#usually i just sketch and move on but i want to make more dynamic and engaging stuff

[whaliiwatching]

her throne is his lap

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝑒 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝒻𝑒𝓂!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

· ─────── ⋅ ♤ ⋅ ���────── · 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Professor Lenox observed him, immediately sensing the tension. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

404 Veridian Avenue, Studio B  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, Solivan Brugmansia, you came.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong my dear,”  

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

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

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

“Okay,” the voice agreed quietly.  

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

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

It was you.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh wow…”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did want to see you again. 

He needs to see you again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” Sol said, his heart sinking.  

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

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

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

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

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

And then he saw you.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Sol wasn’t so easily deterred. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the worst part?  

He liked it.

No, he loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all too much. 

It was perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you nervous… or excited?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were closer now. 

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

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

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

This was too much. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sol's entire body was on fire. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he sounds so broken.

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

He looks even worse off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

[moonstruckme]

Also would love more of the art student x stem student peter writing,, again totally just self indulgent here but I adore their dynamic I could go on forever, like study dates but she’s working and Peter hangs around revising notes in her studio and they both just accompany each other AGHHH I could think about them for ages

-🍁🤭

Thanks lovely!

tasm!Peter Parker x artist!reader ♡ 727 words

Your hand comes into view, taking Peter’s attention from his notes for the first time in hours as you slide a paper plate stacked with pizza slices towards him. 

“They were out of stir fry,” you say, “but they let me take extra pizza since they felt bad.” 

Peter blinks, realizing his eyes are dry and achy. “When did you get this?”

“Just now,” you say, though it sounds like a question. Your brows twitch towards each other, somewhere between bemused and concerned. “Pete, I’ve been gone for like a half hour. You didn’t notice?”

Peter blinks again, hard. He gives his head a little shake. “No, I, uh…I guess I was too distracted. Thanks for the pizza.” 

“Course.” You kiss the top of his head as you round the table, sitting down across from him with a couple slices of your own. Peter watches as you zone back into your work, a pensive frown coming to your face. You’re in the beginning stages of a new project, and the last few hours have been a frustrating cycle of erasing, sketching, and erasing again. Peter doesn’t get how you can even see through all the faded, half-removed lines on your page. 

“How’s it going?” he asks, tentative.

Your frown worsens. “Not bad,” you say, in a tone that says not great, either. “I’ve landed on an idea, but it just…it doesn’t feel perfect. I don’t want to start and then have to change my mind again.” 

“Didn’t you say that’s how it usually goes?” he prompts. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, and you sound so upset about it that Peter has to—just has to—reach across the table and take your hand. You offer him a small smile and return the squeeze he gives your fingers.

“Want a break?” he asks you, and you raise your eyebrows.

“I just took my break,” you remind him. 

It’s difficult to love someone and see them treat themselves how you treat yourself. Peter would count a run to the dining hall as a break, too, but he doesn’t like it when you do it. Still, that doesn’t give him a lot of ground for argument.

“Then can I see?” he tries, hoping talking it through will make you feel better.

You chew your lip for a second before nodding, going to slide your paper towards him. 

“Nope, hold on.” Peter stands up on his seat, stepping one gangly leg and then the other over the table before lowering himself into the chair beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, hugging you so that your face is squished against his bicep. “Better,” he says. “Go on.” 

You laugh at his over-the-top affection, but don’t move away, going into the details of your original idea versus what you’ve come up with on paper. The abstract always falls short of the concrete, Peter knows that, and yet he feels your disappointment in your inability to fulfill the full scope of your vision acutely. You grow more animated as you talk, eventually bringing the paper closer and sketching while he watches. Peter suggests his own solutions as you work. They’re useless of course, but he knows that having a sounding board helps you think, so he’ll keep the conversation going any way he can. To your credit, you don’t tell him all the ways he’s wrong. You only hmm and huh and then do your idea anyway. 

After a while, you come up with something you’re happier with. It’s still not perfect, but Peter reminds you again of your own tenets; that it never will be, and your only job is to do the best you can with what you have. You’re smiling by now, so it’s a win in his book. 

“You gonna talk me through your biochem notes now?” you ask him cheerily. 

“Aw, sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your head. “You’re a gem for offering, but we both know you’ll get a headache.” 

“I’ll eat my pizza while you talk,” you propose, picking up a now cold slice of your dinner. “C’mon, it’s only fair.” 

Peter grins at you, your face lined with tiredness and hand stained with silver pencil lead but eyes alight with that fizzy energy you get from creation. “Okay,” he concedes. “But when we go home, we’re watching the most mindless show we can find on TV.”

[taylor-titmouse]

Shrinking Violet is out! another of @petitemortality R/L Monroe's wonderful erotic shorts, with another cover by yours truly >:) i've been saying it on nearly every promo post i make for this but if you're one of the people who has wanted me to write f/f, you're legally obligated to read this one. below is the sales copy, and then below that some discussion of the process for designing the cover!

Nobody at college knows that shy, nervous Maya had a 'bad boy' reputation in high school - and Maya is the only one who knows tough, rebellious Nasrin used to be a sweet-tempered teacher's pet. Mutual attraction is rekindled when their paths cross again, but the two find their old dynamics have been flipped on their head. Maya finally knows what she wants, and Nasrin is bold enough to give it to her...that is, if she can bring herself to ask. Will their first time be perfect the second time around? 7k words, EPUB and PDF format. This is the second in the Fuck Yourself Friday series of shorts. New stand-alone erotic stories are released on the last Friday of every month. FYF 1: Go Fuck Yourself These stories contain explicit sexual content, and are intended for 18+ audiences.

Contains: -F/tF -transfem sub -outdoor sex -praise kink -soft penis stimulation -non-penetrative sex

THUMBNAILS

this one was very straightforward with the request: "the image I have in my mind for a cover is someone's fingers knotted in a skirt spread out against wildflowers. but more in the sort of gripping your own skirt gently kind of way, somewhere between anxious and excited if that makes sense. I'm thinking like you know the classic soft grunge tumblr aesthetic photo vibe. type of shit you'd post next to a closeup of a skinned knee in long socks"

very easy instructions to follow! so while i usually prefer to do 3 thumbnails, i only ended up with 2. there's only so many ways you can depict a hand on a skirt, after all. and we decided that we wanted to continue with the style i established with the first one, with silhouettes, lineless art, and bold textures. we liked the first one more, but wanted to get some leg in there.

i proposed adding black pantyhose to the narrative to make it work on the cover (i have changed prose to match what i drew for illustrations Many times) but we went with bare leg in the end

FINISHING

so i didn't actually do a sketch for this one, just went straight to rendering. as we all know i use gradient maps a lot in my work, so i gave lee a choice between a bright, springy palette, and a wetter, darker palette. i also offered it with the border, or with the skirt going over it. personally i like the skirt going over it, but the border keeps it consistent and more book-cover-y, so we went with that. lee chose the darker palette, which suits the story much better

but the font didn't fit! too vintage for the story, which takes place in modern day.

fonts time :^)

we went with the third option for the contrast. and also added a raindrop to the flower (which got moved to the right petal in the final draft). gently touching petals, wetness, This Is Yuri.

and the final result is as above!

anyway you should all read this story, it's incredibly sweet childhood-best-friends-to-lovers and in itself a love letter to trans femininity. i highly recommend it, and it's only $3!

go and get it!

[bella-goths-wife]

Crush

Yandere cullens x reader

Tw- gore, death, reader being abused, sick family dynamics, animal death

You trailed behind Jasper as he grasped your cold hand. He had always felt the need to hold your hand in busy hallways, it made him feel better. You were about to yank your hand away but your mood flipped like a switch and an idiotic smile forced its way on your lips

He always did this, whenever you felt uncomfortable he would make your mood more convenient for him.

You snapped out of it when you were bumped into by a distracted walker, she smiles apologetically and walks away while Jasper glares daggers at her. You yank your hand away and he looks confused

“I have chemistry now” you remind him “you have p.e your going the opposite direction”

“Can’t you just skip?” Jasper asks annoyed as emmet joins him and puts an arm around you

“Yeah little sis, come join us” emmet tries to convince you but you just shake your head

“Last time I did that, neither one of you defended me when Carlisle scolded me” you sighed out as you separated yourself from them

“(Y/n)” emmet calls your name and you turn your head “behave yourself, little sis”

You nodded and made your way to your class. As you stepped through the doors you noticed someone sitting in the seat next to yours.

He was a short boy with brown curly hair, he saw you and pulled a small, polite smile.

“Hey there” he greets you as you sit down “you must be my new lab partner, I’m Brad”

“(Y/n)” you greet politely and shake his hand before turning away and looking at the board

“You always sit with the cullens kids, your their sister right?” He asks and you just nod “you don’t talk much, huh?”

You shake your head. You don’t want this boy to die all because you engaged in polite small talk. You feel him moving and hear him scribbling. You don’t pay attention to him until half an hour into the lesson he tugs in your sleeve.

You turn to see a small sketch of a baby deer on the inside of brads work book. You look at him curious and find the paper to be dedicated to you. You turn your head and he just gives you a cheeky smile.

“Because of your eyes” he explains playfully “you remind me of a deer”

You blush red and hide your face from his peering gaze. He rips the page and grabs your hand before placing the paper in your palm. Your heart would have beat at the contact

“Thank you” you say flustered while he just chuckles

You try and listen to the teacher but all you can listen to is brads heartbeat increasing every time you looked at him, he was nervous too.

As the bell rang you rose from your seat but Brad takes your bag in his hands. You look at him but he just takes your hand and leads you out the classroom. As you exit the classroom your hand remains in his.

“I’ll walk you to lunch” he says as he nudges you with his shoulder “you can keep chatting my ear off”

You let out a small giggle and he gives an exaggerated shocked gasp

“She laughs” he says shocked “it’s a miracle”

“Shut up” you replied back playfully as you kept walking “so what’s the plan, woo me over a lukewarm lunch meal?”

“Who says I’m wooing you” he questions playfully “maybe your the one seducing me? With your big eyes and complete silence? Who could resist”

You let out a loud laugh but you catch yourself as you see the entrance to the lunch hall. You let go of brads hand and walk away but to your dismay he follows you, thinking it’s a game.

You approach your siblings at your usual table and they smile at you, all except Edward. He was too focused on someone behind you.

“Hey, you” he shouts to Brad who was looking like a lost puppy “come sit with us”

“What are you doing?!” Rosalie hissed out as she pulled you down to your chair before you could wave Brad away “why are you inviting a human over”

“Seems like our baby sister has a crush” Edward answers darkly “we should at least get to know the guy”

Brad sits down next to you and Rosalie pulls your chair closer to her passive aggressively. You shoot brad a pleading look to walk away but he didn’t understand, everyone at the table glares at him

“What’s your name kid?” Jasper asks with a cruel smirk

“Brad” he answers while looking at you with a smile “I’m surprised this one hasn’t told you, she’s a real chatterbox”

“He’s joking” you defend yourself fearfully at the thought of them telling Carlisle that you talked to humans

“So Brad” Edward leans closer with a menacing look “your gonna switch chemistry classes”

“Why would I do that?” Brad says confused

“Because we all don’t trust you with our little sister” emmet answers while cracking his knuckles

“It’s not like you’d ever be good enough for her anyway” Rosalie says disgusted “she’s too precious for you to even talk too”

“Fuck you” Brad seethed out as he rose from his chair and stormed off

“Why would you do that?!” You question angrily “he was a nice guy and you all sat here and mocked him”

“Behave sis, you wouldn’t want to get punished” emmet threatened

You look to the exit and make your thoughts known before turning to them

“You can’t do anything here” is all you said before you stormed off to find Brad, your siblings wanted to punish you but it was way to public

They would get you later.

———————————————————————

“Brad!” You called after him when you saw Brad emerge from the library

“Go away (y/n)” was all he said as he kept walking

“I’m so sorry Brad” you apologised and he turned to you with an angry expression “I tried to stop them”

“Fucking incest freaks” he spits out as he continues to walk away “they’re brother fuckers and they judge me?”

“I’m so so sorry” you apologised again with your head down

“Its not your fault” he sighs out “why are they so weird with you?”

“I don’t know” you admitted and he put his hand on your shoulder, you blush slightly

“I’ve gotta get to gym” he says with a smile “I’ll see you around chatterbox”

You nod and smile sadly while watching him leave. Your first ever crush and your family couldn’t even let you enjoy it for more than an hour.

———————————————————————

There’s a knock on your locked bedroom door. You look confused before Carlisle emerges from the other side.

You back away and go into the corner of the room out of fear. Your arms instinctively put your arms over your face defensively. Carlisle sighs and goes to your corner before crouching

“Sweet girl, don’t be afraid” you flinch when he caress your cheek “I’ve brought you a gift”

You look at him with fearful curiosity as he grabs your hand and pulls you up. He forces his arm over you shoulder and drags you to the kitchen

You see Brad sat at the counter with his arms tied behind his back with thick rope and a gag in his mouth.

“We’ve brought your friend home for dinner” Alice says gleefully as she puts her hand on his shoulders with her nails sticking in

“You’ve been a bad girl (y/n)” esme says as she emerges from the living room with a disappointed frown “talking to humans is against the rules”

“I won’t do it again I promise” you cry out as you go to Brad and watch him struggle against his restraints “let him go, it’s not his fault”

“He’s corrupted you” Edward slams his fist on the counter and breaks it “all he thought about when he was with you was your body, why would he be interested in you beyond that”

“It’s not like you give enough conversations to the humans to like you for your charming personality” emmet snickers out cruelly as they all tainted you

Brad furiously shook his head in disagreement as you put your head down in shame and embarrassment.

“Shall we get the entertainment” Alice squeals out while she claps her hand excitedly

They all pull you and Brad through to the living room. They forcefully pull you to the couch and sit around you but Brad is forced onto a seat in the centre of the room.

“First up” Edward announces “your punishment”

Emmet comes through with a beautiful little Robin. You knew this bird, you had connected with this bird through your power to ask it to sing for you. They knew that and you knew what came next.

You felt your connection with the bird force it’s way to the surface as it felt like your soul intertwined with its.

“You know what happens now” Carlisle sighs out as he takes the small bird in the palm of his hands, you feel the birds fear and anxiousness as tears well up in your eyes

Carlisle slowly uses his strength to crush the bird and you yell in agony. Your neck feels as though it’s the one being crushed as your head feels pulses of pain expand from your brain. As the bird lets out it’s last breath your neck forces a sigh and you feel devoid of breath even if you didn’t need to breath.

Rosalie pulls you face to lean on her shoulder while you grip your throat in pain. The pain eventually leaves but the birds dead body is left on the coffee table

“It’s okay baby” Rosalie shush’s “it’s gone now”

You cry harder and Brad looks at you terrified and confused. They pull him to face you before emmet goes behind him

“Baby sis’s first crush” Emmett laughs out as he puts his hands on brads shoulders “get a picture Alice”

The flash on Alice’s camera shocks you and Brad as you rub your eyes. The photo comes out and Alice sighs affectionately while putting it in your ‘scrap book’

Before you realise what’s happening, you see Emmett’s hands go on the side of brads face and he begins to press. Brad screams in agony as his head is slowly compressed, blood spurts out onto your face when his face is flattened. Small pieces of brain matter landed on your face as Rosalie pulls out a napkin and wipes your face gently.

“Smile sis” Alice says as the camera flashes on your shocked, terrified face.

Alice sticks the photo in the scrap book with “baby sis first ‘crush’” with crush in air quotations. You look at your face on the photo and then hear your families cruel, mocking laughter

They treat the situation as a party and dance around while laughing. You look at brads body and clutch the drawing he gave you in your pocket.

You make eye contact with Carlisle who just smirks and then Edward steps in front of you and smiles cruelly. One thought springs to mind

I need to get the fuck out of here

Hope you enjoyed :)

Love ya ❤️

[9haharharley1]

Will you accept a question and a prompt?

What are some things that help get your creative juices flowing? (Because the stuff you write is just phenomenal.)

And mayhaps a bit of Pitch being creepy with a sleepy Jack?

Of course! And thank you, that's so sweet!!

Things that get my creative juices flowing 🤔

It really depends, I think? Getting the ideas can be pretty easy sometimes. Its writing them that can be the problem. I get inspirations from movies - oh this character reminds me of Blorbo A, he would be fun to put in this situation, how would he react? Or sometimes just the basic premise or trope - ie Mermaid au, coffee shop au. I want to write these things but they're so vague that getting the details down in writing, or even just trying to hash out a plot can be a chore.

Sometimes it's music- this song screams Blorbo B, or maybe it fits the ship dynamic really well, ooh here's a situation! Let's throw it all in a blender and see what happens!

Other times it's art - obviously with me, I know, but I have that type of memory where I actually can't picture details in my head. It's why I don't focus on improving my own art, but seeing a situation actually already set up, for me, can act as a reference like an artist would a figure when sketching a pose or something. I see the image or situation, and suddenly it's much easier to figure out how they got into that situation. Who instigated it? What are they feeling? What happens after?

And sometimes it's as easy and simple as finding the right prompt! I see the prompt (ie. Character A is wearing this and B reacts to it) and it's just the right combination of words to instantly trigger a scenario in my brain! Especially if it's one that's been incubating in my head for a long time already.

---

(A Stay entry mayhap? A prologue of some kind?!)

Jack had long made a habit of sleeping in trees. And Pitch had long made the habit of watching him.

He had taken notice roughly fifty years after Jack Frost's resurrection that the weather patterns during winter had started to change, becoming more erratic and volatile as the years went on, as Jack became more and more isolated from the humans and the spirits around him. Pitch languished in his fear, amplifying the effects Jack's blizzards had on human settlements and driving them further indoors, away from the boy who tried so desperately to get them to notice him. It was cruel, but Pitch didn't exactly care, more concerned with building up his stores of power in preparation for his next big fight with the Guardians.

He followed after Jack most days during the cold seasons to chase after this easy fear.

As winter waned and Bunnymund began ushering in spring and life, Jack would begin to settle. And he generally, he settled in some remote and freezing location, taking some time to rest and recuperate his natural cold before moving on to the next hemisphere. This usually meant he'd stake out a tree, settling in on a branch with his arms curled around his staff and little regard for anything else. He'd drift off into a dreamless sleep, and Pitch would watch.

He never spoke to the boy. He never tried to even approach him, weary of drawing the young thing in and growing attached. Because he would. He knew himself well enough after countless eons with nothing but shadows to keep him company that he would latch onto Jack's bright smile and easy conversation. The boy would cling to him in return, desperate for companionship as he was, and when he realized what kind of monster Pitch was, he would attempt to leave.

And Pitch would not let him go.

He would keep Jack for himself, cage him and break him, tarnish that wonderful brightness Jack radiated like fresh snowfall. Winter had been Pitch's domain for millenia before Jack. And if he let Jack close, he would make it his all over again.

It was best to leave him alone for now. Some day, maybe.

But Pitch couldn't stay away, attracted to the gleam of light on fresh snow like a moth to a flame, his shadow growing larger the closer he got. The temptation was ever present in his mind; to reach out, to touch, to take. He wanted this lonely little spirit for himself.

Pitch shook his head, settling down to sit on the branch Jack rested on. The sprite was fast asleep, shoulders and neck propped against the trunk of the tree, his brown cape pillowing his head. His staff was clutched close in his arms, little flakes of frost sparking from the curved tip with every soft snore.

Even in sleep, Jack's power was almost too much to contain. What the Nightmare King could do to use that power for himself...

Legs swinging idly from the branch, he looked away from the sleeping spirit, out to the winter wonderland beyond. Thick pine tree grew tall and vast all around, a veritable sea of green and brown, blanket in snow. The ground was completely covered in fresh powder, unblemished save for the few brave animals venturing out into the cold. Icicles hung from branches and ferns, sparkling in the starlight without the moon's overwhelming presence drowning them out.

It was beautiful.

The world felt far away and empty here, muffled and silent save for Jack's quiet snores and Pitch's own steady breathing. It was peaceful, and he felt himself relax as he simply watched the world turn, enjoying the cold and recalling a time when cold was his every day. His lips pulled up in a soft smile. He glanced at Jack.

The boy hadn't moved, laying surprisingly still for someone with so much restless energy during the day. He looked so young in his sleep, so content, and Pitch wondered if he would ever be able to have such a peace for himself.

He shook his head. Best not to think about it.

Jack shifted, drawing Pitch's attention back to him. His toes twitched, one foot kicking a little, just enough to brush Pitch's thigh for how close he sat. A noise slipped from Jack's mouth with the contact, and he shifted again, edging down the tree in his unconscious state as though seeking out the source, desperate for contact. Pitch watched, unblinking.

When Jack's toes found his leg, he sighed, the smallest of smiles tugging his lips. A hand came up to push the offending appendage away, but as Pitch gazed at that happy little grin, pale cheeks flushed the lightest shade of purple, and he hesitated. He should push him away. He knew he should; he couldn't risk getting attached to even the idea of friendship, let the boy desperate for it.

But he was weak, as the shadows often liked to remind him, and instead of shoving Jack's foot away and starting the sprite awake to get a quick dose of fright, he placed his hand gently on freezing toes. He swallowed, shifting closer and lifting both feet into his lap, where he covered them with both hands. Another sigh of contentment left Jack's parted lips, the younger spirit settling quickly despite Pitch's heat sinking into his skin. He rubbed gently at calloused skin, massaging the bare feet in his lap, watching Jack's peaceful face the whole time, looking for any sign of discomfort or alertness.

None could be found.

He didn't move for a long time, simply touching and watching, thinking of all the could haves and what ifs, the snow muffling the whispers of shadows.

When the sun finally peeked its first rays of light over the horizon and Jack stirred from his rest, Pitch was gone, melted into the shadow of a nearby tree. He was treated to the sight of Jack sitting up, blinking groggy eyes and wiggling his toes, staring at his feet for a long time with the kind of look on his face Pitch could only describe as wonder. He may need to go terrorize North a little for the thought, but he settled for watching the content little smile that lit up Jack's face.

[arkethamz]

Antonio doodle/info dump since he was around last month :3

left is the most recent doodles before i knew he'd be coming back

right is the first drawings of him (coincidentally exactly a year ago from June 1st)

more uncolored doodles n sketches. i kinda draw Antonio the most, but i rarely post about him (been gatekeepmaxxing)

last drawings that i actually still kinda like.. i have much more, i just don't like how they look anymore lmao

rambling wall of text infodump below the cut cuz i am just so autistic about this character LMAO sorry i'm a yapper-

anyway, contrary to popular belief, Antonio is actually my favorite RP character. just in general. and i've never actually seen him live until the other day. unbeknownst to me, i was waiting for a whole year to be able to actually see him live, i think i was more excited about it than cc!anthony was 💀

which might contribute to my love for him bc i had to piece him together like a puzzle from everyone else's POVs and clips n stuff. so at first i didn't want him to come back bc i was afraid he'd be different from the Antonio i made up in my head... but then. i haven't sat n watched, at mostly full attention, a whole stream for 7 hours in a while LOL

when i watched cc!buddha's rdrp vods a year ago n saw Antonio, i thought to myself "oh no... Tony isn't actually my new muse is he...?". and for a while i didn't draw him bc i didn't have any ideas + i didn't really know how to draw him. but i did know that when i did learn how to draw him, it'd be over for me (i wouldn't want to draw anyone else, and i was right oops 😭)

my idea of Antonio is he's just a dumb, impulsive, silly little theatre kid that got wrapped up in being an outlaw bc of Wu n Dot after his house burned down. they woulda been moving around in old box cars wherever the trains took them. Dot dies before the events of WildRP(headcanon), and Wu to me, is the autistic kid that follows Antonio around bc he talks a lot n has charisma lolol. also, to me, Wu is not as evil as he was intended to be, he just follows in Sonny's footsteps who's calculated n violent. While Antonio chooses Cesare's path to be more diplomatic and focuses more on his reputation. Antonio can't win a fight to save his life, and i love him for it. he thinks he's scary n dangerous, but to me, he couldn't hurt a fly hehe. i mean, one of the first things he did in the crossing was host a talent show at the local theatre. i'm a big fan of pathetic men, what can i say.

speaking of, i love how pathetically in love he is with Renni. and i love how, despite how much they like each other, they never actually get together n still respect each other as friends. they are the embodiment of the saying "if you love something let it go, if it comes back its yours" but without the last part.. they are so tragic to me.

in the last 3.5 years of watching rp, i've never had any character or character dynamic make me cry. like, as much as i love how doomed n toxic Donnie/Lang is, i've teared up a bit, but they've never made me cry just thinking about them. but Antonio, n by extension, his relationship with Renni, has made me cry multiple times just thinking about them 😭 and yeah, i cried the other day when Antonio was thinking about Renni LOL

idk why he's the character that changes my brain chemistry, but uh. he is. i've literally never rambled about a character so much online, sorry for the great wall of text bc of it.. i'm usually masking so hard a lot of the time, but i've been wanting to talk about Antonio for so long with no one to yap to so, yknow.. he gets me to unmask and i also love him for that :']

[a-blue-mask]

"Our dear thing"

McMillan twins x GN!Reader

Sequel to "Our pretty thing"

Warnings: romanticized toxicity, horror, gore, objectification, power dynamic, everything a relationship shouldn't be, romantic undertones but in the most wrong way possible?

Author note: GODS HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE ME. It sat in the drafts for an eternity. I didn't even add much before publishing but I needed to give it a conclusion that wasn't an attempt at something that just wasn't meant to be there. It's not even good as a whole but I want it out of the way. Have fun, enjoy, remember this isn't something meant to be healthy- y'all know the drill.

It had been a few weeks since you arrived in Forgotten Hill... since your abduction. You had come to accept the fact that you weren't leaving as you learned more about the town.

Forgotten Hill was under the control of a witch, Ruth, aided by Theodore, Ethan and Nathan. To think that something like witches and monsters existed... and two of those monsters had decided that you were their property. Yes, Ethan and Nathan had a human face and body, but you knew they were just as terrible as the disfigured beasts the doctor created, or the cannibalistic puppets the other made out of humans. You could pity those creatures, as you could have become one of them at any time; but you couldn't have pity or sympathy for their creators, your tormentors.

Your days were mostly spent at the hospital, where you had a room, the same one they put you in the first time you arrived. Now and then you would be pulled out of it and either twin would have a turn studying you.

Nathan seemed to be almost obsessed with your hands and limbs, observing and feeling your articulations bend. Sometimes he would bruise one of your fingers or dislocate your arms as he studied how they moved, by accident... though you suspected they weren't always accidents. After that he'd take you to his brother to "get you fixed". Ethan always scolded his twin for being so careless with you.

The colonel wasn't as rough. According to Theodore, a guy with a creepy smile that would visit the twins now and then, Ethan wanted to recreate your beauty. The doctor's studies usually included a lot of touching your face to feel the bones and muscles, and a lot of writing down notes and sketching what he guessed was under your skin.

Within the first visits, you learned to tell them apart by their looks: Ethan had a less cured appearance and dark circles under his eyes, and his expression was always serious and calm, while Nathan seemed to have infinite enthusiasm and energy, and he also cared more about his looks. Their personalities also differed. Ethan was stricter in dictating his rules, but rarely punished you for acting up and was more indulging in your questions. Nathan acted laid back and friendly, and he'd usually grant you more freedom in moving around as long as he could see you, but would easily snap if you did something he didn't approve of.

It was late at night, and you were strolling down the hospital's corridor, when you heard a loud scream. Nothing unusual, since you knew this place wasn't a real hospital and more like a monster factory where human rights were disregarded... Those screams were rather common. Still, the sound sent a shiver down your spine. It was a reminder that as soon as Ethan got done with his studying, that could become you, and your agony would echo in the halls as he turned you into a mindless monster. Then you'd aimlessly roam Forgotten Hill for the rest of your cursed existence.

It took all your willpower not to break down in that moment. You were used by now to the idea of danger lurking in every corner, but as you stopped fearing the immediate danger, it became easier to be scared of the future and feel helpless. Anxiety attacks and crying for hours were almost a daily routine. So lost in your thoughts, you didn't realise Ethan had stopped right behind you. His hand gently tapped on your shoulder, making you flinch and turn around abruptly. He was still wearing his operating claws, the long and sharp metal blades that helped him dissect his patients, so you accidentally cut your cheek on one of them in your movements. The scare and the small prick of pain were enough to send you into a breakdown, but you swallowed your tears and tried putting on a brave front. The doctor was looking at you through the eyes of his bug mask.

«My apologies dear... I should have taken these off earlier.» he said as he stepped closer, looking at the cut. It wasn't deep, but he still motioned for you to follow him to the nurse's office. As far as you knew there was no nurse in the hospital, though there were pictures of one in the office.

Ethan made you sit, then started taking off his operating claws. They were sharp, and looked clean, except for the one that scratched your cheek. A tear threatened to fall from your eye, as you thought that one day those claws could be dissecting you. Another flinch of your body followed as Ethan now pressed a tissue with alcohol to your cut. You didn't notice him getting closer, yet he was standing right in front of you now. You didn't notice him taking his mask off either, yet his dark eyes were staring right back into yours. Would he operate on you with his mask off? Or would you have to stare at the horrible bug eyes while your body got mutilated? It was haunting to think about.

«Why were you in the corridor? I thought I was clear about the rules.» he scolded you as he applied a small bandaid to your cheek. He would often catch you walking around despite not being allowed to, but he never really punished you for it. Still, his stern tone was enough to make your lip quiver.

«I-I'm sorry... I just couldn't sleep.»

His hand gently held the side of your face, his eyes scrutinizing your expression. Always so cold and analytical, would that be the look he'd give you on the operating table? Just thinking about it...

«Dear, are you crying?»

His voice was a little softer this time. Tears were freely falling down your cheeks, but you couldn't help it. It was all too much. Normally you'd try to hold yourself together until you were alone, but tonight it was all coming crashing down.

«I don't want to die... or to become a monster...» you murmured with a strained voice, trying your hardest to hold back your sobs. Ethan frowned, then took your face in both of his hands, holding you gently

«Dearest, I don't intend to do any of that to you... I promise I'll keep you safe, so don't cry, please.»

Even his voice was gentle now, and his eyes softer than you had ever seen before. It was hard to believe that was the same Ethan that would make the hospital echo in the screams of his patients. This Ethan didn't like to see you cry, he didn't intend to harm you, he just wanted to comfort you.

«You won't cut me up...?» was your quiet question, still suspicious yet looking for the reassurance. He hummed, still looking into your eyes, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks.

«I won't. I'll keep you as beautiful and whole as you are now.» he promised. He could have been lying, he could have been telling you this to soothe your temporarily... But somehow you felt like that was a genuine promise.

Just as you had started to calm down, the door to the infirmary slammed open. A familiar mask peeked inside, one you knew all too well.

«There you are! I believe today-»

Nathan cut himself off suddenly. In an instant he moved from the door to where you were sitting, with those soulless orbs staring into your eyes. His mask, figuring a crow typical of Forgotten Hill, made your anxiety rise again. Maybe Ethan wouldn't hurt you, but would he stand up to Nathan if he had decided to turn you into a puppet? Or would you have to stare into the crow's eyes while your limbs got broken and replaced with sticks, your body then controlled by strings and forced to dance on the stage for all eternity?

«Why are you crying, dear? It's unlike Ethan to be rough.»

Even though you weren't crying anymore, tears still stained your cheeks. Nathan's hand, the same that often bruised your limbs by accident, came up to dry your face. Your body tensed up as soon as his fingers brushed against your skin, and it didn't go unnoticed by the puppeteer. He took off his mask, then held your face with both of his hands. Now that you could see his expression he looked less creepy, and almost concerned.

«Dear?»

Even his voice didn't sound playful at all, just concerned.

«Am... am I going to become a puppet?»

Your voice was shaky, a bit hoarse from your crying. Ethan tensed up in your peripheral vision, as if he also wasn't sure how his brother would react. Would he protect you from Nathan if it was the case? Would he-

A loud cackle interrupted your thoughts. Nathan was laughing... if you could even call it laughter. Maybe comparing it to a feral cat being mauled would have been more accurate. His whole body was shaking, he seemed hysterical. Your eyes were locked on the sight, unable to look away.

He calmed down slowly, taking deep breaths, though a giggle still escaped from his lips.

«Dear, did- did you really think that? It's been weeks, and y-»

«And our dear thing is confused.»

Ethan's calm interruption didn't seem to bother Nathan, who just shrugged at his twin. Then he suddenly got up from his chair, clasping his hands together.

«Today is the day of the show! Come on dear, I came here just to get you.»

«Show? What-»

But before you could ask more, Nathan had already begun to pull you up from your seat and towards the door. He seemed excited, more than usual. You, on the other hand, were feeling disoriented and almost nauseous. Your body and mind could only take so much after all, and right then you didn't know if you were supposed to be scared about what Nathan wanted to show you, or relieved because he didn't seem interested in turning you into a puppet. Or did he? Maybe he wanted to make you into a puppet after all, and simply wanted to drag you to the theatre first...

Everything had built up until you had passed out. That must have been it, because when you opened your eyes you weren't in the hospital anymore; you were in a seat, a theatre seat. The walls and ceiling were dark, and the lights in the room were dim. A blanket was draped over your body, protecting you from the cold. You vaguely remembered one time mentioning to Nathan how cold it was in the theatre, especially in the evening.

A light then shone on the stage; the red curtains parted, revealing a puppet dressed as a jester, with bulging soulless eyes and a disproportionate body. It gave you the creeps.

You looked away, to your left, feeling the unease bubble in your chest. That was once a human being, with thoughts and feelings just like you. Now? It was swiftly maneuvered by the puppeteer, making him- it talk and dance on stage, like nothing was wrong.

«He wanted to cheer you up.»

You jumped in your seat at the voice on your right and turned around. Mask off and leaning back in his seat, was Ethan. His eyes were on the stage, following the puppet as it launched in a monologue about the wonders of the world.

«Nathan hates improvisation. He needs a script, with clear actions and sentences that have been written over and over again, until they express exactly what he wants to communicate to his audience.»

Now another puppet, wearing a costume with a star mask and smaller stars shining on its clothes, joins the scene; apparently, the first puppet's attention is stolen by its presence.

«What... What does that mean?»

Ethan smiled, following the play. Now the man on stage was dancing with the star, at a slow pace.

«You should pay more attention to the show. He put a lot of effort in it.»

Your attention went back to the stage, even though you could feel your nausea rise as you watched the thin strings pull at the puppets limbs, forcing what were once people to just obey to their puppeteer. The dancing of the man and the star became suddenly faster. The star was struggling to keep up, and soon fell to the ground. The man kneeled by its side, as if concerned.

"Why did you fall, little star?"

"You danced too fast, and my feet got scared, so I fell."

"Are you afraid of me, little star?"

"Yes, I am afraid of you."

"But I want to keep you, little star."

"I don't want to be kept."

"But I'll admire you, little star."

"I don't want to be admired."

"But what can I do then, little star?"

"You can let me go."

The man shakes his head.

"You can't abandon me, little star."

"Why?"

Pause.

"I... I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I just see something... and I don't want to let go."

The star sits up. It's its moment to talk now.

"You're impulsive."

"I'll be careful."

"You're a monster."

"Not to you. Never to you."

It started to click in your brain. The scene on stage was just a mirror, you started to realise. A reflection of your reality. Or rather, the reflection he wanted to show you.

"But you'll cage me."

"I... I will protect you."

That was the last straw. You stood up, head spinning and vision blurring. He was trying to make you pity him, to make you empathize with him and feel sorry for being afraid of him.

And the worst thing? It was working.

You were starting to feel something different from fear.

And that felt even scarier than whatever fate was originally planned for you.

[kokoasci]

Do you happen to have any tips on "filling up negative space with random objects" like you mentioned in the tags of your "product of your environment" WIP post?

The finished piece is absolutely breathtaking and I wondered how you decided on what objects to use and how you positioned them to make the composition work so well, there's something so compelling and dynamic about it that I can't quite put into words!!

Seriously, your art is extremely inspiring and eye-catching, I could analyse and ramble on about each piece for hours hehe

yes ofc! :D one of my favorite things to do with my art fr

so this is how the piece originally started:

and it was just going to be a little sketch that i didnt put much effort into. i drew that little teacup there and was like huh what if i put more around it?? this turned into the idea of putting Mori pouring the cup, etc. etc. and i now knew what kind of message/theme i wanted this piece to take.

the paper koi were a product of trying to make stuff look more dynamic :D since you can bend and twist them, i thought they'd be a good fluid addition that i could manipulate to make the piece feel more full composition-wise and tie in to the horizontal orientiation i wanted to go for.

in terms of how i pick objects, i usually just browse pinterest for random objects that catch my eye LMAO 😭 its kind of a mixture between going for elegance and aesthetic and also just what i can draw in an interesting pose (teacups are not. usually floating and tipping in air, so taking an object and putting it in a situation it wouldn't be usually gives a comp a really striking effect i think)

i also like to keep in mind motion while i draw, and how "fast" i want this scene to be if it were animated or actually moving. cups pour pretty quickly, but i wanted the other objects to look like they were almost floating or moving very slowly, which is why i think i gravitated towards bigger objects like koi fish and plants. it creates this cool juxtaposition that draws the eye in really well as you're trying to make sense of a piece when you're first looking at it!!

maybe im rambling. but, thats how i got the finished composition!

[darkstar225]

Twice's 10th member gets the girls falling in love with her

A/N: I got an ask on Tumblr and I loved writing it, ty and I'm sorry for taking some time but studying sucks. This one is being posted as thanks for 24k views on Wattpad :D

The request: Hi! Can I request on Twice 10th member? Twice always treat 10th member as their baby sister, if you comfortable can you make where Twice start feeling different toward 10th member? Like they see/treating 10th member as lover and want to be her girlfriend something like that. Btw, 10th member's physical start to change like they became little bit muscular and taller than Tzuyu also her voice became little deep bcs of puberty. Have nice day :)

PS: Tysm for everyone who reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post! I'd like to thank whoever sent me this idea 'cause I loved to write it <3

__________________________________________________________

In the vibrant heart of Seoul, amidst the urban hum of energy and dreams, the enchanting realm of TWICE thrived. Nine radiant stars illuminated stages and captured hearts, but the story was evolving, as the 10th member and maknae, Y/N, incorporated her own narrative into it.

Y/N, the newest addition to TWICE, had entered their lives with a captivating smile and quiet confidence, becoming an instant favourite. Her journey with the group had been a mix of shared laughter, tears, and unforgettable moments. However, something was shifting now, both within her and among her fellow members.

Subtle changes in how the others regarded Y/N started rippling through the group's dynamic. At first, it was easy to dismiss as imagination. Sana, known for her liveliness, now blushed at Y/N's mere presence. Dahyun's playfulness had taken on a more tender touch, often finding reasons to make physical contact. Jihyo, the leader, couldn't help but steal glances imbued with a depth beyond friendship.

Y/N's physical transformation, a natural progression of growth, was hard to overlook. Her muscles had refined into sculpted strength, proof of her unwavering dedication. A growth spurt had rendered her slightly taller than even the (once) giant Tzuyu. And her voice, now tinged with a deeper resonance, marked the passage of time and the changes that came with it.

Within TWICE's close-knit circle, these changes weren't just mere observations. They ignited a quiet revolution of emotions. Sana, usually the group's naughty soul, found herself mesmerized by Y/N's focus, the way her powerful arms moved with purpose. Chaeyoung, the artistic heart, found herself drawn to sketch Y/N repeatedly, capturing the essence of her newfound strength.

Tensions brewed beneath the surface. Tzuyu, who was typically unshakable, wrestled with a pang of jealousy whenever the youngest drew others' attention. She couldn't deny the admiration that stirred whenever her dongsang showcased her physical accomplishments. The sisterhood that had happened at first was evolving, and emotions were its unknown territory.

Y/N sensed the shift (girly isn't that dumb, neither blind), though she couldn't quite grasp it. The exchanges with her fellow members held an electric intensity she couldn't explain. Nayeon, the outspoken one, stumbled over words when Y/N was near. Jeongyeon, the protective sister, found herself lost in Y/N's eyes during conversations.

One evening, as the sun painted the sky in hues of amber, tension reached a breaking point. Mina, the embodiment of grace, approached Y/N with a tentative smile. 

Mina - Honey, can we talk?

Caught off guard, Y/N nodded. 

Y/N - Sure, Mina unnie. What's on your mind?

Mina took a deep breath, fingers fiddling with her shirt hem. 

Mina - Lately, I've been feeling something different. My heart races when I see you, and I can't explain it.

Realization dawned on Y/N. 

Y/N - You mean...?

Mina nodded, cheeks flushed. 

Y/N - I think I might be falling for you, darling.

The confession hung, palpable. Y/N's mind raced. One by one, members stepped forward, confessing their own emotions. Momo's sincerity, Sana's directness, Nayeon's vulnerability, each revelation stripped away barriers.

Vulnerability spawns honesty. Emotions spilt forth, exposing the intricate combo of feelings that had appeared. Momo, Sana, Nayeon, Jeongyeon, all of them laid bare their hearts, revealing the depth of their affection.

The moment shattered the building tension, giving way to an overwhelming mix of gratitude, surprise, and uncertainty. The group's dynamics had shifted irrevocably, and the path ahead was uncertain.

In the following days, Y/N embarked on heart-to-heart conversations, learning the extent of her members' feelings (even if she engaged with none of them). Each confession was a unique melody of emotions, some songs of love, some poems of admiration, and others yearning for undefined connection.

As the group navigated these uncharted waters, their bond proved resilient. Laughter blended with tears, and gradually, the dynamics found a new equilibrium. Y/N's presence had redefined the group, yet their sisterhood remained unbroken.

TWICE's sweetheart's journey with TWICE continued, marked by newfound understanding. Love, which had simmered beneath the surface, now danced openly in their interactions, enriching their shared experiences (created a lot of ships). As Y/N stood tall, strong, and confident, her place in TWICE was secure. Not just as the 10th member and their cute maknae, but as a cherished inhabitant of each member's heart. And this made all the members have only one thought:

We love our dear youngest.

A/N: I apologise for any errors, English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there's something wrong, ty for reading <3

[the-cu-genswap-au]

Behind the scenes post #2

continuing where we left off

#4. Production trivia #3: a tip for making comics: I want to talk about this random shot of the wall here

- In comics, when you have a scene with two characters talking to each other, it gets really boring when the entire scene just keeps cutting back and forth between the two over and over for the entire conversation. You want the scene to feel dynamic, like these are two people moving and existing in a fleshed out world.

- My strategy for this is usually to cut away to an important object within the same scene, or something in the background, just to avoid making the scene feel monotonous. You can see the same thing in this panel

- The problem, though, is that sometimes this strategy doesn't always work as well

- With the random wall panel, I only added it in because I knew I wanted to cut away from the characters for a bit, but the setting they were talking in (random empty alley behind the playground) didn't have a lot of interesting background elements to switch over to. So, I settled for the wall behind them. Admittedly it's not the most visually interesting thing to cut to, but I'd rather have this than keep cutting back and forth between the characters.

#5. Real world influence:

- This shot of the playground was partially inspired by the playground at my own elementary school! I remember we had a fenced-in basketball court that faced out towards the park outside the school, and the entire fence was surrounded by trees and bushes. It made a nice shady spot to sit down and read in during recess.

- I draw a lot from my own elementary school experiences for this AU. I threw in a reference to Jerry Spinelli because we had to read a lot of his books in fourth grade, and a lot of smaller props the characters use are based on ones I remember using back then.

#6. Recurring detail:

- Sometimes I like to shade Melvin in a way that's meant to evoke Melvinborg. Not because Melvinborg is relevant to the AU, but because I just think it looks cool :)

#7. Complaining about my own handiwork: this is a really quick personal gripe I wanted to get off my chest

- Out of all the environments, vehicles, perspective shots, and crowd shots I've had to do so far for this comic, the hardest thing to draw by far.... has been George's arm in this panel.

- I don't know what happened here! Anatomy is usually so much easier to draw in the CU art style but this arm just didn't want to work for me! I genuinely spent hours trying to make this arm look good! Here's the sketch:

And here is where I considered giving up and drawing him a completely different arm position I thought might be easier to draw:

Ultimately I did go back to the original pose, though. It just felt a little more dynamic, and the scene really needed more dynamicism.

#8. Another little detail:

These two panels actually have some foreshadowing in them :) :). This will make sense later.

[meiuya]

HELLO i’ve been a huge fan of ur artworks ever since 2021/ur pjsk works which i still really adore, i really love how shapey u draw & i was wondering if u have any tips or if u have any inspirations for being able to draw such fluidity within ur works ? if that makes sense !!! idk but mainly just wanted to say i really love all of ur art so much 💝💝💝

to preface this may not be very specific but i hope you can still derive some level of perspective of how i go about things i guess maybe it partly comes down to trying to be loose with it...? if i'm sketching with the intention of making it a full drawing then those sketches are usually rough and very messy. you can always make changes later, trust the process and whatnot, but once u have that energy that's something u can keep working off of.. like for a few things i drew back then i just immediately went into the colors without a sketch and that's still something that i do sometimes. and also i abuse the selection/transform tool like crazy HAHAH. i just move & redraw & stretch things until they look interesting. if you can be loose and have fun with it that's the key 2 unlocking your brain, which is what i am still forever trying to do. oh and curved lines r life...

in terms of inspirations for fluidity in particular there's a number of them but i think yuji uekawa's sonic art (particularly from the 90s-00s) and similar such works are the probably the most significant to mention. endless love in my <3 for this sort of stuff:

i draw sonic so much more than i post whoops but he just has a natural dynamism inherent to his design so i'd say most of the energy you might be getting from my stuff is what i picked up from drawing him a hundred times and then that maybe rubbing off on whatever else i draw or me trying to channel him LOL.

& of course thank you soooo much for your kind words ^_^. it means a lot! i don't know if any of this is helpful at all so if you wanna ask further feel free... but thank you again for enjoying my stuff for so long, it's truly truly very appreciated

[giddlygoat]

some of my thoughts on drawing, learning the accordion, and how they apply to each other.

i have been drawing my whole life. the last time i can remember feeling genuinely ashamed of my artistic skills was when i was probably 12. at some point i was able to look at my art and realize it wasn’t anywhere near perfect, and i became okay with that. nowadays, i have no anxiety about posting my art or leaving a piece with flaws, because i like my style and i’m comfortable enough in my skills and the knowledge that there will always be room for improvement to allow myself to simply enjoy what i create.

i have always been fascinated by the accordion. around age 11 i started considering learning to play it. by 13 i saw one at an antique store and seriously considering buying it for a long time, but did not. as the years go on i find that artistic burnout is becoming more of a frequent issue with me, and i often find myself desperately wishing i had a gratifying way of expressing myself other than drawing.

i’m always humming, and doing the mouth trumpet, and clicking and clapping out tunes all day. singing and scatting are some of my favorite pastimes. i can do all this but it’s not the same as playing an instrument. i feel like it can never quite extend past my fingertips; like i’m cranking out all this energy and excitement but it can’t go anywhere. it’s like not being able to get past the sketch when you have a whole painting inside you.

about three months ago, i finally picked up the accordion. i don’t know how to read music. my understanding of the technical side of music is pathetic, although i have a good natural sense for it, and now, a good teacher. i am scared.

i have all the usual beginner issues: my hands don’t know where to go, i’m not used to the weight of the instrument, and it feels alien in a way, just to name a few.

there’s another problem, too. i’m good at drawing.

everywhere i go, i see things i want to paint. i’m taking pictures of the pickled jalapeños and carrots at work because i want to study how they interact with the opaque black plastic container, all little dynamic shapes of green and orange swimming in vinegar. i’m watching a cat stretch and yawn on the concrete and lay down in a sunbeam that looks too heavenly to be real - it gives me an idea for a sketch.

i look at the arms of the man loading hay bales with me, and try to commit to memory how the muscles move under the skin, what foot he puts his weight on, how he wipes his forehead and shifts his weight. it makes me want to draw pages of people doing mundane things, studying how weight and action and stylization works together to create something satisfying and alive. i want to do the beauty of the universe justice.

when i open procreate to draw, i am not thinking of anything. my hands know where to go, i don’t even have to look at the buttons or tools to know what i’m doing, and all these complicated layers interacting with each other and their applied effects and backgrounds etc come like second nature to me now.

the first day i used procreate, i was so overwhelmed, i was afraid to touch anything.

the first day i held an accordion, it was the same.

my problem is that i know how to look at art and examine why techniques work or not, and i don’t quite have those skills when it comes to music. sure, i can slap beautiful harmony onto any song, but heck if i know what notes they are. i couldn’t tell you what key the song is in or what defines a measure.

and i realized that while now i am looking through this frosted glass trying to make out the basic shapes behind it, one day, i will be able to peel back the mystery and truly understand not only how this instrument functions, but how music flows, too. because i see art in everything. i understand the weight of people and objects and how they would interact in a cartoon. the colors of a blooming cactus in my yard become lemony saturated in the early light and pale and dusty in the late evening. i can see the line of action in characters and better understand the composition behind paintings, and why it works.

it’s my hope, that as time spent with my accordion goes on, i will start to see music in everything, too. there’s nothing i want more than to understand it and speak its language as i do with art. i want to someday pick up my accordion and make up a melody as i would sketch out a doodle. this is the kind of stuff i think about all day.

[plushmayhem]

Progress talk thread

I like to take a lot of backups as I draw so we I can show off my widdle Lilly wips!! I'm drawing again that means I get to talk about drawing again yahoo

Lately when starting a drawing I've been trying to block out very rough thumbnails as seen above! I usually just start drawing like, the head, and trying to then figure out a body under neath and line by line it all ends up pretty similar to my past stuff because it's just not planned out! I don't know where the road is taking me!

So by starting out and trying to throw together the general pose with just a blown up light brush I'm coming up with much more interesting piece! I can figure out the general shape of the entire piece and then start working on top. No making a shoulder then drawing the hand over it and then erasing the shoulder and getting frustrated because it just doesn't look connected right because I didn't plan it out… where does this drawing end? where's the limits?? where am I going?? So my current workflow involves

Make the dimensions of the piece roughly (just throw a coloured rectangle down) -> very roughly block out the shape of the body within it

This also has the benefit of inspiring me to fill in the blanks with a pose I didn't initially expect! The body is reversed from my initial vague idea because seeing the blobs made me go OH IT'D BE COOL IF I DID IT WITH THE BODY FACING THIS DIRECTION ACTUALLY LET'S MAKE THAT WORK!! If you look at the initial you can kinda see it looks more like she's looking down at you with the raised arm being the one facing you.

Anyways after doing my personal Holiday pic the other day, I was like, it would be cool to do a small run of postcards to send to people yahoo!! I checked the sizes of postcards and none were even close! They all had like an extra inch on of extra space on the bottom whoops! I free style my rectangle sizes when planning an illustration and I guess they're closer to square than the ideal rectangle! Whoops!

So for this one after getting the initial sketch down I thought, hey how close is this to 5x7? AND LO AND BEHOLD IT WAS THE SAME ISSUE!!! So I took filling out the extra space as a challenge. I'm trying to be more dynamic with my art after all!

I spent time adjusting the piece in sai2 using the transform tool with it's perspective skewing on. I wiggled and rotated and pushed n pulled and you get what you see above. A much more dynamic piece filling out the canvas!

The thing that took the most time in this phase was getting the skirt to a shape I found acceptable.

Up next was moving towards making it a finished piece!

Thick lineart is something I've been deciding if I want to stick with or not but honestly it's my natural state! I love thick lineart!! I grew up on manga I wanna see some black lines!!! In the future I wanna go back to colouring lineart as well but for now I believe I need to lean into my natural tendencies for thick lines!

I threw down my lineart to a mostly acceptable state, and brainstormed ways to fill the empty space surrounding Lilly. I found there was just a lot of empty space in the bottom left and I didn't really solve that in the final, but that's ok. It's something I'm trying to be aware of as I actually attempt illustrations. I want to finish pieces right now, I'm not in a place where I can let perfectionism slow me down.

Currently my layers are (face) and (lineart) I throw down some flat colours, a light layer above and for once I tried a shade layer too! It might of been a multiply layer. It was probably was. Anyways this is what I was happy with before moving forward with refining it. I'm currently going with more focus on like, backlighting/rimlighting because it's easier to make it work with my no context existing in da void illustrations haha.

To refine it, right now, I'm playing around with mainly using one layer. So I slammed together my layers other than the face (I made that mistake with my previous piece and that's how we ended up with the eyebrow incident. I wasn't going to put myself in a place where I had to erase an eyebrow again) and started sculpting!

I think sculpting is the best way to describe it, really. It's a lot of slamming down chunky lines, and since the lineart is on the same layer, I'm constantly pushing colours out and finding the ideal shape of both it and the lineart. It helps me push my shapes even farther and let the colours take priority when they need to. Instead of them being separate things I worry about they're all just one big piece!

I was a bit worried about merging the plaid pattern down as well, but I did my best to get the skirt in a place I wasn't going to adjust much after the merge. That was the biggest priority of the previous step really.

It's a lot of fun! I recommend people try it! Try sculpting your lineart a bit!

I added the necklace accessory after since I knew trying to fit it in earlier would also be a pain in the ass haha. I'm not a one layer purist! I'm just having fun!

The background, I went in with no idea for a bg. So this is what we get. I think it works fine for this piece, it's a vtuber attacking you with big fluffy bear claws with no context other than that they are a bear and they're going to fucking get you. Red fits, Lilly has a very orange/red hued design and it's an aggressive attack so the mood works. I could of even gone harder and made it look a bit more splattery but I wasn't sure if I was going to fill up the bottom left space or not.

Looking back maybe I could fit in her name on a cool blood splatter there but I am not a graphic design major my brain is growing slowly in this department thank you

Also fluffy claw gloves usually have much less defined fingers but I couldn't make mitts look good with my initial plans so I stuck with my initial idea!!! Thank u.

Anyways follow Lilly [Twitch]

[v3lleityy]

hello! i admire ur art so much <33!! i just want to ask (sorry if its been asked before) how did you improve your anatomy? and do you have any tips or things u wish u learned sooner? no pressure to reply btw, just curious :))!! ok thank you, bye !! keep making art xx 🤍

Tysm!! and no don't worry about asking, honestly I didn't study anatomy as well as I should've... I kind of just slowly picked it up over time.

The way I improved my anatomy has to do with how I structure my (human) sketch as a whole. Usually for my art I either find a reference online or take a picture of myself for reference, and then I digitally trace over that photo and break the body/human form into shapes (if you're doing this to practice anatomy, I recommend using models in less clothing/tight clothing so you can more clearly see the form).

It's best to use very simple shapes especially when you're first starting, like ovals and boxes (try to avoid straight lines in anatomy in your FINAL piece, the human body is curved!!).

After that, I use the broken-down shape version of the photo as a reference and recreate it by myself without tracing, mimicking the shapes and using it as a guide. Once you have the simplified shape version of the body, you can go over it and connect the shapes to make it look more like the natural figure!!

Here is an example of my steps:

I still do this with almost every piece I do, and while it works well for me, it does prevent you from actually UNDERSTANDING anatomy. Something I wish I’d done sooner was to pay attention to WHY the body moves and bends how it does. Even without a proper anatomy study, you’ll usually pick up things about the movement of the body from using several references. Using references with dynamic poses can help with that especially, at least in my experience.

If you want to really study anatomy, I recommend starting with figure drawings on a daily basis; take 60 seconds to copy the GENERAL form and pose of a model, don’t worry about details. The point of figure drawings is to practice capturing the human figure. Doing this every day will ultimately help you in the long run. quickpose is a good website for this, but be warned, there are nude models!

If you want to get serious about anatomy, do individual studies. Limit yourself to just a singular muscle or group, and focus on the way that specific muscle moves and flexes, drawing it in different ways.

Those two methods of learning anatomy don’t work well for me, so the method of breaking references into shapes and using those shapes as a guide is what I’ve always done, but everyone learns in different ways. You just need to find out what works for you! This was probably way longer than you wanted, but I hope it was at least a little helpful😋

[queerdraws]

i love your postcard artwork for the zolu playlist SO much!! the colours are so so good and i love the brushwork! i think my favourites are a tie between the one for chikai and the one for simple song <3 also, I was wondering if you could share what brushes you used + how long they took you! looking at your art makes me want to draw again after not doing it for so long

Thank you!! and wow i think this is the first time someone's asked me for my brushes, this is like a digital artist rite of passage!

Answers n screenshots n stuff under cut (I went a little to ham on this oops)

While we're talking settings I want to give a quick PSA to all digital artists:

CHECK UR ASPECT RATIO!!!: (MOST IMPORTANT SETTING BY FAR)

DO NOT DRAW WITH THIS ALL MESSED UP, IT WILL DRIVE YOU CRAZY. It's probably good to check this after every system update (I don't, but, you know...). Windows likes to mess w your shit when it updates.

If you have a really tiny tablet you might need to trace outside a bottle lid or something.

Okay now on to the meat of the post

-- Brush Stuff --

I use Clip Studio Paint. For my playlist drawings I think I only used these brushes (these are my main 3 in general) (p.s. they're all default brushes! but i've adjusted the settings):

1) Gouache This is most of what i used for the postcards. I nuked Color Stretch because i hate it (it blends colors together as you're painting, like painting over wet paint. I prefer things to look more crisp)

2) Real G-Pen Used this as little as possible, to keep the painterly effect. My preferred fine-detail pen, has a nice crunch to it. I've fine-tuned my setting further in the thickness dynamics / brush size dynamics settings because I mostly use this brush for linework and wanted it to handle really, really naturally and precisely

The random box is checked by default, probably to make this brush feel more like handling a real inkdip pen (I don't like that)

3) Mapping Pen Least used. I generally keep this brush at the 50-70px range. It's unpleasant to use for detail work (the taper is really fiddly at my tablet pressure settings) but good at filling in large areas very opaque very quickly, with a crisp edge (Also, doesn't lag as much as the gouache brush at large-ish sizes). Has enough wiggle room that it can be used to approximately fill tighter spaces at large brush sizes. Used for when I needed to quickly color over an area that wasn't working or quickly fill in background color that didn't need paintbrush texture. Did not realized the stabilization was set to 10 until just now. I usually turn that waaay down to prevent lag (my laptop isn't very old but it's a sensitive beast)

Other stuff that'll help:

General pen pressure: (under File -> Pen Pressure Settings)

tweaking how CSPaint handled my pen pressure helped a lot with making lineart look more natural. It's worth messing around with this and trying out different settings for a while to see how they feel.

-- How Long it Takes 2 Draw --

I don't really keep track of how long art takes me from start to finish, and making the playlist drawings was kinda nonlinear 😅 sorry!

-> I started out sketching really quick composition and color ideas as the songs were playing, limiting myself to just the duration of each song (so like, 5 minutes for this part) -> i did that again at least 2 more times per song -> after that, idk. I would work on one pic then get stuck and move to another. Some I could hammer out in like... 5 hours? Some took me upwards of 20 (30?) hours for no real reason (I have "will graham clock" days, where I'll try to draw a face over and over and it'll look really strange, like will graham's clock drawing every time) (this seems to be either a vitamin deficiency or a brainfog inflammation type thing 4 me 😵‍)

I'll use ur two favorites as specific examples: -> Chikai was one that went pretty quickly (with the exception of their arms and the clothing folds there giving me trouble). Probably took 4-6 hours? -> Simple Song had a couple different versions, partially because I initially had the cards all laid out landscape-style, and I decided I actually wanted them all portrait-style & repainted it after it was already done. That aside, the colors /atmosphere on that one gave me trouble and the general composition / perspective had a lot of tweaks (I was trying to figure out if I wanted it to be a kinda flat stylistic perspective or if I wanted it to make more literal sense, trying to figure out what to do with luffy, trying to make him not look Too baby boy sweetie pie). Probably took 7-10 hours...?

In-progress landscape versions: (varying levels of in-progress)

Misc in-progress of Chikai and Simple Song:

Simple song looks kinda sequential like this lmao. Luffy looks like he's A-posing and floating away to the boat and then sitting down pleasantly in it. Wonderful. --

Anway -- hope any of that was helpful!