a refrigerator. The logo of the Coffeewick was painted on the empty wall space above all the equipment, and above it was a hand-written menu on a chalkboard containing all the different beverages that were available for purchase as well as any pastries that would be available for the day. The menu had doodles of flowers and stars in any empty spaces, just for the sake of a little more magic.

The owner and head barista of the Coffeewick smiled gently as she poured steamed milk into a mug to create a piece of art with the drink she’d just brewed. A graduate of the prestigious Piltover Academy, Nea had dedicated years of study into the arts and sciences of coffee. What had started as a simple beverage to cope with long periods of school work evolved into the little thing that made life most enjoyable, and Nea harnessed her knowledge and dedication into designs, money saved, even the construction of the coffee maker that made all the beverages in the Coffeewick. While it was her dream and her vision, Nea hadn’t solidified the Coffeewick entirely on her own.

Nea’s partner, Blu, was a Yordle shorter than most and with the feisty spirit that was signature for her species. The little Yordle was well over a hundred years old, and she had seen many things in her time in the Yordle homeland known as Bandle City, from magical dreamscapes to portal catastrophes. A century of being a knitter and a tidal wave of adventures that followed made Blu long for seeing more around Runeterra, and when she parted for Piltover, she had nearly nothing to her name, and no hopes of amounting to anything in the near future. That had changed when she met Nea.

On that fairly typical day, while Nea focused on brewing the drinks that the customers were ordering, Blu exited the back room of the Coffeewick holding a tray of fresh pastries. She placed it on the pastry rack at the back of the counter and glanced over at Nea on the other side.

“This batch of Poro Cookies is the last one of the day,” Blu called.

With her concentration unbroken, Nea nodded in understanding at Blu’s statement. Making the appropriate twisting motions with her wrist as she poured the milk, Nea finished the foamy drawing of a swan on the surface of the drink she’d created—a traditional flat white made with a slightly darker roast than usual, one of her favorites. She called the customer’s name and set it on the round wooden surface at the edge of the counter where customers picked up their orders. Letting out a little exhale of satisfaction, she tucked a strand of her short black wavy hair behind her ear and moved onto the next order.

On her side of the counter, Blu tapped the knee of the young man who was working the cash register. Like all the additional employees of the Coffeewick, he was a student at the Academy in his last semester who worked there to earn some money and experience pre-graduation, a need for many like him whom the Coffeewick also wanted to help. Once he graduated and got a better job, he’d move on and let another student take his place, and so on. He, like the other part-timers, enjoyed working at the Coffeewick—it wasn’t just the peaceful ambience and delightful smell of coffee that made it shine, but the feeling of having a safety net that it emulated in him and his fellow Academy students was rivaled by only a few other initiatives in Piltover.

“You’re free to go,” Blu told him. “I’ll take over until Lily shows up.”

He looked down at Blu and smiled as he bent over and pulled a stool for her to climb on. “Thanks, I just need to talk to Nea and then I’m off.”

“Yup, take care,” Blu said as she got on top of the stool and was finally able to reach the cash register to keep the line going. “May I take your order?”

The next person in line was a lady who looked like she was in her sixties. She was well-dressed in black and white clothes that looked expensive, and she crowned her head with a black hat that had a large, poofy burgundy feather adorning it. The lady was expecting a human to take her order—you know, the same one she’d just seen behind the cash register—but instead, she was met with a little Yordle. Yordles weren’t all that common in Piltover, even if recent years had brought more of them to the city, so it was still a surprise for a Piltovan citizen to come across one. And this one in particular, with her blue fur and round brown eyes, her short brown hair in a bob cut, her round ears that poked from beneath the hair and her round little snout, knitted beige sweater and brown knit cowl, this little Yordle was just so round and fuzzy that it looked like a child’s teddy!

“Yes, I’ll have a… uh…” The lady trailed off, her eyes sparkling as her demure smile expanded into a grin from ear to ear. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute!”

“Ma’am, this is a coffee shop,” Blu replied in a kindness-infused deadpan, as though her words were previously rehearsed. “If you wish to express appreciation for the staff’s cuteness, I suggest doing it in the form of a generous tip.” Blu gestured at the little jar next to the cash register machine and directed a bright smile at the lady.

“Of course, of course,” the lady said, pressing a hand to her cheek as the other one looked through her purse and pulled out a hefty coin, proceeding to add it to the jar. “Here you go, dear. Now, could I please have the toffee caramel cappuccino to go?”

“Yes, ma’am, and thank you for the tip,” Blu smiled and proceeded to charge the lady for her beverage. “Toffee caramel cappuccino to go!”

“Coming up,” Nea called from the other side of the counter as she was finishing up the next milk drink in the queue.

One more coffee was done and delivered, and it was time to go for the next. This next drink was a large dark brewed in the Moka method—that one always took longer to brew, so Nea set up the Moka to brew with the cup underneath it while working on the next one in parallel, a simple, straightforward latte. And as Nea divided her focus between the two drinks, she was able to see from the corner of her eyes that her cashier was approaching her timidly.

“Um… Miss Nea?” He said.

“What can I do for you, Donnie?” Nea responded, glancing over at him through her glasses before focusing on steaming milk again. “Your shift’s over, right?”

“Yes,” Donnie replied, feeling a tad less tense. “Listen, um… I was wondering, and I’m sorry for not asking sooner, but… finals are coming up, and I’ll need to buy a whole bunch of supplies for my projects. I need my paycheck early, maybe not even the whole check, just whatever’s appropriate for the days since my last one… could you maybe…?”

Keeping the cup of milk at a steady angle for it to continue steaming, Nea looked at Donnie again, her big brown eyes soft on him. “Oh, I remember finals seasons. The sooner you can get your supplies, the better. Stores run out quickly.”

“Yes, that’s what I fear,” Donnie sighed. “And now that I pay for all my food and I got the bright idea of adopting a dog—”

Nea let out a smooth, delicate laugh, stopping Donnie’s nervous rambling in its tracks.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t need to be afraid to ask me for things you need. The paychecks are in the backroom, just let me finish steaming this milk and I’ll go get it.”

Donnie directed a bright smile at Nea. “Thanks so much. You’re saving my life right now.”

“Not a problem,” Nea said, putting down the milk and quickly cleaning the steamer with a damp cloth and a second of blowing pure steam onto an empty cup. “Be right back.”

Having mastered the art of wandering around her coffee shop, Nea went to the back room for the paycheck and returned to see Donnie finishing up and delivering the drinks she left paused. She smiled at the sight—acts of kindness like that one would always live in her memory. She then walked up behind Donnie and handed him the envelope with his check, and the curve on her lips widened slightly.

“Thanks for covering those drinks,” Nea acknowledged. “Here’s your check, and if you need a raise, just let me know.”

“Thanks so much, Nea,” Donnie unconsciously gave a slight bow in her direction. “I don’t need the raise, I just really needed this to get all the stuff I need.”

“Alright, well, good luck with all your finals,” Nea smiled at him.

“Thanks!” Donnie cheerfully expressed his gratitude again, and he pranced his way out of the Coffeewick to leave Nea to continue her work.

Nea’s eyes lingered on Donnie as he made his way out, her mind temporarily wandering on a number of different things ranging from her own memories as an Academy student short on cash and the writing of a mental note to motivate Donnie—and the rest of the intern staff—more over the next few weeks. But just as Donnie’s figure was disappearing into the crowd of people outside, her gaze got caught in a blue uniform that shielded teal skin. It was a male enforcer whose profile faced Nea, and his posture was strictly straight, almost regal, with his fingers interlaced behind his back. The sight was fairly standard except for the obvious fact that this enforcer was a Vastaya, and the sound of Donnie walking out of the Coffeewick as well as his figure walking past the enforcer caused him to angle his body enough for him to fully face the Coffeewick’s entrance.

When he did, the enforcer's gaze traveled through the entrance of the Coffeewick and landed on Nea only for her to notice it was the most beautiful shade of aquamarine. With wide, brown eyes unable to hide their appeal at the most intricate details they were able to pick up on even in that second-long glance, from the gills above his jawline to the delicate fins that framed his eyes, and the way his angular features looked so incredibly soft, Nea stared back at him and felt her surroundings fade to white noise. Though as the door of the Coffeewick closed itself and cast a sheet of wood and glass between her and the enforcer, Nea noticed him turning around and regaining his post standing watch outside.

Even after Nea was no longer able to see that striking ocean gaze, she remained motionless as she replayed the image of it in her mind. Seconds passed her in her daze, forgetting the queue of orders and the smell of coffee that would, on any other day, be the thing to entrance her senses. Her stare stood focused on the blue uniform as if she could telepathically beckon him to turn around again, maybe inspire him to come inside and order a cup or two, but no such thing happened.

"Hey, head barista," Blu called from the cash register. "Get brewing!"

"Sorry!" Nea gave a hop, startled out of her daze, and she got back to brewing and filling orders as if nothing had distracted her in the first place.

Blu was just about to get off her stool with which she covered the cash register since Lily, another Coffeewick worker, had just arrived. As Blu was moving her stool over to the side, her gaze wandered over to Nea with an eyebrow raised, puzzled by her partner's sudden—and uncommon—lapsus.

"What was that about?" Blu asked Nea.

"Oh, nothing," Nea replied as she added whipped cream to the toffee caramel cappuccino she was finishing.

"Your cheeks are burning red," Blu deadpanned.

"Don't you have a tray of cookies to take out of the oven?" Nea glanced over at Blu.

"And now you're getting defensive, which means not even you understand whatever's got you in a pickle," Blu climbed onto a chair behind the counter. "You were looking outside, what happened?"

"Nothing," Nea said.

"A ghost from your past?" Blu teased. "An ex lover you left in the dead of the night?"

"No, and I've never done that," Nea answered as she delivered the beverage and headed toward the coffee machine to brew the next. In that time, Blu looked through the glass doors and windows over to the outside, and her Yordle eyes were able to catch irregular sights far quicker than others.

"Enforcers? Out here?" Blu wondered.

"Yeah," said Nea.

"Why?"

"I think I read in a newspaper somewhere that it's just a council initiative," Nea replied almost cautiously. "Just to keep people and businesses safe, etc, etc."

"So... if you're not a fugitive but you're nervous about an enforcer at our door-" Blu stopped herself and giggled. "Ooooh, I see. "

"No, you don't," Nea tried to dismiss.

"Poppycock," Blu laughed and stood on her paw toes, trying to get a look at the enforcer. "Woah, he's green!"

"Blu!" Nea scolded.

"Hey, come on, you just shouted the color of my fur," the Yordle teased and looked at the enforcer again with more attention. "What do you know? A Vastaya. Didn't know you were into that."

"Cut it out," Nea couldn't help but laugh, albeit nervously.

"Aww, you have a little crush," Blu smirked.

"Hey, I know that look in your eyes," Nea answered. "You may as well have little flames in them."

"Do you want me to go out there and tell him you like him?" Blu said with that same look of mischief in her teddy-like face.

"What I want is for you to get off my case," Nea frowned.

"No you don't, you love me," Blu crossed her arms and frowned back.

"Right now, I could think of a few other emotions I feel towards you," Nea smirked.

"You'd be lost without me," Blu challenged.

In response, Nea proceeded to do the mature, grown-up thing and stuck her tongue out at Blu. The Yordle instantly stuck her tongue out too in response and, after the two shared a laugh, Nea paused the drink she was brewing to help Blu off the chair.

"Fine, I'll go somewhere else and leave you to pine for your hot Vastaya enforcer man on your own," Blu laughed, looking back up at Nea over her shoulder. "Hey, here's an idea. You should totally make him a cup of coffee and take it to him, and be all girly and googly and all like 'thank you for your service' or something like that."

Nea straightened up, pausing in her tracks. "That's not a bad idea."

"What?" Blu's teasing became concern as she turned around and faced Nea fully. "Hey, I was kidding."

"No, you're right, that would be perfect!" Nea's face lit up with a smile. "Let me finish up these next couple of orders. Do you mind taking over the queue while I head out there?"

"You're serious," Blu stared blankly. "You're actually gonna do it."

"After these, it's just two lattes, one for here and one to go," Nea instructed. "It shouldn't take me any longer than that. What should I take him? Latte? Cappuccino? Flat white? Black coffee? Creamer on the side? Sugar?"

"Whatever Nea, just pick," Blu grunted as she pushed the chair over to the coffee machine, figuring she was gonna need the boost if she was to take over for Nea. Nea walked over to help with the chair and put Blu up on it again, earning her a frown from the Yordle. "I'd go with a Red Eye, maybe you'll scare him off for good."

"Oh, come on, don't be like that," Nea grinned. "It was your idea."

"If this is your way of teaching me to shut up next time, it's working," Blu deadpanned.

"You don't mean that," Nea smirked. "You love me."

"And now I'm eating my words from earlier," Blu said. "Yippee."

Despite Blu's protests, she obliged and brewed the next couple of drinks in the queue while Nea finished up her current orders. As for what beverage she would deliver to the enforcer, she leaned back on her experience and went for the most balanced recipe for a latte she knew, one with good coffee flavor and creamy milk that added just the right amount of sweetness—perfect for nearly anyone who favored either the sweet or the bitter side of the craft. Nea was careful in her movements, deliberate in each part of the process from the milk steaming to the pouring of the espresso, and even if she was placing it in a disposable cup with a lid, she still made a delicate flower latte art with the foam on top—a heart probably would have been too obvious, but no small part of Nea wanted to make it that way. The flower seemed like a good option for now.

With the beverage done, she reached for a packet of sugar, a wooden mixer, and a couple napkins, Nea walked out from behind the counter and made her way across the Coffeewick, heading for the door. She stepped outside, relished in the chilly fresh air, and walked forward with her gaze set on the enforcer.

She stopped. It only dawned on her then that she didn't know what she was going to say, but on top of that, she was about to make a total fool of herself for all she knew. She'd had so much fun brewing the coffee and thinking about the perfect outcome that now that she was out there, part of her wanted to run and hide. He hadn't turned around yet—if she was quick, she could abort the plan and get away with it, have that latte herself. It was sure to be a good cup of coffee, she'd made it, after all. Nea became lost in her thoughts of how she could use a good latte right about now to regain a grip on reality, and at that moment, the enforcer felt her presence behind him and calmly turned around.

His aquamarine gaze nearly ended Nea. Up close, she was able to see much more of the detail in his physique. The fins that framed his eyes were paired with markings of a slightly lighter shade of green, and the inner corners of his eyelids as well as the sides of the bridge of his nose adopted a shade that more closely resembled human flesh. The helmet that he wore concealed his eyebrows and any other details above, but even under it, Nea could observe the shape of his ears pointing upward. In the sunlight, the golden details of his enforcer uniform appeared to be glowing in contrast with the rich blue color of the fabric, and aside from being motionless, Nea was now also rendered speechless in the presence of such beauty. Even if she wanted to appear cool and collected, she knew right then that she would miserably fail at any attempts to do so.

As he looked at her, his gaze appeared to soften, and the detail that dealt the final blow for Nea and made her weak in the knees was the way the fins around his eyes flickered, like a wave from inside to out, as his eyes widened slightly in attention. When he blinked, Nea noticed he had a second eyelid acting as a membrane that closed on a horizontal plane underneath his main eyelids—ust another thing that added to Nea's inability to speak—and he remained quiet, expectant of whatever she was about to do, until his gaze finally traveled over to the cup of coffee she was holding.

He met her gaze again. "Can I help you, miss?"

God, Nea thought to herself. Even his voice was irresistible, it was almost unfair. It was deep and rich, and when he spoke, he had a thick, elegant accent that made her yearn to hear him endlessly. Thoughts and insecurities rushed through her mind, things like how could someone that gorgeous still be single, or how could someone as beautiful as him pay attention to her, but she was surprised at herself for being able to put those intrusive thoughts aside and instead lifted the cup of coffee, showing it to him. As for what she would say—and she had reached a point where she really should say something—Nea opted to use the very words Blu had suggested in her earlier mischief.

"Thank you for your service," Nea said softly and offered the coffee to him.

His gaze softened even more, and slowly, he reached for the cup, almost hesitating to take it from her. He met her eyes again, and the hint of a smile curved her lips.

"It's not necessary," he uttered, his voice much softer than it had been before.

"Oh, I know, I just..." Nea trailed off, unable to stop smiling at him. "I wanted to."

Finally, he gave her a fuller smile. "Thank you."

Nea's smile grew as well to the point where she nearly giggled. When he took the coffee, Nea used her free hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, averting her gaze from him before meeting his eyes again. Lost for words again, Nea gave a little nod and turned around, walking back towards the Coffeewick until she eventually disappeared into it.

Inside, Nea remained for a second at the doorstep smiling at herself, and then she went back behind the counter where she was needed. There, Blu was just finishing up a couple of orders, and as soon as she laid eyes on Nea, the spunky grin returned.

"Well?" Blu said. "Did you crash and burn and stumble with your words?"

"No, I..." Nea smiled. "I actually think that went really well."

"What's his name?" Blu asked.

"Not a clue," Nea replied, her smile still firm in place.

Blu, in turn, facepalmed. "You're hopeless. Alright, I'm done here. Take over your coffee bar."

"He is so pretty," Nea pouted with a hand over her chest. "He is seriously so pretty I kind of want to cry."

"And yet you don't know his name," Blu mentioned.

"Yeah..." Nea's smile faded a bit. "I messed that up."

"I'll let it slide," Blu smirked. "People make dumb mistakes when they're in loooove."

"Oh, be quiet, you," Nea chuckled.

Blu walked off in the direction making indiscreet kissing noises the whole way until she disappeared into the kitchen. In the meantime, Nea got back to work and noticed the way her hands were trembling, but she figured she would still be able to make coffee even with a shaky hand and rosy cheeks.

Thanks so much for reading! Please reblog to help me get out there!

Next chapter ->

[ginnyruin]

i'm sorry but the nurchie "art" is clearly AI generated??? can we please stop sharing and praising shit that some algorithm spat out without ever asking the original creators whose work it steals and regurgitates for their permission

- sincerely, a pissed-off artist

Hello,

I’m going to set the record straight, and I’d suggest you read carefully before making any more baseless accusations. Nurchie is an actual artist—a trained one, with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in digital art and two-dimensional studies (drawing and painting) from a prestigious university. She has 16 years of professional design/digital art experience, and a publicly documented portfolio going back well before AI art even existed.

go look at her earliest work on Deviantart and you'll see how precisely detailed she draws hands, fingers, and clothing. Everything, really.

If you had bothered to do any homework, you’d see that her work reflects thousands of hours of dedicated practice and the expertise of a seasoned digital artist.

Calling her work AI generated is BEYOND insulting. it’s lazy, dismissive, and downright disrespectful to a person who has spent years honing her craft.

She doesn’t ask for clout, she doesn’t do commissions, she doesn't have a patreon or Kofi. She only made a Twitter years ago because I asked her to share her talent with the world or she wouldn't even bother.

This tendency to label any polished work as “AI” just shows ignorance, plain and simple. Real artists deserve better than to have their skills lumped in with AI machine-generated content by people who can’t tell the difference.

Each of her digital paintings takes anywhere from 30-80+ hours. For Altered State specifically, she's been working on all these art pieces for months while I've been on a posting hiatus. Her incredible work keeps me inspired; I would have literally quit ages ago. We go back and forth on details from the writing in the fic and I see these changes she makes in real time.

She paints in her limited free time for these niche fandoms because she loves the stories and wants to support the writers in it. In a world where fandom is becoming increasingly commodified, she is a rare gem.

I didn't even want to bother Nurchie with this silly comment of yours, but she's such a good sport she just laughed at the idea that anyone could accuse her art of being AI generated. She uses a combo of adobe CC suite and clip studio to draw.

nurchie messaged me this, and I asked for her permission to share it: [I just think they are probably some struggling artist, upset that they feel replaced by soulless AI and are lashing out any time they think they see it. I'm sympathetic to their feelings, and understand the annoyance. I've been battling the improper usage of it in my workplace. AI is not AI but just a data collection tool, and I completely agree that the human eye could never be replaced by it.]

yeah, she's the most chill, sweetest person ever, too. So maybe think twice before throwing around accusations you clearly can’t back up. You're trying to hurt a real artist.

-sincerely,

A writer who knows a real artist

https://www.deviantart.com/nurchie/gallery

edit: also accusations like this drive away real fanartists. Why should they bother sharing their work if their talent and skill are being dismissed as some algorithm's output? it's toxic. fandom spaces will be flooded with AI-generated content in the future because all the true artists will have left.

[rheydhotts]

Drabbles #1 — Modern Au! Timebomb

modern au! timebomb, where jinx and ekko are first year college students.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx is a chemical engineering major and ekko is a political science and engineering major.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx and ekko are academic rivals who can't admit their feelings for each other.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx and ekko have study dates sessions every Saturday.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx falls asleep less than an hour in since she's quick to bore due to the fact she knows everything.

modern au! timebomb, where ekko can't help but admire how peaceful she looks while she rests.

modern au! timebomb, where ekko catches himself by mumbling about how lazy jinx is.

modern au! timebomb, where ekko begrudgingly gives her a blanket and moves her notes to make sure she doesn't drool on them.

modern au! timebomb, where ekko takes another photo of her to add to his album, not as blackmail but something to keep him motivated.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx also has photos of him sleeping in her camera roll that she does use as blackmail.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx and ekko sometimes paint murals on abandoned walls they find.

modern au! timebomb, where ekko sometimes lets jinx ride his skateboard.

modern au! timebomb, where ekko tries his hardest not to think too much about the fact he's holding her waist so she doesn't eat shit if she falls (and she will)

modern au! timebomb, where jinx puts herself in situations where she's touching ekko or ekko is touching her.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx and ekko often brag about getting the better grades or a higher test score even though they aren't studying the same thing. they just want the other to know that they're smarter in their respective topic than the other is in theirs.

modern au! timebomb, where ekko often criticizes jinx for how messy her dorm is.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx keeps it messy just to annoy him since she thinks it's cute.

modern au! timebomb, where jinx and ekko have been dancing around each other since high school.

modern au! timebomb, where it's finally spring break and ekko decides to make a move.

...

can you meet me at the park near the campus? i need to talk to you..

ekko nearly threw his phone out the window after sending that text. his hands were shaking and his nerves were shot at what he was about to do. he's liked her for years now but the thought of possibly changing their relationship terrified him. what if she said no? worse. what if she said yes? what would he do then?

ekko started to get ready, ignoring the cold sweats that would drip from his brow and how shallow his breaths are. he cursed himself for not owning anything more casual. most of his closet was occupied by turtlenecks, sweater vests and button ups. occasionally, there would be a hoodie or two. he decided to go with one of those. a green hoodie with a graphic of a huge tree plastered on the back. and for his pants? he didn't worry too much about those since he only had 2 valid options. jeans and sweats. he went with the jeans. they were acid wash with a few rips below the knees. jinx had made them for him. she originally just accidentally washed them with the whites one time after saying she'll do his laundry for him. she tried to make it look intentional but clearly it wasn't. ekko was pissed but he'll admit, they do look cool.

sure?

y?

watz goin on?

ekko rolled his eyes and smiled when he got her response. though he made fun of her for it, he secretly loved the way she typed. even if it meant spending a few minutes to decide it, the ridiculousness makes him laugh.

nothing. i just want to talk to you

...

um ok

weirdo

be there in 15

and with the finishing touches of his cedarwood cologne, he was out the door.

who has time to write full length fics? — xoxo, rheyd.

[mikashisus]

ANATOMY STUDY

SYNOPSIS: You had first met Xiao at a frat party. Now, you’re inseparable.

PAIRING: xiao x fem!reader

CONTAINS: non-sexual nudity/intimacy, modern setting, uni au

notes: my first no angst fic omg. xiao would be an art major, change my mind.

wc: 2.3k

you had first met xiao at a frat party, when at the time, you were too wasted to comprehend the conversation he started up with you, warning you about the spiked drinks. he preferred to stay by the food table instead of join the fun that was happening around him.

usually, you’d be in his position, but you had just gotten out of a toxic relationship, and you needed a distraction from the pain you were feeling. although he kept you company that night, you hadn’t remembered a thing about the conversation you two had.

the next time you saw xiao was in your two hour literature class the following monday. you hadn’t realized it before— only just realizing it now, but he was the mysterious emo boy that always sat next to you on your left.

surprised and a little happy to see the familiar face, you decided to strike up conversation with him. he was actually really pleasant to talk to, and it was a nice refresher from your other friends.

as you were on your way to the art building one afternoon to pick up one of your friends and go get lunch, you had stumbled upon a nearly empty workshop. curious as to what the art major had been painting on their canvas, you caught sight of teal hair.

you hadn’t expected xiao to be an art major, but it made you smile nonetheless. his surprised expression once his golden eyes landed on you was simply priceless. he wasn’t expecting to see you, a history major, inside the art building. when you had told him that you were here to pick up a friend, he nodded in understanding.

he silently hoped you’d one day ask him to get lunch with you too.

it was 10pm and you and xiao had gotten absolutely zero studying done. you had originally asked him if he’d like to study with you for your shared literature midterm, even going as far as to take the work to the campus library so that you’d be in a more quiet and productive setting.

however, all plans of studying had flown out the window once you two spotted someone you mutually hated. the corner of the library you were occupying was filled with hushed giggles and silent tears as you continued to quietly make fun of them.

you couldn’t remember when it had started, but only a few weeks after you and xiao had officially become friends, you two got lunch together after your last class on tuesdays and thursdays.

he’d walk to the history building (it only took him about three minutes because the art building was right next to it) and patiently wait outside the lecture hall you were in until your class ended. afterwards, when you walked out all miserable and rushing to turn on your headphones, you’d spot him and smile instantly.

he’d ask you to get lunch, and after four times of this routinely happening, he stopped asking. it had now become a routine, and as if that wasn’t enough, the workers at the ramen place nearby had already memorized your names and orders.

still being in your freshman year, the both of you didn’t have apartments yet. whenever you wanted to hang out, it was mostly in his dorm building’s lounge area.

sometimes, he’d ask you to hangout in that lounge while he worked on a project that was due in 24 hours. he’d put video essays on the tv and you’d bring snacks with you from the convenience store across the street to share with him.

as people outside the lounge came and went, you’d spot a few of xiao’s friends walking by. they’d stop inside the lounge for a bit and say hello to you or jokingly flirt with you. you’ve grown to think of them as your own friends too.

as an art major, xiao got stuck with long classes that he always complained about— most of them being six hours long. after those draining classes that he had on mondays and wednesdays specifically, he would always go get food.

after you learned of this, you had offered to meet up with him and keep him company while he got food. this soon became a tradition, and on your way back to the dorms, you’d carry his portfolio for him.

on days where xiao felt way too burnt out to get out of bed or do anything really, you’d show up at his dorm with either popcorn or ice cream, your laptop, and a fuzzy blanket as you offered up a movie night. he was never one to refuse that request, always letting you into his dorm.

sometimes his roommate, kazuha, would be there, working on homework at his desk or making tea for the two of them. he’d greet you with a charming smile and would proceed to leave the dorm to go hangout with his boyfriend, scaramouche, and give you and xiao some privacy.

you’d end up falling asleep cuddled into xiao’s side with your fuzzy blanket draped over the two of you.

whenever xiao was in need of supplies for one or more of his classes, he’d text you and ask if you’d like to accompany him on a late night trip to the arts and crafts store about ten minutes away from the campus.

not bothering to change your clothes, you’d both go in your pajamas. kazuha and scaramouche would join you, all of you piling into the minivan xiao’s stepdad had handed down to him. you’d connect your phone to the aux and start playing disney songs or hardcore rock, whichever fit the mood.

if scaramouche saw something he liked but didn’t have the money to buy it, he’d pocket it and walk out of the store without alerting the alarms. kazuha would scold him for it on the way back, with you chiming in that he should “go big or go home” next time.

kazuha didn’t appreciate you entertaining scaramouche’s stealing, but it inevitably encouraged scaramouche to get closer to you— something that xiao and kazuha didn’t see coming.

xiao fiddled with the edge of the canvas as he knocked a third time on your dorm door. he was getting a bit disappointed that you weren’t answering or that maybe you currently weren’t home. but once you opened the door, midway through a yawn and your hair all messy from the best nap of your life that you had just taken, xiao’s heart skipped a beat.

it took a moment for you to register that xiao was standing outside your door, and you all but nearly slammed the door in his face because you were embarrassed that he had seen you like this. however, he just laughed, finding the whole scene endearing. seeing you like this made his heart beat even faster.

after you both settled down, xiao cleared his throat and turned his canvas around so that you could see what was on it. once you realized what it was, you gasped loudly and tears began to brim at your eyes. it was a portrait of you.

xiao stuttered his way through a confession, too nervous and flustered to look at you. when he finally did, you gently grabbed his face and kissed him, getting the message across that you liked him back. you vowed that night that you would forever keep the memory of his flushed cheeks and nervous stuttering in your mind.

you scrolled through one of xiao’s spotify playlists as you quietly sang along to one of the songs playing over the aux. you, xiao, kazuha, and scaramouche— or “scara”, as you called him for short —were on your way to an east asian market late at night for some snacks.

you spent at least thirty minutes scouting out the ramen aisle with kazuha, your eyes flitting between three types of ramen before finally settling on the same kind kazuha decided on. the two of you circled around the store twice before you stumbled upon your boyfriends.

kazuha was trying to talk scara out of buying too much mochi, and questioning the man on why he was considering buying sweets in the first place— that’s when you learned that scara actually hated sweet foods.

as they bickered like an old married couple, xiao took ahold of your things and went to pay. you chastised him about spending money on you, but you knew that he was too stubborn to fully listen.

all four of you exited the store (after scara and kazuha paid for their things) and sprinted towards xiao’s car in the pouring rain.

you couldn’t stop shaking out of anxiousness as you stepped out of xiao’s car and walked with him up to the front door of his childhood home. the two of you had left this morning and only just now arrived in liyue at around 7pm. a long roadtrip, to say the least.

you were beyond nervous to meet his family, having only heard about them once when he asked you to come home with him this weekend to make christmas cookies. his family didn’t celebrate christmas, but they still made cookies simply because it was fun.

as soon as the door opened, warm air wafted out into the chilly night. the sounds of a dog barking caught your attention, as a large german shepherd came bounding towards the door. it greeted xiao briefly before jumping onto you. you stumbled back, laughing softly as you raised a hand to let it smell you before you placed a hand on its head.

xiao scolded the poor animal for jumping on you, though you didn’t mind at all. you loved animals. bending down to properly pet the dog— whose name you learned was tofu —you giggled as he licked your face.

your nerves spiked once again as xiao’s sister, hu tao, greeted you. she was dressed in black pajamas with red flowers dotted all over them, and wore a pair of ghost slippers. she was bubbly, a complete opposite of xiao, and all but dragged you into the house after you took off your shoes.

the scariest part of your night arrived soon after. xiao’s stepdad was in the kitchen, finishing up dinner and greeting xiao with a warm smile. he turned to you, and you suddenly stiffened. your fears were for nothing, as he gently took your hand in his and placed a small kiss on the back of it. that gesture and his soft words of kindness were enough to make you relax.

and it was only later when he struck up conversation with you when you were alone in the kitchen that the two of you began to bond. it turned out that the two of you had a shared love of all things history.

xiao could only smile fondly as he watched the two of you from the doorway.

it was finally winter break, and you were missing your friends and xiao more than anything. scara, who had oddly enough become your best friend— you really couldn’t remember how in the world that happened —called you everyday. you knew he was missing you, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and the calls you two had were making xiao a little jealous (though he’d never admit it).

sensing xiao’s jealousy through your texts, you immediately called him right before you went to bed. this became a habit every night over winter break, and he even called you on christmas to say merry christmas even though he and his family didn’t celebrate. it was a warm gesture that made you smile.

you often fell asleep to the sound of xiao’s voice on these calls, and just like scara, he would never admit that he missed you. that didn’t matter though, because his actions always spoke louder than his words, so you had already known that he was missing you dearly.

you missed him just as much.

xiao’s actions always spoke louder than his words. as soon as he saw you after winter break ended, he kissed you passionately and twirled you around excitedly.

he then did the unexpected— expressed how much he missed you and that he almost nearly booked a flight to your hometown just to see you. then, he told you he loved you.

you could only stare at him in shock, before you were kissing him again and returning his sentiments. the two of you then planned a date night and you slept in his dorm, all curled up into his chest and falling asleep to the sounds of your favorite youtuber on the tv.

today marked two years of your relationship with xiao. the two of you planned to go out tonight to celebrate, but first you both had to finish projects.

you finished a presentation for one of your required history classes, and xiao was currently deciding how to start his project. you sat on the sofa in your apartment, silently reading a book as xiao kept glancing over at you.

eventually, you shut your book and turned to him, asking if there was anything he needed. a bit flustered that you caught him staring, he nodded. it turned out that he wanted your help for his project.

he needed to do an anatomical study and wanted to study you. you let him, not nervous in the slightest because he had already seen you naked before. however, you didn’t realize that this study would involve paint.

he painted over your bare chest with a soft paintbrush. you gasped at the coldness of the paint, whining about how ice cold it was as xiao laughed. in the end, you both ended up on his workshop’s (the workshop room in his apartment) floor covered in various vibrant paints, and laughing your asses off.

notes: some of the things listed r actually things ive done with my friend who's an art major. ive sat in our dorm lounge with her watching video essays as she works on a project, gone with her to michael's late at night cause she needed art supplies for a class, ive gotten dinner with her after her six hr classes while her roommate carried her portfolio back to the dorms for her, and gone to hmart with her at like 8pm.

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[leesielex]

The Last Holiday

Summary: Dany Targaryen has just arrived at her dream resort to spend the Holiday Season. Once a shy woman who kept her head down and let others walk all over her, a recent event in her life has changed her perception. Now she is grabbing life by the jingle bells and living to the fullest. Not even Jon Snow, the arrogant and out of touch, wealthy, CEO of Starklannd Department stores, where she worked in retail, can ruin her holiday. Though he may not be able to say the same for her.

Preview: Podrick dodged the bustling people with expertise. All the guests around them were dressed in designer clothes, their outfits and accessories costing more than most people’s houses. When he reached the center, he noticed her lagging behind to take in her surroundings, and stopped to wait for her. As she reached his side, a familiar face walked past her smiling curiously.

“Senator,” Dany greeted.

“Miss,” he nodded back, genuine interest in his mismatched eyes.

“Well, I suppose I know why Senator Lannister was unable to attend the meeting,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head in disappointment. When she smirked up at the bellhop, she watched him scrutinize her from her Martellmart boots to her Starklannd parka, trying to figure out who she was and if she was important.

Raising a bushy brow at him, she waited, amused. This seemed to shake him out of it, gesturing for her to approach the reception desk to check-in.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” she said, giving her name and passport to the buxom woman smiling slyly behind the desk.

Her green eyes already focused on the screen as she typed her info into the computer. Dany leaned over and squinted to read her name tag. ‘Ros’.

“I’m sorry, Madam Targaryen, your room is not quite ready. We were not expecting you for two more hours.”

Dany smiled fondly. “Well, Ros, I wasn’t expecting to get here by helicopter either. Can you please see if another room is ready? My time is precious these days.”

“Of course.”

The keyboard continued clacking as Ros went back to her screen so Dany let her eyes wander. A giant tree decorated with ornaments and ribbon stood tall next to the grand staircase. It had to be twenty feet high, dwarfing her petite frame as she strained her neck to see the enormous star on top.

Poinsettias were arranged on each side of the desk, sitting on tables in a lounge area, and hanging from the walls. Golden statues of children of the forest watched from the top of columns. She studied the painting of the wolves above, the enchanting way they frolicked as a pack on one side and sat in awe and facing what she now noticed was a weirwood tree in the center, its crimson leaves and bleeding smile staring down at her.

She knew the north believed in the Old Gods and the weirwood trees were how they believed they could speak to their gods, and their gods could watch over them, and answer their prayers. Only a handful of trees still stood, though she hadn’t a clue where one may find one. The more she gazed upon the ethereal scene above her, the more she felt transported into it.

If she closed her eyes she could feel the cold wind upon her cheeks, the rough bark under her palm as she whispered her most secret desire. Would the old Gods answer them if her own wouldn’t?

“Doesn’t that ceiling ever just make you wanna cry?” Dany asked wistfully.

“I never noticed before.,” Ros mumbled as she typed into her computer, the keys clicking and clacking. “The only room available is the presidential suite. It is 4,600 dragons a night,” Ros told her hesitantly, her eyes darting to her plain clothes.

“I’ll take it.”

“Madam, it is quite a bit more expensive than your original room. Are you sure you don’t wish to wait. We have a seating area and lots to do in the area while you wait.”

“I would like the presidential suite, please, Ros.”

“Madam Targaryen. I know you will find our presidential suite most comfortable,” Podrick appeared out of thin air at her side, giving a pointed look at the woman behind the counter before smiling down at her and holding out his arms to escort her to her room.

Walking back to the elevators, she heard a voice say, “Mr. Snow, can you sign my book?”

Following Podricks line of sight, she saw a man in a grey suit with dark curls pulled into a knot at the back of his head. Even from where she stood, she could see his god-like body, muscles so strong they looked like they might tear through the expensive material that clung so perfectly it looked like it was made for him.

Well, it is Mr. Snow, it was made for him. Dany rolled her eyes. A red-headed woman stood next to him, her hair twisted into an elegant coiffe. He faced Dany as he turned to grab the book to sign.

“Jon Snow.”

Click to read on AO3

[lettersfromharley]

Big Bad John [Part 2] - Cowboy Like Me

1,415 words Summary: Cowboy!Schlatt x original character. Dollie and John get to know each other a bit more. A/N: Sat my ass down and managed to write this chapter in about three hours. 💪

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Divider: elleisdesigning

“You're a bandit like me

Eyes full of stars

Hustling for the good life

Never thought I'd meet you here

It could be love

We could be the way forward

And I know I'll pay for it”

“cowboy like me” by Taylor Swift

Dollie leads John upstairs and shows him her spare room. It’s not much - quite small, the wallpaper is tattered and coming off the wall in some places, the furniture is quite old, and the bed squeaks when you sit on it. But it’s a place to sleep.

“Well, here’s my spare room,” Dollie says.

John grunts in response. He walks into the room, looking around before sitting on the bed with a loud squeak.

“My room is just down the hall,” Dollie says. “If you need anything just holler.”

“You got any spare clothes?” John asks.

Dollie juts her head toward the wardrobe in the room. “Should be some clothes in there, but don’t count on it. I don’t get visitors a whole lot.”

John nods. “Alright, thank you,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” Dollie says before shutting the door and walking to her room.

Dollie lay awake that night, her mind restless as she thought about John. He wasn’t what she expected. Not at all. The stories painted him as some ruthless outlaw, a gunslinger with blood on his hands, but the man sitting in her saloon tonight had been quiet, almost careful. There was something in his eyes - something thoughtful, something tired.

Her father wouldn’t see that, though. He was the sheriff, and to him, an outlaw was an outlaw. If he found out she had given John a place to stay, there’d be hell to pay.

The next day, Dollie gets up bright and early to open the saloon. She makes a quick breakfast for herself and leaves some out for John when he wakes up. 

She goes downstairs into the saloon and does her normal opening tasks before her first customer walks in.

John finally joins her about midday. The folks in the saloon give him wary glances as he walks up to the bar.

“You heading out?” Dollie asks.

John sits down at the bar and looks up at her. “Think I’ll stick around for a few more days if that’s alright.”

“‘Course,” Dollie says. “My saloon is always open to ya, John.”

John smiles. “Good to hear,” he says. 

“Can I get ya anything to drink?” she asks.

“Just a whiskey.”

“You bet.”

Dollie pours him a drink and goes back to serving other customers. 

She’s not sure how much time has passed, but eventually the sun starts to set. Golden rays of light pour in through the saloon’s windows. 

Just as she’s about to start polishing glasses, a group of three men burst into her saloon. They all wear similar tattered clothes and each wear a cowboy hat. She doesn’t recognize them, but she gets plenty of folks she doesn’t recognize in her saloon all the time.

“How can I help you, boys?” Dollie asks.

“We heard Big Bad John’s in town,” one man says. “Heard he might be here. Just wanted to pay him a visit.”

By the way the man is looking at her and how he said John’s name, Dollie isn’t sure these guys are looking for a friendly chat. But before she can say anything, John gets up and approaches them.

“That would be me,” John says. “What can I do you for?”

“Well, you see,” says another man. “We caught wind of you passin’ through town. You killed our brother a couple years ago. We’ve come to get payback.”

John looks like he’s sizing the three men up. He’s studying them intently, planning his next move. She notices a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. 

Dollie doesn’t like it.

Silence settles in the saloon - thick, heavy. Some patrons back away, some leave entirely. Dollie herself isn’t sure what to do. 

One man shifts on his feet, his hand moving toward his holster.

John takes notice. “Now, I don’t want any trouble,” he says, putting his hands up. “If you boys are smart, you’ll walk away.”

“Is that so?” the man who spoke first - likely the leader - asks. “Funny. Last I heard, Big Bad John doesn’t walk away from no fight.”

Before John can respond, Dollie slams her hand down on the table with a loud thud. The men look at her. 

She shakes her finger at the leader. “That’s enough,” she says. “I don’t care what unfinished business y’all think you got, but it ain’t gettin’ settled under my roof.”

“This ain’t your fight, lady,” the leader sneers.

“It sure is when it’s happening in my saloon,” Dollie retorts. “Now, unless you boys are lookin’ for a drink, I suggest you run along.”

The man who had been reaching for his gun scoffs. “You think you can just send us packin’?” he asks.

“I don’t think,” Dollie says. “I know. This is my saloon. You start trouble, I promise you won’t like how it ends.”

The leader scoffs and juts his chin toward the door. “Let’s go,” he says. “But this ain’t over.”

“It is for now,” Dollie says.

The men make their way toward the door, glaring at Dollie as they do so. She watches them leave and listens as the sounds of their heavy boots get quieter and quieter. 

After a few moments, the saloon goes back to its normal hum of conversation. 

Dollie turns back to John who has returned to his seat at the bar. “You sure do know how to attract trouble,” she says.

John smirks, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Not my fault folks don’t know when to let things go.”

She rolls her eyes. “Next time, don’t bring it into my saloon.”

Later that night, Dollie and John stand on Dollie’s balcony, sharing a cigarette. The cool night air feels good on her face and she can just barely see John in the moonlight.

They sit quietly for awhile, just taking turns with the cigarette.

“So, Dollie,” John starts. “How’d you get to own the saloon?”

“Grandpa owned it before me,” she says. “I practically grew up in the saloon. Mom died when I was quite young and dad didn’t know what else to do with me while he was working, so he’d dump me here durin’ the day. Grandpa taught me how to tend the bar when I was about eleven. He taught me everything I know. After he passed, I inherited the saloon. Been runnin’ it by myself ever since.”

“Sorry about your grandfather,” John says.

“Don’t be,” Dollie says, taking a drag of the cigarette before handing it to John. “It happened a while ago.”

The two are quiet for a moment, taking in the night breeze.

“What does your dad do?” John asks, breaking the silence.

Dollie chuckles a bit. “He’s the sheriff, actually.”

She looks over at John - even in the dark, she can see his eyes go wide. 

“He doesn’t know you’re here,” Dollie says. “My dad and I… we ain’t on the best of terms. He don’t approve of me runnin’ the saloon. In fact, he wanted to sell it after grandpa died, but legally, it’s mine. Now, Dad’s set on marrying me off to some guy and convincing him to sell the saloon. But he ain’t found anyone to marry me yet.”

John nods, not adding anything.

“How’d you get into the cowboy life?” Dollie asks.

John exhales, watching the smoke swirl into the night air. “Didn’t have much of a choice. My old man worked cattle. Taught me how to ride and shoot. Figured out real quick that life ain’t always fair. You either get tough or get left behind.”

Dollie studies what she can see of him for a moment, seeing something deeper in his words. “That why you left? To find something better?”

John smiles softly. “Something like that.”

Dollie leans on the railing, very aware of the way John’s side presses against hers. “You ever think of leavin’ the cowboy life behind?” she asks.

John turns his head, his gaze meeting hers in the moonlight. “Some days,” he says.

Neither of them says anything for a moment. The air feels heavier, charged with something neither of them are quite ready to name. 

Without thinking, Dollie shifts closer. John hesitates for only a second and leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. The kiss is slow and tentative, almost like they’re feeling this out, trying to figure out what the other is thinking.

When they pull apart, John chuckles. “I didn’t see that comin’,” he says.

“Me neither,” Dollie says, smirking. But she definitely doesn’t regret it.

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