#tried to draw them more on model this time

[mariacallous]

On a blustery spring Thursday, just after midterms, I went out for noodles with Alex and Eugene, two undergraduates at New York University, to talk about how they use artificial intelligence in their schoolwork. When I first met Alex, last year, he was interested in a career in the arts, and he devoted a lot of his free time to photo shoots with his friends. But he had recently decided on a more practical path: he wanted to become a C.P.A. His Thursdays were busy, and he had forty-five minutes until a study session for an accounting class. He stowed his skateboard under a bench in the restaurant and shook his laptop out of his bag, connecting to the internet before we sat down.

Alex has wavy hair and speaks with the chill, singsong cadence of someone who has spent a lot of time in the Bay Area. He and Eugene scanned the menu, and Alex said that they should get clear broth, rather than spicy, “so we can both lock in our skin care.” Weeks earlier, when I’d messaged Alex, he had said that everyone he knew used ChatGPT in some fashion, but that he used it only for organizing his notes. In person, he admitted that this wasn’t remotely accurate. “Any type of writing in life, I use A.I.,” he said. He relied on Claude for research, DeepSeek for reasoning and explanation, and Gemini for image generation. ChatGPT served more general needs. “I need A.I. to text girls,” he joked, imagining an A.I.-enhanced version of Hinge. I asked if he had used A.I. when setting up our meeting. He laughed, and then replied, “Honestly, yeah. I’m not tryin’ to type all that. Could you tell?”

OpenAI released ChatGPT on November 30, 2022. Six days later, Sam Altman, the C.E.O., announced that it had reached a million users. Large language models like ChatGPT don’t “think” in the human sense—when you ask ChatGPT a question, it draws from the data sets it has been trained on and builds an answer based on predictable word patterns. Companies had experimented with A.I.-driven chatbots for years, but most sputtered upon release; Microsoft’s 2016 experiment with a bot named Tay was shut down after sixteen hours because it began spouting racist rhetoric and denying the Holocaust. But ChatGPT seemed different. It could hold a conversation and break complex ideas down into easy-to-follow steps. Within a month, Google’s management, fearful that A.I. would have an impact on its search-engine business, declared a “code red.”

Among educators, an even greater panic arose. It was too deep into the school term to implement a coherent policy for what seemed like a homework killer: in seconds, ChatGPT could collect and summarize research and draft a full essay. Many large campuses tried to regulate ChatGPT and its eventual competitors, mostly in vain. I asked Alex to show me an example of an A.I.-produced paper. Eugene wanted to see it, too. He used a different A.I. app to help with computations for his business classes, but he had never gotten the hang of using it for writing. “I got you,” Alex told him. (All the students I spoke with are identified by pseudonyms.)

He opened Claude on his laptop. I noticed a chat that mentioned abolition. “We had to read Robert Wedderburn for a class,” he explained, referring to the nineteenth-century Jamaican abolitionist. “But, obviously, I wasn’t tryin’ to read that.” He had prompted Claude for a summary, but it was too long for him to read in the ten minutes he had before class started. He told me, “I said, ‘Turn it into concise bullet points.’ ” He then transcribed Claude’s points in his notebook, since his professor ran a screen-free classroom.

Alex searched until he found a paper for an art-history class, about a museum exhibition. He had gone to the show, taken photographs of the images and the accompanying wall text, and then uploaded them to Claude, asking it to generate a paper according to the professor’s instructions. “I’m trying to do the least work possible, because this is a class I’m not hella fucking with,” he said. After skimming the essay, he felt that the A.I. hadn’t sufficiently addressed the professor’s questions, so he refined the prompt and told it to try again. In the end, Alex’s submission received the equivalent of an A-minus. He said that he had a basic grasp of the paper’s argument, but that if the professor had asked him for specifics he’d have been “so fucked.” I read the paper over Alex’s shoulder; it was a solid imitation of how an undergraduate might describe a set of images. If this had been 2007, I wouldn’t have made much of its generic tone, or of the precise, box-ticking quality of its critical observations.

Eugene, serious and somewhat solemn, had been listening with bemusement. “I would not cut and paste like he did, because I’m a lot more paranoid,” he said. He’s a couple of years younger than Alex and was in high school when ChatGPT was released. At the time, he experimented with A.I. for essays but noticed that it made easily noticed errors. “This passed the A.I. detector?” he asked Alex.

When ChatGPT launched, instructors adopted various measures to insure that students’ work was their own. These included requiring them to share time-stamped version histories of their Google documents, and designing written assignments that had to be completed in person, over multiple sessions. But most detective work occurs after submission. Services like GPTZero, Copyleaks, and Originality.ai analyze the structure and syntax of a piece of writing and assess the likelihood that it was produced by a machine. Alex said that his art-history professor was “hella old,” and therefore probably didn’t know about such programs. We fed the paper into a few different A.I.-detection websites. One said there was a twenty-eight-per-cent chance that the paper was A.I.-generated; another put the odds at sixty-one per cent. “That’s better than I expected,” Eugene said.

I asked if he thought what his friend had done was cheating, and Alex interrupted: “Of course. Are you fucking kidding me?”

As we looked at Alex’s laptop, I noticed that he had recently asked ChatGPT whether it was O.K. to go running in Nike Dunks. He had concluded that ChatGPT made for the best confidant. He consulted it as one might a therapist, asking for tips on dating and on how to stay motivated during dark times. His ChatGPT sidebar was an index of the highs and lows of being a young person. He admitted to me and Eugene that he’d used ChatGPT to draft his application to N.Y.U.—our lunch might never have happened had it not been for A.I. “I guess it’s really dishonest, but, fuck it, I’m here,” he said.

“It’s cheating, but I don’t think it’s, like, cheating,” Eugene said. He saw Alex’s art-history essay as a victimless crime. He was just fulfilling requirements, not training to become a literary scholar.

Alex had to rush off to his study session. I told Eugene that our conversation had made me wonder about my function as a professor. He asked if I taught English, and I nodded.

“Mm, O.K.,” he said, and laughed. “So you’re, like, majorly affected.”

I teach at a small liberal-arts college, and I often joke that a student is more likely to hand in a big paper a year late (as recently happened) than to take a dishonorable shortcut. My classes are small and intimate, driven by processes and pedagogical modes, like letting awkward silences linger, that are difficult to scale. As a result, I have always had a vague sense that my students are learning something, even when it is hard to quantify. In the past, if I was worried that a paper had been plagiarized, I would enter a few phrases from it into a search engine and call it due diligence. But I recently began noticing that some students’ writing seemed out of synch with how they expressed themselves in the classroom. One essay felt stitched together from two minds—half of it was polished and rote, the other intimate and unfiltered. Having never articulated a policy for A.I., I took the easy way out. The student had had enough shame to write half of the essay, and I focussed my feedback on improving that part.

It’s easy to get hung up on stories of academic dishonesty. Late last year, in a survey of college and university leaders, fifty-nine per cent reported an increase in cheating, a figure that feels conservative when you talk to students. A.I. has returned us to the question of what the point of higher education is. Until we’re eighteen, we go to school because we have to, studying the Second World War and reducing fractions while undergoing a process of socialization. We’re essentially learning how to follow rules. College, however, is a choice, and it has always involved the tacit agreement that students will fulfill a set of tasks, sometimes pertaining to subjects they find pointless or impractical, and then receive some kind of credential. But even for the most mercenary of students, the pursuit of a grade or a diploma has come with an ancillary benefit. You’re being taught how to do something difficult, and maybe, along the way, you come to appreciate the process of learning. But the arrival of A.I. means that you can now bypass the process, and the difficulty, altogether.

There are no reliable figures for how many American students use A.I., just stories about how everyone is doing it. A 2024 Pew Research Center survey of students between the ages of thirteen and seventeen suggests that a quarter of teens currently use ChatGPT for schoolwork, double the figure from 2023. OpenAI recently released a report claiming that one in three college students uses its products. There’s good reason to believe that these are low estimates. If you grew up Googling everything or using Grammarly to give your prose a professional gloss, it isn’t far-fetched to regard A.I. as just another productivity tool. “I see it as no different from Google,” Eugene said. “I use it for the same kind of purpose.”

Being a student is about testing boundaries and staying one step ahead of the rules. While administrators and educators have been debating new definitions for cheating and discussing the mechanics of surveillance, students have been embracing the possibilities of A.I. A few months after the release of ChatGPT, a Harvard undergraduate got approval to conduct an experiment in which it wrote papers that had been assigned in seven courses. The A.I. skated by with a 3.57 G.P.A., a little below the school’s average. Upstart companies introduced products that specialized in “humanizing” A.I.-generated writing, and TikTok influencers began coaching their audiences on how to avoid detection.

Unable to keep pace, academic administrations largely stopped trying to control students’ use of artificial intelligence and adopted an attitude of hopeful resignation, encouraging teachers to explore the practical, pedagogical applications of A.I. In certain fields, this wasn’t a huge stretch. Studies show that A.I. is particularly effective in helping non-native speakers acclimate to college-level writing in English. In some STEM classes, using generative A.I. as a tool is acceptable. Alex and Eugene told me that their accounting professor encouraged them to take advantage of free offers on new A.I. products available only to undergraduates, as companies competed for student loyalty throughout the spring. In May, OpenAI announced ChatGPT Edu, a product specifically marketed for educational use, after schools including Oxford University, Arizona State University, and the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business experimented with incorporating A.I. into their curricula. This month, the company detailed plans to integrate ChatGPT into every dimension of campus life, with students receiving “personalized” A.I. accounts to accompany them throughout their years in college.

But for English departments, and for college writing in general, the arrival of A.I. has been more vexed. Why bother teaching writing now? The future of the midterm essay may be a quaint worry compared with larger questions about the ramifications of artificial intelligence, such as its effect on the environment, or the automation of jobs. And yet has there ever been a time in human history when writing was so important to the average person? E-mails, texts, social-media posts, angry missives in comments sections, customer-service chats—let alone one’s actual work. The way we write shapes our thinking. We process the world through the composition of text dozens of times a day, in what the literary scholar Deborah Brandt calls our era of “mass writing.” It’s possible that the ability to write original and interesting sentences will become only more important in a future where everyone has access to the same A.I. assistants.

Corey Robin, a writer and a professor of political science at Brooklyn College, read the early stories about ChatGPT with skepticism. Then his daughter, a sophomore in high school at the time, used it to produce an essay that was about as good as those his undergraduates wrote after a semester of work. He decided to stop assigning take-home essays. For the first time in his thirty years of teaching, he administered in-class exams.

Robin told me he finds many of the steps that universities have taken to combat A.I. essays to be “hand-holding that’s not leading people anywhere.” He has become a believer in the passage-identification blue-book exam, in which students name and contextualize excerpts of what they’ve read for class. “Know the text and write about it intelligently,” he said. “That was a way of honoring their autonomy without being a cop.”

His daughter, who is now a senior, complains that her teachers rarely assign full books. And Robin has noticed that college students are more comfortable with excerpts than with entire articles, and prefer short stories to novels. “I don’t get the sense they have the kind of literary or cultural mastery that used to be the assumption upon which we assigned papers,” he said. One study, published last year, found that fifty-eight per cent of students at two Midwestern universities had so much trouble interpreting the opening paragraphs of “Bleak House,” by Charles Dickens, that “they would not be able to read the novel on their own.” And these were English majors.

The return to pen and paper has been a common response to A.I. among professors, with sales of blue books rising significantly at certain universities in the past two years. Siva Vaidhyanathan, a professor of media studies at the University of Virginia, grew dispirited after some students submitted what he suspected was A.I.-generated work for an assignment on how the school’s honor code should view A.I.-generated work. He, too, has decided to return to blue books, and is pondering the logistics of oral exams. “Maybe we go all the way back to 450 B.C.,” he told me.

But other professors have renewed their emphasis on getting students to see the value of process. Dan Melzer, the director of the first-year composition program at the University of California, Davis, recalled that “everyone was in a panic” when ChatGPT first hit. Melzer’s job is to think about how writing functions across the curriculum so that all students, from prospective scientists to future lawyers, get a chance to hone their prose. Consequently, he has an accommodating view of how norms around communication have changed, especially in the internet age. He was sympathetic to kids who viewed some of their assignments as dull and mechanical and turned to ChatGPT to expedite the process. He called the five-paragraph essay—the classic “hamburger” structure, consisting of an introduction, three supporting body paragraphs, and a conclusion—“outdated,” having descended from élitist traditions.

Melzer believes that some students loathe writing because of how it’s been taught, particularly in the past twenty-five years. The No Child Left Behind Act, from 2002, instituted standards-based reforms across all public schools, resulting in generations of students being taught to write according to rigid testing rubrics. As one teacher wrote in the Washington Post in 2013, students excelled when they mastered a form of “bad writing.” Melzer has designed workshops that treat writing as a deliberative, iterative process involving drafting, feedback (from peers and also from ChatGPT), and revision.

“If you assign a generic essay topic and don’t engage in any process, and you just collect it a month later, it’s almost like you’re creating an environment tailored to crime,” he said. “You’re encouraging crime in your community!”

I found Melzer’s pedagogical approach inspiring; I instantly felt bad for routinely breaking my class into small groups so that they could “workshop” their essays, as though the meaning of this verb were intuitively clear. But, as a student, I’d have found Melzer’s focus on process tedious—it requires a measure of faith that all the work will pay off in the end. Writing is hard, regardless of whether it’s a five-paragraph essay or a haiku, and it’s natural, especially when you’re a college student, to want to avoid hard work—this is why classes like Melzer’s are compulsory. “You can imagine that students really want to be there,” he joked.

College is all about opportunity costs. One way of viewing A.I. is as an intervention in how people choose to spend their time. In the early nineteen-sixties, college students spent an estimated twenty-four hours a week on schoolwork. Today, that figure is about fifteen, a sign, to critics of contemporary higher education, that young people are beneficiaries of grade inflation—in a survey conducted by the Harvard Crimson, nearly eighty per cent of the class of 2024 reported a G.P.A. of 3.7 or higher—and lack the diligence of their forebears. I don’t know how many hours I spent on schoolwork in the late nineties, when I was in college, but I recall feeling that there was never enough time. I suspect that, even if today’s students spend less time studying, they don’t feel significantly less stressed. It’s the nature of campus life that everyone assimilates into a culture of busyness, and a lot of that anxiety has been shifted to extracurricular or pre-professional pursuits. A dean at Harvard remarked that students feel compelled to find distinction outside the classroom because they are largely indistinguishable within it.

Eddie, a sociology major at Long Beach State, is older than most of his classmates. He graduated high school in 2010, and worked full time while attending a community college. “I’ve gone through a lot to be at school,” he told me. “I want to learn as much as I can.” ChatGPT, which his therapist recommended to him, was ubiquitous at Long Beach even before the California State University system, which Long Beach is a part of, announced a partnership with OpenAI, giving its four hundred and sixty thousand students access to ChatGPT Edu. “I was a little suspicious of how convenient it was,” Eddie said. “It seemed to know a lot, in a way that seemed so human.”

He told me that he used A.I. “as a brainstorm” but never for writing itself. “I limit myself, for sure.” Eddie works for Los Angeles County, and he was talking to me during a break. He admitted that, when he was pressed for time, he would sometimes use ChatGPT for quizzes. “I don’t know if I’m telling myself a lie,” he said. “I’ve given myself opportunities to do things ethically, but if I’m rushing to work I don’t feel bad about that,” particularly for courses outside his major.

I recognized Eddie’s conflict. I’ve used ChatGPT a handful of times, and on one occasion it accomplished a scheduling task so quickly that I began to understand the intoxication of hyper-efficiency. I’ve felt the need to stop myself from indulging in idle queries. Almost all the students I interviewed in the past few months described the same trajectory: from using A.I. to assist with organizing their thoughts to off-loading their thinking altogether. For some, it became something akin to social media, constantly open in the corner of the screen, a portal for distraction. This wasn’t like paying someone to write a paper for you—there was no social friction, no aura of illicit activity. Nor did it feel like sharing notes, or like passing off what you’d read in CliffsNotes or SparkNotes as your own analysis. There was no real time to reflect on questions of originality or honesty—the student basically became a project manager. And for students who use it the way Eddie did, as a kind of sounding board, there’s no clear threshold where the work ceases to be an original piece of thinking. In April, Anthropic, the company behind Claude, released a report drawn from a million anonymized student conversations with its chatbots. It suggested that more than half of user interactions could be classified as “collaborative,” involving a dialogue between student and A.I. (Presumably, the rest of the interactions were more extractive.)

May, a sophomore at Georgetown, was initially resistant to using ChatGPT. “I don’t know if it was an ethics thing,” she said. “I just thought I could do the assignment better, and it wasn’t worth the time being saved.” But she began using it to proofread her essays, and then to generate cover letters, and now she uses it for “pretty much all” her classes. “I don’t think it’s made me a worse writer,” she said. “It’s perhaps made me a less patient writer. I used to spend hours writing essays, nitpicking over my wording, really thinking about how to phrase things.” College had made her reflect on her experience at an extremely competitive high school, where she had received top grades but retained very little knowledge. As a result, she was the rare student who found college somewhat relaxed. ChatGPT helped her breeze through busywork and deepen her engagement with the courses she felt passionate about. “I was trying to think, Where’s all this time going?” she said. I had never envied a college student until she told me the answer: “I sleep more now.”

Harry Stecopoulos oversees the University of Iowa’s English department, which has more than eight hundred majors. On the first day of his introductory course, he asks students to write by hand a two-hundred-word analysis of the opening paragraph of Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man.” There are always a few grumbles, and students have occasionally walked out. “I like the exercise as a tone-setter, because it stresses their writing,” he told me.

The return of blue-book exams might disadvantage students who were encouraged to master typing at a young age. Once you’ve grown accustomed to the smooth rhythms of typing, reverting to a pen and paper can feel stifling. But neuroscientists have found that the “embodied experience” of writing by hand taps into parts of the brain that typing does not. Being able to write one way—even if it’s more efficient—doesn’t make the other way obsolete. There’s something lofty about Stecopoulos’s opening-day exercise. But there’s another reason for it: the handwritten paragraph also begins a paper trail, attesting to voice and style, that a teaching assistant can consult if a suspicious paper is submitted.

Kevin, a third-year student at Syracuse University, recalled that, on the first day of a class, the professor had asked everyone to compose some thoughts by hand. “That brought a smile to my face,” Kevin said. “The other kids are scratching their necks and sweating, and I’m, like, This is kind of nice.”

Kevin had worked as a teaching assistant for a mandatory course that first-year students take to acclimate to campus life. Writing assignments involved basic questions about students’ backgrounds, he told me, but they often used A.I. anyway. “I was very disturbed,” he said. He occasionally uses A.I. to help with translations for his advanced Arabic course, but he’s come to look down on those who rely heavily on it. “They almost forget that they have the ability to think,” he said. Like many former holdouts, Kevin felt that his judicious use of A.I. was more defensible than his peers’ use of it.

As ChatGPT begins to sound more human, will we reconsider what it means to sound like ourselves? Kevin and some of his friends pride themselves on having an ear attuned to A.I.-generated text. The hallmarks, he said, include a preponderance of em dashes and a voice that feels blandly objective. An acquaintance had run an essay that she had written herself through a detector, because she worried that she was starting to phrase things like ChatGPT did. He read her essay: “I realized, like, It does kind of sound like ChatGPT. It was freaking me out a little bit.”

A particularly disarming aspect of ChatGPT is that, if you point out a mistake, it communicates in the backpedalling tone of a contrite student. (“Apologies for the earlier confusion. . . .”) Its mistakes are often referred to as hallucinations, a description that seems to anthropomorphize A.I., conjuring a vision of a sleep-deprived assistant. Some professors told me that they had students fact-check ChatGPT’s work, as a way of discussing the importance of original research and of showing the machine’s fallibility. Hallucination rates have grown worse for most A.I.s, with no single reason for the increase. As a researcher told the Times, “We still don’t know how these models work exactly.”

But many students claim to be unbothered by A.I.’s mistakes. They appear nonchalant about the question of achievement, and even dissociated from their work, since it is only notionally theirs. Joseph, a Division I athlete at a Big Ten school, told me that he saw no issue with using ChatGPT for his classes, but he did make one exception: he wanted to experience his African-literature course “authentically,” because it involved his heritage. Alex, the N.Y.U. student, said that if one of his A.I. papers received a subpar grade his disappointment would be focussed on the fact that he’d spent twenty dollars on his subscription. August, a sophomore at Columbia studying computer science, told me about a class where she was required to compose a short lecture on a topic of her choosing. “It was a class where everyone was guaranteed an A, so I just put it in and I maybe edited like two words and submitted it,” she said. Her professor identified her essay as exemplary work, and she was asked to read from it to a class of two hundred students. “I was a little nervous,” she said. But then she realized, “If they don’t like it, it wasn’t me who wrote it, you know?”

Kevin, by contrast, desired a more general kind of moral distinction. I asked if he would be bothered to receive a lower grade on an essay than a classmate who’d used ChatGPT. “Part of me is able to compartmentalize and not be pissed about it,” he said. “I developed myself as a human. I can have a superiority complex about it. I learned more.” He smiled. But then he continued, “Part of me can also be, like, This is so unfair. I would have loved to hang out with my friends more. What did I gain? I made my life harder for all that time.”

In my conversations, just as college students invariably thought of ChatGPT as merely another tool, people older than forty focussed on its effects, drawing a comparison to G.P.S. and the erosion of our relationship to space. The London cabdrivers rigorously trained in “the knowledge” famously developed abnormally large posterior hippocampi, the part of the brain crucial for long-term memory and spatial awareness. And yet, in the end, most people would probably rather have swifter travel than sharper memories. What is worth preserving, and what do we feel comfortable off-loading in the name of efficiency?

What if we take seriously the idea that A.I. assistance can accelerate learning—that students today are arriving at their destinations faster? In 2023, researchers at Harvard introduced a self-paced A.I. tutor in a popular physics course. Students who used the A.I. tutor reported higher levels of engagement and motivation and did better on a test than those who were learning from a professor. May, the Georgetown student, told me that she often has ChatGPT produce extra practice questions when she’s studying for a test. Could A.I. be here not to destroy education but to revolutionize it? Barry Lam teaches in the philosophy department at the University of California, Riverside, and hosts a popular podcast, Hi-Phi Nation, which applies philosophical modes of inquiry to everyday topics. He began wondering what it would mean for A.I. to actually be a productivity tool. He spoke to me from the podcast studio he built in his shed. “Now students are able to generate in thirty seconds what used to take me a week,” he said. He compared education to carpentry, one of his many hobbies. Could you skip to using power tools without learning how to saw by hand? If students were learning things faster, then it stood to reason that Lam could assign them “something very hard.” He wanted to test this theory, so for final exams he gave his undergraduates a Ph.D.-level question involving denotative language and the German logician Gottlob Frege which was, frankly, beyond me.

“They fucking failed it miserably,” he said. He adjusted his grading curve accordingly.

Lam doesn’t find the use of A.I. morally indefensible. “It’s not plagiarism in the cut-and-paste sense,” he argued, because there’s technically no original version. Rather, he finds it a potential waste of everyone’s time. At the start of the semester, he has told students, “If you’re gonna just turn in a paper that’s ChatGPT-generated, then I will grade all your work by ChatGPT and we can all go to the beach.”

Nobody gets into teaching because he loves grading papers. I talked to one professor who rhapsodized about how much more his students were learning now that he’d replaced essays with short exams. I asked if he missed marking up essays. He laughed and said, “No comment.” An undergraduate at Northeastern University recently accused a professor of using A.I. to create course materials; she filed a formal complaint with the school, requesting a refund for some of her tuition. The dustup laid bare the tension between why many people go to college and why professors teach. Students are raised to understand achievement as something discrete and measurable, but when they arrive at college there are people like me, imploring them to wrestle with difficulty and abstraction. Worse yet, they are told that grades don’t matter as much as they did when they were trying to get into college—only, by this point, students are wired to find the most efficient path possible to good marks.

As the craft of writing is degraded by A.I., original writing has become a valuable resource for training language models. Earlier this year, a company called Catalyst Research Alliance advertised “academic speech data and student papers” from two research studies run in the late nineties and mid-two-thousands at the University of Michigan. The school asked the company to halt its work—the data was available for free to academics anyway—and a university spokesperson said that student data “was not and has never been for sale.” But the situation did lead many people to wonder whether institutions would begin viewing original student work as a potential revenue stream.

According to a recent study from the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, human intellect has declined since 2012. An assessment of tens of thousands of adults in nearly thirty countries showed an over-all decade-long drop in test scores for math and for reading comprehension. Andreas Schleicher, the director for education and skills at the O.E.C.D., hypothesized that the way we consume information today—often through short social-media posts—has something to do with the decline in literacy. (One of Europe’s top performers in the assessment was Estonia, which recently announced that it will bring A.I. to some high-school students in the next few years, sidelining written essays and rote homework exercises in favor of self-directed learning and oral exams.)

Lam, the philosophy professor, used to be a colleague of mine, and for a brief time we were also neighbors. I’d occasionally look out the window and see him building a fence, or gardening. He’s an avid amateur cook, guitarist, and carpenter, and he remains convinced that there is value to learning how to do things the annoying, old-fashioned, and—as he puts it—“artisanal” way. He told me that his wife, Shanna Andrawis, who has been a high-school teacher since 2008, frequently disagreed with his cavalier methods for dealing with large learning models. Andrawis argues that dishonesty has always been an issue. “We are trying to mass educate,” she said, meaning there’s less room to be precious about the pedagogical process. “I don’t have conversations with students about ‘artisanal’ writing. But I have conversations with them about our relationship. Respect me enough to give me your authentic voice, even if you don’t think it’s that great. It’s O.K. I want to meet you where you’re at.”

Ultimately, Andrawis was less fearful of ChatGPT than of the broader conditions of being young these days. Her students have grown increasingly introverted, staring at their phones with little desire to “practice getting over that awkwardness” that defines teen life, as she put it. A.I. might contribute to this deterioration, but it isn’t solely to blame. It’s “a little cherry on top of an already really bad ice-cream sundae,” she said.

When the school year began, my feelings about ChatGPT were somewhere between disappointment and disdain, focussed mainly on students. But, as the weeks went by, my sense of what should be done and who was at fault grew hazier. Eliminating core requirements, rethinking G.P.A., teaching A.I. skepticism—none of the potential fixes could turn back the preconditions of American youth. Professors can reconceive of the classroom, but there is only so much we control. I lacked faith that educational institutions would ever regard new technologies as anything but inevitable. Colleges and universities, many of which had tried to curb A.I. use just a few semesters ago, rushed to partner with companies like OpenAI and Anthropic, deeming a product that didn’t exist four years ago essential to the future of school.

Except for a year spent bumming around my home town, I’ve basically been on a campus for the past thirty years. Students these days view college as consumers, in ways that never would have occurred to me when I was their age. They’ve grown up at a time when society values high-speed takes, not the slow deliberation of critical thinking. Although I’ve empathized with my students’ various mini-dramas, I rarely project myself into their lives. I notice them noticing one another, and I let the mysteries of their lives go. Their pressures are so different from the ones I felt as a student. Although I envy their metabolisms, I would not wish for their sense of horizons.

Education, particularly in the humanities, rests on a belief that, alongside the practical things students might retain, some arcane idea mentioned in passing might take root in their mind, blossoming years in the future. A.I. allows any of us to feel like an expert, but it is risk, doubt, and failure that make us human. I often tell my students that this is the last time in their lives that someone will have to read something they write, so they might as well tell me what they actually think.

Despite all the current hysteria around students cheating, they aren’t the ones to blame. They did not lobby for the introduction of laptops when they were in elementary school, and it’s not their fault that they had to go to school on Zoom during the pandemic. They didn’t create the A.I. tools, nor were they at the forefront of hyping technological innovation. They were just early adopters, trying to outwit the system at a time when doing so has never been so easy. And they have no more control than the rest of us. Perhaps they sense this powerlessness even more acutely than I do. One moment, they are being told to learn to code; the next, it turns out employers are looking for the kind of “soft skills” one might learn as an English or a philosophy major. In February, a labor report from the Federal Reserve Bank of New York reported that computer-science majors had a higher unemployment rate than ethnic-studies majors did—the result, some believed, of A.I. automating entry-level coding jobs.

None of the students I spoke with seemed lazy or passive. Alex and Eugene, the N.Y.U. students, worked hard—but part of their effort went to editing out anything in their college experiences that felt extraneous. They were radically resourceful.

When classes were over and students were moving into their summer housing, I e-mailed with Alex, who was settling in in the East Village. He’d just finished his finals, and estimated that he’d spent between thirty minutes and an hour composing two papers for his humanities classes. Without the assistance of Claude, it might have taken him around eight or nine hours. “I didn’t retain anything,” he wrote. “I couldn’t tell you the thesis for either paper hahhahaha.” He received an A-minus and a B-plus. 

[cak3art]

Doing the X.x points first cuz I realized I didn’t properly clear that one up: the X.x was supposed to be examples/explanations to the X point above

So:

A / A.a) there being more gay fanart was the explanation to why people have more practice at drawing men (which can be traced back to the fetishization of gay men on men relationships, which trust me, I do not support at all.)

(A: favoritism towards male models for the fact they’re simpler to draw, compared to the complexity of breast and needing to figure out how a shirt would fall over them)

C/C.c) I feel C.c was completely disregarded because I tried explaining it different and you said it means nothing, therefore I don’t know how to reply to that

But regarding C I agree that misogyny is going on here, but it’s not the artists fault of how other media (tv shows etc) present the genders. But it makes sense that you base a character off of someone you had more time connecting to than one you didn’t. So if there would be more media, I’d say we’d have more representation (I don’t know if I’m bringing my point across cuz I’m really bad in explaining)

B) not to generalize the whole population of humanity, but 90% of my mutuals have men as oc/persona because they feel male presenting (that also includes me, so I might have a biased stance on that topic and am willing to back off on it because of that)

D) I meant it like, if we take 30 Oc, OP would detect them like: 10 are female and 20 are male, but actually 10 of these are NB

That would make it a 10 : 10 : 10 ratio and equal it out instead of the 10 : 20 ratio.

Obviously those are not the real numbers and it’s gonna variate a lot more, but that’s what I meant

Now an overall take:

Do I think misogyny (subconsciously or purposely) is going on? Sure, cuz the chances are pretty high, why wouldn’t there be some who are misogynists.

Do I think that’s the soul explanation for there being less female OC’s? Absolutely not.

Also for me personally OP’s post read like “you’re a bad person for not having a female OC and you don’t even know it”

(I know aren’t calling anyone a hater or anything, but it felt like they were pushing some subconscious misogy onto me and people I know for reason except the fact that art fight doesn’t have enough women OC’s)

This year I see a lot more discussion about lack of women ocs in the context of art fight, and I'm so baffled when people in the comment say "it's not that deep". Man, people ignore half of the population of the earth because of misogyny, is it not that deep or are you just dumb?

Not having women ocs dose not automatically make you Women Hater Villain TM, but this is in fact a widespread phenomenon that does show societal bias towards women and it's refusal to even engage with a though that maybe women are worthy to be talked about

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

oof, everything with izuku and shinsou in pez makes me so sad, is there any au where they’re friends? or do they ever get along better in the future?

I won’t say about the “getting along better in the future” bit because I’d rather that be revealed in the fic itself. I do have a fic where they’re best friends from nearly the very beginning of canon that I fondly refer to as my Fake Dating AU, despite the fact that there is no fake dating at all.

All Might and Inko are fake bitter divorcees.

I love this fic so much, it’s my favorite bnha fic next to pez, and it’s been sitting in my mind for years now. If I ever publish another bnha fic, it’ll probably be this one. More info below the cut for anyone who wants to avoid spoilers to a fic I may never write.

Fundamentally the issue is this:

A child

EXPLODES

At the UA Entrance Exam.

This is only like 20% Izuku’s fault, or, depending on how you look at it, 100% Izuku’s fault.

Unluckily for everyone, Monoma stole Izuku’s Quirk first out of everyone. He. Explodes. (Yes, I know that he just draws a blank when he steals OfA I came up with this before that became canon just ignore that ignore it).

Anyway it’s just his arm but this is still wildly traumatizing for everyone. While Aizawa is fucking booking it across campus and lawyers are getting contacted and ambulances are called and all exams are getting halted, three people respond:

Midoriya Izuku, wondering if he is legally to blame for this kid’s arm exploding

Shinsou Hitoshi, no idea what the fuck is going on, just there to force the kid with no arm to calm down and breathe so he doesn’t bleed out faster

Iida Tenya, confused, blood splattered, sprinting across campus to kidnap someone named Setsuna Tokage on Izuku’s frantic order

Monoma gets better, because Izuku had met Setsuna earlier in the day and correctly realized that Monoma may regrow his own arm if he copied Setsuna’s Quirk. But the entire exam gets canceled for everyone, and the three kids who were directly involved in the emergency response get held for their parents. Legally, they need to bring them back for interviews about what happened, and they need to get parents involved at that point.

Izuku has a problem, and it is this:

Everyone knows it’s his Quirk that made that boy explode.

But he didn’t have a Quirk this morning.

His mom knows this.

He frantically texts all might begging him to pick him up instead. The school won’t release him unless an adult comes to get him and he’s got no other options save his mom. He didn’t know how to tell the he got a quirk but he knows that making a boy EXPLODE is not the way to do it.

But it’s fine. All Might is coming. He will be here, and it will be fine then. This is so, so fine.

Izuku: “Mr. Aizawa, you don’t have to call my mom. I texted my—” Adult man who I meet 4-7 times a week in an isolated location without parental knowledge or supervision. But don’t worry, it’s just because he told me not to tell anyone. Haha, you don’t want to call the police on this man. “—dad.”

Aizawa, does not want to be here: we already called your mom kid.

Izuku: oh god

Aizawa: she was down as your emergency contact. But if your dad is coming instead, I’m sure that he’ll let her know

Izuku: that… sure does sound like the kind of information people that share a child would share

Aizawa, so fucking tired: okay

Now Izuku has a new problem:

His dad is coming.

He doesn’t have a dad.

His mom knows this.

He tries to frantically call off all might. All might does not respond. He is a model citizen and does not text while driving. Izuku is fucked.

Iida is picked up. Izuku waits. His mom arrives. There are tears. He tries to power walk her out of the building before anyone says the words “your sons quirk blew up a boy” out loud and in that order

Yagi Toshinori frantically enters the room, takes one look at him, looks at no other fucking people, and says “my boy are you alright”

Izuku: fuck.exe

This all makes more sense to Aizawa now. A haunting amount of sense. He needs to go day drink.

Aizawa, in haunting realization: so this is your son

All Might, did not plan this far ahead: … yes

Midoriya Inko, knows she did not have a child with this man: I’m sorry—

Izuku, panicked: HI DAD

What follows is a lot of eyebrow raising and hissed, cut off whispers and begging his mom under his breath to be fucking cool about this please please please. As a result, she does not immediately out the fact that she has no idea who the fuck this man is and she wants him arrested for something, she will figure out what.

The other result is that the vibes are so immediately and violently toxic that Aizawa and fucking Shinsou, who is also here, immediately comes to the conclusion that Izuku’s parents are bitter divorcees who have given up trying to keep it together for the kid and are just at each other’s fucking throats.

Aizawa, wants to know less about All Might’s personal life: … anyway your son’s Quirk was copied during the entrance exam and the arm of the child who did it. Exploded. You’ll need to bring your son in within the week to answer some questions for our records

Inko, shocked: my son doesn’t have a quirk

Izuku: fuck.exe

Aizawa, staring at fucking All Might, mildly: no it was definitely your son’s quirk

Yagi, never sweated harder in his fucking life: well… honey, uh, you know that on my side of the family there’s a history of late bloomers

Inko, saccharine: did I know that, sweetie? Because that sure sounds like something a mother should know about her child, but I’m not sure that I knew that. In fact, it may be that everyone just expected me to know that when I walked into this room without telling me

Aizawa:

Shinsou: :o

Aizawa: to be clear only one parent is needed for the follow up interview

Inko: he is Quirkless. He was always going to apply Quirkless.

Yagi: right right but, well, it seems that he has a Quirk now, so perhaps it’s best if he uses that

Inko: ONE THAT EXPLODES ARMS???

Yagi: I am certain it does other things too

Aizawa, staring directly at the ceiling: I’m sorry, I can’t let you leave here today if you may explode. When was the first time you used your Quirk and were you able to use it safely

Izuku, coughing slightly: technically I’ve never. Used. My quirk

Shinsou: :o :o :o

Izuku: so really it’s been a day of surprises for us all

Aizawa:

Izuku: but hey I got my Quirk guys. yayyyyyy.

Matters escalate. Inko unlocks her theatre kid background and accuses All Might of violating the custody agreement that they do not have. The words “I’ll kill you in this room” are said aloud and where other people can hear them. Izuku has to restrain his own mother.

Izuku asks if they could please have a family meeting. Aizawa says that they definitely should.

Izuku convinces his mother to not murder Yagi long enough to get them all into an empty bathroom, where she immediately starts beating all might, his lifelong hero and personal mentor, with her purse.

He transforms into All Might so she won’t try to kill him on the spot.

THE RESULTS:

Izuku’s mom is so fucking angry

She is so fucking angry

But she also knows that if shit gets revealed “I have all might’s quirk because I am his secret son” is 1000% better than “I have all might’s quirk because it’s transferrable and you can have it too if you torture it out of me.”

Inko will happily fake being bitter divorcees with all might if it means adding an extra layer of protection for her son. They’re doing this.

THE OTHER RESULTS:

Shinsou Hitoshi just sort of wanted to go to the bathroom and opened the door to find his fellow test taker with his mom and the world’s most famous man who was obviously the same guy as the dad from before, like they’re wearing identical clothes and everything, and after a moment of haunting silence says “I’ll use the other one” and just. Leaves.

Izuku: fuckfuckfuck.exe

Shinsous not a dick okay. He’s not going to leak the fact that the world’s most famous man apparently has a tinier, more unobtrusive form and he’s been using it to quietly white knuckle his way through the worlds most rancid divorce, fucking apparently. All Might’s saved like, a stupid number of people and possibly the world. He does not want to be this involved in All Might’s life and is hoping that he can confidently power walk his way out of this social interaction.

He cannot.

He has to suffer it. Nope, he’s not gonna tell anyone. Yes, really. If forgetting was an option, he’d have already done it. He promises. It’s all good. He’ll keep quiet.

He then has to have the same conversation with Aizawa.

Before they part, Izuku tells Shinsou that his Quirk is amazing and, a bit impulsively, asks him if he wants to train with him for the rescheduled exams. And Shinsou wonders if this is a trap and deflects with, “Oh you probably have a lot of people you can train with don’t let me hold you up.”

And no. No, Izuku really, really doesn’t.

And Shinsou remembers that while he knows this guy as All Might’s son, no one else does, and he was also thought to be Quirkless until an hour ago and obviously has a lot going on in his home life. So, a bit impulsively, he exchanges numbers with Izuku.

Which is how my AU where Izuku and Shinsou end up best friends before UA gets set up. It’s way too long to discuss in any detail, but some highlights:

The pre-UA friendship is actually Izuku, Shinsou, and Iida. Iida feels embarrassed because he was canonically coming down kind of hard on Izuku during the exam and then when boys exploded Izuku was in full control of the situation and acted the way a hero should and so did the other boy and next to them Iida must have seemed simply abominable and anyway Tensei cannot fucking take it anymore he simply cannot so he hunts Aizawa like an animal to a coffee shop so he can try and squeeze Aizawa for information about whoever the fuck the other boys are so Iida can just apologize or whatever the fuck honor demands and it’s just

Aizawa: no

Tensei: you don’t even know what I was going to say

Aizawa: the answer is no whatever it is

Tensei: you havent even heard my bribe yet

Aizawa: what is your bribe

Tensei: *sliding a coffee cup his way*

Aizawa: your bribe is coffee

Aizawa: in a coffee shop

Tensei: wait

Aizawa: so it’s essentially a market value of 400 yen is that it

Tensei: wait. Okay. This is a secret, off menu coffee with so much caffeine that you have to sign a waiver. They call it the nine engine locomotive. And it can be yours if you help me out here

Aizawa:

Aizawa: *walks over to the cashier*

Tensei: fuck wait wait

Aizawa: can I have the nine engine locomotive

Cashier: do you have a death wish

Aizawa: I have two jobs and one is teaching

Cashier: sir for you we can make it ten engines

Aizawa does admit that, to his deepest misfortune, he knows one of the parents of the kids in question. He can’t hand out their information but he can pass along the message. Izuku and Shinsou end up meeting with Iida for coffee and the three of them become friends and agree to train together for whenever they reschedule the exams for

This turns out to be a moot point because, as a result of this mess, the UA board of directors has to be informed that the student involved is all mights secret son and they lose their minds. He is All Might’s secret son who has a Quirk so powerful that it explodes lesser boys. They absolutely must have him at UA they’re sure he’ll figure out how not to explode. Nedzu, Nedzu, admit him now before he accepts from another school. Nedzu.

Nedzu has 97 screened calls and a headache.

The thing is that this has caused a bit of havoc. UA is usually the first school to hold their entrance exams. They usually get the pick of the litter. But now they have to laboriously replan and reschedule the entire practical exam for every single heroics applicant, which is causing conflicts with other courses’ exams, and they need to make sure that the new exam minimizes the risk of boys exploding for legal reasons. So they’re scrambling already without the Board suddenly deciding to just let in people for being all might’s son, which they can’t do. They’re even making Endeavor’s son sit the fucking exam. Do you want the number two hero to burn the foyer down. Do you. Because he will.

But the Board is insistent. Shiketsu will steal All Might’s secret son who explodes lesser boys out from under them. Admit him.

They end up fudging it as an early admission deal based on an extreme display of heroism. He saved an actual life are you saying that’s not enough to pass the exam?? Monoma is alive and has an arm thanks to Izuku’s quick thinking, which is saving UA from an incredibly costly lawsuit. He gets full rescue points. Boom. Call him right now tell him he’s in do it before shiketsu finds out all might has a secret son that explodes lesser boys.

And nedzu’s like. Okay. But if you want that reasoning to clear, it needs to be applied to all the boys involved.

And the Board is like, wasn’t the other one an Iida boy? Great family, great Quirk, great potential. Let him in.

And Nedzu says, And Shinsou Hitoshi.

Someone with a mind control quirk like his hasn’t made it into heroics in over 30 years. The revised exam won’t give him any real chances of changing that. It’s a trade off. They can cut corners for All Might’s secret son, but they have to give Shinsou Hitoshi a chance. Nedzu has a good feeling about him, anyway.

One morning, Shinsou wakes up to a letter, and it tells him, “Hello, we think you’re spectacular, and we’d like to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Won’t you say yes?”

Okay, it doesn’t say it like that. But it might as well be what he hears.

He calls Izuku. Izuku got the same letter. They scream on the phone with each other until they’re breathless and giddy.

But the thing is. UA. Also. Informed. Their Schools. Who. Made. An announcement.

Bakugou loses his fucking mind.

Bakugou didn’t even want Izuku applying to UA. Only for Izuku to be one of three people in history to get early admission offers?? He’s fucking furious. He wants to know how Izuku did it.

And the thing is? Izuku already decided that he wasn’t going to reveal his shiny new quirk to these people. He doesn’t want them to suddenly decide to treat him well because he’s not Quirkless anymore. Fuck them.

Anyway Iida Tenya, following multiple flowcharts and pro cons lists, decided that it was Acceptable Friend Behavior to surprise his new, dear companions at their schools to personally congratulate them on their early acceptance and potentially indulge in some celebratory beverages together. His school released earlier than theirs, as his school had modeled its academic structure to complete earlier in the day so that hero hopefuls could take advantage of the heroics exam prep courses it offered, which he had been excused from since he had secured early admission to UA. So it was a simple matter to head over to Aldera and catch some feral, frothing hooligan physically accosting his dear, dear friend with illegal Quirk usage no less. Iida, of course, verbally reprimanded the vagabond and marched straight to the office to report such deplorable behavior

Bakugou: who the fuck was that

Izuku, gaping after him: fuck—Iida, Iida wait

He didn’t stop him in time.

And despite Iida’s fervent and loud insistence as to what happened, the principal blames Izuku.

Iida’s someone who just cannot abide by injustice. It gets under his skin. It makes him angry. He gets more baffled and aghast and furious the more he sees how Izuku is treated. He also gets confused as to why they think Izuku’s Quirkless and, even if he was, what that would have to do with him being physically assaulted on school property.

The school, for all of its happy announcement, wasn’t actually happy that Izuku made it in. They actually called UA to make sure that they were talking about the right student, which was a fun call for Nedzu to get. They still don’t know that Izuku has a quirk, because UA didn’t tell them and neither did Izuku, so they think Izuku did some kind of first aid or something to respond to an emergency and got sort of waved into the program. So whereas Iida got a personal congratulations from his principal, Izuku got called up to the office to be asked if he really thinks that whatever minor first aid he performed means he’s ready for UA heroics? He’s taking a spot from someone who deserves it more, and it will look worse on them when it becomes clear he can’t do it. It’s selfish. He’d be better off declining it.

Izuku drags Iida off of his school grounds and to shinsou’s school. Shinsou’s got his backpack strap torn off and a fresh cut in his lip. He takes one look at Izuku and laughs, bitter and empty

Iida takes this arc the worst. He is very protective of his friends and does not want to abide by other students or adults abusing them. He wants justice.

The boy spirals. He is power walking to their schools every single day to pick them up. He is baking them high protein brownies and writing them little encouraging notes for nutritional snack packs he hand prepares. He is Exuding An Energy.

They start a shared google drive and he has an entire folder labeled “My Revenge Plan By Iida Tenya” that’s dedicated to compiling evidence regarding these injustices and one day taking away all color of power or authority from those who wronged his friends. Izuku and Shinsou don’t actually know what’s up with the folder (the google drive is sacred they’re not gonna go in his room some people have revenge plans it’s fine)

Later in the fic they invite Todoroki to join their google drive and he immediately, instinctively, and without need for explanation knows that this is the emotional equivalent of asking him to move in with them. He is honored and he is touched.

There’s a mini buzzfeed unsolved arc because Izuku and Shinsou are experimenting with shinsou’s quirk and Izuku says “hey what’s with those eight shadowy figures that watch me ominously in the distance every time you put me under” and Shinsou says “the fucking what” and Izuku says “the eight shadowy figures” and Shinsou says “say psych right now”

After determining Iida does not see them too they decide that Izuku is obviously deeply and profoundly haunted because of that one time Bakugou dared him to knock on the door of that old abandoned house everyone said was haunted and now the ghosts live in his bones. This conclusion is compounded by the fact that the past users find this fucking hilarious and decide to haze the newbie by playing it up

The issue is that Iida is extremely productive and decides that what they need is to make a tour of all major religions and sample their exorcism rituals and go from there. Izuku has had 11 exorcisms from multiple religions and now Catholic bishops won’t stop calling Iida because Izuku’s catholic exorcism was wildly and blatantly unsuccessful and they are very concerned that satan is within him and Iida is of the stance that if they couldn’t do it the first time he doesn’t see what “going to the Vatican” will do so good day sir. Iida is trying to ghost the Catholic Church he keeps blocking their number and they keep calling from a new one. Izuku is despondent he does not want to go to Rome

Eventually they have to admit to the adults in their life that Izuku is obviously, profoundly, and irreversibly haunted because they decide to just say fuck it and use it for warfare. It’s their nuclear option. Total wildcard. When they are out of all other options, Shinsou just puts Izuku under and sees what crazy shit those ghosts do. The first time they have to use it Izuku explodes into a hurricane of writhing and enraged tentacles that try to manually break shigaraki in half.

Shinsou, sweating, trying to open the folder labeled “hey there demons it’s me ya boi”

Aizawa, stone faced: why is one of the folders labeled My Revenge Plan By Iida Tenya

Iida: I don’t see how that’s relevant

Izuku: oh my gosh sensei you can’t just—

Shinsou: you can’t just ask what someone’s doing in the google drive sensei it’s sacred

Aizawa:

Shinsou: *hits play* *x-files theme song immediately begins to play* *defeated whisper* I forgot we did that

I cannot emphasize enough just the peak shenanigans of pre-UA Iida, Izuku, and Shinsou. They end up spending nearly every single day together. They sleep over at each other’s houses. They become just incredibly close and some days Shinsou can’t breathe from it, because he walked into that exam with no friends and no real hope of passing, and now some days he can’t believe that this is his life. He can’t believe he has this.

Iida’s living with his brother, who is handling the launch of the Mustufasa branch of Idaten, to take advantage of a private middle school in the area that is a feeder school into UA. They regularly have at least one student a year make it into the heroics program and multiple who manage to get into support, business, or gen ed. So throughout all this a very confused Iida Tensei is Doing His Best while his little brother and his friends end up hysterical after playing with a Ouijia board during a sleep over. He’s very confused because the other parents seem to think he is a parent and he is not he is not he’s too young and hot to be tenya’s dad. He’s in a parents group chat with Izuku’s parents and Shinsou’s dad and is like “am I. Did you mean to put me in here. Should I. Add my mom?” And then later it’s a source of great hysteria for him. What do you MEAN he’s in a group chat with All Might what do you mean all might told him that ingenium is one of his favorite heroes and Tensei didn’t even realize he was all might when he said it. Shouta shouta how could you not warn him—

When they get to UA and Izuku somehow gets two votes for class president (who the fuck voted for him Izuku didn’t even vote for himself) and ends up in a three way tie with Iida (shinsou and Izuku both voted for him he’s so type a it’s what the office needs) and Yaoyorozu and he hires Shinsou as his campaign manager to help him throw the election and Iida gets so affronted at what the resultant flyers say about his dear dear friend that he tries to passionately concede the election and Izuku is like “no I commissioned those also shinsou you’re fired” and Shinsou is like “hey every single thing I wrote is true”

Iida and Izuku but Izuku especially just acts like it’s a given that they’re going to be doing team ups with Shinsou when they’re older. Izuku commissions a voice modulator that can throw its voice between his and Shinsous to help obscure who’s talking in case anyone figures out shinsou’s quirk and Shinsou doesn’t know how to explain to Izuku that he thought no one would ever tolerate him as a hero, let alone be excited to work with him

[h-card]

i can be your angle.. or yuor devil

this situation would probably occur from some spell from the necronomicon that goes horribly wrong (as they typically do) that bounds(?) kyle and chum chum to fanboy. kyle is the voice of rationality until he starts advocating for violence

theyre his fangel and fan-devil (theres no pun for devil smh)

[oblique-lane]

References for Anomaly Diversion!!!

Official!! finally!!

I wanted to make their design stand out, so I created them from scratch; they're not loadouts you can find in-game. Plus a little bit of character description because I'm dying to talk about them and their roles in the story (*wearing a shirt that says "please talk to me about my fic"*).

Now I can finally draw them often!!

Somewhat goofy clothing sheets under the cut↓↓↓

I tried to design them the way their silhouettes and colors stay recognisable, as if they were meant to be used in-game later, to not to break the gameplay rules. I also wanted them to look as tf2-like as possible, I studied the hell out of the 3d models and on the last three I guess it started to turn out decent. Drawing Spy is still pain though.

Or maybe it's just that I'm not attracted to the majority of the mercs visually?? That's why they don't look satisfying?? Lmao. Need to adjust them to my tastes later.

I'm not sure I can exactly explain my design choices with these... How exactly they correlate to their characters. There is something, but I went for it fully intuitively.

//

For BLU scout I went for the softer, rounder oversized clothing to accent his insecurity and the need to shield himself for comfort. It still needed to shape his torso (game rules) but his hood and sleeves do the deed. There is also a strict rule in how to draw his freckles: they look more like moles and there's 7 or 8 of them. You won't believe me if I say this is lore relevant.

For RED Scout, I went with the more aggressive military style. I think I literally took this jacket design from a real military one. There should be an accent on his heavy relations with the army. His clothes are tight because he still likes himself.

RED Sniper is giving hunter vibes, forest type. BLU Sniper looks more like a fisher or a winter hunter. Not sure what deeper meaning I could assign to this except that BLU Sniper was heavily referenced on Ogata Hyakunosuke.

BLU Spy should radiate tiredness. His look is quite unkept for his standards but at this point it doesn't matter anymore. The turtleneck and the boots are special requests from @/gentlesurgeryenjoyer (xoxo)

BLU Medic just looks so freaking cool in a black shirt. It was a vision. I'm not sure if black and white accents mean anything in terms of which side those characters are on. I also wanted to separate him from another famous horror witnessing Medic.

And Miss Pauling was the most satisfying to draw, it was a gift to draw her last... I gave her pants because it's getting cold outside at the time when the story takes place. I also find it very impractical to go killing job in a pencil skirt, I'm sorry. She probably also wears snickers underneath.

And also thanks to @nightly-headache for helping out and assistance!

[wosospacegirl]

Enjoy your treat - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Something about Alexia being a provider makes my legs weak.

a/n: Not really a fic-fic--more like a soft rant because I needed a break from studying virology (send help). It’s messy, unpolished, but full of love for the idea of Alexia casually spoiling you <3

..

Alexia isn’t loud about the fact that she makes bank.

She’s quiet about itt, almost casual–like the way she slips a shopping bag onto the table without a word. You’ll be doing something totally normal, studying on the sofa, reading, journaling, and she just… walks by. 

Drops it. Kisses the top of your head.

And then leaves.

No announcement. No explanation.

The first time it happened, you stared at the sleek black bag like it was going to explode.

“Alexia Putellas,” you called, squinting suspiciously. “What is this?”

She appeared in the doorway, hair damp from a shower, brow raised innocently.

“You said your sneakers were getting uncomfortable.”.

You looked inside.

They weren’t just new sneakers. 

They were handcrafted, limited-edition, in the exact colour you said you liked to wear.

A colour you mentioned once. Half-asleep. Two weeks ago. Sage green.

Alexia shrugged again like it was nothing. It’s never nothing.

She listens. Stores it all somewhere behind that pretty face of hers, waiting for the right moment to use it against you, with love, of course. She just goes around buying stuff and hides them away until she’s ready to give them to you.

It starts to become a thing.

The surprise bags. The quiet kisses. 

The no-comment luxury dropped into your everyday like it doesn’t mean anything.

Until one day, you snap.

You’re tired, high-strung from back-to-back classes, your laptop balanced on your knees and flashcards falling everywhere, when she sets another box down in front of you.

You don’t even look up.

“Alexia,” you say, voice tight. “You don’t have to keep buying me things.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you with that maddening calm of hers, hands in her pockets like she’s done nothing but breathe.

“I have a job, Ale”, you say, sharper this time. “A real one. That pays me, I can buy my own stuff.”

Did you work part-time on an internship that paid you half a living wage? Yes. Could you really buy your own stuff? No. But you didn’t want Alexia to actually know that.

Alexia tilts her head slightly, then speaks, very softly, completely unfazed.

“I know,” she says. “You work because you want to. Not because you need to.”

She leans down, kisses your cheek, and walks out of the room.

You look at the box.

It’s a watch. Sleek, elegant, and, when you look up the model later, worth more than your rent.

 Which you haven’t paid in six months. Because Alexia bought you the flat.

Yes. She bought a whole flat once she learned about the whole rent situation

You tried to argue about that, too. You lost.

Alexia’s love language is acts of service. Providing. Protecting.

If you are getting sick, she’s already called your doctor, moved your meetings, tucked you into bed, and, somehow, gotten your mom on FaceTime even though you definitely didn’t give her that number??

Your period starts? She’s already next to you with painkillers, the most expensive chocolate on the market, and her big warm hands pressed gently to your lower stomach. Like she could draw the pain out of you if she just loved hard enough.

You’re cold? She doesn’t say “go get a hoodie.”

She leaves and comes back with the hoodie—the one you pointed at online and didn’t buy because you were trying to be smart, trying to be careful.

You let her dress you in silence.

And she never, ever asks for anything in return.

You tried to talk her out of it. The gifts. The money.

You argued. You begged. Damn you even cried once.

And so she stopped, kind of.

Instead of new things appearing every day, you started getting silent deposits into your account. Small at first. Then not-so-small.

You didn’t ask for them. You didn’t use them.

You lasted two months. You didn’t use Alexia’s money for two whole months.

“Teimona,” she muttered every time she checked your untouched balance. “Dios mío, you’re so stubborn.”

But then it happened. 

The coffee shop happened. :) 

It was sunny. Warm enough for a jacket but not quite coat weather. You were both in sunglasses, fingers laced, laughing about something dumb when you stepped into the café.

You ordered (Alexia was the one who talked to the man on the counter actually)

Then you sat down and waited.

Alexia reached for her bag, then froze.

“Shit,” she muttered, eyes wide. “I forgot my wallet.”

You blinked. “Oh?”

“I’m going back to get it, I’ll be quick.” She said, already getting up.

“No,” you said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. “Stay.”

She frowned.

And you smiled.

A slow, smug thing.

You reached into your bag. Opened your wallet like it was a grand reveal. 

Slowly. Deliberately.

Alexia narrowed her eyes like she knew she was being played but couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t worry, amor,” you said, too sweet. “It’s on me. Enjoy your treat.”

Her coffee suddenly didn’t taste quite right.

You watched her sip it anyway, expression murderous.

You sat back in your chair, victorious.

And yes, you used her deposit to pay for it. And no, you did not feel bad. 

At least this time.

[kianamaiart]

tattoo tour!

got some asks about my own tattoos! i've talked about em on my other blog but not here i think

opihi shell

this was my first tattoo! when i was little, my grandma would call me her "little opihi" because i'd stick by her side all the time and i thought it'd be an appropriate and meaningful tattoo to get.

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team rocket rose

another tattoo i designed along with @/loinktattoos on insta. dedicated to my love for jessie, james and meowth. it's a rose with a blast off star and a "TR" in the leaf~

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tsuta mon

my japanese side of the family's crest! my brother, mom and i all have it~

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lignum vitae flower

a tattoo of jamaica's national flower to celebrate my jamaican heritage. tattooed by @/loinktattoos and designed by @/sablingart on twitter

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doughnut

it's the doughnut from the kpop girl group twice's song "doughnut" LOL. it's maybe my favorite song ever (?). they also raaarely play their japanese songs outside of japan but i got to hear it live and it solidified my love for the song

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arbok tattoo

much like how i love team rocket, i love arbok. i sometimes draw jessie with an arbok marking tattoo on her chest and i considered doing that too but doing it on my wrist seemed like a nice placement. plus i can make my hand look like a snake and i think that's fun

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brushstroke tattoo

my first purely aesthetic tattoo and also my biggest piece! i found @/reina.asami's work on instagram and instantly fell in love with their style. a lot of their work centers around japanese culture and specifically japanese american culture. i had such a lovely conversation with them about being mixed and my experiences. we also talked about the irony of honoring our japanese heritage with tattoos haha

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botan hanafuda card

one of my favorite games to play with my grandparents on my japanese side is hanafuda! i've always loved how pretty the cards looks and all the different flowers. each suit corresponds to a month and the botan is for june (my birth month)

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bat

i like bats hehe. i had a tattoo themed birthday party last year where my friends made "kiana themed" tattoos and we put them on temporary tattoo sheets. but also @/loinktattoos was there to give anyone who wanted a real tattoo a real tattoo. and i got a bat designed by one of my best friends @/ghostbri, who shares my love of bats~

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botan

i came across @/miyookstatto's instagram a while back and reaaaally wanted a tattoo from her at some point. problem was she was based in seattle. however! i had a wedding in seattle coming up and tried to see if i could book an appointment the day i landed and she happened to have a spot open!

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wobbuffet

my most recent tattoo and maybe one of the most special. my brother and i have been wanting matching tattoos for yeaaaars but couldn't really think of anything to get. our love for pokemon was always something we had in common but he models and can't have anything copyrighted on his body. however, one of his favorite pokemon is ditto and i got the idea to just do its face because you could argue that it's just a smiley haha. so i decided to get just a wobbuffet face to match! what made it special is that we were able to tattoo each other! he did stick and poke for mine and i got to use a machine which was rad.

that's all for now!! i want more so badddd. definitely want a back piece at some point and would also love to get a little shooting star to commemorate making "i don't want to be a magical girl"

[thebestofoneshots]

A LITTLE BIT OF PAINT | wolfstar x reader

Pairing: R.L. x S.B. x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: smut, threesome, finger fucking, oral (male receiving), handj*b, dry h*mping, thigh ridding, p in v, Remus is a mess, mild Dom!Remus (if you squint really hard), he might also have a praise k!nk, Sirius is a flirt (danger to humanity honestly), homoerotic scenes(?), you and Sirius can’t take your eyes off Rem, Rem can’t take his eyes off you either, consent is sexy!

Prompt: Sirius and you are art students and you’ve got an assignment, a nude painting, but you can’t paint each other. Trying to convict Remus to model for you was hard enough, but painting him, while he looks so damn stunning, might prove a harder endeavour to accomplish.

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

“So?” Sirius asked as he leaned onto Remus, “would you do it?” 

“Pretty please?” you asked with a small pout and a few blinks. 

Remus sighed, “Why don’t you just paint each other?” 

Both you and Sirius had been trying to convince Remus to be your nude model for an assignment for the last 20 minutes. He was your best friend, and both you and Sirius had always wanted to use him as a model, but had never been too keen to do it, not even clothed. But you needed him now. 

“We can’t do someone we’ve fucked,” Sirius said with a sigh, “We’d already done it otherwise.” 

“Just use each other and draw a face from a magazine,” Remus offered. 

“It won’t work either,” you responded now, “We’ve both been models for the class, they know our bodies.” 

Remus tried not to blush at the thought of Sirius and you, naked in the centre of a room for hours on end while people stared and drew all the small details of your bodies. The details that he assumed had only been seen by the other, now he regretted not taking the class, but scolded himself out of those stupid thoughts. 

He sighed, “Ask James?” 

“Regulus’ gonna do James,” Sirius responded, “He was obviously more than thrilled to oblige him.”

“We wouldn’t be asking you if we didn’t need you, please Moony!” 

Remus looked to the side, licking his lips before biting on the bottom one and sighing, however could he say no to the two of you. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Wait, really?” you asked in disbelief, a huge smile dancing on your lips, it made you look stunning. 

He nodded, “But you’ll owe me, big one.” 

You leaned in to hug him and then Sirius did the same, both of you sandwiching Moony in between the two of you.

“Anything for Moony,” Sirius added. 

Just a few days later, you were outside of one of the classrooms. It was a smaller cosy one that tended to be used for models, with huge windows but near the top of the building so no one would be able to look inside. You had rented it for the rest of the day since both you and Sirius were determined to finish in one sitting, and neither of you was sure if Remus would subject himself to more than that either. 

“You think he’ll come?” you asked as you looked at your watch for the third time that day. 

“He’ll come, luv. Don’t worry about it.”

You sighed, Remus was seldom late. And it took you some time to convince him, you were scared he wouldn’t want to anymore. 

You were fumbling with the keys to the room, and just as you inserted them inside the keyhole, you heard a fumbling at the end of the corridor.  

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his bag hanging on the side and a coat hanging on the other side. I got held up by the traffic, “I brought the car since it said it was gonna rain, thought I could give you both a ride back, when we were done.” 

You smiled when you spotted him and flipped the keys as Sirius gave you an “I told you so look”. 

Remus was breathing heavily when he reached the two of you, “and then I couldn’t find the room, this place is a bloody maze.” 

Both you and Sirius chuckled at that. “We arrived late to our first class,” Sirius said. “The teacher told us we’d have to find our own model for being late and we made a deal to model for each other, that’s how we met.” 

“I know,” Remus said. He remembered when Sirius and you became friends, first Sirius didn’t shut up about you, then he introduced you to each other, and he understood why Sirius couldn’t shut up about you. Remus and Sirius went way back, they had been friends since elementary, along with James, Peter, Lily, Marlene and Mary. You had quickly gotten along with all of them, and they had made you a part of their little group.  

Finally, the door clicked open and you pushed on it, allowing both boys to get in before shutting it down and putting both the hand lock and the latch bolt. Remus threw you a look. “We’ve heard stories of people walking in on people painting and ruining their stuff by knocking things out. I doubt you’d want someone walking in on you.” 

Remus nodded and moved to sit on the small coach on the side. Thankfully the room was designed in a way to make models feel at ease. There was a music box where you could play tapes on the side, a sofa for them to feel comfortable, and then there was a table in the middle of the room. Both you and Sirius walked to the closet and he pulled on the easels while you went for the props you were planning to use. A small basket filled with fruits. “You brought the sheet?” 

“On my bag,” he said as he nodded to the side. 

“Kay,” you said as you leaned down to get it. 

“You may start changing Moons,” Sirius said, as the boy moved to help him with the easel. They had one in their apartment, and Remus already knew how to set it up from seeing Sirius do it so many times before. 

He swallowed and made sure to finish setting up the easel before nodding and walking towards the table. Sirius was taking off his leather jacket, and Remus attempted to ignore the way his friend’s muscles bent as he did. Sirius had always been beautiful, but this attraction he felt for his best friend was relatively new, he could barely stand it. 

You were still looking for the props when you turned around and spotted Remus pulling his soft brown jumper over his head. He wore a soft beige cotton shirt underneath it that was just a little tight over his arms. You tried not to bite your lips as you stared. Both Sirius and you had talked about how pretty you both thought Remus was, what a shame it was he wasn’t into either of you, if only you knew. 

Sirius gave you an amused look, his lips curling into a mocking smile and his brows shooting up and down. You pushed him lightly with your shoulder and walked toward the table before your cheeks warmed even further. 

“We’ll do mine first,” Remus explained, at least my sketch, Sirius’ next and then we’ll alternate. 

“You’ll do different poses?” Remus asked as he looked up at you, pulling the other shirt over his shoulders little after. Sirius tried not to laugh at the way you were looking at his friend. He had already seen how ripped Remus was, they were roommates, after all. 

“Yeah,” you responded as you got a hold of yourself. “We are gonna make it seem like we drew different people.” 

Remus nodded in response. He was slightly self-conscious about his scars, he’d gotten them as a kid in an accident. His parents were zoologists and worked with wolves, they had taken a puppy home since he was hurt, and Remus thought it was a dog. He pulled the hurt animal out of the cage to “play with it” but accidentally grabbed him from the part he’d been hurt, the animal retaliated by slashing him, face, torso, back, and legs. Remus had been 4 and had no way to defend himself, he also didn’t want to hurt the puppy so he allowed it to happen. When his parents found him, he was crying in a pool of blood, and the wolf pup had hidden somewhere in their garden. 

There was apprehension in your eyes as you stared at his scars, not because they were ugly, you thought Remus was beautiful, but because you thought of the pain they had once caused him. You cleared your throat. “I got this for you,” you explained as you showed him the basket of fruits, you had bought them all yesterday and left them in the small fridge in the room. “You’ll be holding in both of your arms, it’s like a recreation of an older painting,” you explained. 

Remus nodded, taking in the information as he fumbled with the button of his trousers. Half focused on what you said, half mortified over getting naked in front of you and Sirius. 

You pulled the basket in your hands again, “Kind of like this, okay?” you said as you grabbed the basket in the way he would be grabbing it, giving the fruits one last arrangement and taking a picture for reference in case they moved around. He gave you an understanding nod and you gave him a thumbs up in return. Sirius walked over to take Remus’ clothes from the table, and hastily dropped them over the smaller sofa, bringing over a bottle of wine, a decanter and an empty cup. 

“Our concept is based on gods, she’s going for Bacchus,” he explained, Remus was fumbling around with the trousers at the end of his feet, taking longer than he normally would to take off his clothes, Sirius obviously noticed. “She wants to capture the youth and lust of winemaking.” 

Remus gave him somewhat of a stern look and Sirius smiled cheekily in return. “And yours?” he asked. 

“Eros and Psyche,” Sirius responded with a slight tilt of his head. 

“And Psyche?” 

“Don’t worry your pretty head with it yet,” Sirius added condescendingly and got a shove from Remus in return. 

You were looking at the two of them with a smile, you’d always loved the relationship with the two, there was never a time they were more at ease than when they were with each other. 

Sirius sighed, and you smiled. Remus still felt nervous, taking his socks off and keeping his boxers on as he waited for new instructions. Sirius gave him a look as he sat on the window just behind you, and your easel, looking at how you sharpened your pencils and charcoal for sketching. “Would you help me pose him?” You asked, turning your head slightly to Sirius before focusing again on your pencils and canvas, taking a ruler to break down the piece into smaller squares to make sure you got your proportions right. 

Sirius nodded, jumped down from the window seal and picked up the white sheet he’d brought from his backpack. 

“Time to take them off, mate,” he said. Remus swallowed and nodded, taking off his boxers carefully and throwing them in the same direction Sirius had thrown the rest of his clothes. Then he placed his hand over himself and stared in between you and Sirius nervously. You were still focused on your canvas, so you didn’t quite see the interaction, but Sirius did and smiled. He had the inkling little feeling that maybe Remus was into you. He had told you about it but you had shrugged it off, Remus had become something like your best friend, there was no way. 

But Sirius had known Remus for longer than you did, and he knew his friend like he knew the back of his hand –and boy he knew that one well from seeing it so much while painting. And the nervous glances Remus kept throwing your way, made him feel a little more confident of his theory. Perhaps all the two of you needed was a little push, and then that one recurring dream he had could become a reality.

Sirius extended the sheet over Remus and placed it on his arms, just falling off the shoulders like some kind of shawl, he then accommodated the sheet covering one of his legs and his private parts. Remus seemed reassured by that, and Sirius again, tried not to smile knowingly. He then passed Remus the basket and helped him accommodate it in place.

“It's not too heavy is it?” 

“Not right now,” Remus said as he held it between his hands. Sirius then proceeded to place his hands on Remus’ bare back and traced his fingers over his friend’s muscles in a reassuring and discreet manner, giving a light squeeze near his neck. 

“Relax,” he said as he looked at the boy. Sirius had no idea how little relaxing that devious smile of his was, Remus’ skin burned at his touch. “Lean your head back a little bit, would you?” Remus swallowed and did as told, anything to have Sirius step away before he noticed the things he was actually doing to him. “A little bit more,” Sirius insisted and placed his hand on the boy’s neck. Allowing it to linger as he moved him around as he pleased. 

“Hey Angel,” he called, and you looked up, smiling at the sight of the two boys, “Is this all right?” 

“Come here,” you told Sirius, he finally let go of Rem and walked towards you, standing just behind the easel just at your side. “What do you think? Isn’t he a little too stiff?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius responded. 

“Thought so,” you breathed and left your pencil and charcoal on the easel before walking towards Remus. “Close your eyes, would you?” you asked softly. Remus hesitated before doing what told. “Take a deep breath for me, good, that’s good… Remember that time you told me about your trip to Dover? You told me you climbed to the very top of the castle, that it was freezing cold and that no one but you had been brave enough to climb up to the roof. It was empty but there was a thin layer of snow on the ground. So thin that when you pressed your feet, it melted away allowing you to see the stone. 

“You mentioned you leaned over the edges and got to see the castle, the grounds and then, then you got to see the ocean.” Remus' tense self was slowly starting to subdue. “You said you could hear the distant waves, and then you felt a small prickle in your cheek.” 

“It started snowing,” Remus said softly. 

You smiled, took a grape from his basket and placed it near his mouth, pushing it in between his lips. He opened his mouth when he felt the fruit and ate it with a frown, opening his eyes to look at it, and then at you. You were so bloody close to him. 

“There you go,” you said with a smile. “Much better now, keep that relaxed face of yours so I can paint it, will you?” you added teasingly. Remus was munching on the grape with a confused and yet amused face. You gave him a short wink and then went back to your spot, missing the slight flush that coated his cheek. 

“Comfortable?” Sirius teased. 

Remus threw him a look and you swatted Sirius with your pencil softly. “Stop teasing him, he’ll tense again,” you scolded. Remus couldn’t help but smile at the small interaction between the two and you finished up with the sharpening, picking up the pencil and starting to sketch. Remus let his head fall back as you traced, closing his eyes and changing his stance every once in a while, pulling his head off and watching you knit your brows together as you moved your pencil over the canvas. 

“You’re getting the proportions wrong,” Sirius said. “His hand is bigger than that.” 

You grumbled in return, “I know! I just–“ you pulled an eraser and started to furiously move it over the canvas, Remus was looking at the two of you carefully. “I can’t get it to work out.” 

“Want help?” 

“You can’t keep helping me when I don’t get the hands right…” 

“Why not? You always help me with light and shadow, you’re an expert.” 

You sighed, “It’s not the same Sirius.” 

“Yes it is,” he said in a no-nonsense kind of way, then he placed his hand over yours, and started guiding your sketch. “Come on, loosen up.” 

Meanwhile, Remus was looking at the domestic scene between the two with a mix of admiration and longing. The two of you looked stunning as you painted him, both deeply focused on the canvas, with a casual glance straight at his hand holding the basket, he smiled as he saw Sirius lean even closer to you, obviously unnecessary but something Sirius did often anyway. He had never seen his friend as smitten with a human as he had seen him with you. 

Eventually, Sirius let go of your hand and you added a few other touches. “Do you want to start painting or should I start with my sketch first?” he asked. 

You turned your head and stared at the cloudy sky, “I’ll use the sunlamp for my lighting, we can do yours if you want, that way you take advantage of natural light for your drawing.”

He nodded, “Okay, get ready, I’ll work on the canvas.” 

You sent him a short wink and he walked behind his easel. Remus took the time to put down the basket and accommodate the sheet around him a little better. “Cold?” you asked, “we can turn off the AC.” He shook his head. Just self-conscious then, you realised. Well, he won’t have to worry too much about that.

You took your hoodie off and then, but it wasn’t until you took a hold of your shirt and flipped it over your head that Remus realised what was going on. Your hands were behind your bra when he averted his gaze to the side completely blushed. “Sirius, If you’re painting her, can I leave?” 

“Of course not,” Sirius said simply, “I’m painting the both of you.” 

“You what?” 

“Eros and Psyche, remember?” 

“But you said you couldn’t paint people you’ve fucked,” he retorted in a rather accusing manner. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’ll switch her hair colour and you’ll cover her face.” 

“You never said I’d have to pose with your naked girlfriend!” 

“It’s okay Rem, I don’t mind, I’ve been a nude model for the class a couple of times.” 

Remus, as he would naturally turn to look at you when you spoke, but quickly turned his head to the side when he realised you were now completely naked. 

But I do! He thought as he tried to think of anything other than the curve of your breasts. Naked grandma, naked grandma.

You eyed Sirius, “Maybe we can–“ you started, biting your lip. 

“Nonsense. We’re all adults, go on.” 

You gave Sirius a stern look and he gave you back an equally determined one, nodding towards Remus, a clear indication for you to walk his way. 

You took a deep breath but did what he wanted anyway. Walking towards Remus and gently placing a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, If you really don’t want to do this-“

Remus’ head snapped your way, he focused his eyes on yours as best as he could, “No, I– I just– I wasn’t mentally prepared.” 

You smiled and tilted your head. You could see the self-restraint he was using not to look at your chest, Sirius was really trying not to cackle behind you as he sharpened his pencils, “You can look,” you said, “you’re gonna see them anyway Rem.” He gave you a frustrated frown. You smiled teasingly in return. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked. He was about ready to just stare for half a second and then move on with his life but he couldn’t quite look away. Not when he saw them perk up for him, his warm breath so close to you causing such a reaction. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Sirius said with a smile from behind the easel. The kind of confident smile of one who knew he could touch them whenever he wanted. 

Remus cleared his throat and looked at Sirius. Naked grandma. NAKED GRANDMA. “Go on with your painting, yeah?” 

“You haven’t even posed,” he retorted with a smile. You turned your head over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend, “where do you want me?” 

Remus tried not to think of those words, and not to memorise them either. He didn’t want to have dreams about it. Sirius on the other hand, smirked and walked over to the two of you, “Alright mate, time to lose the sheet,” he said as he pulled the one thing covering Remus’ body. While Rem shot to cover himself, Sirius gave you a look and then winked. 

You narrowed your eyes at him as you tilted your head, what the hell are you up to, pretty boy?

“Okay, Moony. I need you to sit on the table.” Remus did as told, “Now open your legs a little bit.” Remus gave a stern look to Sirius but did as told, still using his hands to cover himself. “Please Rem,” he added, “I’ll show you mine and you’ll show me yours? Take those hands off, would you? We’ve both seen plenty of dicks already.” 

You were looking at Remus’ clavicle as he did, trying to avoid the spot that made him so self-conscious, but Sirius was way bolder than that, and he stared straight at his friend’s cock instead. Was that a twitch? Sirius smiled, bit his lip, and turned back to you. 

“You’ll be in between his legs, he’ll have his arms around your arms and his head on your shoulder, is that okay?” 

“Okay,” you said simply. Now, had it been any other person, perhaps you wouldn’t have accepted the pose, but this was Remus, you trusted Remus. 

Remus, who realised there was no use in arguing, did what Sirius had described, leaning forward so you wouldn’t have to stand so close to him. He tried to avoid his chest brushing into yours, ever the gentleman. Anyone else might have just taken advantage. 

Sirius nodded and walked behind his easel again, “Luv, hide your head on his neck, okay?” 

“Mhm,” you said and did as told. Being so close to Remus was making you feel things. He was really warm and strong. You enjoyed the way he held you, Sirius could tell. He also knew you as the back of his hand. 

“Would you mind leaning in a little closer to him?” 

You nodded and did as told. Now your chest was brushing against his, Remus could feel your hardened nipples against his chest, the tip of his ears was now red, even if a good deal of blood was going south. You assumed it was due to embarrassment. 

Sirius had already started to draw, and you decided you’d try and ease him, you bent your elbows and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, allowing his grip to become a lot more secure, “It's okay,” you whispered. “Sirius is way faster at sketching than me, he’ll be over in a second. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” 

“No, I’m sorry for making this so awkward,” he said softly. “I bet you are used to this and I’m making it weird.” 

“Not really,” you said honestly, leaning your head on his shoulder a little more, that was something you had done often, with clothes, though. “I’ve never modelled with anyone other than Sirius. I only said I would because it would be you.” 

“You what?” Remus asked, you accommodated and your lips accidentally brushed against his neck, he felt the blush spreading, he was losing control. He couldn’t keep thinking of a naked grandma when he had you pressed against him, whispering on his neck, your warm breath against his skin igniting him like a match against dry leaves. 

“I only agreed to Sirius’ pose when he proposed it because you’d be the male model. I don’t like modelling so close to other people.” 

Remus sighed, closing his eyes, his cock was already half hard, and here you were talking to him about trusting him to be the male model, he was a total dick. 

“Luv, lean in a little closer would you?” Sirius asked. 

Remus didn’t even have enough time to give Sirius a warning glance since you confidently did as told, and that’s when you felt it: hard, brushing just under your belly button. You pulled apart just for a second and looked down.

He is huge.

Remus was beet red and staring at Sirius with a mix of exasperation, embarrassment, and anguish. But neither of you seemed to mind, you just pulled your hips slightly back and went back to the previous pose, your nipples brushing against his chest again and making his boner grow even more. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, “It’s actually quite normal, you’d be surprised how many times it happens.” 

Remus had his eyes closed shut and was trying not to think, not of your soft chest against him, not of your soft breath fanning against his skin, and certainly not of how close your pussy was to his dick. 

You could tell how much more tense he was now. “Do you want to take a break?” 

“No,” he said quickly. “Let’s just get over with it.” The last thing Remus needed was to take a break only for it to happen again the minute your skin came into contact with his. 

“Are you sure? You’re a lot more tense now, Moons,” you said with a frown as you gently brushed your hand on his soft back, tracing a finger over one of his scars without quite realising you were doing it. 

He shook his head, “No, it’s okay.” 

“Remus–“ Sirius started. 

“It won’t work,” he snapped a little harsher now. 

Sirius’s perspicacious look turned into a smirk, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. He gently placed his pencil on the easel and walked over to Remus. “Why not Moony?” 

“Sorry?” He asked, nervous. You felt him tense even further and pulled back, he got a glimpse of your breasts again and he only became harder. 

“Sirius, you’re making him more nervous,” you added with a frown, your hand still brushing reassuringly on his back. 

“No,” he replied, and focused his gaze back on Remus. “I want to know why it wouldn’t work.” 

Remus grabbed the basket that was still lying around and placed it over his lap, covering his ever-growing boner. 

“You don’t have to respond to that, Rem.” 

“He does,” Sirius insisted. 

Remus looked at Sirius in disbelief before huffing. “You’re making your bloody gorgeous girlfriend, pose with me and hug me, and lay her head on my shoulder, all while naked. And you’re looking at us, with that, piercing fucking gaze of yours while you do. A break is not going to help because you’ll make us do it again!” 

Sirius still had a stern face on, but you noticed the small twist on his lips, he was holding back a smirk. 

“Sirius,” you warned. 

“No,” he said and focused on Remus again. “Remus, you think my girlfriend’s gorgeous?” 

“Everyone thinks your girlfriend’s gorgeous.”

“No, Remus. Do you think she is?” 

Remus avoided Sirius’ gaze, red with embarrassment and anger. More at himself than anyone else. His jaw was clenched and his eyes squeezed shut. 

Sirius threw you an amused look and you gave him an impatient one. You could tell he was playing with Moony and you didn’t like it one bit. Sirius, though, wasn’t one to stop things so easily, and he pulled you softly from your spot in between his legs and took it, placing both hands on Remus’ shoulders who just tensed even further. He leaned closer to his ear, “I’m asking you something, Remus.” 

Remus didn’t reply, the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching. You were about to pull Sirius back but he spoke again, “I’m asking because–” he tone was softer, the threatening tone from earlier fading into a more lewd one, “It’s okay of you do,” he whispered, and then pressed his lips to Remus’ tense shoulder. Remus’s eyes snapped open and he spotted you, you gave him a short smile, and then he felt Sirius’s lips pressed against him again, “because we both have the hots for you as well,” Sirius mumbled against his skin.

Remus swallowed thickly at that, and you could feel a familiar pulsing between your legs.

Remus pushed Sirius off, the other boy just stared at his friend with a smile, “don’t play with me, Black!” he warned, angry and steady. 

“He’s not,” you interceeded. Sirius was a flirt, it was hard to believe him sometimes, but for you, who had been with him for a while, it was easy to see the shine in his eyes when he saw Remus, it wasn’t there when he saw other men. You walked over to Sirius and took hold of his arm, laying your head gently on his shoulder and allowing your entire front to be exposed to Remus. “The question is, Remus, do you like us back?” 

Remus’ breath was caught in his throat, he wasn’t sure what to respond, could he even?

“And what does that mean?” 

You shot Sirius a glance, there was a silent understanding between the two of you, a small nod from Sirius, and you walked closer to Remus, “It means we like hanging out with you,” you said softly and took a step towards him, “It means we like having you around, It means we like it when your eyes brighten as you speak of a new book you love and it means we love the way your hair falls on your face when you forget your umbrella and you borrow one of ours.” You were dangerously close to him now, “It means we like it when you stand close to us, it means we would like to touch you,” you placed a hand on his leg, and traced from his knee to the thick of his muscle, and left it there while making soft circles with your thumb. 

“It means when we invited you to model for us we were being selfish, we wanted to have more of you than we normally did,” Sirius said, also walking closer, “It means I specifically had to wear bigger pants because I knew the moment I saw you naked along with her, my mind would roam, and take me back to my dreams.” 

“Your dreams?” Remus asked as he gulped, gaze darting between your hand on his leg and Sirius approaching both of you.

“Our dreams,” you interceeded, having him turn back to look at your face. “The question is, Remus–“ You grabbed onto the basket and started to drag it away from him. “Do you want us? Or is this just a natural reaction?” you asked, nodding back to his hard cock, trying not to lick your lips as you did. 

Sirius still hadn’t touched Remus, but he was standing so close he’d only have to lean in to kiss the boy’s neck. “I–“ Remus hesitated, and looked at Sirius, trying to find confirmation. He could barely believe what was going on, perhaps he had fallen asleep on your shoulder and this was just a figment of his eager imagination. 

Sirius smiled and nodded down. His pants were big, but not big enough to hide the tent that had formed in his pants. Remus swallowed again. By now you had already discarded the basket of fruit, a couple of them rolling out and scattering on the floor with a loud thud. None of the three seemed to hear it, all of your gazes were firmly set on each other. 

“It is real, Remus,” you said and leaned close enough to kiss his neck near the spot Sirius had kissed initially. You had wanted to do that while Sirius was sketching the two of you, and you took the chance to finally do it. Still, neither you nor Sirius had touched Remus’ cock, you wanted him to say yes before you did something irreparable. But unlike Sirius, you didn’t leave your kiss as a small innocent one, instead, you opened your mouth to his skin and started licking and sucking lightly. 

A strangled moan escaped Remus’ lips. and you smiled, continuing to kiss him in the same way, eager to hear the sound again.

“Should we take that as a yes?” Sirius asked, voice raspy and low from how turned on he was at the sight of the two of you. 

Remus let out a soft scoff, and then he pulled you from his neck, he hated the disappointed glance you had as he held your face in between his hands. Your eyes were blown with lust and your lips were wet from the kiss. 

You swallowed, ready to pull apart but Remus dragged your head towards his and leaned in just enough to plant a desperate kiss on your lips. You were surprised at first but quickly melted into him, moaning as he dragged his demanding tongue over your lips, which only fueled him further, he wanted to hear those sounds, he wanted to hear the both of you make those sounds over and over again until he was deafened by them. 

“Yes,” he whispered as he pulled apart, panting for air and dropping smaller kisses around your face, “bloody hell yes!” he insisted. 

Sirius leaned in, and whispered on Moony’s ear, “Should have told us earlier.”  He pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, but quickly moved down to kiss the boys jaw, “We’ve been dreaming about you for months.” 

“Imagine my surprise when Sirius woke me up, panting your name,” you said, “I thought it was a nightmare until I felt how hard he was.” 

Remus sighed and leaned his head on your shoulder as Sirius continued to kiss him, you took that as an opportunity to place your hand on his back again, allowing your fingers to feel and touch every single part of him that you hadn’t been able to touch earlier, and that you found absolutely stunning. 

Another moan escaped Remus’ mouth when he felt your hand on his back, and Sirius smiled, the wicked smile of his and he pulled apart from his neck and easily sat on the table before moving behind Remus in a kneeling position, taking both of his shoulder and pulling him back from the hunch he’d been on. The sight of both boys almost set you on fire, Sirius noticed, he noticed almost everything. 

“Moony, love,” he said as he leaned into the boy’s neck and allowed his hand to softly massage Remus’ back muscles, “Isn’t she stunning?” 

You threw Sirius an inquisitive look and he just winked, he seemed to always know what to do. 

“She is,” Remus breathed, eyes hooded as he allowed Sirius to touch him, clearly lost on him. 

Sirius smiled, “I want you to touch her,” he said with a smirk, “touch her like you wanted to touch her when I was drawing the two of you behind the easel. I saw you looking at her, I saw the way your hands fought to stay in place.” 

“Sirius,” Remus warned. 

But Sirirus’ smirk only grew wider, he knew his words were sending both you and Remus into a state of absolute frenzy, all he’d have to do was push you into each other, “Touch her, I know she wants it as much as you do.” 

Remus was hesitant, but he placed his hand on your shoulder and dragged you closer to the two of them in a soft pull. You looked up at him and smiled, squaring your shoulders and allowing him to see your almost throbbing nipples, desperate to be touched, and to be held by either of the two. 

He was slow and hesitant, allowing his hand to fall from your shoulder to your arms, and then to your waist, and to the small of your back. Sirius placed a soft kiss just over Remus’ ear and then whispered, “Touch her, Remus, touch the place you’ve wanted to touch since you saw that little black bra of hers that makes me lose my mind.”

Remus breathed, he remembered the little piece perfectly, he allowed his hand to drag up, and let his thumb rest right under your breast, feeling the soft bounce of it and gently rubbing underneath, an innocent touch, almost a graze, nothing in comparison to the way Sirius would sometimes grab at them, and yet, it was just making you wetter. “Remus,” you whined as you leaned your head on his free shoulder. That seemed to be the fuel he needed to drag his hand even further up and allow his thumb to brush against your nipple. You clenched against nothing as he did, and moaned. He had a small scar tracing just around his thumb, the feeling of textures against your skin dragging you to heaven.

Sirius smiled at your reactions and started to kiss his neck. Which had Remus’ head tilt back in pleasure. That’s when you leaned your hand down again, eager to feel him, you were gentle and decided to give him enough time to stop you if he wanted, but the slow massaging of your hand towards his cock was only making Remus grow harder, a small droplet of precum already coming from his tip. He hadn’t even dared to dream of such a moment, and here you were, making it happen. When your hand finally wrapped around him he let out a breathy moan, his hand on your breast tightening. You smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. 

“May I?” you asked softly. 

“Please,” he managed to say, Sirius chuckled at his neediness but Remus was quicker and pulled on his hair to drag him to his mouth. The longer-haired boy was surprised at first but quickly smirked into Remus’ demanding kiss, swallowing all the moans that would leave him as you slowly brushed your fingers over his cock. First, tracing a thin line from the bottom to the top, right over the pulsing vein. And then you wrapped your hand around him, firm but gentle, and rubbed the tip with your thumb. 

Sirius pulled from the kiss that Remus chased into just to let you hear his moans and whispered, “Do you hear that, love?” he said as he placed a hand on Remus’ neck to keep his desperate lips from crashing against his mouth again. “You’re turning him into an animal.” 

“We are,” you responded and tightened your grip around him, starting only now to gently stroke. You got to hear another moan from Moony before Sirius returned to kiss him. You leaned your head on Remus’ shoulder again, that place proving to be one of your favourite sports of the night, and started to trace kisses up his neck. You could feel his reactions in the way he would sometimes squeeze your breasts a little harder, or when he moved his hand down your waist. “And he makes such lovely sounds, doesn’t he?” 

Sirius hummed in return, not daring to tear his lips away from the kiss. 

Then you reached Remus’ ear. “If only you knew how wet you’re making me,” you whispered, a sly, fox-like smile appearing on your lips. Sirius threw you a side glance in between kisses and raised one of his eyebrows at you. 

“Show him then,” he said before going back to kiss Remus, but using one of his hands to place it on the boy’s waist. “Pull back a little, Moons.” 

Remus did as told, giving you enough space to be able to climb into the table as well, both legs on either side of one of his, and then slowly you let yourself down onto him, sighting at the feeling of his muscles against your sex. Remus gave you an encouraging squeeze on the waist, and that was enough for you to start grinding yourself onto his leg. Somehow, you managed to maintain the strokes on his cock as you rubbed onto him. 

“Do you feel that, love?” Sirius asked as he broke the kiss to have the two of them look at you. You had your eyes closed and were focused on both your hips and hand movements. You felt Remus’ cock twitch, but you didn’t know it had been because he was looking at you. “Do you feel how wet you’ve made her?” 

Remus looked at his glistening leg as you slid down and then up again, firmly pressing yourself against him, even if it was hard with the position you were in. He flexed his muscles and he felt your hand tremble in his cock, “She’s so pretty, Pads. You get to see her like this all the time?” 

Sirius chuckled and decided to kiss Remus’ neck, so they could both continue delighting at the sight of you riding his leg. Remus seemed hesitant at first, but he dragged his hand down to your waist and towards your leg. Clearly giving in to the temptation to touch.

“Go ahead, she likes it,” Sirius encouraged in a chuckle and Remus didn’t think twice. You stiffened when you felt his hand brush against you as you pushed yourself into him, now opening your eyes to figure out whose hand had been bold enough. You smirked when you realised who it had been. 

“Still curious?” you asked and pushed yourself towards his hand again. 

Remus didn’t speak, instead, he focused on brushing his fingers over your folds which had you sight in content. But Remus was slightly hesitant as if he wasn’t sure how to touch you properly. When Sirius realised the lack of moans, he decided he’d help. He placed a quick kiss on Remus’ temple and then moved behind him again. Allowing one of his hands to rest on Moony’s neck and then using the other to trace his arm until he reached the hesitant hand still brushing against your sensitive spots. 

“Like this,” he said as he took hold of his hand and started making his movements more determined. You moaned at the new, more purposeful touch, and Sirius’ smirk grew. “Slow and determined,” he instructed. Remus himself found your clit after that, and he gently pressed his finger over it, testing. 

“Fuck do that again,” you managed to whisper as you leaned your head on his shoulder again, Sirius placed a soft comforting kiss on your temple, your hands on Remus’ cock becoming dumber as the pleasure consumed you. 

Remus did as told, and you moved your hips towards his fingers almost instinctively. “Such a fast learner,” Sirius praised, and you’d swear you saw Remus inflate slightly at his words. 

“Yeah, Moony!” you sighed, voice mellow, something in between words and a moan. “You’re amazing,” you added as you kissed his neck, chasing all the way to his mouth. The hand that Sirius used to teach him, had long forgotten its purpose and had somehow found its way to your breast, pinching and squeezing like he knew you loved. His lips glued to Moony’s neck in the meantime. 

Moony pressed a tentative finger to your entrance, you smiled into the kiss, and pushed into him, he bit your lips as his finger dug inside you, “Fuck,” he whispered into your mouth, “so tight.” You clenched around him, as you pulled from the kiss and brushed the tip of his cock with your thumb, you were eager to hear another one of those melodic moans of his. And you did, reeling on the power he had given you before going back to kiss him. 

“She is Moony, it’ll feel insane around your cock too, I promise,” Sirius whispered to his ear. If you had been thinking properly, you might have swatted him for assuming how things would end, but the idea of having Remus’ cock inside of you only made you wetter, your hips chasing his finger a little more desperate as you used it to chase your own pleasure. 

Remus used his free hand to take yours from his cock and placed it on his shoulder since he knew that would help you be a little more steady, he missed your touch, but the moans he pulled from you were enough compensation. He went for another finger and you moaned at how much more full you felt. Remus had longer fingers than Sirius did, and the scars added a layer of textures that you had never felt before but that you could easily get used to.��

His touch was much more curious and soft than Sirius’ had been the first time, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t aiding you into a state of absolute bliss. Sirius, ever the clever, figured out you were close in a second. He pulled Moony deeper into the table, pulling you along with him, took off his shirt and moved behind you. Both of his tights around yours, Moony’s in between. He pressed himself onto you allowing you to feel his warm and slightly sweaty skin. You could feel his boner pressing onto your ass which had you sight in pleasure. 

“How’s that, my love,” he said. “Do you like having Moony’s hand all over you? His fingers inside?” 

“Sirius,” you sighed. His hands were now on your hips, helping you ride Moony’s fingers with much more ease. Moony’s fingers got faster, and you could feel Sirius holding back from dry humping you from behind, his hips sometimes chasing against your ass, you had neglected him a little. “Like that,” you managed to whisper once Remus did a particular movement, a flick of his finger, and he instantly repeated it. 

“She’s close Moony,” Sirius warmed as he felt you tense, he moved his hands on your body reassuringly, but in the way that he knew you loved, you tensed, tightening around Remus’ fingers, and then let out a long, and quiet moan. “There you go,” Sirius added softly as he brushed his fingers over your leg, both of them helping you ride down from your high. Eventually, Remus took his fingers from inside you and placed a reassuring hand on your leg. You closed your eyes, head still pressed onto his shoulder as you breathed in, Remus had always smelled delightful, but you’d swear he smelled even better today.

You then reached your hand down but Sirius beat you to it, “My turn,” he said as he pushed you closer to Remus and took a hold of his cock. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked Remus with a smile, knowing well his answer. 

Remus gulped and shook his head, which had Sirius smile like a wolf and start playing around with his friend’s cock. He clearly knew what he was doing much better than you did since he had Remus panting and moaning a lot faster than you had. He also had you firmly pressed against Remus as he touched him, if you had wanted to –which you obviously didn’t– you wouldn’t be likely to get out in between the two. Still, you busied yourself with kissing Remus’ neck again, that spot that you seemed to be addicted to.

Remus sighed, and you started to brush your hands all over his body, moaning and grunting growing louder. Sirius felt his friend’s cock twitch in his hand and he knew he was close, so he stopped. Remus gave him a pleading look but he pulled his hand back completely and the you along with him. You didn’t realise what was going on until you saw Remus’ throbbing cock and confused look. 

“Sirius!” you reprimanded. Remus seemed to be struggling to form proper words. 

“He won’t get to fuck you if he comes into my hand,” Sirius responded then leaned his head into your shoulder and looked at Remus with a knowing pout. “Would you rather come into my hand than feel her tight little pussy around you, Moons?” 

Remus scoffed. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting by getting sexually involved with Sirius Black, but he should have fucking expected this kind of behaviour.

Sirius smiled, “How about we help him cool down a little but keep him hard, darling?” 

You leaned your head back onto Sirius, opening your legs a little for Remus to get a better view of your glistening sex. “What do you like, Remus?” You asked in the most innocent tone. As if you were asking about the taste of ice cream he preferred and not the kind of shit that turned him on. 

But frankly, neither you nor Sirius would have to do anything special to turn him on, he already pretty much worshipped you. Remus was still at a loss of words, he stared at both of you, then down between your legs and then up at your faces again. 

“Do you want me to eat her out?” Sirius asked as he tilted his head. 

“Or would you rather see me blow him?” 

“Cowgirl?” 

“Doggie?” 

Remus was sure that if you didn’t stop you, you might just list the entire kamasutra before he made a choice, “anything.” 

You tsked and shook your head, “No, Moons, that’s not the deal,” you replied. “What do you want?” 

Again, he saw you tense and relax between your legs as you asked him, and he didn’t miss the smirk that drew on your lips when he started. “I want” –he hesitated– “touch him.” 

“Your wish is my command,” you said with a smirk and instantly turned to Sirius, making sure to have him spin around enough so that you wouldn’t have Remus just look at your back, although he would have been more than happy staring at the way your ass moved. 

“Did you hear that, Pads?” 

Sirius hummed in response as he helped you accommodate, you were now cradling him. You first went for a kiss, soft, but demanding, as you two kissed, you lowered one of your hands and gripped Sirius over his pants. He moaned into your mouth and you pulled back from the kiss, no matter how addictive his lips were, you wanted Remus to hear his precious moans as well. 

Remus’ hands were itching to go back to his cock when he heard Sirius’ moan. He was too pretty, both of you were, he could still barely believe what was happening, but he sure loved every bit of it. “Help me get this off,” you said as you turned to Remus and pressed your hands onto Sirius’ belt. 

He raised his eyebrows amused and you gave him a short wink. He did as told. Leaning in closer and unbuckling the belt before sliding it off Sirius who was a moaning mess since your hand was still on him. Once Remus managed to move the button off, you were quick to digg your hand in and Sirius raised his hips a little to take it off along with his boxers. 

Remus’ cock twitched when he saw Sirius’ hard and proud. He wanted to touch it as much as he wanted to see you touch it, but he wasn’t sure Sirius would want him to touch it so instead he moved his desperate hand to the boy’s neck. You smiled at that and brushed yourself against him, passing his cock over your folds a few times to coat him with your wetness before gripping at him securely. 

“Sto–p teasing,” Sirius managed to say, and you laughed, placing a soft kiss to his cheek before wrapping your hand around him and starting to stroke. Remus seemed fascinated by the way you moved your hand on Pads, like you knew exactly what he wanted when he moaned or moved his hips slightly to the side. At some point Sirius started to chase your hand with his hips as well but Remus placed his hand on his legs to keep him down. Sirius turned to the boy with a frown and Remus smirked.

“I said I wanted her to touch you, not for you to fuck her hand,” he replied in a low tone. 

You giggled at the stifled moan that left Sirius’ lips when Moony said that, and continued with your strokes, turning your wrist so you had a bit more control and toying with the tip whenever your thumb got close enough to it. 

“Close,” Sirius breathed and you smiled, looking at Moony with a small smirk before pulling back a little from both of them but still stroking. Then you pulled further down and Sirius almost came in your hands at the mere image of what you were about to do. You pressed a kiss to kiss your stomach, and gently lowered down, allowing your nipples to brush over his cock causing him to shudder. 

You licked your lips before going down and pressing a soft and gentle kiss over his tip, you could feel the blood rushing and his cock twitching. You then pressed your tongue to him and Sirius let out a low, almost imperceptible groan. The first, soft splurt of his cum fell on the outside of your mouth before you wrapped your lips around him and sucked the rest of him dry. By the time you were done, Sirius was panting and gripping onto Remus’ leg as he attempted to catch a breath. You raised yourself back up to look at them both. 

You opened your mouth to show you had yet to swallow it all and then turned to Remus, “Want a taste?” 

Sirius was already sore, and yet when Moony nodded and pulled you in for a desperate kiss, he swore he felt himself twitch again. In a matter of seconds, you had climbed onto his lap, leaning into the kiss and only pulling apart to see his reaction, a line of spit still connected the two of you as smirked. 

“Fuck,” Sirius said in a low moan at the sight. 

“How was it?” you asked as you bit your lip. 

Remus tilted his head and dragged your hips to his, “Is not over yet, is it?” 

“I meant the taste,” you replied as you rolled your hips on his cock. 

He licked his lips, and laid his head on your shoulder as he looked at Sirius. “Fucking delicious,” he said.

You pressed a soft kiss to his neck. “Bet,” you added before rolling your hips against his again. “Ready?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Good,” you said, and then lifted yourself, brushing on his cock a couple of times before bringing your hand down to it, brushing his tip on you, making sure to brush your clit, and then slowly, sinking yourself onto him.

You breathed out as you did, getting used to his size, and he waited patiently for you to finish. 

“You all right?” he asked softly. 

You let out a breathy “Yeah.” 

“Tell me when I can start moving.” You squeezed your walls around him. “Fuck–“ 

Sirius laughed from the side and placed a hand on Remus’ arm, “Did I not mention she has a tendency to do that? I almost came the first time she did it to me.” 

You squeezed again and then started to move, slow and steady at first, Remus was a groaning mess again and it only fueled your resolve to continue moving and squeezing, eventually, his hips started thrusting up into yours and your movements seemed to synchronise. 

“Touch her too,” Sirius suggested and Remus did as told, quickly bringing one the hands that rested on your waist to your clit. You started to roll your hips so you could increase the pressure and he helped by moving his finger closer. 

“Is that good?” 

“Fuck yes,” you responded. 

You continued for a while, and you felt Remus get extremely close, if his moaning indicated anything but then he stopped thrusting into you and you slowed your pace with a questioning frown. 

“Can…” he panted. “Can I try something?” 

You nodded in return and Remus smiled, he pulled you up with his hands on your waist –his cock still inside you– and flipped you around, now your back was laying on Sirius’ chest and you could feel his semi-hard on your ass. 

“Moony what are you–“ he started but was shut up by a kiss as he thrusted into you. Both the kiss and your asscheeks brushing onto him had Sirius harden even more as Remus thrust in and out of you. 

“Touch her the way she likes,” he said to Sirius in between kisses and the other boy did exactly that, chasing in between the entanglement of bodies until he found your clit, tentatively, he brushed his hand down to feel where Remus and your body connected and Remus moaned at the feeling of Sirius’ hands on him again. “I said touch her,” he added with a sigh, “I want her to come again.” 

Sirius smiled and pressed a short kiss to Remus’ lips. “Your wish is my command.” 

Seconds later Sirius’ expert fingers were on you, brushing and circling your clit the way that made you brainless, your ass pressed onto his cock and Remus rutting into you quickly made you feel absolute bliss. 

“I’m about to–“ 

“She as well,” Sirius said as he felt the way you moved on top of him. 

Remus reeled at the thought and groaned out as he started to come, he tried to pull out but Sirius was quick to keep him in place. “She’s taking something,” he said simply, and that was enough for Remus to allow your walls to milk him. As he did, Sirius was fast with his hand and you were cumming on Remus’ cock, squeezing him even more as his pace started to slow down. 

Sirius, who was already sore, came for the second time that night a little after, surprising you since you were not expecting to feel the sticky wetness against your ass. 

Remus felt it too, since part of it spluttered all the way to his legs and he looked at Sirius with a mildly impressed stare. 

“You two are fucking hot,” he said, unapologetically. Remus pushed into you a couple more times and then he allowed his weight to fall on both of you. 

“Too heavy?” he managed to ask. 

“No,” you said as you accommodated your head next to Sirius’ and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. He sighed in contentment.  

Eventually, Remus drew himself out of you and then pulled back from his position on top and instead laid with his back against the table. He bit his lip, “I guess you’ll have to find another model.” 

“No way in hell we’re ever gonna look for another model,” you said with a laugh, also rolling from Sirius and letting yourself fall right in between the two of them, “Moony’s just perfect, isn’t he?” 

“Thought you couldn’t paint someone you’d fucked…” he breathed. 

Sirius laughed, “Well, they don’t have to know we’re a thing…” 

Remus felt so many emotions at once, you were a thing, but also Sirius doesn't want people to know.

“…until after we’ve handed in the paintings, and gotten our grades,” he added with a cheeky smile. 

“Besides, the sun is gone,” you added. “We’ll have to come back another day.”

“Didn’t you mention a sunlamp or something?” Remus asked.

“We’ll have to come another day,” you repeated with a smirk. And Remus gave you an impressed look. 

“Do you guys have anything to do?” Sirius asked.

You shook your head and Remus said a quick “No.”

“Why?��� you asked.

“I think Prongs is sleeping over at Reggie’s.” 

“Is he now?” Remus questioned. 

“I thought we could have a sleepover of our own.” 

You scoffed a laugh, of sleep, it wouldn’t have much.

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Read more Marauders Fiction

[nyaruelle-designs]

🦄 Mane 6 + Family Redesign! 🦄

aaaaa this took so long, but it's finally done 😭 here's some art of mane 6 with their families. If you haven't seen my first redesign for the Mane 6, click me!

Keep reading below for design notes! (most of them are very small tweaks to get the palettes to look close to the Mane 6 hahaha)

OK! starting off with twilight's family, I tried to keep her parents' colors close with her own colors, I took both twilight's and shining's colors to match along with their mom and dad. I think Night Light is the most noticeably different of all the parents so far??

shining's colors are quite good but I guess I make it a point to give some siblings matching coat patterns to relate them to each other haha

also I had to add spike. He is apart of the family after all <3

For Rarity's family, I really took a lot of creative liberties haha

I kept Sweetie Belle's colors quite similar but yeah, tweaked it to match more in her sister's color scheme and gave her shared coat patterns with Rarity.

Rarity's parents also underwent some tweaks HAHA (i swear, every time I give the mlp character a unique coat pattern, they turn out looking so different but good??)

Fluttershy's family still looks relatively the same just with a few tweaks to the colors. (Fluttershy definitely gets her soft wings from her mom hehe)

I gave Zephyr a tattoo which I imagine he got in his youth while figuring himself out, thought it would complement his 'surfer?? chill bro' character

Also, fun detail: the tips of Fluttershy and Zephyr's wings compliment/relate back to each other which I think is really neat

Rainbow's family is quite self-explanatory, not a whole lot of difference HAHA

I think I let myself have a little bit of fun when redesigning the Apples. Idk why I thought it'd be interesting to add a bit of green to Pear Butter but ye??

I also kept Pear Butter as having a more petite frame as my personal handcanon is that while she did do farm work, she mostly did the less intensive work like watering the crops or something ahaha

neat detail: Applebloom inherited her eye color from granny smith, thought it'd be interesting to link them together

And last but not least, the Pie familyyy

As Pinkie and Marble are twins, I modelled Marble directly off Pinkie's desaturated form but gave her a longer mane. Other then that, I tried making them look as similar as possible

It's not very noticeable but I also gave Pinkie's dad a bit more pink in his colour scheme to show where she could've gotten her pink genes from. (I want to believe that in the past Igneous Rock had a pink mane before it turned grey from age)

also out of topic but I have this personal headcanon that the pie sisters are actually quadruplets with pinkie being the only one out of the 4 having her recessive pink gene, thought it would be fun to share.

Anyway, congrats on making it to the end! Thanks for reading all my design notes :’D I’ll definitely be drawing more. (next I'm gonna try to draw the secondary characters and hopefully not take too long to get it done-)

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝑒 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Sol is the academy’s golden boy—a perfectionist and top-tier artist everyone knows. His art is known for being insanely good. But now? He’s stuck, completely out of ideas for his final project.

The pressure’s crushing him. Nothing he draws feels right. His professor, noticing how frustrated he is, suggests he should try a chill sketch workshop somewhere off-campus. 

Sol’s skeptical, but he goes anyway. That’s where he sees them—someone who looks like they walked straight out of a painting. There’s something about them that hooks him instantly. For the first time in forever, his pencil starts moving on its own.

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

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

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

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: artist! sol X model! reader, sub! sol, Dom! reader. teasing, slow burn, muse/artist dynamic, fluff with lots of spice, smut, such as oral (giving)

The late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the art classroom, casting golden beams across the scattered supplies and half-finished canvases. The room smelled of oil paint and charcoal, a mix that usually comforted Solivan Brugmansia

Or Sol for short.

Today, though, it only reminded him how empty his sketchpad still was.

Sol sat at the back of the room, leaning over his desk. His black turtleneck and rolled-up sleeves made him look effortlessly polished, though faint smudges of graphite clung to his fingers.

His sharp jawline tensed in concentration, reddish-orange eyes scanning the page as if willing something to appear.

A mop of unruly black hair with green streaks fell across his forehead, and he absentmindedly pushed them back with an ink-streaked hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sol wasn’t sure he had any soul left to reflect.

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

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

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

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

That was when the door creaked open. Sol turned his head, and there she was—Professor Lenox, stepping into the room. Her sharp eyes, framed by cat-eye glasses, immediately landed on him.

A petite woman with an air of authority, her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a tight bun. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who’d seen it all and still cared deeply for her students.

“Solivan,” she said, her voice warm but firm. She tilted her head, taking in the scattered papers and the furrow in his brow. “You look like you’ve been trying to wrestle with a ghost.” Sol let out a small, bitter laugh.

“Feels like it.” She walked closer, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. “I’ve seen that look before,” she said, setting a hand gently on the edge of his desk. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Sol looked up at Professor Lenox, her knowing gaze piercing right through him. He let out a huff, trying to disguise his frustration as a nonchalant sigh. “Guess I’m just having a block, Prof,” he said, the familiar excuse slipping off his tongue far too easily.

“Can’t seem to draw a damn thing,” he added with a shrug, though his clenched jaw betrayed his agitation. His eyes flickered to the empty page in front of him, the barren canvas almost mocking him.

Professor Lenox observed him, immediately sensing the tension. 

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

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

He watched as she flipped through his sketchbook, her slender fingers tracing over the blank pages and scattered attempts, like a judge examining an unfinished painting.

Professor Lenox hummed softly in both understanding and intrigue. Her eyes darted across the drawings, pausing on each failed attempt, each aborted project.

“Ah, I see,” Professor Lenox said quietly, her fingers still tracing over the pages. “Sometimes perfection can be... overwhelming. Expectations pile up like stones, weighing down on one’s creative soul.” She turned to look at Sol, her expression a mixture of sympathy and curiosity.

“It seems your mind is trapped in an internal battle... Tell me, did something happen that might have caused this creative block?”

Sol’s shoulders tensed, his eyes darting to the side as Professor Lenox’s gaze drilled into him. He was good at keeping his emotions in check, but her uncanny ability to read him was always unsettling. “Nothing specific,” he said shortly, his voice almost a mumble.

The truth was, he couldn’t very well tell her that his mind was occupied with someone else—someone who had consumed his thoughts like a fever. 

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

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

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

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

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

Sol's face burned, and his fingers gripped the pencil tighter. "It’s not... it’s nothing major," he whispered, looking down at the empty page in front of him. "Just... a crush." Lenox laughed softly, not unkindly.

"A crush, is it? How refreshingly human of you, Solivan," she said with a small, wistful sigh. "Ah, the simplicity of youth... But don’t let it eat you alive. You need space to breathe, not just in life but in your art." 

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

Sol blinked, his fingers stilling their nervous rhythm as he picked up the card. His eyes scanned the details, confusion flickering across his face. "What’s this?" he asked, glancing back at her. "Your next assignment," Lenox said smoothly.

"Take a break. The deadline isn’t for two weeks, Solivan. You’re tying yourself into knots for nothing." Her smile lingered as she gestured to the card. "There’s a workshop class tonight. I’ll be hosting it off-campus. You should come."

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

"To sketch, to breathe, to find your spark again," Lenox said simply. "You might even surprise yourself. Sometimes, inspiration doesn’t live in the places we expect it." She stepped back, her knowing smile intact. "Consider it, Solivan. You could use the change of scenery."

And with that, she turned and left the room, her footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet space.

Sol looked down at the card again, his mind stuck. 

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

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

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

404 Veridian Avenue, Studio B  

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

Sol glanced down at his phone as it guided him through the upscale part of the city. Towering brownstones and boutique storefronts lined the streets, their windows glowing warmly with light.

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

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

Halfway through, Sol spotted a door set into one of the walls, unmarked except for its heavy iron frame and chipped black paint.

A small group of people stood just outside, some holding large carrying cases that likely contained sketchbooks, canvases, or other art tools.  

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

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

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

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside.  

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

The building had the structure of an old warehouse, its industrial bones softened by creative touches.

Hallways stretched out in multiple directions, some leading to what looked like additional rooms beyond the so-called "studio." The hum of conversations and faint clatter of art supplies filled the air, weaving together with the low whir of the heating system.  

Sol's boots tapped against the worn wooden floors as he walked further in. Around him, people clustered together in small groups, their faces illuminated by warm light.

Makeshift classes appeared to be scattered throughout, each space marked off with folding dividers or chalked-out sections. Artists of all kinds shared their work, their voices overlapping with excitement as they critiqued and admired one another’s pieces.  

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

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

404.  

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

The room was grand and moody, the kind of space that could easily intimidate or inspire. Easels were arranged in neat rows, their dark frames catching the dim lighting that spilled from old-fashioned overhead fixtures.

The floors were a deep, polished wood, worn in places but still gleaming faintly. Across the walls, streaks of black paint gave the room a raw, expressive edge, as if the building itself were part of the art.  

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

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

“Ah, Solivan Brugmansia, you came.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few students glanced up as Sol walked past, their eyes lingering for just a moment on his dark, alternative appearance before they returned to their work. His presence was always an anomaly in places like this, but it never failed to intrigue.

He paused briefly at the easel, adjusting it to a more comfortable angle, then reached for his bag, pulling it closer. With a soft thump, he placed his supplies—a set of pencils, paints, and his worn sketchbook—onto the table.

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

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

Hyugo Sugimoto, his best and only friend, stood before him, looking just as youthful and carefree as ever. Hyugo had an oval-shaped face, still carrying the remnants of a babyish look, and sky-blue eyes that glimmered with a youthful sparkle.

His hair was a striking shade of teal, short on top with shaggy layers at the back, and an unexpectedly long rat tail that hung down to the side. His outfit was simple but effortless—an untucked white short-sleeve button-up and tan pants that looked like they hadn’t been ironed in days. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone ready?” she asked, her voice carrying an air of mystery. A few seconds of stillness passed before she slowly opened the door with a soft crack, revealing what lay beyond.

Sol’s breath caught in his chest. He stared at the scene unfolding before him, his eyes wide with shock. Hyugo’s face mirrored his own, both of them turning an unmistakable shade of red as their minds raced to process the unexpected turn of events.

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

This wasn’t just any drawing class—

this was a nude figure drawing class.

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

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

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

Sol couldn’t stop looking at the models, his face still burning with embarrassment. He had known the class would push him creatively, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of intimacy.

The thought of drawing a nude model—especially with Hyugo standing right next to him—was enough to make his mind race and his heart thump faster. This workshop was not going to be anything like he’d expected.

“What’s wrong my dear,”  

The soft yet insistent whisper came from Professor Lenox, who stood near the doorway, her voice barely audible over the hum of quiet conversation in the studio. Sol turned his head, seeing her gently coaxing someone to step forward.

“This isn’t the first time, you know,” she said, her tone light but persuasive. “Are you sure you’re still okay with this? You don’t have to, especially with our setup tonight.”  

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

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

“Okay,” the voice agreed quietly.  

Moments later, Professor Lenox stepped aside, gently guiding a young woman into the room. Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders like a dark waterfall, and in her hands, she held a simple white cloth, which she adjusted carefully over her frame.

The fabric clung to her like a second skin, highlighting her figure while leaving just enough to the imagination.  

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

It was you.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Solivan, are you comfortable with this?” she asked gently, her gaze flicking between you and him. “I should have checked before starting. I completely understand if you’d prefer not to be included in this exercise. It’s no problem if you’d rather step out.” Sol blinked, torn from his trance, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

He glanced back at you—standing there, wrapped in the thinnest veil of white, every line of your posture a quiet declaration of grace—and then back to Lenox, her expression patient and concerned.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyugo smirked, giving him a mock salute.

“Whatever you say, lover boy.”  

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

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

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

Professor Lenox’s voice cut through the haze of Sol’s mind. “Chin up, my dear.” He gently tilted your head, adjusting the angle to capture the perfect light. Sol’s breath hitched as he watched Lenox carefully drape the cloth around your body, ensuring it hugged your curves with meticulous care, emphasizing the fullness of your breasts and the soft shape of your lower body.

It was an artful, almost reverent display, and Sol couldn’t tear his gaze away, despite the deep embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“Perfect,” Lenox murmured as he took a step back, inspecting the pose from various angles. He gave you one last look, making sure the fabric was properly positioned and the light illuminated you just so, before turning to the class.

“Okay, class. Start your drawings,” he announced, his tone clear and commanding. “I’ll be starting my work as well. Happy drawing, and make sure there’s no loud talking.”

The room went quiet as pencils met paper, the sound of sketching the only noise now filling the space. Sol’s hands gripped the edge of his easel tighter, fighting to keep his focus. He tried to breathe slowly, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

His eyes kept drifting back to you, to the way the cloth wrapped around your body, the delicate curve of your neck, the subtle tension in your posture. It was like trying to ignore a flame in front of him, drawing him in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh wow…”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did want to see you again. 

He needs to see you again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” Sol said, his heart sinking.  

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

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

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

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

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

And then he saw you.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Sol wasn’t so easily deterred. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shifted his arms, your palms grazing over the sinew and strength beneath the fabric of his shirt as you brought them to rest on his thighs.

The moment lingered, charged, as his skin seemed to hum under your touch. Moving closer still, you placed a hand on his shoulder, the weight of your fingers grounding him yet sending a strange, exhilarating tension down his spine.

He inhaled sharply when your other hand found his chin, tilting his head upward with a deliberate precision that left no room for resistance. 

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

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

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

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

You step off the platform, your shoes clicking softly against the floor, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room. Bending down, you retrieve your tablet from where you left it nestled inside your bag, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as you stand.

Turning back toward Sol, you cradle the tablet in one arm and pull out the stylus magnetically attached to its side. Settling onto the stool once more, you balance the device on your lap, letting out a soft sigh of focus as you power it on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, the room feels heavy with unspoken words, the quiet between you almost crackling with tension. Sol shifts uneasily at your request, his heart racing so fast it feels like it might burst.

His fingers tighten against the fabric of his clothes, a subconscious attempt to ground himself. The thought of being naked in front of you—someone he hardly knew but felt inexplicably drawn to—stirred a mix of emotions he couldn't quite name.  

He felt a knot of nerves in his stomach, but it was tangled with a strange thrill that sent a shiver up his spine. His mind couldn't stop racing, picturing how the moment might unfold, the weight of your gaze tracing every inch of him.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as he caught the playful glint in your smile. It was as if that single expression stripped away any sense of control he thought he had, leaving him flustered, exposed, and completely captivated.

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

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

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

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

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

Sol’s laugh comes unbidden, a mix of exasperation and admiration. He shakes his head slightly, unable to ignore how disarmed he feels by your unapologetic nature.

Your bluntness is unnerving, like staring into the sun, but it’s also magnetic, pulling him further into your orbit. His mind raced with thoughts and images, the idea of baring himself to you both thrilling and nerve-racking.

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

Sol inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hands removed the black tie and then moved to the hem of his shirt, his fingers brushing the fabric as he unbuttoned it.

The cool air of the studio prickled against his skin, making him shiver slightly as the shirt slid off. Now exposed, he stood still for a second, his chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal. His heart raced, caught between nerves and a flicker of excitement, pounding loud enough that it felt like it might echo in the room.

His chest was a work of art in itself, lean and toned with subtle, defined muscles that hinted at strength without overwhelming bulk. His shoulders were broad yet refined, tapering down to a sculpted torso that seemed both effortlessly strong and meticulously maintained.

The faint outline of his ribs shifted subtly with each breath, and the curve of his collarbone caught the soft light of the studio, adding to the striking image.

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

Approval? Admiration? ...Maybe both?

You barely noticed your tablet slipping slightly in your hands as your eyes were drawn to him, your breath hitching for a fraction of a second. His physique was captivating and demanded attention without trying.

The sharp lines of his chest and the gentle shadow cast by his abs seemed to hold a magnetic pull, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but take it all in.

Something stirred deep inside—desire, curiosity, or maybe just awe—but you quickly masked it behind a composed expression. Still, there was a flicker in your gaze, a momentary slip that hinted at how much the sight had caught you off guard.

And Sol caught that flicker and his breath hitched, too, a small surge of confidence sneaking in alongside the nerves. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, searching for any other sign of what you were feeling.

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

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

It was strange, having someone look at him like this. Your gaze wasn’t casual or fleeting—it was sharp, and intense, as if every detail mattered. It made him feel exposed but… special. He shifted slightly, his muscles starting to ache from holding the pose.

But you didn’t seem to notice his struggle. Instead, your attention stayed fixed on him. "Don’t get cocky," you said with a playful smirk, breaking the silence as your eyes swept over him again. “You might be a good model; it has nothing to do with my tastes."  

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

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

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

You didn’t answer right away.

Your eyes shifted downward, your focus slowly drifting lower until…  

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

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

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

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

Sol's throat felt tight, his breathing quickening in sync with the rush of heat creeping up his face. His cheeks burned, not just from embarrassment but from a hint of excitement he could neither deny nor fully understand.

You were toying with him, your words deliberate and your smirk teasing, enjoying the way you made him squirm under your gaze. 

And the worst part?  

He liked it.

No, he loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His stomach flipped, your words hanging in the air like a loaded secret. Sol couldn’t decide whether to shrink away from your teasing or meet it head-on, his thoughts muddled between mortification and something far more dangerous: the undeniable thrill of it all.

His voice was a bit hoarse as he mustered a response. "I see… I don't think.. that’ll be a problem," he said, his voice not entirely convincing.

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

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

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

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

It was all too much. 

It was perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you nervous… or excited?"  

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

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

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

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

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

Pausing just above the fabric, you tilted your head, your gaze still fixed on his flushed face. The way his eyes flickered between restraint and surrender was intoxicating.

He met your stare once more, the tension in his body was evident as he struggled to stay composed. The way you toyed with him, teasing and testing his limits, drove him mad. Desire and helplessness waged war inside him, each longing glance a silent plea he refused to voice.  

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

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

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

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

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

“N-No,” he finally choked out, his voice raw and trembling as though the admission itself was being ripped from his chest.

“It’s… it’s just you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise flickering across your face for a split second before it was replaced by something else—something sharper, more triumphant. You sighed softly, the sound almost indulgent as you leaned in closer.  

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

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

You arched an eyebrow, your smirk widening. “Interesting.” Your hand moved slightly, your touch maddeningly deliberate, enough to make him gasp again.

“And yet,” you continued, your voice laced with playful condescension, “you’re not doing a very good job of it. Look at you—shaking like a lost puppy. As a nude model, you’re supposed to have composure. No trembling, no reacting like this—”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bit your lip, fighting back a smirk at his visible struggle. His ragged breathing, the way his eyes flicked between your face and the floor, and the tremor in his hands as they moved toward his waistband—all of it betrayed just how tightly wound he was.

Wordlessly, Sol removed his belt then hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants and slid them down over his hips, letting the fabric pool around his ankles. His legs were tense, his body taut like a string pulled to its limit.  

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

"Very good, Sol," you purred, your voice low and smooth as if coaxing him to relax despite the tension crackling in the air. You reached for your tablet, turning it on with practiced ease.

You heard his shallow breaths as though he were struggling to keep himself from unraveling. He obeyed, though, again sitting down stiffly as you began sketching. Your fingers glided over the tablet, sketching the outline of his body with precise, fluid movements.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sol's breath hitched as he hesitated, his hands trembling at the waistband of his boxers. His pulse was thunderous in his ears, every fiber of his being tense and alive with apprehension.

The room was silent save for the sound of his shallow breaths and the subtle creak of the floorboards beneath him. He met your gaze once more, and something in your expression—a mixture of calm, focus, and the faintest trace of amusement—steadied his resolve.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were closer now. 

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

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

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

This was too much. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sol's entire body was on fire. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he sounds so broken.

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

He looks even worse off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You withdrew with deliberate slowness, a sly smirk playing on your lips as you stuck out your tongue, catching the remnants of his cum. The salty sweetness lingered on your taste buds.

He couldn’t help but watch, captivated, as his cum dripped lazily down from your tongue, a tantalizing trail marking his trace that was now nearly gone.

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

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

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

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

Leaning in close, your lips hovered near his ear, the warmth of your breath tickling his skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more inspired,” you murmured, your voice low and rich, words spilling like a secret.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes again, your gaze alight with mischief.

“How about I be your forever muse? You’ve earned it.”  

Your moment of reverie was interrupted as you began to rise gracefully to your feet. The cinematic flair of the moment was undeniable—until the pins-and-needles sensation in your knees hit like a tidal wave, reminding you of the position you’d been in for far too long.

You stumbled slightly, your balance teetering precariously, before catching yourself with an awkward, self-conscious laugh.  

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

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

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

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

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

[yamujiburo]

Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs. 

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

[wobuffetbreakfast]

obm headcanons cuz why not

tags: pure family fluff! sibling shenanigans

when lucifer first brought a car in the devildom , despite their ages , levi and mammon would fight each other on who sits next to the drivers seat when lucifer drives. the rest of em would just get tucked in the backseat . more often than not , belphie usually ends up sprawled across everyone and sleeps there .

if beel (imagine human age 7-8 yrs) ever comes up with a school assignment which was due tomorrow , you bet it was mammon rushing out to buy supplies and burning the midnight oil while beel just sits on the countertop while mammon furiously writes and draws . bonus beel eating oreos and feeding mammon some while he is knee deep in papers and crayons.

levi's day to day wear is one fashion crime away from asmo taking him to majolish and redoing his whole wardrobe

speaking of which , when levi first started anime and cosplaying asmo used to help him out with make up and stuff , this is probably the reason why asmo became so good at makeup .

speaking of fashion sense , asmo is the first on the chart , mammon the second cuz he does modeling gigs at times , and third is lucifer . it is due to these three's combined efforts that the house of lamentation manages to look presentable at most of the times.

asmo tried to convince satan to wear both the sleeves of his jacket but to no avail.

during beel's fangol matches , you can see all seven of them at the bleachers sporting all the jerseys with beels number on it , with tiny flags and face paints . lucifer won't admit it , but he cheers the loudest during every climax of the match.

after the matches , its a family routine for them to head to hells kitchen for an unorthodox dinner having cheeseburgers and milkshakes .

belphie lost his aux cord privileges at the car due to his playlist solely being emo kid music and the devildom equivalent of mcr .

one time , diavolo convinced mammon to sneak him out of the castle for a night out because he wanted to see might life at devildom instead of being stuck back there . they were found later at 6 am at a motel , hungover due to cinnamon rolls , empty pizza cartons and cans of soda . it was barbatos and lucifer who found them and thankfully the issue didn't get much publicity . diavolo and mammon have become more sneakier in getting out , the duo that you didn't expect but now you have seen it , it can't be ignored .

levi has an online friend who likes sebastian from black butler a lot , both of them are practically best friends . but levi doesn't know his online bestie is barbatos who secretly manages a pinterest , tumblr and ao3 account in his free time . pinterest is where he gets his crochet ideas.

one time luke fell asleep at one of diavolo's formal galas , and it was beel who carried him like a baby back to purgatory hall .its said that luke unknowingly snuggled up to beel but he denies it .

when lucifer was an angel , simeon and him were really close . simeon notes the fact that when lucifer was first introduced to his baby brother mammon , he cried a bit at the thought of him growing up .

sometimes when belphie can't sleep , he goes to levi's room as most of the time , levi is busy playing with his console and belphie just ends up sleeping in his bathtub .

satan used to love it when mammon used to read him bedtime stories when he was younger . him and asmo used to share a bed and it was their favorite part of their bedtime routine .

[eufezco]

THE MUSE

Benedict needs to practice female form. Naked female form. And who better to help him than his lifelong friend?

Benedict x fem!reader (smut with plot, friends to lovers) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!)

Benedict didn't know how to ask you.

You had been friends for a long time, your families were practically one. Always so united, your mamas took walks every afternoon, gossiping about the ton and your fathers had been friends since childhood. You and Benedict were bound to meet.

You and he grew up together. You were friends with his siblings, you had held sleepovers with his sisters and won cricket matches against his brothers. Lady Violet Bridgerton loved you like a daughter and your mother loved Benedict like a son.

But your friendship with him had always been special.

When you were twelve, you ran away together to camp on the riverbank, just because Benedict wanted to draw the moon reflecting in the water at night. The following year, despite the scolding you received for your river adventure, you and Benedict sneaked onto private land just to pluck a few petals from the summer sunflowers to get him the perfect shade of yellow.

You and Benedict were very close. Of course, there had always been rumors about what kind of relationship you two had and that Lady Whistledown had only added more fuel to the fire writing about you two in her pamphlets. You and him never cared about that, and neither your families but it was true that you two have had to face some uncomfortable conversations with them about it.

That's why Benedict didn't know how to ask you. You had a lot of trust in each other, you had always supported his artistic vocation but perhaps this was too much.

—Oh, thank God you've come. I am in need of a model —. It was the first thing Benedict said to you when you entered his studio. The maid closed the door behind you, leaving you alone with him. Thank goodness the Bridgertons' service was very discreet, if anyone found out that you and him were alone in a room it would cause quite a scandal.

—Good evening to you too, Benedict.

—My apologies. Good evening —. He leaned to kiss your cheek.— I need a model —. He let you know one more time.

—How have you been? Very stressed from what I can tell —. You tried to have a normal conversation with him before you paid attention to what he required.

—Indeed.

You sighed. —Well, what is it? I thought we were going for a walk.

He nodded. —We can go outside later. But I need to get this done by tomorrow and I feel like I'm losing my mind.

—And...?

—I need practice female form.

You slowly nodded. You were aware that Benedict had been recently attending this art academy, you were happy that he was finally able to pursue his passion and you couldn't deny that within the characteristic desperation of the artists, he looked very attractive. Benedict's hair was a mess, his white shirt was half-open, his sleeves were rolled up. He would never have allowed himself be seen in society like that and you were grateful because otherwise he would have all the girls after him.

—And you want me to...?

—Pose for me.

You weren't quite sure how to do it but it seemed easy and fun. All the times he had drawn you, he had done it when you were distracted, reading, having tea with his sisters... The pencil moved effortlessly across the paper when he saw you laughing with Daphne or playing with the cards that Colin had brought back from his trip to Spain. He was already too embarrassed to admit each time he drew you and Anthony teased him by saying that if he didn't propose to you, he would show you his drawings, and Benedict's heart skipped a beat because he knew that his older brother was not known for being a joker.

Benedict still didn't know how he was going to ask you, maybe it was better to just let it out.

—And what shall I do? Just stand here? Like this? —You laughed and made a dramatic pose like the ones you saw in the paintings in the gallery you visited together.

—I need you to ...

Benedict swallowed nervously. He looked down at your dress and then directly into your eyes. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to finish. You also looked at your dress to see if there was something wrong with it.

—Benedict I don't think I understand what you are trying to say—

—I need to practice naked female form.

Benedict immediately noticed your horrified face. He wanted to go back seconds ago when he hadn't even asked but if it wasn't you, who would it be? —I will not draw your face. No one will know it is you. It will be purely professional, I just need a few minutes.

You bit the inside of your cheeks and decided to trust him when he said that it would be for professional purposes only. The unfinished nude sketches that made your cheeks burn when you saw them as you entered his studio showed you that Benedict found no inspiration in the bodies of the academy models. After a nervous swallowing, you nodded and Benedict's face lit up. He hugged you but you didn't have time to hug him back because he quickly went to prepare the canvas.

—Is the door locked? —You asked him as you shed the little jacket that covered your shoulders along with your gloves. Benedict rushed off to lock it and before he returned to his position behind the canvas. You called his name and gulped, your hands failing in their attempts to unzip your own dress. —May I please get some help?

—Oh, yes, of course. My apologies.

Benedict stood behind you, his fingers brushing the skin on your back as he began to slowly unzip it until the dress slid down your body and fell at your feet. Benedict felt like he had to look away, as if in a few seconds you would not be completely exposed to his eyes. He offered you his hand to help you get up on a small pedestal that he had in his studio. Once you got rid of your underwear, you felt vulnerable but not as vulnerable as when Benedict ran his eyes over your body from his position and with the paintbrush already in his hand.

He let out all the air he had in his lungs, he couldn't take his eyes off you. Benedict could not deny that he had imagined it on many occasions, but reality far surpassed his imagination.

—What... What should I do, Benedict? —You hugged yourself.

—Put your arms down and stand like that. You look perfect, darling.

Your cheeks burned after that. You did as he said. His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration as his eyes went from the canvas to you and back to the canvas. Benedict asked you to turn around and he squeezed his eyes tightly after seeing your bare ass. Purely professional, this was purely professional, he had to remind himself.

Benedict grabbed a wooden chair and walked over to you. Your heart skipped a beat once he was so close to your naked body and he felt the exact same. He placed the chair next to you and invited you to sit on it. He nodded slowly when you did, focusing on the new position of your body. Benedict went back behind the canvas and made a few sketches.

He cleared his throat. —Would it be possible if you... Could you spread your legs?

Your cheeks grew hot and you squeezed your thighs together.

The knot you had in your stomach got tighter and you felt your chest rise and fall slowly thanks to your deep breathing. You straightened your back in the chair and you did as Benedict asked. You felt the air of the room caressing you in that warm and wet area and he held his breath, his chest puffing out as your legs slowly opened for him.

—You are beautiful, darling. Do not be ashamed —. Every new inch he discovered of your body made you look more perfect in his eyes. It was as nice to see you as it was to paint you.

Your cheeks grew even hotter but this time it wasn't just your cheeks, your whole body was in flames starting with the area between your legs that was so exposed to his eyes.

—Could we try another position?

You nodded, relieved, you were sure it was painfully obvious the way you had gotten wet and you just hoped he was busy enough to not notice.

He dropped the paintbrush and got up from the stool on which he was sitting. Benedict felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter with each step he took closer to your naked body. You moved in the chair out of nervousness. Benedict leaned slightly over you. —May I? —He asked before touching your leg. His voice made you shiver, he was so close, you felt his hand brush against the skin of your thigh. You nodded and looked up at him while he repositioned your leg. Benedict's eyes meet yours, so helpless, his lifelong friend, was that innocence in your eyes, or was that...?

Lust.

Your hand grabbed the back of Benedict's head and pressed his lips against yours. His eyes widened in surprise but immediately after, his hands went to cup your cheeks as he fell to his knees in front of you. You opened your legs so he could place himself between them and be closer to you. The shameless hands of your friend traveled down your neck until they reached your breasts. You moaned against his mouth once he gave them a gentle squeeze, the soft palm of his hand brushing against your nipples.

Benedict left a trail of soft kisses from your cheeks to your collarbones and your breasts. He took one in his mouth as his hand played with the other, his tongue moving in circles around your nipple and sucking on it at the same time. Your breathing quickened and your lips parted to let out soft moans when Benedict's teeth brushed your sensitive nipple.

He let go with a pop sound and watched you gasp for air. Benedict placed his hands on the inside of your thighs and caressed your skin there before he slowly pushed them to open even further. His hands prepared you for him, his eyes asked for your permission. You nodded and Benedict flashed you a smile, that was all he needed. He peppered your thighs with kisses, taking small bites and kissing your sore skin afterwards. Your breathing deepened as his mouth got closer to where you needed him the most. He was so close he could smell you and oh Lord, his dick got hard as a rock at that moment.

You took a sharp breath when he licked from your entrance to your clit and savored your juices in his mouth. The image was completely sinful, his blue eyes were locked on you while his lips sucked on your bundle of nerves, his hands forced your legs to stay open for him. Your head was thrown back, your mouth was open in a perfect "O" form, your fingers digging into his scalp. Once he noticed the desperation in the way your hips rolled against his mouth, two of his fingers entered you easily. You stifled a loud moan, throwing a hand over your mouth.

Benedict hummed, sending vibrations to your clit.

—Talk to me. How does this feel? —He required.

—So good. It feels... —You bit down your lower lip, his fingers sank deeper. —It feels like heaven.

He was satisfied with your answer.

Benedict fucked you with his fingers until you had to grab his wrist to get him to stop, it was too much. Your legs closed around his head but his lips were still attached to your clit and he didn't stop until he heard how your moans turned into whines and cries, not until he noticed how your back arched off the chair and your chest rose and fell uncontrolled thanks to your panting. Benedict didn't stop, not until he felt how your pussy was clenching so hard that almost pushed his fingers out of you and he heard you moan his name one last time as your grip on his hair tightened.

He gave you all the time you needed to catch your breath, kissing your legs and intertwining his fingers with yours while you came down from your high. Benedict's blue eyes were locked on you making every effort to later recall every single part of you.

—How are you feeling, darling? —Benedict stood on his feet and held your hands so that you would stand up as well. Before you could answer his question, you both realized how your legs were shaking and laughed. At the same time, you felt Benedict's grip on your hands grow stronger to keep you from falling.

Benedict leaned in and kissed your lips in the sweetest possible way. The tickling sensation in your body that you felt when you were naked in front of him had turned into a different kind of tickling, now focused on your stomach. It was so familiar, you had felt it so many times when you looked at him but now, with his lips on yours and his hands treating you with so much affection and care, it was different.

You could confirm that it was not only lust but also love.

You hummed against his lips. —Wait, did you finish your drawing?

Benedict shook his head. —But, please, do not worry about that. I will help you get dressed —. You frowned confused and he gave a quick kiss to your lips so, as he had told you, you would not worry. —I can finish later. There's no way I'm forgetting your body, my dear.

[tac-the-unseen]

Could you write slashers with a s/o who’s an artist? You can do with all/any you want but I would specifically like maybe the Sinclairs, Billy Lenz, Brahms and maybe Pinhead?

Slashers x Artist Reader + Pinhead

Micheal Myers:

•Pretends not to care, but he's an artist at heart

•If you sculpt or blind things he will insist on watching you over your shoulders

•Will steal supplies for you whether you ask or not

•if you Draw or paint, it's going on the fridge or wall

•He truly admires your work

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•Billy and Stu really just lets you do your thing

•Stu suggest glitter no matter the work or meaning

•Billy Suggests You make a lot of gore pieces

•Both of them will go the extra mile to kill models for you, so you have a subject

•Both Jokingly propose to model nude for you

Thomas Hewitt:

•Loves it when you proudly show him your art

•if you draw/paint on paper, He'll build custom frames So he can hang it up

•If you paint on a canvas, He'll make you canvases so you can make more art

•If you sculpt/Make pottery He'll make a display case for your work

•He's very proudly flaunts it to the family

Bubba Sawyer:

•Shows you his Bone art

•Wants to make art with you

•No matter what you do, He wants to join

•Will be as happy as can be if you make crafts with him or use his supply of bones in your art

Bo Sinclair:

•His Brain immediately connects you to Vincent

•He subconsciously starts treating you like his brother, no matter your relationship with him

•When he goes to other town he grabs you and his brother some supplies

•kinda just plops you down with Vincent and expects you to to get along, especially if you sculpt

•That's about as nice as he can get

Vincent Sinclair:

•He's excited to have somebody who understands

•Will silently sit next to you well both of you work on your craft

•Feels oddly comforting to him

•His family has always been connected by art, even though they're not great people. So having you make art with him solidifies your position as family to him

•shows you his technique with wax working, and wants to teach you how to sculpt with wax

Lester Sinclair:

•pt. 3 of familial bond

•because he didn't receive much attention as a kid, He desperately tried to be an artist to gain favor of his mother

•It didn't click with him the way it clicked with Vincent so he was shoved aside for “real artists”

•If you sit down and make art with him, he will cry

•constantly seeking your validation and praise

•holds your art very dear

Billy Lenz:

•Yet another creature looking over your shoulder

•He's fascinated by your ability to create

•You have hands And he has hands, yet your creations are always different than his

•He's a little jealous

•demands you teach him how to be better

•If you already don't know he'll show you how to crochet in return

Brahms Heelshire:

•In All his time locked away He has had plenty to make art

•He focus on the more classical sides of painting and traditional drawing

•He makes stunning portraits, So if you have a different art style it confuses him

•He's lived his life very sheltered so at first he might not even consider it art

•He later learns how much time and care you put into these works and starts to appreciate your dedication

•He also steals some of them to put up in his room

Hannibal Lecter:

•Very excited

•Starts showing off his own private art collection

•Takes it upon himself to teach you “proper technique”

•Gives you random history lessons on your choice of art form

•buys you very expensive supplies

Will Graham:

•Okay dude

•Doesn’t really care

•Just happy that you're happy

•Secretly admires your work when you are away

•Always make sure your work is safe and undamaged

The Lost Boys:

•Marko is immediately grinning ear to ear

•David pretends not to care

•Dwayne silently watches you

•Paul is all up in your personal space while you work

•No matter what you make or how proud of it you are, It's going in the horde pile with all their other treasures

•Paul and Marko asking you to draw them all the time

•If you do it's being hung up on the wall

Pinhead:

•Another artist in his own way

•He prefers body modification and rigging as his art form

•Will creepy watch you work from a distance

•He’ll give you polite criticism from time to time

•Seeing you so focused and dedicated makes him think of all the other past artists he's met

•Decides fairly quickly that you are his favorite

Thanks for reading <3

[3liza]

because most of us can't. the majority of subsistence artists, like sex workers, are in this line of work because we can't do other work. there is also a huge amount of overlap between sex work and subsistence artists and always has been. i have no clue why I continue to see it being discussed as something every artist is simply choosing to do out out some combination of stupidity and narcissism. i would cut off one of my toes to magically have the ability to show up to a normal job every day.

there is a huge blind spot about artists in Marxism and leftist discussion of labor generally because Marx literally didn't talk about them and they don't fit into the "owning the means of production = bourgeois" model unless you're dumb enough to call the guy doing tourist caricatures on the boardwalk "bourgeois", and no joke I have actually seen people try to argue this, but everyone normal understands they are stupid so it doesn't matter. we agree that the guy on the boardwalk with the easel or the bucket drums or the harp is not actually bourgeois.

if you have actually worked in the "creative industry" without support while paying your own rent and groceries and not being supported by parents or friends or a spouse, and you know a bunch of other people who have been doing the same thing for a long time, you are similarly confused by discussions along the lines of "why do artists simply not get other jobs if they hate being slowly fed into the social media meat grinder 🤔"

i can tell you exactly why. it's because I spend 25 days out of every month having to Lie Down, and when I tried saying the words "Americans with Disabilities Act" to various employers and school administrators like you're supposed to, I got shitcanned and failed so many times it was like a vaudeville routine. you will find that this is true of a great many working artists (not hobbyists and not students living at home, adult working artists), perhaps most, and I genuinely continue to be baffled by the fact that nobody seems to be aware that drawing things for cash (or dancing or writing articles or editing manuscripts or taking wedding photos or whatever) and other jobs without set schedules (like stripping, camming, etc) are careers a lot of people, certainly the ones without any starting capital, end up in when they can't get paid more for fewer hours. and you get paid more for fewer hours in basically any other job than these, including working at fast food or walmart.

surely you can hear how this sounds? "if you don't like it, why don't you just get a job that pays more?" where have we heard that before? stop. think.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Hiyaaa! I really loved your story about Lando (also love how lengthy it was)!

I was wondering if you could write a best friends to lovers story with Lando where the reader thinks she isn’t Lando’s type (like maybe he prefers blondes and model types but reader isn’t). A bit of angst but hopefully a happy ending.

No worries if you say no though. Thank you!!

My Type

Anon: I was wondering if you could write a best friends to lovers story with Lando where the reader thinks she isn’t Lando’s type (like maybe he prefers blondes and model types but reader isn’t). A bit of angst but hopefully a happy ending.

Song: Friends by Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: Sorry it took so long! Writer's block is a real thing! I had to make it just for you first. Also I haven't a clue about how the process of modelling works so bare with me. Please like, reblog and share this! <3

Word count: 19.6k

MASTERLIST - F1

The Belgian Grand Prix is one of the most prestigious races in the Formula 1 calendar, known for its challenging track and unpredictable weather. Winning this race is a significant accomplishment for any driver, marking a high point in their career.

Lando's victory at such a renowned event was a testament to his skill and dedication, making the celebration all the more special.

You stood at the edge of the crowded party, your dark hair cascading down your shoulders as you watched Lando, your long-time best friend, bask in the glory of his first-place finish at the Belgian Grand Prix.

The air was filled with excitement and anticipation as everyone celebrated his success.

As the night progressed, you could feel the weight of jealousy settling deep within your heart.

Lando, not just content with his victory on the track, had taken up the role of DJ for the night, surrounded by some of his closest friends. The upbeat music he played matched the electric atmosphere, drawing cheers and applause from everyone in the room.

You watched as he seamlessly transitioned between tracks, his infectious energy captivating the crowd. Each song seemed to elevate the party's spirit, and yet, with every beat, you felt the pang of envy grow stronger.

You had always been proud of Lando's accomplishments, but tonight, the spotlight felt blinding. It wasn't just his victory; it was the way he commanded the room, the way everyone gravitated towards him.

You tried to shake off the feeling, forcing a smile whenever he glanced your way. But the gnawing sense of being overshadowed was hard to ignore.

As the night wore on, you found yourself torn between celebrating your best friend's success and confronting the uncomfortable emotions swirling within you.

You watched as Lando, known for his preference for blondes and model types, engaged in lively conversations with two stunning girls with golden locks and perfectly sculpted bodies.

Their laughter and carefree demeanor made you envy them, as you couldn't help but wonder if Lando would ever see you in the same light.

Unable to bear the sight of Lando being fawned over by girls you felt you weren't his type, you decided to call it a night and leave the party early.

The ache in your heart was overwhelming, and you needed some time to clear your head.

As you stepped outside into the cool night air, you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and disappointment.

You had cherished the friendship you had built with Lando over the years, but deep down, you always held a secret hope that there might be something more.

Once you arrived home, you slipped out of your party dress and changed into comfortable pajamas, feeling the soft fabric soothe your skin. You wiped off your makeup, each stroke of the cotton pad removing the remnants of the night's emotions.

As you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but wonder if you were destined to always be just a friend in Lando's eyes.

Curling up on the couch with a blanket, you let out a deep sigh, trying to shake off the melancholy that had settled over you. Your phone buzzed with notifications from the party, but you ignored them, wanting to detach from the world for a while.

Despite the inner turmoil, a small part of you still held onto the hope that one day, Lando might see you differently, and until then, you had to find a way to be content with the bond you already shared.

Perhaps, you thought, the next time you and Lando had a quiet moment together, you could share a heartfelt memory from your past that highlighted how much his friendship meant to you. You could let him know how grateful you were for the support and trust you had built over the years, and subtly hint at how your feelings had grown deeper.

Maybe then, he would begin to see you in a different light.

An hour later, there was a soft knock on the door. Expecting it to be one of the girls from earlier, you were pleasantly surprised to see Lando and Carlos standing on the other side. Carlos warm smile instantly lifted your spirits, and a wave of relief washed over you.

"Hey, there you are! Lando wouldn't stop whining if I didn't find you," Carlos said, his voice filled with concern.

Lando had been clinging to Carlos, his eyes drifting around until they landed on you. The moment his gaze met yours, a mixture of relief and something unspoken flickered across his face.

"I was worried about you," he admitted quietly, stepping closer as Carlos gave him a gentle nudge forward.

As Lando stepped closer, your eyes met, and in that moment, everything seemed to shift. The spark that had been dormant for so long ignited, and you found yourself caught up in the intensity of his gaze.

Without hesitation, Lando closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His touch sent shivers down your spine, filling you with a warmth that you had never known before.

"Looks like my job here is done, goodnight guys," Carlos said, closing the door softly behind him, a knowing smile playing on his lips. You could hear his footsteps fade away, leaving you and Lando in a bubble of privacy.

Lando's arms tightened around you, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

"Why did you leave?" Lando asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his forehead resting against yours.

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain the torrent of emotions that had driven you away. "I just… I didn't think you would notice," you confessed.

Lando pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "I've always noticed you," he said softly, his gaze never wavering. "I don't want anyone else. Just you."

"Lando…" you muttered, "you're drunk, you don't mean that." His grip on you tightened as he shook his head, determination etched across his face.

"I'm not drunk enough to lie about this," he insisted, his voice steady despite the swirling emotions between you.

"Come on, Lando, let's go lie down," you said, trying to change the subject and ease the tension. "In your bed?" Lando asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up with a hopeful glint.

"No, on the sofa," you replied quickly, leading him towards the living room. As you both settled onto the couch, Lando rested his head in your lap, his arms still wrapped around your waist.

The warmth of his body against yours provided a strange comfort, and you gently stroked his hair, hoping that the peaceful moment would help both of you find some clarity.

"We can talk more in the morning," you whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "For now, just rest."

Lando sighed softly, his eyes fluttering closed as he nestled closer to you. "Okay," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and contentment.

He murmured, his voice barely audible, "but promise me you won't leave again."

His breathing gradually slowed, and the tension in his body eased, allowing both of you to momentarily escape the complexities of the night.

"I promise," you muttered softly, your fingers continuing to trace soothing patterns in his hair. The weight of your words seemed to bring him a sense of peace, and soon his breathing became deep and even.

You watched over him, feeling a sense of calm wash over you as well, knowing that for now, at least, you were right where you needed to be. . . .

The first light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the living room. You stirred slightly, feeling the warmth of a blanket draped over you.

As you opened your eyes, you realized you were nestled in Lando's arms, his face inches from yours, still deep in slumber. His steady breaths tickled your cheek, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of him so peaceful and vulnerable.

Carefully, you shifted to get a better look at him, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions. The events of the previous night replayed in your mind, and you wondered what the day would bring.

Would he remember his heartfelt confession? Would things between you change?

For now, you decided to savor the moment, gently brushing a lock of hair away from his face as you whispered, "Good morning, Lando."

Lando's eyelids began to flutter as he gradually woke from his deep slumber. His brow furrowed slightly, and he let out a soft, contented sigh. Slowly, his eyes opened, revealing a hint of confusion that quickly melted into recognition as he saw you gazing down at him.

A sleepy smile spread across his face, and he tightened his grip around you, pulling you closer as if to confirm that you were really there.

"Good morning," he mumbled, his voice husky from sleep. He took a moment to fully wake up, blinking a few times before raising a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes.

You noticed the way his face softened as he remembered the events of the previous night, and a faint blush crept into his cheeks.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his tone gentle and filled with genuine concern.

"I did," you replied with a warm smile, feeling the sincerity in his question. "It was one of the best nights of sleep I’ve had in a long time. How about you? You seemed pretty peaceful."

Lando chuckled softly, still holding you close. "Yeah, I slept well, thanks to you. I was worried I might have said too much last night, but seeing you here now, I feel like everything's going to be alright."

His eyes searched yours, seeking reassurance, and you could see the vulnerability lingering just beneath the surface.

"Do you… do you regret anything from last night?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What happened yesterday?" you asked, only remembering when you collected him from Carlos.

Lando's expression shifted slightly, a mix of surprise and concern crossing his features. "You don't remember?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You blinked, the memories slowly piecing themselves together. "I do remember picking you up from Carlos, but everything after that is a bit of a blur," you admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Lando's grip on you tightened slightly, as if to offer comfort. "It's okay," he said softly, a tender smile forming on his lips. "Don't worry about it. It was nothing serious."

"Okay," you said, and Lando smiled, propping himself up with one elbow. The morning light cast a soft glow over his features, making him look even more handsome. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch light and affectionate.

"Hey, I was wondering," he began, his fingers still lingering near your hair, "are you going anywhere during the summer break?" His eyes were filled with a mix of curiosity and hope, as if he was eager for your answer.

You paused for a moment, considering your plans. "I hadn't really decided yet," you replied honestly. "I was thinking of maybe taking a trip somewhere relaxing, but nothing's set in stone. Why do you ask?"

Lando's face lit up with a hint of excitement. "Well, I was thinking that we could go home first because my mom has been dying to see you again." He looked at you earnestly, waiting for your response.

"I saw her just last month though," you said with a chuckle.

Lando laughed, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah, but maybe she just likes you a lot. I swear she likes you more than her own son," he teased, giving you a playful nudge.

You laughed softly at his playful jab, feeling the warmth of his affection. "Well, I do have a certain charm," you said with a wink, "but I'd love to see her again. Besides, it's always nice to have a home-cooked meal and spend time with your family."

You paused, looking into his eyes. "And it would be good to spend more time with you too, away from all the chaos."

Lando's eyes brightened even more at your words. "That's great to hear," he said, his voice filled with genuine happiness. "We can plan something together. Maybe after visiting my mom, we can take that relaxing trip you mentioned. Just the two of us, somewhere quiet and beautiful."

"What do you think?" he asked softly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart fluttered at the idea. "That sounds perfect, Lando," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think a trip like that would be exactly what we need."

Lando's smile widened, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'm glad you think so. Let's start planning it then. Maybe we can look at some places tonight and figure out where we want to go."

His excitement was contagious, and you found yourself grinning back at him, already imagining the serene moments you'd share together.

"Let's just focus on today," you suggested, your eyes sparkling with a mix of hope and excitement. "How about we make some breakfast together? I promise not to burn the toast this time."

Lando laughed, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort envelop you. "That sounds perfect," he agreed, and together you started your day, leaving the uncertainties of the night behind.

As you tried to get up, you felt Lando's arm still around your waist, holding you close. "Lando?" you asked softly, glancing back at him.

His eyes were half-closed, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "I didn't say now," he murmured, his voice laced with playful insistence. "Sleep a little more."

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "Okay, but only for one hour," you insisted, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as a smile tugged at your lips. "We have a lot to do today."

Lando's grip loosened just slightly, but he didn't let go. "Fine, one hour," he agreed, his eyes closing again. "But no burning the toast later, deal?"

You laughed softly, nestling back into his embrace. "Deal," you whispered, closing your eyes and letting the comfort of the moment wash over you. . . .

The next time you opened your eyes, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow across the living room. You noticed Lando was no longer beside you.

Sitting up, you stretched and immediately caught the delicious aroma of something cooking. Curiosity piqued, you slipped out of the blanket and made your way to the kitchen.

There, you find Lando, humming softly to himself as he expertly flipped pancakes on the stove. The table was set with fresh fruit, juice, and a pot of steaming coffee. He turned and saw you, a grin spreading across his face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he teased. "Thought I'd surprise you with breakfast. And don't worry, I didn't burn the toast."

"Good morning, chef," you replied, hopping up to sit on the counter, your legs swinging playfully. "This looks amazing! I guess I should let you take over breakfast duty more often." You reached out to snag a piece of fruit from the table, popping it into your mouth with a grin.

Lando chuckled, his eyes twinkling with delight. "Don't get too used to it. I might just expect you to return the favor next time," he teased, flipping another pancake with a flourish.

"But seriously, I wanted to make today special. We have a lot to look forward to, and I thought starting with a good breakfast would set the tone."

You smiled warmly, feeling your heart swell with affection as you watched him move around the kitchen, his care and attention evident in every gesture.

"Should I get the plane ready?" you asked, reaching for your phone. Lando glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly before softening into a smile.

"Let's not rush," he said, placing a stack of perfectly golden pancakes onto a plate. "We have the whole day ahead of us. How about we enjoy breakfast first and then take it from there?"

You nodded, sliding off the counter to help set the table. "You're right. We don't need to hurry. Besides, this breakfast looks too good to rush through."

Lando grinned, pouring syrup over the pancakes. "That's the spirit. Let's take our time and savor every moment today."

As you set the final plates on the table, you couldn't help but sneak another glance at Lando. The morning light streaming through the windows cast a warm glow on his face, making him look even more radiant.

"You know," you began, taking a seat beside him, "I never knew you could cook like this. Where did you learn?"

Lando smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Believe it or not, my grandmother taught me. She always said that a good meal brings people together, no matter how busy life gets."

He placed a fork in your hand, nudging you playfully. "Now, dig in before it gets cold. We have a whole day to make the most of, starting with this breakfast."

You both settled into a comfortable rhythm, chatting and laughing as you enjoyed the meal. The promise of the day ahead making everything taste even sweeter.

After breakfast, the two of you cleaned up quickly, eager to start the day's adventure. "So, what's the plan?" you asked, excitement bubbling in your voice.

Lando smiled, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I thought we could explore my second home before heading back to the UK. There's a quaint little village nearby that I think you'll love. It's filled with charming cafes and picturesque scenery."

The thought of discovering new places together filled you with joy. As you packed your bags and prepared for the journey, you couldn't help but feel grateful for this spontaneous trip."Here first, then to the UK," you repeated, feeling the thrill of the unknown.

Lando nodded, his enthusiasm infectious. "Exactly. Let's make some unforgettable memories."

You chose to wear a stunning burnt orange printed mesh cut-out frill hem midi dress for the journey. The vibrant color complemented the morning's warm glow, and the intricate patterns added a playful touch to your look.

As you slipped it on, the dress hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating your silhouette in all the right places. The cut-out details added a hint of allure, while the frilled hem swayed gracefully with each step, giving you an air of effortless elegance.

Lando's eyes widened in appreciation as he saw you. "Wow, you look incredible," he said, his voice filled with admiration.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks but smiled confidently. "Thanks, Lando. Ready to go?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, his grin broadening. "But first, I have a little surprise for you." Intrigued, you followed him outside where a sleek, vintage convertible was parked in the driveway.

The car gleamed under the morning sun, its polished exterior hinting at many adventures yet to come. "I thought we could drive there in style," he said, opening the passenger door for you.

You slid into the plush leather seat, the scent of the car's interior mingling with the fresh morning air.

Lando hopped in beside you, turning the key and bringing the engine to life with a low, satisfying rumble.

"This is amazing, Lando," you said, your excitement evident. "I can't wait to see what the day has in store for us."

He backed out of the driveway, and the two of you set off, ready to embrace whatever adventures lay ahead.

As the car glided down the winding country roads, the scenery unfolded like a painting. Rolling hills blanketed with golden wildflowers stretched out on either side, and ancient oak trees stood proudly, their branches reaching out to touch the sky.

The morning mist began to lift, revealing quaint cottages with ivy-clad walls and gardens bursting with vibrant blooms, creating a postcard-perfect backdrop for your journey.

With the roof down, the wind tousled your hair and the warm sun kissed your skin, adding to the sense of freedom that the open road provided.

You could hear the cheerful songs of birds and the rustling of leaves, creating a symphony that perfectly matched the picturesque landscape around you.

The scent of blooming flowers and fresh grass filled the air, heightening your senses and making each moment feel even more magical.

You turned to Lando, his eyes sparkling with the same excitement you felt. "This is perfect," you said, your voice barely rising above a whisper as you took in the beauty around you.

He nodded, his grin never fading. "Just wait," he replied, "we're only getting started." The car cruised effortlessly through the countryside, each mile bringing new sights and experiences, cementing the day as one you would always cherish.

You soon reached a quaint little town nestled in the heart of the countryside. The cobblestone streets were bustling with life, as locals went about their morning routines.

Market stalls lined the square, offering everything from fresh produce to handmade crafts, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air. Children laughed and played near a fountain, their carefree joy adding to the town's charm.

Lando parked the car near a cozy café, its outdoor seating shaded by colorful umbrellas.

As you stepped out of the car, the townspeople greeted you with warm smiles and friendly nods. The sense of community was palpable, and you felt an immediate connection to this charming place.

"This is the places where I used to go with my mom," Lando bragged as he got out of the car to help you out. "I know basically everyone here." His eyes twinkled with a mix of nostalgia and pride as he gestured towards the bustling market.

"Let me show you around. You'll love it."

As you walked, Lando pointed out various landmarks and introduced you to the friendly locals. "That's Mr and Mrs. Thompson's bakery," he said, nodding towards an inviting shop with a window display full of pastries. "They make the best scones you'll ever taste."

Every corner seemed to hold a memory, and Lando's excitement was infectious. "And over there is Mr. Miller's blacksmith shop. He's been here for as long as I can remember."

With each introduction, you felt more at home, your heart swelling with appreciation for this special place and the man who shared it with you.

You and Lando explored the town together, stopping to admire the intricate details of the historic buildings and sampling local delicacies from the market. Every interaction and discovery added layers to the day's adventure, making it clear that this visit would be a highlight of your journey.

"Oh, I have to go do a message for my mom," Lando told you, his expression suddenly serious yet still warm. "Come with me," he added, taking your hand and leading you through the lively town.

As you walked, the conversations around you seemed to blend into a symphony of community life, making you feel both a part of and a visitor to this wonderful place.

"Is it far?" you asked, curious about the errand and eager to see more.

"Not at all," Lando replied with a reassuring smile. "My mom always has something for Mrs. Thompson. They go way back. You'll love her; she's like another grandmother to me."

His words carried a sense of nostalgia that made you even more eager to meet this special person.

As you approached the bakery, the warm scent of freshly baked goods enveloped you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the next part of your adventure.

Mrs. Thompson appeared at the doorway, a petite woman with silver hair neatly tied into a bun and a welcoming smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She wore a flour-dusted apron and wiped her hands on it as she stepped forward to greet you both.

"Lando! It's been too long," Mrs. Thompson exclaimed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. Lando gave her a big hug, lifting her slightly off the ground, which made her laugh heartily.

"And who is this lovely companion?" she asked, turning her attention to you. Lando introduced you, explaining how he had been showing you around the town.

"Well, any friend of Lando's is a friend of mine," Mrs. Thompson said warmly, extending her hand to you.

"Come in, come in. You must try our new raspberry scones; they're fresh out of the oven." She led you both into the cozy bakery, the smell of sugar and butter wafting through the air.

The bakery was a charming blend of old-world elegance and rustic charm. Shelves lined with jars of homemade jams and preserves added a vibrant splash of color against the warm, wooden walls.

Vintage baking tools hung as decorations, each one a testament to the bakery's rich history. A large chalkboard menu displayed the day's offerings in beautiful, looping script, and a display case full of decadent pastries and breads beckoned invitingly.

In one corner of the room, a small seating area was adorned with mismatched, yet cozy, chairs and tables, each one covered with a delicate lace tablecloth. Potted plants hung from the ceiling, their green leaves creating a serene canopy overhead.

The walls were adorned with black-and-white photographs of the town from decades past, giving the space a nostalgic touch. It was the kind of place that made you want to linger, savoring not just the delicious treats, but also the warmth and history that enveloped you.

As you settled into one of the cozy chairs, you couldn't help but notice the friendly banter between the staff and the regular customers. Mrs. Thompson moved effortlessly from table to table, sharing a laugh here and a kind word there, making everyone feel like family.

A young barista behind the counter was expertly crafting lattes while exchanging jokes with an elderly gentleman who seemed to be a daily fixture.

"So, what brings you here?" Mrs. Thompson asked after greeting everyone and sitting with you both.

Lando smiled, taking a sip of his coffee before responding. "Well, first Mom told me to give this to you and we wanted to explore the town and thought there was no better place to start than your bakery," he said, handing a package to her.

You nodded in agreement, adding, "Lando's been singing praises about your scones and the warm atmosphere here, and I must say, he wasn't exaggerating."

Mrs. Thompson beamed at the compliment, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm glad to hear that. We always strive to make everyone feel at home," she said, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"So, what do you think of our little town so far?" she inquired, genuinely curious.

You shared your initial impressions, mentioning the charm of the historic buildings and the friendliness of the locals. As the conversation flowed, you felt an even deeper appreciation for the bakery and the community spirit it embodied.

Taking a bite of the scone, you were immediately struck by its perfect balance of texture: a crisp, golden exterior giving way to a soft, buttery center. The subtle sweetness was complemented by the tang of fresh berries, creating a symphony of flavors that danced on your palate.

It was the kind of scones that made you understand why people kept coming back for more.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you left Lando and Mrs. Thompson to continue their chat. As soon as you were out of earshot, Mrs. Thompson gave a knowing look to Lando and leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"So she's just a 'friend'?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

Lando blushed, clearly caught off guard. "Yeah, just a friend," he stammered, though the pink tint on his cheeks betrayed his words.

Mrs. Thompson chuckled warmly. "Oh, Lando, you young ones always think you can hide these things. It's written all over your face," she said, patting his hand. "Either way, I'm glad to see you two here. It's not often someone brings such a sparkle to your eyes."

Lando could only smile sheepishly, silently thankful for the warmth and understanding that Mrs. Thompson always seemed to offer.

You returned from the bathroom, catching the tail end of their conversation. "What are you two whispering about?" you asked with a playful grin, noticing the slight blush still lingering on Lando's cheeks. Mrs. Thompson winked at you, her expression as welcoming as ever.

Mrs. Thompson simply winked and said, "Oh, nothing much, dear. Just a little friendly chat."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Is that so? Well, I hope it was something good," you teased, taking another sip of your tea.

Lando cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. "So, what other places should we visit while we're in town, Mrs. Thompson?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from himself.

Mrs. Thompson smiled, playing along with the diversion. "Oh, there are plenty of wonderful spots to explore. The old lighthouse at the edge of town is a must-see, especially around sunset. And if you're into antiques, there's a lovely little shop run by Mr. Jenkins down on Maple Street. His collection is simply fascinating," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"But most of all, just take the time to wander and soak in the atmosphere. This town has a way of revealing its secrets to those who take the time to truly look."

You nodded eagerly, feeling a sense of excitement bubbling up inside you. "The lighthouse sounds perfect," you said, glancing at Lando, who seemed relieved to have the focus shifted away from him. "We should head over there soon if we want to catch the sunset," you suggested.

Lando's eyes met yours, and he gave a small, grateful smile before turning back to Mrs. Thompson.

"We'll definitely make time for Mr. Jenkins' shop too," Lando added, standing up and offering his hand to help you up. "Thank you so much for the recommendations, Mrs. Thompson. It was lovely chatting with you."

Mrs. Thompson beamed, her warm presence making you feel right at home. "Enjoy yourselves, dears. And don't be strangers—come back and visit an old lady like me sometime," she said with a wink.

With a final wave, you and Lando headed out, eager to chase the golden hour at the lighthouse.

As you strolled through the quaint streets of the town, the golden light of the setting sun bathed everything in a warm glow. The salty breeze from the sea whispered through the trees, carrying the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore.

With each step, the lighthouse grew closer, its silhouette standing tall against the vibrant hues of the evening sky.

As you and Lando approached the lighthouse, it became clear that Mrs. Thompson hadn't exaggerated. The structure stood majestically on the cliff, its whitewashed walls glowing softly in the fading light.

The panoramic view from the edge was breathtaking; the ocean stretched endlessly, reflecting the brilliant oranges and pinks of the sunset. You could hear the distant cry of seagulls and the rhythmic crashing of waves far below.

Lando turned to you, his eyes wide with awe. "This place is incredible," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "I can see why Mrs. Thompson suggested we come here."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a deep sense of peace wash over you. "It's like time stands still here," you replied softly. "I never imagined a place could be this beautiful."

Lando smiled, taking his arm around your shoulder. "Let's stay a little longer," he suggested. "I don't think I'm ready to leave just yet."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his gesture, the warmth of his arm around you making your heart flutter. "I'd like that," you said softly, looking down at your feet to hide your shy smile.

"There's something magical about this place. It's like an escape from everything else."

Lando's grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, and he leaned in closer. "I'm glad we came here together," he murmured, his voice gentle and sincere. "Moments like these... they're worth holding onto."

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze and feeling a connection that was even stronger than the serene beauty surrounding you.

"I'm really glad we came here." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

You gently took Lando's hand that rested on your shoulder and held it tightly, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. The simple act made your heart race, and you couldn't help but feel a deeper bond forming between you.

"This place really is special," you said, squeezing his hand gently, "and being here with you makes it even more unforgettable."

What you didn't see was how red Lando's face became from your actions. He looked down, a bashful smile tugging at his lips as he tried to steady his breath.

"Yeah, it really does," he managed to say, his voice tinged with emotion.

The two of you stood there, hand in hand, lost in the magic of the moment, with the world seemingly pausing around you. . . .

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the landscape, you and Lando arrived in London. The bustling city lights began to twinkle as he navigated through the familiar streets, eventually pulling up to a charming, ivy-covered house.

"Welcome to my parents' place again," Lando said, a mix of excitement and nervousness in his voice.

He turned off the engine and looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

Stepping out of the car, you took in the surroundings, feeling a sense of anticipation. Lando walked around to your side as you two approached the front door. "I hope they still like you," he teased, his voice softer now. "Mom will definitely be looking forward to seeing you again."

A smile spread across your face as you remembered the warmth and hospitality of his family from your last visit. "I remember your mom's amazing lasagna and how your dad challenged me to that never-ending game of chess," you said with a chuckle.

"I'm looking forward to seeing them too."

As soon as Lando opened the door for you, you heard footsteps rushing towards the front door. "Lando! You're back!" his mom exclaimed, her face lighting up with joy as she enveloped him in a warm hug.

"And you brought our favorite guest!" she added, turning to you with a welcoming smile.

"Lando, it's good to see you, son," his dad called from the living room, his voice filled with genuine warmth. He appeared moments later.

"And you, young chess rival," he said to you with a wink, "ready for a rematch?"

The familiar, comforting atmosphere of their home washed over you, and you couldn't help but feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

"Honestly, Adam, you and your chess games," Lando's mom said with a playful roll of her eyes. "You know you always take forever to make a move."

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. "It's called strategy, darling. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, please," she retorted, turning back to you with a conspiratorial smile. "Just make sure he doesn't keep you up all night with his so-called 'strategizing.' You know how he gets when he thinks he's winning."

"You mean when I am winning," Adam corrected with a grin, eliciting a light-hearted groan from Lando and a laugh from you.

"Also congratulations on winning the race, son!" Cisca said happily, her eyes sparkling with pride. "We watched every moment, and you were absolutely brilliant out there."

"Thanks, Mom," Lando said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It was a tough race, but I gave it my all."

"And it showed," Adam chimed in, clapping Lando on the back. "You handled those turns like a pro. We're so proud of you."

"Yeah, the whole town's been talking about it," Cisca added, leading you all into the cozy living room. "But enough about the race for now. Let's get you both settled in. Dinner's almost ready, and we have so much to catch up on."

Lando placed your coat on the hanger before following you into the living room, where the aroma of a home-cooked meal wafted through the air.

"Smells amazing in here, Cisca," you remarked, taking a seat on the plush sofa. "What’s on the menu tonight?"

"Oh, just a little something special to celebrate Lando's big win," Cisca replied with a wink. "Roast chicken with all the fixings, and for dessert, your favorite—apple pie." Lando's eyes lit up at the mention of the dessert.

"You always know how to make us feel at home, Mom," he said, settling down beside you. Adam, meanwhile, was already setting up the chessboard on the coffee table, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ready to lose again?" he teased, and you couldn't help but laugh as you moved your first pawn.

The next twenty minutes were a blur of strategic moves and playful banter between you and Adam. "You sure you want to move that knight there?" Adam asked, raising an eyebrow. "Don't say I didn't warn you.

"Just wait and see," you replied confidently, sliding your piece into position.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Lando was busy helping his mom with the cooking and setting the table. "Mom, where do you keep the salad bowls again?" he called out.

"Top shelf, sweetheart," Cisca responded, her hands expertly basting the roast chicken. "And don't forget to set out the fancy napkins. Tonight's a celebration, after all."

As you captured one of Adam's bishops, you overheard Lando's cheerful voice. "You know, Mom, I think this might be the best meal you've ever made."

"Only the best for my champion," she replied, beaming. "Now, go check on the pie, will you?"

"It looks like you have a thing for my boy," Adam muttered for only you to hear, his eyes never leaving the chessboard.

"What?" you said, shocked, momentarily losing your focus on the game. Adam's smirk grew wider as he moved his queen into position.

"Checkmate," he announced triumphantly. You blinked, still processing his earlier comment. Adam leaned back, folding his arms. "You didn't deny it," he said teasingly, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Well, I—" you stammered, your cheeks flushing.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Lando walked back into the room, holding a perfectly golden apple pie. "What's going on here?" he asked, glancing between you and Adam with a curious smile.

"Nothing much," Adam replied casually, though the smirk never left his face. "Just wrapping up another game of chess. You should join us next time."

You quickly nodded, trying to compose yourself. "Yeah, Lando, you'd be a worthy opponent," you added, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered state.

Lando chuckled, setting the pie down on the table. "Maybe next time. But for now, let's dig into dinner before it gets cold."

You got off the sofa and made your way to one of the seats in the living room, feeling a bit flustered. Lando quickly stepped in to help you with your seat, his warm smile putting you at ease.

As he sat down beside you, he leaned in slightly. "You okay?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, offering a small smile. "Just a little thrown off by the game, that's all."

Lando chuckled, shaking his head. "Dad can be a bit intense, but he's harmless. Besides, he's just trying to get a rise out of you."

You nodded, grateful for his comforting presence. "Thanks, Lando. I appreciate it." He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before turning his attention to the delicious spread in front of you.

"Now, let's enjoy this amazing meal Mom made," he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Lando's parents exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles softening as they observed the tender moment between the two of you. His mother nudged his father gently, a silent communication passing between them.

They had seen their son grow up, and the way he looked at you now was unmistakable—he was completely smitten. Lando's father gave a slight nod, acknowledging the unspoken sentiment, and they both turned their attention back to the table, content to let the evening unfold naturally.

As the meal progressed, the warmth and love in the room seemed to envelop you, making you feel like part of the family. Each bite of the delicious food was savored, accompanied by light-hearted conversation and laughter.

You couldn't help but steal glances at Lando, who seemed equally enchanted by your presence. Lando’s hand would occasionally brush against yours as he passed you a dish or refilled your glass, each touch a silent promise of his feelings.

His parents watched these moments with quiet satisfaction, feeling a sense of peace knowing their son was in good hands.

"So, what do you think of doing for this summer break?" Cisca asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You paused, glancing at Lando for a moment before answering. "Well, we were thinking of going to the beach tomorrow," you said, your voice filled with excitement. "It's been ages since we've had a proper beach day."

Cisca's face lit up with enthusiasm. "That sounds wonderful! The weather has been perfect for it lately. You should take the opportunity to relax and enjoy yourselves."

Lando nodded in agreement, his eyes meeting yours as he said, "Yeah, I think it'll be a great way to unwind and make some fun memories."

His father chimed in, "Just make sure to pack plenty of sunscreen and stay hydrated."

The conversation continued with everyone suggesting their favorite beach activities and reminiscing about past vacations, making the anticipation for tomorrow even sweeter.

As the plates were cleared away and everyone settled back into their chairs, the conversation flowed seamlessly from topic to topic.

Lando's mother recounted a particularly amusing story from one of their family beach trips, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“And that’s how your father ended up with a sunburn in the shape of a lobster,” she finished, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

Lando grinned, adding, “I remember that! He had to wear that ridiculous hat for the rest of the trip.”

His father chuckled, shaking his head. “Hey, it was either that or turn into a tomato again.” The room filled with laughter once more, the camaraderie palpable.

You felt a sense of belonging, grateful for the warmth and openness of Lando's family. It was clear that tomorrow's beach outing would be just the start of many cherished memories to come.

As the laughter began to die down, you glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed how late it had become.

"Lando, you should think about heading to bed," you said softly, turning to him with concern in your eyes. "You didn't sleep at all last night, remember?"

Lando stretched, stifling a yawn as he nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I could use some rest before our big day tomorrow."

His parents exchanged knowing looks, their smiles tender. "Get some sleep, son," his father said, patting Lando on the back. "We want you to be able to enjoy the beach without nodding off in the sand."

"Good night, guys," you said, standing up and stretching. "I think I'll head to bed as well." You noticed the subtle exchange of glances between Lando's parents and figured they might want a moment alone with him.

"Lando, about Y/N," Adam started as soon as you left the room.

"What about her?" Lando asked curiously, his brow furrowed slightly.

Adam exchanged a quick glance with his wife before continuing, "How do you feel about her? We can see there's something special between you two."

Lando hesitated for a moment, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "She's amazing," he finally said, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"I feel really comfortable around her, like I've known her forever. She's just...different, in a good way. I guess I really like her."

His parents nodded, their smiles growing wider. "We thought so," his mother said gently. "Just remember to be honest with her and yourself. Relationships are built on trust and communication."

"Also, put a ring on it before someone else does," Cisca teased, winking at her son.

Lando's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and he laughed nervously. "Mom, it's a bit early for that, don't you think?" he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're just getting to know each other right now."

His father chuckled, shaking his head. "Your mother's just looking out for you, son. But she's right about one thing—don't let a good thing slip away. If you really care about her, make sure she knows it."

Lando nodded thoughtfully, appreciating the advice. "I will, Dad. Thanks."

With one last glance at his parents, he turned and headed to his room, feeling hopeful about the future. . . .

You woke up late to being the first one awake. The sun was already shining brightly outside, casting a warm glow over the room.

You slowly sat up, feeling the drowsiness slowly fade away as you inhaled the aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee.

As you walked over to the kitchen counter, you heard a faint sound behind you.

Startled, you turned around to see Lando standing just a few feet away, a wide grin on his face. He had snuck up behind you, making you jump at his voice.

"Good morning! I hope you didn't mind me sneaking up on you," Lando said, his voice filled with laughter.

"Oh, Lando! You scared me! But it's okay, I'm glad you decided to join me," you said, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest.

Lando walked closer, his eyes shining with excitement. "I couldn't miss the chance to spend another day with you," he said, his voice sincere.

You couldn't help but smile at his words. "I'm glad too, Lando. Today, we have big plans, right?"

Lando's eyes widened. "Oh, yes! We're going to the beach!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with anticipation.

You nodded in agreement, excitement bubbling within you as well. "That's right! I thought we could have some fun building sandcastles and maybe go for a swim later."

Lando nodded eagerly. "That sounds like a great idea! I just love the ocean, it always puts me at ease."

As the two of you continued talking, you watched as Lando went about making his coffee, his movements fluid and graceful.

Lando's hair was tousled, a clear sign that he had just rolled out of bed. Despite the disarray, there was something endearing about his bed hair, giving him a boyish charm that made you smile.

His eyes, though slightly shadowed by remnants of drowsiness, sparkled with a warmth and energy that was unmistakable. The way the morning light played on his features highlighted the gentle curve of his jawline and the subtle freckles dotting his cheeks.

As he moved around the kitchen, you noticed the relaxed posture he carried, a testament to his easygoing nature. Even in his half-awake state, Lando managed to exude a kind of grace that was both captivating and comforting.

His casual attire—a simple t-shirt and shorts—added to the laid-back vibe of the morning, making the moment feel even more serene. You found yourself appreciating these small, intimate details, realizing how much they contributed to the special bond you shared with him.

"So, Lando, what do you want to build out of sand?" you said even though you knew the answer, taking a sip of your coffee.

Lando smiled, his eyes twinkling. "I want to build an McLaren,"

You couldn't help but feel a surge of adoration for the man. "I knew you were going to say that, but your last sand car looked amazing," you said, your voice filled with admiration.

Lando blushed slightly, a modest smile spreading across his face. "Well, thank you," he said, his voice filled with gratitude.

As you and Lando finished your drinks, you both stood up and headed to your own bedrooms to dress for beach day.

You changed into a pretty bikini, feeling the sun's warm rays on your skin as you stepped into the bedroom. The vibrant colors of the bikini complemented your skin tone perfectly, making you feel confident and ready for the day ahead.

The snug fit accentuated your curves, while the delicate straps added a touch of elegance to the overall look. As you adjusted the top, you couldn't help but notice how the design highlighted your shoulders and collarbone, giving you an effortlessly chic appearance.

Standing in front of the mirror, you admired the way the bikini hugged your body in all the right places. The fabric was soft and comfortable, allowing you to move freely without any restrictions.

You felt a sense of excitement bubbling within you, eager to join Lando on the beach and create unforgettable memories together.

With a final glance in the mirror, you grabbed a light cover-up and slipped on your sandals, ready to embrace the adventures that awaited you by the ocean.

When you stepped out of your bedroom, Lando's eyes widened with admiration. "Wow, you look incredible," he said, his voice filled with genuine awe. His appreciative gaze and warm smile made your heart flutter, adding to the anticipation of the day ahead.

Lando stepped out of his room, his toned and sculpted physique on full display as he changed into a pair of sleek swimming trunks. His broad shoulders and chiselled chest were a testament to his dedication in the gym, each muscle group clearly defined beneath his sun-kissed skin.

As he walked around the house, his powerful legs carried him with an effortless grace, the defined quadriceps and calves rippling with every step.

Lando's narrow waist and sharp hip bones accentuated his V-shaped torso, giving him an air of athletic prowess and masculine allure.

Your eyes were naturally drawn to Lando's striking facial features - his strong, angular jawline, piercing eyes, and neatly trimmed beard only added to his undeniable charisma and rugged good looks.

It was clear that Lando took great pride in maintaining his physique, and the end result was an incredibly attractive and impressive sight to behold.

"You ready?" Lando asked after packing all you two needed for the beach. His voice was warm and filled with excitement, matching the gleam in his eyes.

You nodded enthusiastically, grabbing the bag filled with towels, sunscreen, and other essentials.

"Absolutely," you replied with a smile, feeling a rush of anticipation for the day ahead.

Both of you left Lando's parents' home, the golden rays shining brightly over the beach. You and Lando carried all the chairs and equipment down the sandy path, the feeling of excitement growing with each passing step.

When you finally arrived at the shore, you spread out the chairs and arranged them in a comfortable spot, not too far from the waves.

Lando set down the last of the beach gear and looked up just as you finished applying sunscreen to your arms and legs. He smiled appreciatively at the sight of you so effortlessly preparing for the day ahead.

"Do you need help with the sunscreen?" you asked, holding up the bottle with a playful grin.

"Actually, I could use a hand with my back," Lando admitted, turning around and giving you a perfect view of his toned muscles.

You stepped closer, squeezing some sunscreen onto your hands before gently rubbing it onto his shoulders and back. His skin was warm from the sun, and you couldn't help but notice how smooth and strong it felt beneath your fingers.

"Thanks," he said, glancing back at you with a grateful smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"No problem," you replied, your fingers working to ensure every inch of his skin was protected. "Can't have you turning into a lobster, can we?"

You both laughed, the easy camaraderie and shared anticipation for the day's adventures blending seamlessly with the natural beauty around you.

After setting up everything, you and Lando looked at each other, a mischievous glint in both your eyes. You reached for the shovel and bucket, handing them to Lando.

"Okay, Lando, show me what you've got," you said, a mischievous grin on your face.

Lando laughed, excitement bubbling within him. "Oh, get ready, because we're going to build a McLaren out of sand!" he declared, his voice filled with determination.

You watched as Lando meticulously began sculpting the sand, shaping it into intricate shapes and curves. You couldn't help but be amazed by his talent, the way he transformed the sand into a work of art.

Hours passed as you and Lando worked together, perfecting every detail of the F1 car. It was hard work, but the two of you persevered, determined to finish what you'd started.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you and Lando stood back to admire your creation. The F1 car stood tall on the sand, a testament to your combined efforts. You both broke out into laughter, the joy of the moment filling your hearts.

"Wow, Lando, you really outdid yourself," you said, your voice filled with admiration.

Lando nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "I couldn't have done it without you," he said.

You then took out your phone and snapped a few pictures of the sand car, eager to share the masterpiece on your socials. "This is definitely going to get some likes," you said, grinning as you angled for the perfect shot.

Lando struck a playful pose beside the sand McLaren, adding a touch of fun to the photos.

As you removed your beach cover-up, Lando couldn't help but notice how flawlessly the bikini accentuated your figure. The vibrant colours and delicate patterns complemented your skin tone, drawing his gaze towards the alluring curves of your body.

He found himself captivated by the way the fabric hugged your frame, highlighting your natural beauty in a tasteful and sophisticated manner.

Lando's eyes traced the contours of your body, admiring the graceful lines and the subtle movements as you adjusted your attire. The bikini top provided just the right amount of support, framing your chest in a way that was both elegant and alluring.

Meanwhile, the bottom half of the swimsuit clung to your hips, accentuating the natural shape of your legs and drawing attention to your toned physique.

Despite his best efforts to avert his gaze, Lando found himself repeatedly drawn back to the sight before him. There was an undeniable magnetism to the way you carried yourself, exuding a quiet confidence that only further heightened the captivating nature of your appearance.

He couldn't help but admire the overall harmony of the ensemble, which seemed to effortlessly highlight your natural beauty.

You both then headed into the refreshing waters of the sea, the waves lapping at your feet. The cool water provided a stark contrast to the warm sun, and you and Lando played together, splashing and laughing like carefree children.

The joy of the moment made all your efforts worthwhile, and for a while, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

The water felt invigorating against your skin, its coolness providing a delightful respite from the sun's intense heat. Each wave that brushed against you sent a refreshing shiver through your body, awakening your senses and amplifying the joy of the moment.

The gentle embrace of the sea made you feel both energized and at peace, perfectly complementing the carefree laughter you shared with Lando.

You started to float, letting the gentle waves cradle your body as you closed your eyes and surrendered to the tranquility of the moment. The sea's rhythmic motion lulled you into a serene state, and for a brief period, you forgot all your worries.

Suddenly, you felt a hand slide under your neck, lifting your head slightly out of the water. Startled, you opened your eyes to find Lando looking down at you, his expression filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry. You could see the anxiety in his eyes, and it touched you that he cared so deeply.

Smiling softly, you reassured him, "I'm fine, just enjoying the sea."

His features relaxed, and he let out a breath of relief.

"Since when can you swim, let alone float? I remember trying to teach you so many times but it didn't work," Lando asked as he floated beside you, holding your hand so you wouldn't drift far from him. Like otters when they fall asleep.

"I took some lessons a few weeks ago," you explained, feeling a bit proud of yourself. "I knew we were going to the beach during the summer break, and I didn't want you to have to take care of me the whole time again."

You could see a flicker of surprise in Lando's eyes, followed by a warm smile that made your heart flutter.

"But I like being your lifeguard," Lando said, his voice softening as he squeezed your hand gently.

You blushed at his words, feeling the warmth of his affection wash over you more intensely than the sun's rays. "Besides, it gives me an excuse to spend more time with you."

The sincerity in his gaze melted away any lingering doubts you had, and you couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Well, I appreciate that," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, "but I think it's time I started taking care of myself, at least a little bit." You squeezed his hand in return, feeling a surge of confidence mixed with the comfort of his presence.

"And maybe now we can just enjoy the water together, without you having to worry so much."

Lando chuckled softly, the sound blending harmoniously with the waves around you. "I guess that's true," he said, his eyes sparkling with affection. "But don't think for a second that I won't still be keeping an eye on you."

He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath on your skin. "After all, someone has to make sure you don't float away."

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves. "Well, as long as you promise not to let go," you teased, feeling a playful glint in your eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Lando replied, his tone serious yet tender, "You're far too important to me."

Your chest was filled with butterflies at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your heart race. It was in moments like this that you realized just how deep your feelings for Lando ran.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the water, you felt an unspoken promise hanging in the air between you.

You decided to take this time for a race.

"Last to the sandcar has to pack everything." You said, letting go of Lando's hand to start running early.

"You snake! That's cheating!" Lando called, taking off through the shallow water.

The two of you played and splashed, the warm sun beaming down as you revelled in the joy of the moment. Lando tackled you into the waves, sending you both tumbling in a fit of giggles.

"I win!" you declared, emerging from the water with a triumphant grin.

"Oh, is that so?" he challenged, splashing you once more. "I think we both know who the real champion is here."

"We could settle this with a game of beach volleyball," you suggested, nodding towards the net set up near the sandcar. "First one to ten points wins, and the loser has to pack everything up."

Lando's eyes lit up with excitement as he agreed. "You're on! But don't cry when I beat you," he teased, already making his way towards the net.

The game was filled with laughter and friendly competition, each of you determined to claim victory. The sound of the ball bouncing on the sand, mixed with your playful banter, created an atmosphere of pure joy.

As the score climbed higher, you could feel the tension rising, both of you giving it your all. Finally, with a well-placed spike, you secured the winning point, collapsing onto the sand in a fit of laughter.

"Looks like you’re on packing duty, Lando!" you exclaimed, your chest heaving with exhilaration.

Lando let out an exaggerated groan, flopping dramatically onto the sand beside you. "You got lucky," he said with a playful pout, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"But a deal's a deal—I guess I'll start packing," he added, giving you a mock salute before getting up with a grin.

As you watched him clean, you picked up your beach cover-up and slipped it on, feeling the cool fabric against your sun-warmed skin. Just then, you noticed a man walking over to you with a friendly smile.

He was tall and athletic, with skin the color of rich mahogany that glistened under the afternoon sun. His dreadlocks were neatly styled, cascading down to his shoulders like a waterfall of dark, twisted ropes.

He wore a simple white tank top that highlighted his muscular build and a pair of colorful board shorts that hinted at a vibrant personality. Around his neck hung a pendant, which caught the light and sparkled as he approached.

His smile was warm and inviting, contrasting with the intensity of his deep brown eyes that seemed to hold a world of stories.

"Hey there," he greeted, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

"My name is Jordan, and I'm part of a model agency. We're looking for beautiful women to participate in a modeling project for two weeks. Of course, you get paid generously," Jordan explained, his eyes scanning the beach scene before settling back on you with a hopeful expression.

You blinked in surprise, glancing over at Lando who was still packing up the beach gear.

"Modeling? That sounds interesting," you responded, trying to hide your excitement. "What kind of project is it?"

Jordan's smile widened. "It's a beachwear campaign, perfect for someone like you who clearly enjoys the sun and sand. We're looking for fresh faces and natural beauty, and I think you would be a great fit. If you're interested, I can give you more details and set up a meeting with our team," he offered, extending a business card towards you.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the business card in Jordan's hand before taking it with a smile. "That sounds like an amazing opportunity," you said, your voice laced with excitement.

"I've never done any modeling before, but I'd love to give it a try. When and where is the meeting?"

Jordan's eyes lit up with approval as he responded, "Great! The meeting is tomorrow afternoon at our local office just a few blocks from here. We can go over all the details, and you'll get to meet the rest of the team. Don't worry; we'll guide you through everything. Just bring yourself and that radiant smile. See you then?"

You nodded eagerly, feeling a blend of nerves and anticipation.

"Y/N! Who's that?" you heard Lando yell from a distance, his voice filled with curiosity.

You turned back to Jordan with a slight laugh, "That's Lando, my best friend."

Jordan chuckled, "You can bring your little friend if you want to," he said, winking before leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You waved back at Lando, who was now walking over. "Who was that?" he repeated, curiosity evident in his tone.

"That was Jordan," you explained, holding up the business card. "He's from a modeling agency and offered me a chance to be part of a beachwear campaign. Can you believe it?"

Lando raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and the business card. "Modeling, huh? That sounds pretty cool. Are you going to do it?"

"I think so," you replied, excitement bubbling in your voice. "The meeting is tomorrow afternoon. He even said I could bring you along if I wanted. What do you think?"

Lando grinned, giving you a reassuring nod. "Why not? It sounds like an amazing opportunity. Plus, I'd love to see you in action. Let's go check it out together."

You grinned at him before giving him a hug, feeling a wave of gratitude for his unwavering support. "Thanks, Lando. I don't know what I'd do without you," you said, squeezing him tightly.

As you both started walking back to the car, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement for what tomorrow might bring.

Lando glanced back over his shoulder to see Jordan disappearing into the crowd, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. "I just hope he's legit," Lando muttered under his breath, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Don't worry, I'll be there to make sure everything goes smoothly," he added, giving you a reassuring smile as he opened the car door for you. . . .

You and Lando came back from the beach and were greeted by Lando's parents who were busy cooking dinner.

"So how was the beach?" Cisca asked, looking up from chopping vegetables. You could see the curiosity in her eyes as she waited for your response.

"You won't believe it! I got picked to be in a modeling program!" you said excitedly, barely able to contain your joy.

Lando's parents paused their cooking and turned their attention to you, their faces lighting up with surprise and pride. "That's amazing!" Adam exclaimed. "Tell us all about it!"

Without hesitation, you launched into the story, recounting every detail of your encounter with Jordan. "We were just walking along the beach when this guy approached me out of nowhere," you began, your hands gesturing animatedly.

"He introduced himself as Jordan from a modeling agency, and he said I had the perfect look for their upcoming beachwear campaign. He handed me his business card and invited me to a meeting tomorrow afternoon."

Cisca and Adam exchanged delighted glances. "That's incredible!" Cisca said, her eyes shining with pride.

"But, are you sure it's safe?" Adam asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.

"Lando's going to come with me," you reassured them, glancing over at Lando, who nodded in agreement.

"We'll make sure everything checks out. I just can't believe this opportunity came out of nowhere!" you added, your excitement bubbling over once again.

As you spoke about Jordan, Lando's parents noticed a hint of jealousy brewing within their son.

Cisca decided to tease her son by asking you more about Jordan.

"Who did you say gave you the card? Jordan was it?" She said innocently, earning a glance from her son.

"Yes, Jordan," you confirmed, your mind drifting back to the encounter. "He was tall, with dark hair and these piercing brown eyes. He had this confident yet approachable aura about him. Honestly, he looked like he could be a model himself."

Lando coughed subtly, but Cisca wasn't done. "And did he mention how he got into the modeling industry?" she asked, her tone teasing but genuinely curious.

"Oh, he did," you replied eagerly. "He told me he started as a photographer and slowly transitioned into scouting talent. He seemed really passionate about his work."

Lando shifted uncomfortably, but before he could say anything, Adam chimed in, "Well, it's great that Lando will be there with you. He'll make sure everything is on the up and up."

With each passing word, Lando's jealousy grew stronger, although he tried his best to hide it.

"I should get my skincare started before tomorrow, I need to go. Night, guys," you said, heading to your room with a cheerful wave. Cisca and Adam gave you warm goodnights, but Lando remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Once you were out of earshot, Cisca turned to her son with a knowing smile. "Lando, you know you don't have anything to worry about, right?" she teased gently.

"I'm not worried," Lando replied a bit too quickly, his eyes darting away.

Adam chuckled, patting his son's back. "It's natural to feel a bit protective, but trust her instincts. Besides, you'll be there to make sure everything is fine.

Lando nodded reluctantly, still trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled in his chest.

Cisca's smile turned mischievous, and she leaned in closer to her son. "You know, if you don't prioritize her, someone like Jordan might just sweep her off her feet," she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lando's eyes widened slightly, and he looked at his mother, a mix of annoyance and concern flickering across his face.

"Mom, that's not funny," he muttered, crossing his arms defensively.

Cisca chuckled and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm just saying, Lando, don't take her for granted. She's a catch, and you need to show her how much she means to you."

Lando sighed deeply, his eyes finally meeting his mother's. "It's not that simple, Mom. I'm scared of ruining what we have. She's my best friend, and if I tell her how I really feel and she doesn't feel the same... I don't think I could handle losing her," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cisca's expression softened, and she squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Lando," she said softly, "sometimes the greatest risks bring the greatest rewards. If you truly care about her, she deserves to know. And who knows? She might feel the same way but is just as scared as you are. Trust in what you have, and believe in her as much as you believe in yourself."

Lando nodded slowly, taking his mother's words to heart, though the fear of the unknown still lingered in his mind.

Adam sensing his son's vulnerability, added, "Lando, your friendship with you and Y/N will always be our priority. We would never do anything to jeopardize that. Trust in our love and support."

Lando took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "I do love her, Mom. So much that it hurts sometimes. But there are moments when I feel like I don’t deserve her. She's confident, smart, and kind, and I’m just... me," he admitted, his voice wavering.

"What if she realises she deserves someone better, someone who isn't scared all the time?"

Cisca's eyes filled with empathy as she listened to her son's heartfelt confession. "Lando, you are more than enough. Everyone has insecurities, but it's how you deal with them that matters. She loves you for who you are, not for who you think you need to be."

Lando swallowed hard, trying to absorb his mother's comforting words. "But what if I'm not ready to face my fears? What if I mess things up because I'm too scared to take the leap?" he asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

Cisca gave him a warm, reassuring smile. "Lando, it's normal to feel scared when you're about to make a big decision, especially one that involves your heart. But you have to trust that your feelings for her are real and that they're worth fighting for."

"So what time are you free, Miss Y/N?" Jordan asked, glancing up from his computer screen to meet her eyes.

Y/N smiled, trying to sound confident before looking at Lando for confirmation of the time. "I'm free from 1 PM."

"Okay, that's good," Jordan replied, nodding his head.

"Now let me explain what will be happening over these two weeks. You will be modeling different topics inspired by various artworks. Each session will be designed to bring out a unique aspect of your style and personality. You'll have makeup artists and photographers to take care of you, so all you need to do is be there and give it your best."

Y/N glanced at Lando once more, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside her. "That sounds amazing, Jordan. Thank you for the opportunity. I'm looking forward to it," you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Lando gave you an encouraging smile, his earlier doubts momentarily forgotten as he watched the confident and poised woman he loved prepare to embark on this new adventure.

Jordan continued, "Great! Each session will last about three hours, so make sure you're well-rested and prepared. We'll start with a briefing each morning to outline the day's theme and goals. If you have any ideas or specific looks you want to try, feel free to share them with the team."

Y/N nodded, her excitement growing with each detail. "That sounds perfect, Jordan. I'll be ready to give it my all."

Lando felt a surge of pride and admiration as he watched Y/N embrace the opportunity with such enthusiasm. He reached out and gently squeezed her hand, offering silent support.

"You're going to be amazing," he whispered, his eyes filled with unwavering confidence in her abilities.

"Thanks, Lando," you said, your voice tinged with hope. "You'll be with me the whole time, right?" you asked, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

"Of course," Lando replied without hesitation, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Wherever you go, I go. I wouldn't miss this for anything."

His words wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, making you feel invincible. With Lando by your side, you knew you could face whatever challenges came your way during these two weeks.

"Thanks, Jordan. I'll see you tomorrow," you said, filling out all the forms before standing up. Lando closely followed, his presence a steady anchor in the whirlwind of new information and upcoming challenges.

As you handed the completed forms back to Jordan, you couldn't help but feel a surge of determination.

"Remember, if you have any questions or need anything, don't hesitate to reach out," Jordan assured you with a warm smile. "We're all here to make this experience as fulfilling as possible for you."

"Got it, Jordan. I appreciate it," you replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie already forming with the team.

Lando placed a reassuring hand on your back as you both made your way to the exit, ready to tackle the exciting journey together. . . .

The first day was amazing. There were more models just like you, and you were able to meet your entire team.

Sarah was your makeup artist, and she had an incredible job of making you look camera-ready.

She had a striking appearance that immediately caught your eye. Her short, platinum blonde hair framed her angular face perfectly, giving her a modern and edgy look. Her high cheekbones were accentuated with just a hint of blush, and her almond-shaped green eyes sparkled with an intensity that conveyed both professionalism and warmth.

A small, silver nose ring added a touch of rebellion to her otherwise polished look, and her full lips were painted a deep shade of red, completing her striking visage.

As she worked, you couldn't help but notice the precise and delicate movements of her hands. Her slender fingers moved with the confidence and grace of someone who had years of experience in the industry.

Despite her somewhat intimidating appearance, Sarah's demeanor was incredibly kind and approachable. She spoke to you in a soothing voice, offering tips and encouraging words as she meticulously applied each layer of makeup.

Her ability to balance such a bold personal style with a gentle and supportive personality made her an instant favorite for you among the team.

Tom, the photographer, was incredibly friendly and would make you feel comfortable in front of the camera.

He also had a laid-back, artistic vibe that made him instantly approachable. He wore a simple black beanie over his tousled brown hair, which always seemed to fall perfectly into place.

His casual attire—consisting of a well-worn graphic tee and distressed jeans—contrasted with the high-fashion environment, but it suited him perfectly. His blue eyes were keen and observant, always catching the perfect moment through the lens, and his perpetual smile added a sense of ease to every photoshoot.

Everyone on set was so welcoming and eager to help you succeed.

As you walked onto the set, you were immediately struck by the energy and excitement in the air. The other models were all friendly and supportive, and you quickly bonded over their shared experience.

Sarah greeted you with a warm smile and got to work on your makeup, transforming you into a polished and professional-looking model.

"So, do you have any experience in modeling before?" Sarah asked curiously as she blended the foundation seamlessly into your skin.

"No, never," you replied with a nervous laugh, "I don't even know why I got picked to be in this."

Sarah's eyes softened as she gave you an encouraging smile. "Everyone starts somewhere, and you have a natural look that's perfect for the camera. Trust me, you'll do great."

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," you replied, feeling a bit more at ease. "Do you have any tips for someone who's just starting out?"

Sarah nodded thoughtfully. "Absolutely. Keep your posture strong and your expressions natural. The camera loves authenticity, so just be yourself and enjoy the moment."

There was a moment of silence before Sarah decided to speak again. "Is the guy you came in with your boyfriend?" she asked, referring to Lando.

You glanced at Lando from the mirror and saw he was busy talking to some girls.

The girls surrounding Lando had blonde hair and pale skin, their model-shaped bodies making you envious. They laughed at his every word, their flirtatious giggles echoing through the studio.

You couldn't help but notice how Lando's eyes sparkled when he was with them, a clear sign of his preference.

Wasn't it obvious that they were exactly his type? You sighed internally, knowing deep down that you could never be what he wanted.

A pang of jealousy hit you, but you quickly masked it with a smile.

As you glanced back at Lando, laughing and charming everyone around him, you couldn't help but wonder if you'd ever be more than just a friend in his eyes.

Could you ever be the one to capture his attention the way those girls did, or were you destined to remain in the background?

"No, we're just friends," you said, hiding your feelings.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story. "Just friends, huh? Well, he seems pretty protective of you. Sometimes, the best relationships start as friendships."

You shrugged, trying to keep your emotions in check. "Maybe. But for now, I'm just focusing on getting through this shoot without tripping over my own feet."

Sarah chuckled and gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You'll be just fine. And who knows? Maybe by the end of the day, you'll have more clarity about everything."

As Sarah finished the last touches, Tom approached with a reassuring grin.

"Hey there, ready for your close-up?" he asked, his blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

"Honestly, I'm a bit nervous," you admitted, shifting slightly in your seat.

"Don't worry," Tom said, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "We'll take it step by step. Just be yourself, and we'll capture some amazing shots together. You're going to be fantastic!"

Tom was a true professional. He gave clear instructions and made you feel at ease, even when you were a little nervous in front of the camera. He had a keen eye for detail and was able to capture your best angles, helping you look and feel your best.

When Tom finally showed you the first set of photos, you were blown away. "Is that really me?" you asked, your eyes widening in disbelief as you looked at the stunning images on the screen.

The transformation was incredible, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. "Absolutely," Tom replied with a grin. "You did fantastic. These are some of the best shots we've taken today."

You turned to Lando, who was standing nearby, and showed him the photos. "Look at these, Lando. I can't believe it."

He looked over your shoulder, his face lighting up with a proud smile. "I told you, you're amazing and you look beautiful," Lando said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I knew you had it in you."

You blushed at his words, feeling a warmth spread through your cheeks. "Thank you, Lando," you said softly, glancing down at the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

Sarah gave you a knowing look, a smirk playing on her lips. "See? Sometimes, others see what we can't see in ourselves," she remarked, her eyes twinkling.

"And it looks like someone else sees it too," she added, nodding subtly in Lando's direction.

You laughed softly, feeling a mix of gratitude and embarrassment at the attention.

"I couldn't have done it without all of your support. This whole team is incredible."

Lando chuckled, giving you a playful nudge. "Well, we knew you had it in you from the start. Just keep doing what you're doing, and you'll go far."

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. "I will. With a team like this, how could I not?" You both laughed, the bond between you and your new colleagues growing stronger with each passing moment.

"Wow Y/N, is that you?" Jordan's voice echoed into the room as he approached, his eyes widening in surprise at the photos.

You smiled warmly, pleased by his reaction, while out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Lando's smile falter slightly, though no one else seemed to catch it.

"Yeah, it is," you replied, trying to keep the mood light. "Tom here worked his magic." Jordan nodded appreciatively, glancing between you and the photos. "Well, you look absolutely stunning. Seriously, these are just incredible."

"Thanks, Jordan," you said, feeling the support of your team even as you sensed a subtle tension in the air.

"Hey boss, I knew you had a good eye for beauty, you really picked a good one," Sarah said to Jordan, her voice teasing yet sincere.

Jordan laughed, placing an arm around your shoulders. "I knew it too, a rare beauty she is," he said, his tone filled with genuine pride.

You couldn't help but blush again, feeling both flattered and slightly overwhelmed by the attention. "Thanks, everyone. It really means a lot," you said, your voice a bit shaky but heartfelt.

Lando stood nearby, his expression now more composed, though you could still sense a hint of something unspoken in his eyes.

"Alright, let's keep this momentum going," he finally said, his voice steady. "We've got a lot more to capture today."

The team nodded in agreement, the energy in the room lifting as you all prepared for the next set of shots.

The room buzzed with excitement and focused energy as everyone moved into position. Lights were adjusted, cameras were checked, and the hum of whispered conversations filled the air.

Despite the earlier tension, the camaraderie among the team members was palpable, creating an atmosphere of mutual support and enthusiasm.

You then headed to the dressing room to change into a beautiful dress that complemented your skin tone perfectly. The dress was a rich, deep color that seemed to enhance your natural glow, and as you slipped it on, you couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence.

You took a moment to admire your reflection, appreciating how the fabric flowed gracefully and accentuated your features.

Tom's keen eye for styling had truly outdone itself.

Returning to the set, the collective gaze of your colleagues turned towards you, their eyes lighting up with admiration.

"Wow, you look absolutely stunning," Sarah exclaimed, her earlier teasing replaced with genuine awe.

Even Lando's guarded expression softened as he gave you a nod of approval. The atmosphere shifted, becoming even more charged with positive energy and anticipation for the work ahead.

As you took your practiced position, you felt the support and encouragement of your team, ready to capture the magic that was about to unfold. . . .

yourusername

liked by landonorris, mclaren, y/nbestie, and 3,612,937 others.

tagged; vogue

yourusername: One minute I was enjoying summer break, the next minute I'm modeling for a big company! Feeling incredibly grateful for this amazing opportunity and the wonderful team that made today unforgettable. Their support and encouragement transformed every moment into a magical experience. From the adrenaline rush of the camera clicks to the warmth of shared laughter, this journey has been nothing short of incredible. Here's to many more moments of creativity, camaraderie, and capturing beauty in all its forms.

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Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Max, I don't know what to do, man. Every time I see her, I just—it's like my brain stops working."

Max chuckled, his face lighting up the screen. "Mate, you're actually down bad. You're totally whipped. It's hilarious to watch, honestly."

Lando groaned, leaning closer to the camera. "Thanks for the support, really. But seriously, any advice? I can't keep acting like a nervous wreck around her."

Max leaned back, a mischievous grin on his face. "Just be yourself, Lando. She's already into you, even if she doesn't know it yet. Confidence is key, mate. And maybe, you know, actually tell her how you feel?"

"You're just saying that because you already have a girlfriend," Lando said, rolling his eyes. "It's easy for you to give advice when you're not the one stuttering like an idiot every time she walks into the room."

Max's grin widened. "True, but that's how I got my girlfriend in the first place. I stopped overthinking and just went for it. Trust me, Lando, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Besides, the worst that can happen is she says no, and from what I can see, that's highly unlikely."

Before Lando could reply, he heard your voice calling from downstairs, "Lando, are you ready to go?" Panic flashed across his face for a moment as he scrambled to end the call.

"Uh, gotta go, Max. Thanks for the pep talk," he muttered hastily before disconnecting. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, and made his way downstairs.

Seeing you waiting at the bottom, looking effortlessly radiant, he felt his nerves kick up again.

As he reached the bottom, you greeted him with a bright smile. "Hey, you look great!" you said, your eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

Lando's nerves seemed to melt away at your words, and he found himself smiling back. "Thanks, you look beautiful as well," he replied, his voice steadying. "Shall we?"

It's already been a week since the modelling project began, and while you were clearly thriving, Lando was feeling increasingly frustrated. Every time he tried to catch a moment alone with you, there was always something—another shoot, a meeting, or some other distraction.

How was he supposed to ask you out when you were both constantly busy?

The few times you did get back home early, you were so exhausted that you barely had the energy to keep your eyes open, let alone have a meaningful conversation. Lando couldn't help but wonder if this was even the right time to make a move.

What if you were too focused on your career to notice his feelings? Was he just setting himself up for disappointment by hoping for a perfect moment that might never come?

The weight of these thoughts pressed heavily on his mind as he opened the door for you, determined to find a way to break through the barriers that seemed to keep you apart.

The theme for this second week was love, which meant you had to be partnered with the opposite sex or the sex you're attracted to.

The theme of love for the photoshoot is meant to capture the essence of being loved or loving someone through a powerful visual representation. The goal is to create images that evoke the deep emotions and connections associated with love.

In the first stage, the photographs should convey a sense of warmth, comfort, and security. They could showcase the gentle embrace of a couple, the tender gaze shared between two individuals, or the simple act of holding hands - all of which communicate the feeling of being cherished and accepted.

The second stage should focus on the photographs that depict the passion and intensity of love. These images might feature couples gazing into each other's eyes with an unspoken desire, or caught in a moment of playful, intimate interaction. The aim is to capture the vibrant, all-consuming nature of love that ignites the senses.

You were partnered with a young boy called Marcus, who seemed to have a knack for making everyone around him laugh. As you both prepared for the next shoot, Marcus turned to you, grinning.

"You know, Lando's been looking pretty restless lately. Think he might have a crush on someone?" He winked exaggeratedly, causing you to laugh.

"Oh, Marcus, stop being silly," you replied, though a blush crept up your cheeks. "Lando and I are just friends."

"Really? Because the way he's staring at me makes me think he wants to kill me," Marcus joked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You couldn't help but laugh at his theatrics, but a part of you wondered if there was some truth in his words. Lando had been acting differently lately, more reserved and distant, yet his eyes always seemed to find yours across the room.

"Maybe he's just stressed about the shoot," you suggested, trying to dismiss the flutter in your chest.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Stressed? Or maybe he's just jealous?" he teased, nudging you playfully.

You shook your head, but the thought stayed with you, making you more aware of Lando's presence and the unspoken tension between you two.

Lando had become quieter, often lost in thought, and his usual easygoing demeanor seemed replaced by something more intense. He would catch your eye during team meetings, holding your gaze a moment longer than necessary, and his subtle glances were filled with unspoken questions.

Even his interactions with others had changed; he was more curt and less engaged, almost as if his focus was always drawn back to you, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

You decided you would talk to him about it when you got the time, but for now, you had to focus on the photoshoot. The next session was crucial, and you couldn't afford any distractions.

As you adjusted to your position on the set and faced Marcus for the next photo, you couldn't help but feel Lando's eyes on you, adding an extra layer of intensity to the already charged atmosphere.

Lando's behavior was undeniably affecting your concentration. Each time you felt his gaze, a wave of nervous energy surged through you, making it difficult to maintain your usual composure.

The tension was palpable, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this unspoken connection might either elevate your performance to new heights or completely unravel your focus.

You weren't able to talk to him properly in the ride home because you fell asleep in the car and then you woke up the next day.

The drive home from the event had been long and tiring. You had spent the entire day posing and socialising, and by the time you got into the car, you could barely keep your eyes open.

As the car pulled out of the parking lot, you felt your eyelids grow heavy, and before you knew it, you had drifted off to sleep.

When you finally opened your eyes, the car was parked in the driveway, and the sun was peeking through the curtains.

You had completely missed the ride home and the opportunity to continue your conversation with Lando. Feeling disappointed, you made a mental note to reach out today and pick up where you had left off.

As you got ready for the day, you couldn't help but replay the events of the previous evening in your mind. You had been looking forward to spending more time with him, and the missed opportunity weighed heavily on you.

As you stumbled into the kitchen, you were greeted by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Lando was already awake, sitting at the table with a cup in hand, his eyes lifting to meet yours as you entered the room.

"Morning," he greeted, a small but warm smile playing on his lips.

"Morning," you replied, feeling a mix of relief and anticipation. He had already prepared a cup for you, which you gratefully accepted.

"Thanks for the coffee," you said, taking a sip and feeling the warmth spread through you. There was a brief silence as you both sipped your drinks, and then you took a deep breath.

"About yesterday... I feel like there's something we need to talk about."

You could see him freeze at your words. "Really? Um, not now. You're going to be late for work," he said, making an excuse as he glanced at the clock on the wall.

His sudden shift in demeanor made you hesitate, but you knew this conversation was important, and you couldn't let it slide.

"I understand, but this is something that can't wait," you insisted gently, setting your cup down on the table.

"We need to clear the air, Lando. It's been affecting me, and I think it's affecting you too."

His eyes softened slightly, and he nodded, realizing that delaying the conversation wouldn't make the tension disappear.

His eyes widened at your words, but he nodded slowly. "I promise, when we get time, we'll talk," he said, his voice softer now.

"I just want us to be in the right mind space for it. I know it’s important, and I don’t want to rush through it before work."

You appreciated his honesty and the promise of a future conversation, but the weight on your chest remained.

"I understand," you replied, giving him a small smile. "But remember, Lando, we can’t keep pushing this aside. It’s something we both need to address sooner rather than later."

He gave a reassuring nod and squeezed your hand briefly before you both continued with your morning routines, the unspoken words lingering in the air before leaving the house.

You thought you would talk today, but that wasn't true.

As soon as Lando brought you back home from work, he immediately left, saying he had to go check out a new sim practice.

You knew it was an excuse, and the unresolved tension gnawed at you as you watched him leave, realizing this conversation was going to be harder than you both anticipated.

You felt a mix of frustration and sadness settle over you as the door closed behind him. The avoidance only made the issue seem larger in your mind, and you couldn't help but worry about the growing distance between you.

Determined to find a way to address it, you resolved to bring it up again tomorrow, no matter how difficult it might be. . . .

──── ⋆★⋆ ──── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ : *. ☽ .* : ☆ﾟ. ──── ⋆★⋆ ────

Yesterday was a fail, and you felt the distance between you and Lando only widening. As you immersed yourself more deeply in your modeling career, you found solace in the creative process, even as it distracted you from the unresolved issues at home.

Meanwhile, Lando seemed to be filling the void by engaging more with the girls around him, their laughter and chatter a constant reminder of the growing gap in your relationship.

The contrast between your focused, solitary work and his increasingly social behavior was stark, and it left you feeling isolated and uncertain.

You couldn't help but replay the missed opportunities for conversation in your mind, each one adding to your sense of frustration. Despite your busy schedules, the silence between you both was deafening, and the lack of communication weighed heavily on your heart.

Determined not to let another day slip by without addressing the issue, you resolved to confront Lando as soon as you two returned home, knowing that continuing to avoid the conversation would only deepen the rift between you.

When you and Lando arrived at the workplace, she quickly made her way to you, "Y/N! Terrible news!"

"What happened?" you asked, a sense of dread creeping up your spine.

"Marcus got into a car accident!" Sarah exclaimed, her voice laced with worry. Your heart sank as the news hit you.

"Oh no, is he alright?" you asked, your mind racing with concern.

Sarah shook her head saying, "He's hurt and has to stay in the hospital for a week."

"Which means for this week, you'll need a new partner for the photoshoot," Sarah sighed. "We'll find you one soon, don't worry," she added, trying to reassure you.

You nodded, though your thoughts were still scattered. "Thanks, Sarah. I hope Marcus recovers quickly," you said, forcing a smile.

Thankfully the theme today was the feeling of being lovesick, which was ironically what you were feeling for Lando, so you didn't have to pretend.

As you stood on the set, you got into your position, expressing the yearning and heartache you had been experiencing through your face expression. Each picture was resonated with the depth of your emotions, as if you were pouring your very soul into this.

Everyone on the set was captivated, their eyes fixed on you, mesmerized by the raw vulnerability you displayed. You could feel the connection, the shared understanding of the pain and joy that come with being in love.

It was as if you had opened a window into your heart, and they were peering in, relating to your every movement.

As the final photoshoot faded, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Lando, your heart racing with a mix of hope and trepidation.

"Wow Y/N! You made your facial expression look so real, are you sure you haven't experienced some heartbreak recently?" Sarah joked, her eyes twinkling with a hint of curiosity.

You forced a chuckle, but your gaze betrayed you as it drifted toward Lando, who was busy reviewing the shots with Tom. "Just good acting, I guess," you replied, trying to mask the turmoil bubbling inside.

Lando glanced up at that moment, catching your eye for the briefest second before returning to the screen. The unspoken words between you felt like a chasm, growing wider with each passing day.

Jordan then came over later and accessed everyone's pictures like he always does and he was seriously impressed with yours.

"Y/N, I think you should sign yourself up to be a real model!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

You blushed, feeling a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Really? You think I'm that good?" you asked, trying to gauge if he was serious or just being polite.

"Absolutely," Jordan said firmly. "The emotion you conveyed in these shots is something I rarely see, even in seasoned professionals. You have a real talent, Y/N. Don't let it go to waste."

You smiled, a genuine one this time, appreciating his encouragement. "Thanks, Jordan. Maybe I will consider it," you replied, feeling a newfound confidence bubbling within you.

As he walked away, you threw another glance at Lando, wondering if he too had noticed the depth of your performance.

"So I was thinking of experimenting with a new style," Sarah explained, excitement dancing in her eyes. "I was thinking of copying the style of a face being covered by lipstick kisses, giving the effect of being truly loved."

"But there is one problem," she added, her tone turning slightly hesitant.

"What is it?" you asked, curiosity piqued.

"You don't have a partner to place the kisses on you," Sarah admitted, looking slightly apologetic.

You bit your lip, contemplating her words. Just then, Jordan approached, having overheard the conversation. "I could help with that," he offered, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a hint of happiness.

Your heart skipped a beat at his suggestion. "Are you sure?" you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

Jordan nodded, grinning. "Yeah, I'm sure. Let's make this shoot unforgettable."

Sarah's face fell slightly, the excitement dimming in her eyes as she processed Jordan's offer. She had secretly hoped that Lando would step up, imagining how perfect the photos could be with him as the one placing the kisses.

There was an unspoken chemistry between you and Lando that she thought would translate beautifully through the lens.

However, seeing Jordan's eager grin, she forced a smile, not wanting to dampen the mood.

"Thanks, Jordan," Sarah said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "That would be great." She glanced at Lando, who remained engrossed in his screen, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.

A pang of disappointment tugged at her heart, but she quickly shook it off.

"Alright, let's get started," she continued, clapping her hands together. "This is going to be an amazing shoot."

Unknown to you and Sarah, Lando had been listening to the entire conversation, his eyes never leaving his screen but his ears tuned in to every word. He had felt a surge of jealousy and frustration when he heard Jordan volunteer.

Lando had wanted to step up, to be the one who would place those lipstick kisses on you, but hesitation had rooted him to his seat. Now, he was annoyed at himself for not acting sooner and at Jordan for taking what he secretly desired.

As Sarah and Jordan prepared for the shoot, Lando's mind raced with conflicting emotions. He couldn't focus on his work, the images of you and Jordan together clouding his thoughts.

He clenched his jaw, feeling a wave of regret wash over him. Unable to bring himself to look at you, he stared at his screen, wishing he had the courage to tell you how he really felt.

"Okay, you just have to put lipstick on and then you kiss her all over," Sarah instructed, showing them a picture of an example on her iPad.

Jordan studied the image and nodded, his confidence unwavering. He picked up a tube of lipstick and began applying it, a playful smile forming on his lips.

As Jordan leaned in closer to you, you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. "Ready?" he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours.

You nodded, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach.

Jordan then kissed just above your collarbone, and your breath hitched from the contact. The sensation was both surprising and exhilarating, sending a shiver down your spine.

You tried to stay composed, focusing on the camera and the task at hand, but the intimacy of the moment made it difficult. Sarah, ever the professional, continued to direct the shoot, her voice a steady anchor in the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you.

Lando, watching from a distance, felt his chest tighten with a mix of longing and frustration. Each kiss Jordan placed on your skin felt like a blow to his own heart. He wanted to be the one sharing that moment with you, to feel the connection he knew was there.

But instead, he was a silent spectator, his jealousy growing with each passing second.

Finally, unable to take it any longer, he stood up abruptly and walked out of the room, leaving behind a trail of unresolved feelings.

You noticed Lando's sudden departure out of the corner of your eye, and a pang of confusion and concern hit you. His abrupt exit left a tangible void in the room, distracting you momentarily from the shoot.

You couldn't help but wonder what had driven him away so suddenly, and the thought lingered in your mind, intertwining with the emotions already stirred by Jordan's closeness.

"Um, can I have a couple of minutes to myself?" you asked, glancing over to where Lando went.

The crew exchanged puzzled looks but nodded, granting you the brief reprieve you needed. As you stepped out of the room, you could feel Jordan's eyes following you, a mix of curiosity and concern etched on his face.

You found Lando in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his head bowed. "Lando, are you okay?" you asked softly, approaching him hesitantly.

He looked up, his eyes filled with a tumult of emotions. "I... I just needed a moment," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Let's talk in my dressing room," you said, taking his hand gently. He hesitated for a moment but then allowed you to lead him down the hallway.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with unspoken words and feelings. Once inside, you closed the door behind you, creating a small space of privacy amidst the chaos outside.

"Lando, what's going on?" you asked, your voice soft but insistent.

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze. "It's just... seeing you with Jordan," he began, his voice strained. "I know it's just a shoot, but it feels real, and it hurts. I care about you more than I should, and watching him be close to you, it's driving me crazy."

The raw vulnerability in his eyes mirrored the turmoil you felt inside, making it clear that this conversation was long overdue.

"Does this have to do with the conversation we're supposed to have?" you asked gently, your voice a mixture of concern and curiosity. Lando nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I've been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I didn't know how. Every time I see you with someone else, it just reminds me of how much I need to say this," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly.

You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. "Lando, you can tell me anything. I care about you too," you reassured him, your hand reaching out to touch his arm.

He took another deep breath, his eyes searching yours for any hint of rejection. "I know this might complicate things, but I can't keep it to myself anymore. I love you, and seeing you with Jordan today made me realize I can't just stand by and watch. I needed you to know," he said, his voice raw with emotion.

Your heart skipped a beat as the weight of Lando's words settled over you. You felt a mix of shock, relief, and an overwhelming surge of emotion. "Lando, I..." you began, your voice catching in your throat as you tried to process his heartfelt confession.

How could Lando possibly have feelings for you? He had always been drawn to blondes with striking, model-like figures, and you were the complete opposite of that ideal.

Every time you saw him at parties or events, he was surrounded by women who fit that mold perfectly.

So why now, and why you?

Was he just saying this because he was caught up in the moment, or did he truly see something in you that you couldn't see in yourself? Your mind raced with questions, each one more incredulous than the last.

Why would he choose you when he could have anyone he wanted? Was it possible that he saw beyond the superficial, that he appreciated the depth of your connection and the moments you shared?

The thought seemed almost surreal, making you question whether this was some kind of elaborate joke or misunderstanding.

Yet, the sincerity in his eyes left little room for doubt. Did he really see something in you that he had overlooked in others? Could it be that beneath his polished exterior, he was searching for something more genuine, something real?

The questions swirled in your mind, leaving you teetering on the edge of disbelief and cautious hope.

You loved him, but you didn't know if you could believe him or not. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, that made you want to trust him completely.

But a part of you couldn't help but wonder if he was being completely honest.

You had been hurt before, and the thought of going through that pain again was almost too much to bear. But the way he made you feel, the way he made your heart race, was something you had never experienced before.

You wanted to believe him, to give him your whole heart, but the fear of being betrayed was always lurking in the back of your mind.

"You don't have to answer right now," Lando started gently, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "I just needed you to know how I feel. I've been holding this in for so long, and seeing you tonight, I couldn't keep it to myself any longer."

"I love you too," you blurted out, grabbing the collar of his shirt as if to anchor yourself to the moment. His eyes widened in surprise, but then they softened with a warmth that melted your lingering doubts.

"I don't know if this is real or if I'm just dreaming, but I can't deny how I feel. I'm scared, Lando, but I want to trust you. I want to believe that this, what we have, is genuine."

Lando's face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy, his eyes sparkling as he pulled you into a tight embrace. "You have no idea how much this means to me," he whispered into your ear, his voice trembling with emotion.

"I promise you, I'll do everything I can to prove that this is real."

"How about you kiss me first?" you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando didn't hesitate for a second. His lips met yours with a fervor that sent a shiver down your spine, as if he was pouring every ounce of his feelings into that single moment.

The world around you faded, leaving only the sensation of his warmth and the certainty that, for now, this was where you both belonged.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and hearts pounding, Lando cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt. "Was that convincing enough?" he asked, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

You nodded, unable to find the words to describe the tumult of emotions swirling within you.

"But what about those girls at the club in Belgium, or the girls here?" you muttered, the insecurity evident in your voice.

Lando giggled softly, shaking his head. "The girls at the club came over to ask if you were my girlfriend because I was staring at you the whole time while DJing," he explained, his eyes never leaving yours. "And I was talking to the girls here because I wanted to find a model agency for you to do this full-time since you look so happy doing this now."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, your anxieties beginning to dissipate. "Really?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Really," Lando confirmed, his expression sincere. "I want to support you in every way I can. You mean everything to me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the depth of his commitment. "I don't know what to say," you admitted, your voice trembling. "You've always believed in me more than I believed in myself."

Lando smiled, glancing at your neck, "Can I wipe off those kiss marks now? They're really irritating me," he said, unable to look away from them.

You laughed, feeling the tension melt away. "Oh, so now you're suddenly concerned about my appearance?" you teased, brushing a hand gently against his cheek.

"Always," he replied, his tone softening. "I just want everything to be perfect for you." He reached for a tissue, gently dabbing at the lipstick kiss marks Jordan had left.

"Also, I wanted to replace his marks with mine," Lando grinned, tucking his head into your shoulder and placing soft kisses along your neck.

You shivered at the sensation, feeling a mixture of amusement and affection.

"You're impossible," you murmured, tilting your head to give him better access. His playful yet tender gestures made your heart swell, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for his unwavering support.

"Impossible but irresistible, right?" he teased, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze. You nodded, unable to suppress a smile.

"Okay, maybe a little," you admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Just a little?" he asked, raising an eyebrow mischievously. "I think I can do better than that."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss that made your knees weak. "How about now?" he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating.

You giggled, feeling your cheeks flush. "Alright, a lot," you confessed, playfully tugging at his collar.

"Good," he murmured, closing the distance between you, "because I plan to be irresistible for a very long time."

"Well, you certainly have my attention," you flirted back, tracing a finger along his jawline. "Think you can handle it?"

Lando's eyes sparkled with mischief as he tightened his hold on you. "Oh, I think I'll manage," he replied, his voice low and seductive. "After all, I have a lifetime to perfect my technique."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, causing both of you to jump. Lando instinctively held you tighter, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Who could that be?" he whispered, his brow furrowing as he reluctantly pulled away from your embrace. You quickly straightened your clothes and exchanged a curious glance with him before moving towards the door.

As you opened it, Sarah stood there, looking somewhat sheepish. "Y/N are you okay? You've been here for a while-" she said, her eyes darting between you and Lando. "You know what? Just take your time coming back,"

She closed the door and you turned back to Lando, who was already smirking at you.

"Now, where were we?" he asked, his playful demeanor returning as he stepped closer, making you forget all about the interruption.

You raised an eyebrow, matching his playful energy. "I believe you were about to show me just how irresistible you can be," you teased, stepping closer and running your fingers through his hair. "Think you can pick up where we left off?"

Lando's grin widened as he closed the distance once more, determined to make the most of every moment. . . . .