#Introduction to Watercolors

[glimmerbugart]

The Creative Art Village Membership is OPEN for New Members!

Come on in and join us in The Creative Art Village! Membership is now open for new members and we’d love to have YOU!

We’ve got some fabulous members, creative art projects and lots of artistic inspiration for you to discover. And our members are just wonderful. Here’s what some have said:

"Every time I pick up a brush, I feel like I’m discovering a little more of my own magic."  -- Creative Art Village Member "I’ve realized that even my mistakes turn into something beautiful. They’re just masterpieces in disguise!"  -- Creative Art Village Member

Now is the time to start your art filled journey! A great way to create through summer! Come on into the Creative Art Village and join us for fun!

[kirrryash]

On how one chooses to die

Painting his expression while listening to bark like you want it kept it real 🙌 thank you @cupidslyres for the playlist(s)!

[nextlevelclawi]

well hey there ! im kris , and im new to tumblr (though ive been stalking the site without an account for yearss) . i like drawing and finding new music !! and some random videogames like celeste , hollow knight or the binding of isaac .

some artists i like are magdalena bay, poppy, bjork, lady gaga, carly rae jepsen, charli xcx, paramore, system of a down, SOPHIE, plus a ton more others (i listen to a LOT of different music)

so uhh if anyone wants to be my oomf , that'd be greatly appreciated ^^

[elinormakara]

Starting Out Artist

Hello! Thought I'd write a short introduction. Hopefully this is the start of my artistic journey on tumblr. I say 'hopefully' due to the fact that finding a place on the internet right now (2024), to post my art portfolio, is rather a difficult task. I've tried most generic sites that you'd think about in the current time. That said, the current time is a ruff wave for artists right now, as we all know with the rise of advanced tech.

Right now my artistic journey is in a mess, I say this because I have no idea what my 'niche' or 'subject matter' will be. Growing up drawing anime style characters I admit has become a comfy zone area. Not very good at drawing full bodies mind you! There's so much more to art and MY art that I could be exploring & developing, my other passions is where I plan to start. Here I am, to share my art & meet some lovely new faces. Welcome to my art home. Thanks for reading :) ((There was a time I spent on tumblr, nearly 10 years ago, it's good to see it hasn't gone, completely. I remember the Homestuck community on here from 'back in the day'.))

[thatsecondperson]

I suppose I should do an introduction? (i have no idea what I'm doin-)

Hello! I'm thatsecondperson but you can just call me Dylan.

I am +18 :]

I go by he/they pronouns and I am pansexual! I'm also trans! (currently transitioning)

I'm a huge fan of doctor who, rottmnt, Sally Face, Hazbin Hotel + Helluva boss, and the original scream movieAnd I'm also a beginner artist.

I do take commissions and requests so dm me!

I will not tolerate homophobia, transphobia, racists, and non acceptance. I also absolutely despise "maps".

If you don't like it, then leave <3

P.S. SUPPORT SHUBBLE

[matodog]

Hello Hello!! This is an Intro!!

arf hello i am dog. i don't have a name yet but you can call me literally anything, I'll figure it out later. I'm 21, go by he/him, gay, and in a very loving t4t relationship, and i love being queer.

I'm here to post about my interests, my garden, drawing, and being fucking autistic!!!!!!! I'm a furry but like more dog gender but I'm new to both spaces so please be patient

im 21 and only really feel comfortable talking to adults sorry. might be future nsfw art.

oh boy my interests!!!

FISH!! fish shaped items mostly

BOATS!!!!! like ocean liners and freighters and tug boats and AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA

weed:3

my garden!! its my first one, helpful advice is appreciated

can i say colors and textures i love them and putting them around me

ponies!! pokemon!! akira!! mob psycho!! RRRAAAA DUNMESHI!!!!!

hmm bugs

feel free to reach out to me to be mutuals or for art trades! i like keeping up conversations and interacting with people. thank you !!

[oatmilklatteaddict]

An Introduction to Me

Hi tumblr :) I’m a 23 year old masters student and ecologist trying to form a healthier relationship with social media.

This blog is going to function as an art and personal blog for me. I really like watercolor painting and pencil sketches and will also probably be reposting lots of cute animals and interior design inspo.

Nice to meet ya!

[zikadraws]

Alright there we go ! This new oc is based in DC Universe. Long post ahead. (Tdlr included at the end. Enjoy.)

This is Taylor Serils (last name up to debate), a tailor owning a small suit shop in the low quarters of Gotham. Uses he/they/it pronouns, is definitely neither cis nor straight but he really doesn't care. (Basically the incarnation of that one meme about the pronouns.)

He is autistic and the son of a tailor (from who he inherited the shop) and a chemist. He didn't get to know his father too much since his parents were separated, and he was killed in a villain incident when he was still a child ; but his mother never accepted the fact her son was autistic and that medication wouldn't change it so she tried to alter his brain chemistry herself by submitting him to experimental treatment.

Said treatment did predictably nothing against his autism, but got him really sick, and fucked up his neural network, so now he can not feel physical pain (sense of touch still operational though), and his feelings and reaction time are a bit deafened. She went to jail after he absent-mindedly ratted her out at school though (still in there btw, for child abuse and illegal practice of medicine), and he was taken in by his dad's side of the family, from who he picked up the tailoring ways which put him to calm, even though they were a bit put off by him, his disabilities and his... destructive stimming habits.

Taylor uses its body as stress/boredom relief, and so tears out his eyebrows, bites off his nails, and bites off his skin. But the thing is, since he can't feel pain, he takes that to the next level, to the point he has no eyebrows, no nails anymore, and his fingers are bitten almost to the bone. They had to bring him to the doctor about this. They tried everything to get him to stop tearing his hand's skin off, eventually resorting to long gloves. Barely sufficient though.

Despite all this, he contently followed a tailor apprenticeship at his family tailor shop with great application, and actually helped the family business thanks to the chemistry hobby he picked up from his mother (subconsciously wanted to please her somehow then found it relatively smooth, so kept investing themselves into chemistry, and then snuck her chemistry material at his new home), by treating the fabrics himself and making them last longer, which his family was thankful for, albeit taken off.

It's through some customer interactions that he found his calling in life. Some guys would complain to the little family shop about comfort and fit, using, verbatim, the expression "my suit should feel like a second skin". Which sparked something within Taylor.

He began experimenting with fabrics and bits of his own skin, until the fabric he ended up developing could blend in smoothly with his epiderm, as a greffe, and even serve the basic functions of skin, which is to touch, and even, eventually, through trial and error, grow.

He didn't even have vitiligo originally ! His skin turned like that due to his experiments on himself, and since it didn't bother him, he just let his skin like that. The spots have a tendency to shift in shapes from day to day.

He invented a fabric that he could just wrap around his damaged skin and it would just fill in the spot in less than a minute, and since his favourite colour is blue, he used this colour for the fabric. Thus why the blue fabric forearms. He never stopped experimenting in this new specific interest, and crafted really interesting suits with those, praised for how astonishingly comfortable they were. (Also made skin cultures, and obtained skin samples from... various sources.)

By this time, he was an adult and inherited the shop when yet another villain incident took the rest of his family, leaving him alone to handle the shop. It was pretty lonely, but he did end up making friends with a Gotham support group, and especially a young boy (that I'm calling Miles out of pure lack of imagination) and his big brother, runaways living together because of family issues.

His career took a turn when Miles' big brother was murdered by a cop for being black. The cop got away with it, but Miles who was understandably devastated mourned his lost brother at Taylor's, who decided to find out who was the bastard, and realised it was one of his current customers, who came for a suit for a special event.

...So Taylor got to work. And made him a suit. The cop found it very fitting. 25 cents tipped.

The day of the council party the cop was supposed to be a bodyguard for a big head, the suit he was wearing started getting... *very* tight. Skin tight, despite still being incredibly bendy. The cop was annoyed, and embarrassed because it was obvious, but didn't try to take it off... Until the end of the day, where he realized with horror that he just couldn't take it off, because the clothes had fused with his skin. He tried to bolt to Taylor's, who conveniently closed their shop for a week leave.

And then the fabric started getting progressively itchy. Really itchy. Extremely itchy. PAINFUL itchy. Like last stage hives, but even worse.

They couldn't do anything except give him painkillers at the hospital, because hormonal treatments worked for like five minutes before the tissue grew tolerance and came back stronger, and to remove the suit they would have had to remove his skin entirely, which he was starting to do on his own anyway because of how unbearable the pain and itchiness were. So they could do nothing but bind his hands and watch him slowly die of advanced gangrene, as Taylor's suit eventually hit its "necrosis" finale. A genuinely awful way to die.

Taylor did a real masterpiece of this suit, but he wasn't really good at covering his path. The police got him pretty easily, and found his back shop lab with all the skin works. They freaked their minds out, and Taylor was immediately sent to Arkham. He promised Miles, who was pretty much on his own otherwise, that he would be out as soon as possible, though.

Taylor wasn't going into Arkham unprepared. The suit wasn't the last project he got done before the cops got to him, after all.

(Taylor's last project allows him to bend its own skin, which he uses to pick the locks, break out a few other residents as a distraction, steal a few guards' skins, and break out of Arkham. His stay in there lasted 8 days tops.)

(This absolutely kickstarted his reputation amongst Arkham residents. Which may be good, because after getting arrested, he needs a new clientele. Guys gotta eat, yaknow.)

Batman is not on his case just yet, but he will be sooner rather than later.

[TDLR :]

This is my DC Comics OC, Taylor Serils ;

He is about 25 y/o ; he never went to high school ; he is a great formed tailor, and an entirely self-taught chemist ; he owns a tailor shop that happens to have a DIY chemical lab in the back area ; he (they/it) pronouns ; he is disabled (his pain receptors don't work) and autistic ; he has self-damaging coping mechanisms ; his parents were a tailor and a chemist, the first dead and the second in jail (for abusing him) ; his favourite colour is blue ; his specific interests revolve around the frontiers between skin tissues and fabrics, for better or for worse, all because he took an expression too literally that one time ; (he also likes animals, TV cartoons and to knit and crochet) ; he can craft clothes and fabrics that act as epiderm, that he uses to heal, or to steal his enemies' skin, that he grows to be able to bend ; he gave himself vitiligo after his own experiments ; his best friend is a teenager ; he cruelly murdered a cop once ; he got locked up at Arkham and broke out after a few days only ; his criminal case is legally stamped (literally btw) as "supervillain" ; he is morally neutral and has absolutely zero big-scale ambition whatsoever, but more and more villains (and, thus, heroes) are getting to whisper about him.

He Gets Subjected To Trouble.

And yes, this was a summary. I got a bit carried away. I hope it's all somewhat coherent (:

Honestly sounds like the kind of OC that doesn't necessarily needs to be in a specific universe, but any either way, I like the guy. And will likely post some about him. Hope you enjoy him as well ^^

If you got any questions about, or for, him, I'll be happy to respond. Thanks for reading ! 🤗

[atroph1k]

whenever side order drops this coming spring please be warned i will probably be posting abt it incessantly

[foureyedkai]

Hey! I’m Kai (foureyedkai)

I saw some other art blogs do this so I thought I’d make my own intro post since I’m planning on being here a bit more! (I deleted everything off Twitter because Musk is stinky)

Find my other socials on my caard

Commission page here

Im a character designer and am currently going to school for animation! I hope to eventually work as a character designer or story-boarder in the industry if it doesn’t blow up before I get there. I’m also working on a comic with some friends and might post some concepts for that here or there.

I love video games, comics, cartoons, and ttrpgs (Especially Dnd) Rn my big interests are Castlevania and Critical role. And I fucking adore sharks. They’re so silly.

The tag for my art is #four eyed art

Art reblogs at #four eyed artshare

I’ll be mostly posting my own art as well as re-blogging art I like here.

I have a more general blog for shit posts here

[glimmerbugart]

Get Ready for Some Artsy Fun!

Here we go! Registration opens tomorrow!

🎨 Ready to splash some color into your life? Join our vibrant online art community—where watercolors, mixed media, and creative fun collide! Whether you’re a seasoned artist or just love quirky, whimsical art (think houses on rocks and ladders!), you’ll find your tribe here. Registration opens June 14—don’t miss your chance to create, connect, and be inspired!🖌️

[sproutbird]

Hello! 🌱

Hello, I'm Kristy, a traditional illustrator who primarily works in watercolor. I also like to dabble in other traditional mediums as well as digitally through Procreate.

I love to create worlds along with the creatures and persons that dwell within them, showing whimsical locales through my work, as well as the occasional cute and cozy artworks. :)

🌿 Official Website 🌿 Instagram 🌿 Bluesky 🌿 TikTok

[ballerina-bby]

☆ estrella, 22 yrs old, she/her, taurus ★

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 :: reading, watercolor, journaling, pilates, listening to podcast. xx

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 :: self-improvement, cats, pink.

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐫 :: kindergarten teacher!

[autumn-ev3rgreen]

Name: Autumn Evergreen

Guardian of nature.

Age: 21 years old.

Sexuality: Lesbian.

Text color: Green

Favorite Things: Nature, The moon, Stella(her girlfriend), animals, fruits, vegetables, relaxing, friends and family, sleeping, interacting with others, gardening, cooking, and picking up trash.

NOT favorite things: Deforestation, laziness, fake friends, wasting water, disrespecting, annoying other people, harassing people, and being rude.

Personality: Very protective sometimes. She’s very kind and calm. She gets very angry sometimes. She is also very quiet.

HATES: drowning.

LOVES: STELLA😍😍😍, and her family :D

Lore(short): Autumn was 11. She tripped on a rock and drowned. 8 years later she woke up in a treehouse and has been chosen to protect the forest.

[cpinmymind]

H as an Artist

I wrote this day 5 of round 2 of Botox please excuse any odd ways of talking. I ain’t had enough sleep beyond the insomnia. I realized I never explicitly talked about my art. I enjoy creating abstract mainly in black ink in a way of expressing my emotions. I prefer black ink because I am slightly colorblind and don’t always notice if I accidentally use a blue or green pen. I really enjoy…

[syoddeye]

knight!ghost x reader. hand-waving details. all vibes, as usual. cw: noncon touching, manipulation

After years beneath your mother’s watchful eye—less a daughter than a jewel kept safe under lock and key—you are at last released.

Invited to accompany your elder sister to court following her marriage to the esteemed Lord Garrick. Your first steps beyond the confines of home toward something far grander. The world opens before you like a storybook.

It’s a rare opportunity for a young lady of gentle birth. The kind of chance your mother spent years safeguarding you against, fearing the pitfalls of courtly life. An opportunity your sister now extends like a gift.

You intend to follow in her footsteps. To make the most of it.

As his carriage ferries you across the countryside, Lord Garrick indulges in his role as guide and guardian. He names estates and their residents you pass, calling out their banners and bloodlines, reciting them from memory like a living codex, its margins filled with his own notations and stories from years of soldiering in the King’s service and court.

Most names you know from lessons or gossip: daughters and sons married off, the odd spoiled reputation and scandal, matriarchs and patriarchs pulling strings. But being the sheltered girl that you are, one name catches your thoughts like a burr. 

Lord Garrick slips a miniature into your hand. It is no larger than your palm, with rich watercolors painted on smoothed ivory: a large man, almost comically set in the tiny frame.

His skin is pale, his eyes a warm, untroubled brown. He wears a slight smile, and his armor gleams with the seal of the King.

“An old comrade—Sir Simon Riley.”

You run a thumb over the edge. “Is he as handsome as his portrait?” you ask, shy as a girl should be when entertaining fancies.

Lord Garrick only grins. “He is, dear one.”

“And noble? Chivalrous?”

“The very image,” he assures. His wry expression is lost on you.

You are too steeped in fantasy to notice. Already imagining the weight of his hand around yours, already composing the vows he might whisper when he asks you to dance. Him, tall and solemn. You, breathless and giggling. 

You do not yet understand how generous portrait artists can be, the choices they make to soften a mouth or warm a gaze.

When you arrive, you trail in your sister’s shadow, a daisy behind a rose, trying not to stare too openly at every knight that turns his helm. Try not to appear too eager.

You curtsy. You dine. You take your place among the constellation of other young and unmarried ladies, each one a little star burning with her own hopes.

Time passes. You thrive. You charm. You are granted permission and invitation to winter beside your sister, a small victory. Come spring, you’ll be presented formally.

On the morning of the first frost, Lord Garrick finds you in the solar, where you sit with your companions and needlework, your thoughts pleasantly idle.

“There’s someone I’m due to introduce you to,” he says. “Sir Riley.”

He offers you his arm, and you take it. He guides you through the winding halls, past tapestries older than your bloodline. The keep quiets as you tread through an unfamiliar wing. The room he stops at is narrow and dark, the hearth cold, the shutters drawn.

It rouses an unsettling feeling in your stomach. A wrong note, a song sung off-key. Doubt prickles, fine as thorns. The chamber is too plain, too tucked-away for an introduction. 

But the man you’ve come to love as a brother—steady, kind Lord Garrick—pats your hand, and the doubt recedes, momentarily quieted.

He bids you wait. He’ll fetch Sir Riley himself.

You let him go with a wobbling smile.

When the door creaks open again, it is not Lord Garrick who enters.

It is Sir Riley. You know him at once, though the helm conceals his face. Your heart skips.

“‘eard you been wantin’ to meet me, girl,” his low voice rolls thick like smoke. Heavy, like the blade at his hip.

You do not move. The knight fills the doorway as he did his portrait frame. Your hands knit loosely before you, trembling.

“It’s…an honor, sir,” you manage. Your eyes dart toward the door, hoping Garrick will follow, show his face. “I wasn’t expecting…That is, I thought Lord Garrick would–”

“Thought he’d stay? Look after you?” Sir Riley asks, stepping inside. “Nah. Garrick’s a busy man. ‘Sides, if it’s lookin’ after y’need, no one’ll do better.”

The door shuts with a click, and the bolt sliding shut might as well stick between your ribs.

You offer a smile, trying to summon the composure that’s served you well in the halls. Yet even your propriety has teeth, and it gnaws at the edges of your nerves. This isn’t how introductions are made. You know that. A lady does not meet a man alone, knight or not, not without a chaperone.

And yet here you are. 

He moves further in, slow and certain, untroubled by the circumstances and its consequences. He unfastens one gauntlet, then the other, metal clinking as he sets each piece aside.

You step back, heart kicking against your ribs.

“I only meant…we’ve only just met, and I’m sure your time is better spent elsewhere—”

He says nothing. His fingers move next to the clasps at his shoulders. One pauldron. Then the other. Each piece comes away with unhurried care, as though he has all the time in the world.

The bulk sloughs off like a shell, revealing more and more of his frame until only the breastplate and helmet remain. You realize then that you’ve backed into the wall.

“I should go,” you eke out. “I’ve no doubt you’re very tired from your duties, and this isn’t right—”

Sir Riley laughs, rough like the scrape of flint.

“You’re a nervous one.”

He reaches up and unhooks his helmet, slow as sunrise. When it lifts off, you are not prepared.

He is not unhandsome, no, but he is not the man in the portrait, either.

His nose has clearly been broken more than once and healed crooked. A jagged scar bisects an eyebrow with a fleshy knot on the end, mirrored by another that pulls taut across his lips. His skin is a map of violence—keloids, silvered cuts, and pitted lines all speaking to a life earned inch by brutal inch.

He tilts his head, eyes catching yours. Rich brown, as the painting promised—but the warmth there is tempered with something else. Hunger. The kind you’ve spied in the King’s hunting hounds. Not the gentle yearning or tender longing you had quietly imagined for yourself.

“What’s wrong? Kyle said you found me pretty, pet.”

The word—pet—snaps like a ribbon.

In its reverberation, you feel the whole truth of it: you are very much alone, and Sir Riley is very much not what you were told.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes. You are caught between alarm and something stranger. It burns low in your belly, confusing and unwelcome.

You look at him again, truly look this time.

And realize: perhaps the artist hadn’t lied or embellished. Not entirely. Perhaps the man in the portrait once matched reality, before war carved itself into his skin. Before duty hardened whatever youth he’d once had.

You try not to flinch when he steps closer, but your body betrays you—a stiffening of the spine, a renewed tremor in your limbs.

Sir Riley notices.

He watches you the way a wolf watches a fox kit or rabbit. Clearly delighted by the prey he’s cornered. He lets the silence sit, lets your discomfort curdle before breaking it.

“You’re more beautiful than your picture,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Your mouth dries. There aren’t many portraits of you beyond your family’s walls. Yet months ago, Garrick had insisted on one—a secret commission, a memento for your sister, a gift. All before your invitation to court.

You never questioned what became of it.

“I—I should go.”

You move to slip past him, but he doesn’t allow it. One step, and he cuts off your path with his bulk, the door now out of reach. Trapped between the edge of the room and him, the air tastes different—ash and smoke, hay and wet dog. It wrinkles your nose.

You try again. “Lord Garrick—he didn’t say—he never said you—”

“Yeah?” 

He smiles. Not kindly.

“That I-I,” you whisper, heart beating hard enough that you’re sure he must hear it. “That I’d be alone. This isn’t right—”

“Not alone, pet,” he shakes his head. “I’m here, aren't I? I’ll see you well looked after.”

Without pause or permission, he takes your hand.

You could faint.

Your bare hand disappears, swallowed by his callused palm. His thick knuckles are as battered as his face, broken and reset countless times. His thumb brushes the inside of your wrist and applies a brief and slight pressure, just enough to remind you of his strength.

You jerk instinctively, a soft tug.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he brings your hand to his mouth.

“No need to shy from me,” he rasps.

Your breath catches. 

(You really could faint, but a deep, sharp fear urges you to stay upright. Awake. That to fall now—the alternative—)

He kisses each of your fingers, one by one, unhurried. His lips are cracked. Chapped. Your skin burns under each press. You can’t move. You should, but your feet fail.

He smiles into your knuckles. Almost fond. “You’re shaking.”

You don’t answer. Can’t.

“You don’t know what to do with yourself now, do you?” he drawls. “Bet you had a whole story in that pretty little head. Knight in shining armor, riding in to sweep you off your feet.”

His grip tightens, and he leans in, breath fanning over your cheek.

“Want me to do that, pet? Sweep you off your feet and take you away?”

Your heart screams no.

But nothing comes.

He watches you in that awful silence—measured and methodical. Like he’s trying to decide what to do with you first. His hand, still curled around yours, begins to move again, with new purpose.

He lifts your fingers and guides them toward his face.

You resist, weak and instinctive, and he overcomes it with barely a flick of his wrist.

“Go on. You’ve been staring.”

Your fingertips brush the ridge of the scar across his lip. It’s rough, raised, healed poorly. You flinch, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he shifts your hand higher, until your touch ghosts over the thick welt at his eyebrow.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” he asks, almost amused.

Your throat tightens. “No—no, I—”

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t lie. Don’t like liars. You scared?”

You are. You’re mortified, shaking with it now—caught between a girlhood fantasy and the brutal reality of the man standing before you. There’s something violent in your own confusion. In the heat crawling down your neck and into your chest, in the tears prickling hot behind your eyes.

He sees it. Of course he does.

And he pounces.

One blink, and then his mouth is on yours without ceremony. It’s a brutal kiss, a claiming thing, harsh and sudden and full of heat. Devoid of the romance you once imagined.

You gasp, startled, but his free hand comes to the back of your head, fingers spanning your skull to hold you in place. He doesn’t let you pull away. He licks into your mouth and steals the air.

It’s too much. He is too much.

When he finally pulls back, your breath is ragged and your tears have finally broken free, hot trails slipping down your cheeks. The horror of what’s just happened crashes over you all at once, like a bucket of cold water sloshed down your spine. Your legs nearly buckle.

He stares, thumb wiping spit from your chin.

“There she is,” he says quietly, near reverent.

You stand there, unmoving. Caught. The pounding of your heart drowns out every thought, each beat frantic, panicked. A bird slamming itself against a windowpane in desperation. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you’re allowed to say. The room grows smaller by the second, the walls pressing in.

He studies you, a delicate thing worth examining up close.

“Didn’t think you’d be this sweet,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Garrick said he had a girl for me. Said you were pretty. Polite. Court-bred. Figured I’d ‘ave to steal into your rooms, take some insurance to make you mine, you know. But Garrick said there’d be no need. That you’d behave. A proper good girl. That what you are?”

His eyes flick over your features—warm cheeks, wet-eyed, lips parted in confusion and fright. His thumb grazes beneath your chin.

“Look at you. Shakin’. Precious thing. ‘Course you are.”

He kisses you again. Harder.

No longer exploratory, no longer testing the waters. His moves as if owed. He takes and takes, lips dragging against yours, breath hot and heavy through his nose. Teeth sink into your lips, imprinting themselves on the pith of your mouth, sucking your tongue. You whimper, but his hand is already sliding down the line of your throat, splaying wide to feel your pulse.

Another panicked noise makes him smile.

He sighs. “Didn’t guess you’d be this soft. Bet you’re soft everywhere.”

Then—

The door bursts open.

A gasp of startled voices—servants. They freeze in the doorway, wide-eyed at the sight of the two of you locked together.

Panic explodes inside you. You jerk back from him, gasping, desperate to speak, to explain—this isn’t what it looks like—but you never get the chance.

Sir Riley doesn’t release you. His arm tightens, his grip anchoring you in place. He turns toward the intruders, unbothered and unashamed. Cold.

In a few short, lethal words, he promises consequences. He names each one of them—their roles, their kin. Swears they’ll feel his hand and blade personally should they utter a word of what they’ve seen.

They flee. Mute. Terrified.

When the door shuts again, it’s like the last breath is sucked from the room.

You’re a mess. Shaking, weeping, mouth swollen and burning. You are ruined. You know it. They will talk. People always do.

With the cuff of his sleeve, Sir Riley dabs your cheek, and then your chin. A mocking taste of the tenderness you’d dreamt of. He hums, too soft for the wicked glint in his eye, and tips your face back up with two fingers beneath your jaw.

“What a predicament we find ourselves in, hm?” he murmurs against your damp skin. “How fortunate that Garrick and I already ‘ave an audience with the King.”

He plants a chaste peck on your cheek.

“Dry your tears, pet.”

He smiles. A pleased shape that rekindles the hunger in his eyes.

“By spring, you’ll be Lady Riley. That’s a promise.”