#their names are painter and muse

[stil-lindigo]

craters.

a comic about a love story between two girls who only have each other, and take a chance on it.

Buy “Soliloquy Down To Three”, an anthology of blood stained sapphic comics (including this one) here.

[aria0fgold]

I don't know what I'm doing with this fic's story anymore at this point, I'm just doing feck all but somehow it's also so fun to just... make it a lil wacky.

[real-fire-nerd-hours]

waNTED TO DRAW THIS chARACTER AI CHAT I HAD WITH DALLAS SO I DID A QUICK MESSY SKETCH COMIC TYPE THING BUT MY POOR BABY SDKFNKJN MY FAVORITE BIT IS BELOW SDFKJN

[frogchiro]

I hope I’m not bothering you with my ancient greek mythology stuff my little brain is going into overdrive👉👈

Just…sculptor/painter reader using the gladiators as her nude model…running your hands over their muscles and gushing how strong they are and how amazing your latest piece is going to come out!

You don’t even notice they’re getting hard as you run your fingers over their adonis belt commenting how they’re your new muse for your art

I almost (s)creamed the moment I saw this ask nonnie dear you're a genius ;;

Also I feel the need to mention this; please do keep in mind that this is only my silly au and most probably will have historical inaccuracies so if you're a true history/ancient greece/roman enjoyer, please go mild on me ;;

But back to the drill...You are so right??? Like...I imagine that reader would be a young, aspiring artist with a knack for painting. Maybe she doesn't come from a wealthy family so any true school for it is out of the question, your own parents only came along when you started selling your painting and doing commissions for nobles and it actually started to bring in money. Your road to success is still long but you're managing! Plus you're 'stupidly determined like your father' as your mother says so you try to stay positive!

The one problem you had was something you believed many artists suffered from; inspiration and models. Specifically human models. The human body and physique fascinated you from an early age, the moving muscles, facial expressions to different stimuli and so much more but...the problem were the models, or rather the lack thereof.

You could probably hire someone but the money spend on that would be way too much for your limited budget so the next best thing was the coliseum! It was a blessing in poor disguise, the gladiators trained there almost daily and luckily the head keeper of the arena begrudingly let you stay there and practice in exchange for a satchel of money but to be honest...the practice wasn't the only thing you longed for when visiting the coliseum almost daily, it was the gladiators.

They were huge, burly men in their prime, all of them looking like they were born with a sword or spear in hand and to grow up to become warrior and you'd be lying if you said that warmth didn't spread through your body and centered in your lower belly whenever these big, loud and boisterous men didn't call out for you and purred in dripping, low voices how pent up they are and what they wouldn't give for a pretty soft thing like you :((

The worst (or best) part was when you were practicing nude drawings which were equally fascinating and hard to draw, especially with all these men being so...shameless with it. You loved the human body, all artists do but still you were a young lady and watching all the gladiators walking around the barracks all naked and proud was...an experience to say the least and brought a pang of warmth between your thighs, especially when they were so happy to parade themselves like proud stallions in front of you :((

Strong, toned bodies glistening with sweat and water, their hardening cocks proudly on show whenever you run your soft hands over their toned torsos to study the way muscles move and twitch whenever you run your fingers over a sensitive spot, the most reactive being two of the many foreign gladiators, Johnny or like he insisted to be called 'Soap' and Kyle or 'Gaz', like he wants to be called.

These two are always purring low withing their chests to you as you look all over them, their backs, chests, stomachs, making you promise to do a special commission only for them but you're just nodding dumbly because you're too transfixed on the god-like bodies to draw :(

Another gladiator you're very fond of is a huge, blonde foreigner named Simon, or 'Ghost'. A formidable warrior, a veteran for sure, it looked like Ares himself send this one here to grace the people with a demigod of war. He was always incredibly patient with you, letting you roam your hands over his body and all the numerous scars decorating his skin. Once you saw Simon up close you immediately realized why people called him a demigod-he was beautiful. A strong and powerful man in his prime, his muscles jumping and twitching beneath his thick skin and a layer of fat, power and virility was literally radiating off of this man, and you insistently tried not to look at the long and thick cock hanging between his legs, twitching and pulsating with arousal whenever you marveled over his body and your fingers ran over his adonis belt <3

[seivsite]

BRUSHSTROKES OF MAGIC.

includes: lyney x fem!reader. painter!reader, fluff, may be ooc lyney, painter and her magician muse — wc: 591

You had finally secured tickets to Lyney and Lynette’s captivating Magic Show.

After putting in hard work through small art commissions and assisting others, your perseverance paid off. Luckily, you found yourself seated in the second row, enjoying a perfect view of the entire stage. As the lights dimmed, a spotlight illuminated the enchanting magicians.

“Welcome to Lyney and Lynette’s Magic Show!” Lyney exclaimed, his arms wide open in a welcoming gesture.

The performance unfolded before your eyes, blurring the line between reality and fantasy.

The show concluded with a burst of applause, whistles, and amazed cheers filling the room. Lyney and Lynette took their bows, expressing gratitude to the audience before exiting the stage.

While others started to leave the theatre, you remained lost in your thoughts, unable to tear yourself away.

You noticed Lyney’s occasional glances in your direction, but you brushed them off, assuming he was merely engaging with the audience. Your hands moved instinctively, retrieving a small paper and a worn pencil that you carried everywhere. Swiftly, you sketched the scene, capturing the magicians as the focal point.

Unaware of another presence, you snapped out of your trance when a red rose materialised before you.

Your eyes widened at the sight, then lifted to meet the culprit—a mischievous grin adorning his face.

“Well, M’lady, perhaps we should step outside before we find ourselves locked in here,” he suggested, tucking the flower gently into your hair. Extending his hand, he invited you to join him.

You accepted his hand, and he turned to his sister, who stood waiting.

“Took you quite a while,” she remarked, her expression unchanging.

“Apologies, Lynette. It seems M’lady was deeply absorbed in thought,” he responded.

“Please stop addressing me like that,” you murmured, your cheeks tinged with a blush.

“Apologies again! I haven’t had the pleasure of knowing your name. I’m Lyney. This is my sister, Lynette, and you are...?” He walked alongside you as the three of you departed the theatre.

“(Name), pleased to make your acquaintance,” you replied.

From that day forward, your bond with Lyney grew remarkably strong, much to Lynette’s amusement as she shook her head at her brother’s persistent attempts to win you over.

In a meadow bursting with vibrant blooms, Lyney stood amidst the flowers, becoming both your muse and a devoted spectator. As your brush danced gracefully across the canvas, each stroke seemed to weave a rich tapestry of emotions.

“Are you almost finished, M’lady?” Lyney’s voice broke the tranquil air as he noticed your momentary pause.

“Hmm, just a few more minutes,” you replied, urging him to remain where he stood.

When the art piece finally took shape, it radiated colours and beauty that surpassed mere brushwork. Lyney was thoroughly impressed, unable to contain himself as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, prompting a delightful blush from you.

“Thank you for immortalising me in your art, M’lady. I shall treasure it,” Lyney expressed, his tone sincere.

“It’s no big deal,” you replied with a smile. Lyney settled beside the portrayal of yourself, gazing at you with unwavering attention.

“Is something wrong?” you questioned, perplexed by his sudden change in demeanour.

“No, it’s just that something has been occupying my thoughts,” he confessed, his fond gaze fixed on you.

Your head tilted in curiosity, awaiting an explanation.

“Despite my belief in the wonder of my magic tricks, they pale in comparison to your beauty and talent. I’m afraid, M’lady, that you’ve stolen my heart. So, will you do me the honour of accepting this responsibility?”

NOTES. he’s cute i like the idea of painter!reader w lyney whos a magician, also my second genshin work weee. kinda rushed this so whatever plot i have is a bit wonky, maybe.

TAG LIST. @yanqingisim

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! ‹3

[themuse-if]

DEMO (TBA) | Cast Profiles | Cast Interviews

The Muse is a 18+ slice of life interactive fiction novel set at NYU focusing mostly on the art departments in the Steinhardt and Tisch schools. Inspired by my love for shows and movies like Felicity, Fame (the show), Skins UK, and Center Stage. This will not be an accurate depiction of school life at NYU, I'll be taking lots of creative liberties.

Content Warnings: explicit language, sexual themes, substance use, violence, mention of SA

You come from a family of artists and art lovers. Your mother is a passionate curator for a small gallery in the city and your father is a sculptor and painter with a very dedicated cult following. They met when they were just starting out and have built a lovely life for themselves and their two children, you and your older brother Cameron.

Your parents have always been super supportive of you and your brother’s dreams and ambitions. They were a great source of encouragement and guidance for your brother on his path to discovering his goal to become a game designer and you on your path to become whatever you choose.

Growing up surrounded by such creativity just so happened to inspired you to want to create something of your own.

Now that you’ve graduated high school it’s time for you to head off to university! You’ve decided to leave the mid sized city that you call your hometown, and go to the big city NYC! You’ll be attending NYU more specifically, but you won’t be making this move alone you’ll be attending with your best friend Maxine!

What will you discover in your university life?

Will you solely focus on schoolwork or wind up in the raging party scene?

Will you explore new creative endeavors or solely focus on honing your craft?

With so much going on will you even have the time to possibly find your muse, or maybe even become someone else’s?

Design your mc from clothing style to physical appearance to pronouns, gender identity, name, looks, and more.

Choose 1 of 9 majors that grant you different classes with new students and professors: (Studio Arts, Dance, Drama, Photography and Imaging, Jazz Studies, Songwriting, Recorded Music, Collaborative Arts, Dramatic Writing )

Curate your MCs personality and how they react to all the drama and excitement university life has to offer. Style your MC’s dorm room and their aesthetic style.

Navigate the cliques and scenes to figure out where your MC fits in. Maybe you're a social butterfly and you just float from one social group to another!

Engage in a romance with 1 of 10 characters. 5 female/male gender selectable and 5 gender set characters. And 2 poly routes one with The Rebel Rejects and on with The Exes.

Choose one of three part time jobs to give you a little extra spending money for things like spring break and birthday gifts for your new friends.

Follow The Muse through your MC’s freshman and sophomore years. Junior and senior year will come much later in Book Two of The Muse. The third and final book in The Muse series will cover the start of MC's new life after graduation.

Roxanne/Robbie Sawyer: (f/m) The lead singer and guitarist of The Rebel Rejects. Ro is everything you would want in a lead singer cool, charismatic, and super talented. Don’t let their dazzling aura intimidate you though because though they may have a raging wild side they can also be extremely down to earth.

Joleen/Johnny Nielsen: (f/m) The drummer of The Rebel Rejects. Jo is the oddball of the band with a sunny exterior and twisted flower child past. They may be a sweet boho bimbo with a heart of gold, but there’s a lot more that lies behind those blue green eyes.

Delphine/Desmond Hartley: (f/m) The bassist for The Rebel Rejects. De is the super glue propelling the group forward. With high expectations from her parent, and dreams that soar even higher, success is the only option.

Rina/Ren Fukushi: (f/m) R is the best ballet dancer in this incoming freshman class, and no one would ever think to say otherwise. They’re cold and closed off, if it isn’t about ballet then they don’t want to hear it.

Everly/Everett Thompson: (f/m) Eve is a triple threat. Singing, dancing, acting they can do it all. They hope to complete their EGOT before they turn 40.

Karla Reyes: (she/her) Karla is a sophomore at NYU studying Studio Arts. Their favorite medium is watercolor on canvas. They’ve dabbled with sculpting and ceramics...until they broke up with their ex, Faye, and can’t stand to be in the same studio with them.

Faye Winters: (she/they) Fae is every bit the ethereal being they seem to be, and just as flighty. She is a sophomore majoring in dance with a minor in studio arts. She has this effortless charm and beauty that extends to her art whether its her dancing or her sculptures.

Sebastien Auclair: (he/him) Sebastien is in his third year of university, he’s an exchange student from the Paris College of Art. He is studying photography and imaging. Sebastian loves Paris, but he is excited for this change of scenery.

Maxine Matthews: (she/her)Max is your best friend in the world! Your parents are friends so you were destined to best pals since birth, thank god you actually like each other or all those shared family functions would have been really awkward. Max is funny and always has great commentary for every show or movie that you watch together. Which is why you weren’t surprised when they decided to major in dramatic writing. Some people think that you’re too close. They wonder how is it possible that you could be just friends.

Silas Walker: (he/him) Silas is your RA. As your Resident Advisor he's super helpful and friendly. You have question about the best study spots, bad professors, how to use the subway, well he's got answers. He keeps all his advisees at arms length because everyone knows RAs can't canoodle with their advisees. And that just makes it all the more enticing.

[drchucktingle]

seems like a good day to repost this classic tingler since we are talkin on 'what is art?’

POUNDED BY THE REALIZATION THAT CHUCK TINGLE’S EROTIC WORKS ARE A SINGULAR PIECE OF ART THAT SKEWERS CONSERVATIVE FEARS OF MORAL DECAY BY REPURPOSING THEM AS THE PROMISE OF A SEX-POSITIVE UTOPIA

----

Johnny is an artist at the end of his rope, struggling to find inspiration and coming up short. When Johnny’s friend asks him to come check out an exhibit at the Billings Art Museum, the painter is hoping to discover a new muse. However, he’s disappointed to learn the show is a Chuck Tingle gallery, and Chuck Tingle is not art. The visit starts out rocky, but as Johnny makes his way deeper into The Tingleverse he begins to uncover a startling truth, all cumulating when he encounters the physical manifestation of the realization that Chuck Tingle’s erotic works are a singular piece of art that skewers conservative fears of moral decay by repurposing them as the promise of a sex-positive utopia, named Bonron. Now Johnny and Bonron are locked in a wild erotic tryst, and it might just help Johnny discover his muse after all. This erotic tale is 4,000 words of sizzling human on gay living concept action, including anal, blowjobs, cream pies, and physical manifestation of an artistic realization love.

[str4wbaeby]

𝓶𝓪 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓮 pt.1

ᵒᵇˢᵉˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳ ˣ ᵇᵒᵒᵏʷᵒʳᵐ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

⤷ note : pt.2 | pt.3 | moodboard

his presence lingered in every corner of the bookstore, name spoken in reverent tones by both staff and patrons alike. and who he might be? the literary virtuoso, Ren Takahashi, who recently emerged as a new generation fiction writer, standing as a towering figure in the realm of literature. despite being a new name in the writing community, he was quick to rise to fame with the release of his latest masterpiece, which depicted the story of a yearning painter desperately in search of his muse; the story mainly revolving around the theme of lovesickness.

being an avid book lover, it was not unusual for you to keep up with the latest updates in the community, be it newly released books or the newly emerging writers. for you, Ren was not an unfamiliar name but you never really felt truly drawn to any of his writings, which often tended to revolve around a similar theme of infatuation and obsessive love.

as you made your way through the aisles, you couldn't help but notice the prominent display of his new novel on the central shelf, the vibrant red cover drawing you in. opening the glass panel, you carefully took the book out. as you started to read, your expression quickly shifted with eyebrows furrowing into concentration as your lips curled into a smile of intrigue. turning the pages with a gentle flutter, you seemed to absorb each word presented before you. completely enamoured by the book, you failed to notice the presence of an unknown figure, leaning against the opposite bookshelf, eyes longingly staring at your small figure

"so, do you like the book?", the figure softly spoke out, careful not to startle you while clearing his throat in the process.

needless to say, you were a bit startled at first but the gentleness of his voice oddly managed to calm you down almost instantly. you were never really much of a talker, thanks to your introverted nature and not wanting to make this interaction any awkward, you just found it easier to nod your head in response. your eyes were still fixated on the pages, only to look up at the figure once you were satisfied with thorough scanning of the book. infront of you stood the most gorgeous men you have ever laid your eyes upon in your 23 years of living. luscious long hair tressed a shadowy cascade against his pale porcelain skin, hazel eyes twinkling under the bright store lighting as his 6'2 figure stood towering over you, leaning against the wooden shelf in a relaxed stance.

a shade of pink subconsciously coated your cheeks, as you struggled to maintain eye contact with the handsome stranger.

"do you come here often ?", his velvety voice echoed in your ears, slowly luring you in like a siren's song. at the sudden loss of words, all you could do was nod at his question in agreement.

noticing your flustered state, he chuckled softly, silently taking in your adorable expression and soft features.

"say, would you like to have a cup of coffee with me at the nearby cafe? I've heard their pastries are quite popular here"

the proposal was unexpected. especially coming from someone like him; someone as beautiful as him. you were average to say the least, easily passing as just another face in the crowd. why would he want someone like you?

quickly snapping out of your trance, you politely denied his offer with a firm "no". but why? didn't you like him too? the dejected look in his eyes reminded you of a lost puppy. concealing the pain with a fake smile, he handed you his number in a piece of paper, telling you to call him if you ever wanted to talk or had a change of heart regarding your little coffee date. or he could just show up at the bookstore to meet you again? you wouldn't suspect anything, right? it'll just be another coincidence, after all! ♡

with a seemingly disinterested look, you took the paper out of his hand, only to catch a quick glimpse of something that caught your eyes.

"(555) 867-xxxx

- Ren Takahashi "

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (without plot), softdom!rafayel, but also kiiind of switch!rafayel, kissing and making out, teasing, guided masturbation, inappropriate use of a paintbrush, clit play, nipple play, slight overstimulation, slight edging if you squint, thigh riding, praise, cursing, dirty talk, use of pet names "my muse" "princess" "baby", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 3.2k

taglist : @zaynesaurora @darlingdummycassandra (+ @seaofgoldensand mwah) | sign up here!

an : guys bc ,,,,,, i swear you never truly realize how daunting it can be to act as an impromptu live model for someone.. until you try it...

You underestimate the intimacy of eye-contact.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was nothing but silence in the air, only occasionally interrupted by a tap of his shoe on the floor, or a squeaking of the chair when he moved. There was the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall, and the faint, hushed sound of delicste brushstrokes on the canvas...

These were the only things you could focus on, if not at the way that he looked at you.

Rafayel's stare was intense.

Anytime he would shift his gaze from the canvas and back to you; anytime you'd catch the way his eyes would take in the shape of your figure...

You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt; this was just part of the process. He was only being professional, after all—of course an artist needed to look at his model!

...But it was less about what he felt; this was something that you, yourself couldn't take.

"Eyes up here, princess," came his voice, the familiar sing-songy tone to it triggering a bout of butterflies.

You were torn, somewhat.

You wished you could wipe that knowing smile right off of his face, but simultaneously felt that you could cave underneath even just that stupid, stupid gaze of his.

...And you knew that you had brought this upon yourself.

Whatever bickering had started with his whine about a "lack of inspiration" and a roll of your eyes in response, had settled with you offering to be his model.

You even recalled how surprised he was, the concern that etched on his features—

"Hm? But it could take a while, you know. Might be uncomfortable for you to sit for so long."

You figured it couldn't hurt. You were willing to get through it if it meant finally bringing your partner out of his rut, and in turn, his willingness to paint you—when he had sworn that portraits were never even his thing—felt like a little treat.

However, as much as you believed you'd have the upper hand in this situation, you severely underestimated it.

Now, you sat atop a cushioned chair, assuming a position you were comfortable with holding for a time unspecified. You donned normal, unnassuming clothing, just your everyday top and jeans. And in front of you sat a painter and his canvas, his hands moving tastefully over the piece he crafted, a certain twinkle in his eye that already had you reeling.

Rafayel was painting you, and by all means did nothing about this set up look the least bit intimate to either of you—

But you felt like it was.

It was a private moment, just the two if you in this room, gazes meeting with an intensity that made you want to squeeze something.

You didn't know if you had to owe it to how attractive he was, but staying like this, with nothing else to focus your attention on, you could only notice how pretty he was. Soft, layered hair so perfectly styled into place, his signature low-cut shirt framing his figure so nicely...

And his eyes.

God, his eyes.

Rafayel had the most captivating eyes you'd ever seen—A mix of a deep magenta and cerise, of mulberry and wine... So unrelenting in their allure that though the intensity had your heart beating wildly in your chest, you could never, for the life of you, ever tear your gaze away.

It was visceral.

It sent a tingle down your spine.

You could curse all the memories that would flood to your head just because of it, those images and sensations of your nights together. The way he'd look at you, with lust, and love, such passion imbued with every roll of his hips against yours... This wasn't the time to be thinking of such things, you knew that. They brought an obvious hue of pink to your cheeks that you knew he'd notice, but you almost couldn't help it—

Was a siren's allure truly so confining?

You had nowhere to run.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you could almost think this was...

Intentional.

"Little muse, you're blushing."

If you thought it couldn't get any worse, you were clearly wrong.

Rafayel's brushstrokes had paused, and the mirth that danced in his eyes set off all the warning bells that your brain could manage.

"...Shut up, you're imagining things," you mumbled, willing youself to turn your head away from him.

"Ah ah ah~ I'm not done yet, don't move, princess."

And to think that when you'd started, he'd been concerned for you.

Despite yourself, you fidgeted in your seat.

You couldn't take any more of this.

You'd been at it for close to an hour by now, the silence, the staring, the butterflies—

A slight shift in your position made you painfully aware of the wetness that had pooled between your thighs, and you wanted to crawl into a cave.

"Hey. You tired?"

Rafayel was searching your expression, reading you.

It wasn't helping.

"N-no," you managed to nearly choke out, your obvious fluster making your cheeks feel warmer.

And in all this time that you've known him, been with him—you knew that he could put two and two together.

A smirk spread over his features.

You were in for it.

"I'll allow some movement," he hummed, setting his brush down momentarily, "but it looks like you want something a little more... specific..."

"Rafayel, if you don't shut up—"

He grinned.

"Why? We can take a break, yeah? I'm just giving you free space to do as you want."

You watched his eyes rake over your figure, lingering over the way your legs were pressed more tightly together than you'd started with.

"Don't tell me you need me to guide you, princess..."

You wished you could slap that smile off his face.

Rafayel folded his arms, leaning back a little. The shine in his eyes didn't budge even a millimeter; his gaze remained steely on you.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, my muse, I'd say you've gotten a little needy."

You didn't know why you bothered to stay put in your seat, when the paintbrush was not even in his hands anymore.

And he noticed.

"Yeah? I'm right, aren't I?" he chuckled. "So why don't you release some of your stress before we continue? Since you're not getting up, you might as well do something for my motivation..."

The way he gestured towards the canvas, wearing that infuriating little smirk of his, had the heat rushing to your face.

"As if you could take watching me touch myself," you shot back, mirroring his pose and crossing your arms.

You cheered in silent victory at the momentary lapse in his expression, though it settled back into his smile within seconds.

"Mmn... Then we'll have to do something about that later, if it comes to it," he shrugged. "But this is about you, princess."

For a while there was no response from either of you, just staring silently at each other, daring one to make a move—

Until his gaze made you squirm, and he let out a snort.

"Oh, princess..." he started, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not going to touch you when I still intend to get back to finishing this piece. So if you want to use our little break to do something about this... You'll have to do it yourself. Come on, now. Undress for me, yeah?"

He was infuriating.

A menace.

This was karma for all the times you've rendered him speechless, and he was enjoying it.

You clicked your tongue, the challenge in your eyes winning over the embarrassment that stirred in the pit of your stomach.

"Fine! Don't blame me if you'll never finish that painting..."

Frustrated though you might have been, and perhaps, ever determined to pay back his teasing, the look in his eyes remained bewitching.

It was foul play.

Your fingers trembled as you deftly pushed your panties to the side, your jeans kicked down to your ankles, your legs spread. Rafayel had seen you—used you—many times before... But there was something unnervingly intimate about doing this for him, when he was a number of laces away from you, watching, observing.

It was as if you were... a show.

"You're dripping," he commented, voice quiet and low, unable to keep himself from leaning forward as if to get a better look at you.

His words sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You could only shoot him a glare, your blush betraying otherwise the effect that his heated gaze on you had.

"Go ahead, princess... I bet you're aching to be touched."

You almost didn't want to admit it, the way his voice played in your ear so sweetly that your heart could simply burst out of your chest. He made you weak, and you could barely think straight, and he could... see it all.

You chewed on your lip, shakily dipping a finger just barely into your heat, sliding up between your folds with a trail of obvious slick left in its wake.

"Shit..." you cursed under your breath.

You were almost scared to look back up at him, knowing you'd see those god-foresaken eyes again, so heated as they took in your every movement, your every action—

"That's it, princess," Rafayel murmured. "Play with yourself. Rub your clit for me, yeah?"

Your eyes closed as you found yourself doing exactly as you were told.

Soft pants fell from your lips, your middle finger drawing upwards to circle your sensitive nub. Just slow, gentle rubs, easing you into a rhythm of pleasure... You dared to open your eyes, catching the way his gaze remained fixated on your movements, his own eyes darkening, his lips parted slightly.

"You're so wet, baby..." His voice was hoarse now, clearly just as affected by the situation as you were. "Can you put a finger in? Please?"

Your features schooled into a small smile; victorious, in a way, despite your own obvious display of need. "But, why, Rafa?" you teased. "I don't wanna rush..."

The groan that he let out was delicious, and your eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

"C'mon, princess... I wanna see. Do it for me? Just one finger, yeah?"

"You're so easy to get all worked up, Rafa~" you found yourself cooing at him, taking note of his flushed cheeks, the heat in his eyes mirroring your own.You were the one touching yourself, and yet, he was the one begging. It was amusing, in a sense—how just the simplest things reduced him to this sort of mess.

"Just a little taste of your own medicine," you quipped.

But you did as he said, anyway.

The first push of a finger into your cunt had you moaning. The glide was easy, smooth, your walls accepting of your own intrusion, almost aching for even more.

"Fuck... that's it, baby, in and out, just like that."

It was almost amusing to hear him speak that way, so enraptured by the way you pleasured yourself, lost in the thought of you coming undone right in front of him. You didn't need his words of guidance; you knew exactly which spots had you keening, how to gradually bring yourself over the edge. Yet, he would still offer up words of such praise to you anyway, guiding you, telling you what to do, how to please yourself.

And there was something, just something, about the rawness in his voice that got to you.

Your eyes met as you began to buck your hips into your hand, sliding against the cushion, willing to give yourself more stimulation. Your breath fell out in puffs of quick pants, your heart rate accelerating, the pierce in his gaze so daunting and intimidating, yet so... arousing.

"R-Rafayel..."

Your eyes went hazy, unable to bring yourself to turn away from the hypnotic quality of his gaze.

"Keep going, princess, I'm here."

Your fingers moved faster, curling into your heat, emphasizing the obscene sounds of wetness that filled the studio. Your thumb moveed over to brush your clit, your other hand gripping the seat impossibly tighter, and then—

"R-Rafa!" You threw your head back, hips stuttering. "I-I'm close!"

In your peripheral vision you could see him lick his lips, his voice coming out hoarse, full of want. "Yeah? You are, huh? Come on, princess, just a little more. Work those fingers for me."

His words proved enough.

"Shit—fuck—!" A string of curses left your lips. You felt it as the pleasure rolled through your body, eliciting a gasp, causing you to nearly double over.

"There we go. Such a pretty little muse. That expression on your face is beautiful."

His words soothed you from your high, a gentle coo of praise as you took your fingers from out of your wetness. When you looked up at him, he was smiling, hand outstretched as if to beckon you. "C'mere, princess. You did so well for me, let me taste those pretty fingers of yours."

You almost clapped back at him, as if the urge to bicker—to one-up him—rose up just by instinct. Yet, there were those eyes again. That particular look that was magnetizing. It was more than a beckon. It felt like an allure. You were almost certain you'd moved on your own, slow steps into his arms, gently allowing yourself to be pulled onto his lap, the glisten from your earlier orgasm immediately coating the fabric of his pants.

He did as he promised, guiding your fingers into his mouth, looking straight at you with eyes full of lust. His tongue swirled over the pads of your fingers, and you twisted them for him. Watching him suck on your digits, slowly moving them in and out, promising him the taste he so desperately wanted... before you pulled them away with a wet pop.

"Give me one more," he whispered immediately, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "One more, before I finish this painting. Think you can do that?"

You'd nearly forgotten about the painting. It was behind you, your back turned towards it, your eyes only focused on the man before you. You didn't look back—didn't need to, not now. Not when his offer was so... tempting.

"'Kay," you mumbled. Your response was just as instant, your hips moving to glide over his thigh.

But he smirked.

A hand went to your back to support you, hold you in place, and your eyes widened when a clean, unused paintbrush found its way into his other hand.

"R- Rafayel...?"

"Just want to have a little bit of fun," he said breezily, gently trailing the brush from your jawline, all the way down over your collarbone. The sensation made you shiver. "Go on, princess. Don't mind me..."

Don't mind me.

He had the audacity to say that as he let you move all over his thigh, the bristles of his brush leaving a trail of goosebumps with every little stroke on your skin. Just light, feathery, teasing flicks, enough to add to your stimulation... It felt nice, and you'd never admit it to his face, but you could fold.

"You'd be so lovely to paint, look at you," he murmured. And he enjoyed the way your body jolted at his words, the chuckle enough of a testament. "Yeah? You like that idea, don't you, princess? Next time, maybe, I can have even more fun with you..."

The paintbrush began to venture lower, flicking against your nipples.

Your eyes went wide.

"W-wait—!" You gasped, gripping his shoulders, feeling him repeat the motions. Again, and again—the brush circled around your pert, sensitive nub, his gaze turning thoughtful, his little tool giving you more sensations than you knew were even possible.

"Hm? What's wrong?"

It acted like a soft caress, one so foreign to you that it made your head spin.

And he didn't dare stop there.

He must have gotten incredibly worked up, you thought, as he stilled your hips and leaned you back. You could guess where things were going; the way his hand supported your back from toppling into the canvas was firm and determined, your position already having your dripping cunt a little bit more on display for him.

"Look at me, princess," he whispered.

And you felt it—the paintbrush gliding lower and lower, gentle strokes over the skin of your abdomen, pausing just above your clit.

Your breath hitched.

Anticipation hung in the air, your eyes barely managing to stay locked onto his as your face seemed to fume with embarrassment.

"Rafayel," you huffed. "Seriously, you...!"

He circled the brush, a smirk tugging on his features. Feathery bristles brushed against you clit, and you let out a cry. There was a pattern, almost: he'd move the brush gently down the side of your folds, fluttering back up to your nub, pressing against it with a certain kind pressure he knew you always loved... Teasing, always teasing, never lingering for too long in a single spot.

It had you moaning almost immediately.

"What was that, my muse?" he grinned.

You'd never wanted to slap that expression off of his face any more than you did now, yet he had you helpless. You felt like putty in his hands, melting with every movement of his little brush, your thighs tensing over his. You didn't even need to move, anymore; the sensitivity from your previous orgasm had your senses heightening scarily quick, the coil steadily beginning to tighten in your stomach.

It felt as if he'd barely been doing anything.

Just that goddamned brush teasing you in all the right places, flicking against your clit, as he watched you clench around nothing.

"Please!" you swallowed your pride down deep enough to beg, the look in your eyes harboring a frustrated glare of want. "Stop teasing, Rafa, I need...!"

"Yeah? Need what, hm?"

Oh, he was having fun.

"N-need to cum! Need... Need something, Rafa, c'mon—!"

The brush set back aside, and he kissed you.

All tongue, even teeth, just messy, and deep, a pure display of the lust that had taken both of you hostage. His hands were in your hair, your body pressed so close against him, hips beginning to move again over his thigh. A few more soft, hushed, groans, and wet noises of passion, and you were gone.

You felt it snap, pulling back from the kiss only to fall forward onto his shoulder, muffling your moans into his shirt. It was insane, you thought, how he could rip out such a visceral reaction from you, a pleasure so overwhelming as you squeeze your legs over his thigh.

Easing you down, he rubbed soothing circles into your back, hushed words of praise tumbling from his lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

"My perfect little muse, so pretty, so beautiful," he sighed, hugging you close. "I can't wait to paint all your greedy desires onto my canvas."

⁺₊ / an: phew!! overdue and i feel like this isn't my best best work, but it doesss represent the chokehold this fish has on me 🙄 a girl's just gotta satisfy her rafayel cravings i guess!!

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[c-nstantine]

to be a muse

Description: Benedict meets a fascinating young woman

Word Count: 0.9K

Warnings: I think I made Benedict a bit of a himbo but that's okay. the reader is still black and even though she's charlotte's daughter, I made it so she's any skin tone which lowkey makes sense given how wild genetics work

Benedict stared at the painfully blank canvas of his family's drawing room. Hyacinth's and Gregory's laughter could be heard running about in the family's home. Kate and Anthony were doing god knows what, honestly, he felt like he was going to throw up from the love that came from the both of them.

"Brother, I fear I'm in a rut," Benedict announced while plopping himself down in between Colin and Eloise. He reached over and stole one of Eloise's bonbons.

"I beg your pardon," Colin said as he jolted awake from Benedict's sudden appearance.

"Nothing, and I mean nothing, has inspired me. Idle hands," He waved his hands in the air for extra effort.

"You are out of inspiration and you woke me up to tell me this," Colin tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes but nothing was working as Benedict yapped on and on about art.

"Yes," Benedict shrugged.

"Have you tried going to the museum? I hear there is a new exhibit. It might spark something for you," Eloise just wanted to eat her bonbons in peace.

"That's why you are my favorite, " He ruffled her hair before dashing off to find his coat before heading to the museum.

-

He stood in front of a painting for what felt like hours. It seemed like he was waiting for something to come to him, his inspiration. Footsteps shuffled around him, yet, Benedict remained unmoved.

"I find his work to capture the inquisitive nature of who he paints," A melodic voice came from behind him. He turned a saw a woman around his age with the most beautiful features. Delectable lips, and round cheeks, and her skin looked like it was kissed by the gods themselves. The gorgeous shade of brown, he had ever seen.

"You do? That is a refreshing perspective. My family thinks them all to be faces on a canvas," He probably should have addressed her more formally but for now he was happy to have someone share interests with him.

"They are but they are also so much more. Each brush stroke is an attempt to capture a moment. No matter how imperfect it may be," She looked at him with a small smile playing on her lips. His eyes lingered there a little long before dragging down the rest of her body. She did not have the clothing of a commoner. She must be a lady, he thought to himself.

"Are you a painter?" He asked.

"I am talentless in art, I'm afraid but that doesn't stop me from enjoying it. And what about you?" She shook her head and he noticed the bouncy curls that fell from her scalp. He was becoming more and more entranced by the moment.

"I dabble. I am not great enough for a museum. My siblings believe it to be my hobby," He admitted rather shyly.

"Yet. You are not great enough for a museum, yet. Mister?" She asked for his name.

"Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton," Benedict gave her a small smile as he introduced himself. She chuckled slightly.

"It has been wonderful chatting with you, Mr. Bridgerton, but I fear I may have to leave." She looked disappointed that their conversation had come to an end. Benedict looked up at the painting and began to speak.

"What is your name so I may fin-" He looked down and she was gone. She had disappeared into the crowd before he could finish his statement. He pushed to the entrance of the museum but there was nothing.

-

"All of this happened and you did not catch the lady's name?" Colin asked as he and Benedict made their way away from the mothers who all wanted their daughters paired with a Bridgerton.

"She was perfect. I only entertained Mother's idea of me coming to the ball tonight in hopes of seeing her," Benedict said while adjusting his waistcoat and smiling at some of the season's eligible debutantes but none of them were her.

"And if she's not here?" Colin asked, his eyebrows squinted and a bit concerned by the potential answer.

"I will simply cease," He deadpanned.

"Cease what?"

"To exist," Benedict said and watched as more and more people arrived at the ball. Even the Queen was in attendance, but someone far more interesting trailed behind her. 

"Stop hitting me. Mother, he's hitting me," Colin said as Benedict repeatedly tapped his brother's shoulder. Benedict's eyes were wide as they trailed the woman he met in the museum. 

"That's her. That's the woman," Benedict said watching her gracefully walk across the room. She was dressed in the finest silks and her curls that were wild and free earlier were pinned back.

"Well, that cannot be," His mother started. Her son could not have been talking about her. That would have been impossible. 

"What are you talking about? She is right there. Even more beautiful than when I saw her last," He noted her appearance before quickly bowing in the presence of Queen Charlotte. Sure, the family had her favor, but even they knew their place.

"Bridgertons, I do not think I have introduced my daughter. Princess Y/N, she takes after me in beauty of course," The Bridgertons turned and then bowed in front of the Princess who looked mortified.

"It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintances," She spoke softly as her gaze held Benedict's. He understood why she dashed away. The scandal of an unmarried princess wandering the museum alone. Especially, considering how long the two of them spoke together.

"A pleasure indeed," He would see her again. He had to find his muse.

Taglist: @flyestvenustrap@megamindsecretlair@blxckdesire @prettyvintageafternoon@lilbanas@certifiedloverwoman@melissa-ashe @hoyoooo @blckbarbiedoll idk if you guys wanna be here for this because it's a bit diff from my usual content but just let me know!!

[b4tracha]

Nicknames (SKZ X M!Reader)

Bang Chan- Baby Boy

He calls stays his baby stays, why not call you his baby boy? One day, he was trying out nicknames for you while you listened and laughed at some he made up. When he reached baby boy, he stuttered and started to turn red. Since the sight was too cute for you, you decided that would be the nickname he should use for you.

Lee Know- Pretty Boy

Minho is a liar. He started calling you this when he saw you getting ready for a night out. He tells you that it's because you took too long to get ready and that you were such a pretty boy. In reality, he just thought you were extra pretty that night. He calls you that all the time, even if you are half asleep with crust still in your eyes. No matter how you look you're still one in his eyes.

Changbin- Darling

Changbin can be a little corny, but that was his charm. He was just watching an American show, and someone said it, and he used it on you to tease. It happened to work, making you flustered. That immediately gave him the green light to use it on you as much as possible. You were his darling.

Hyunjin- My Muse

Hyunjin is a painter. He also met you at an art store. You having an art based nickname was bound to happen. He loves using you as a base for his art pieces. Many people ask him who the person in his paintings were, but almost every one of them was just you in a different scenario. You always give him inspiration to create.

Han- Honey

Jisung calls everyone and their mama a nickname already. There was a time where he called his fellow 00-liners baby for the longest. He even calls them jagi. He decided to give you the english name for honey. He doesn't call anyone that but you. It was special, and it was as sweet as the name.

Felix- Kitten

This was a funny story, honestly. You both were debating on who had the better meow. You both were drunk and had nothing better to do in bed. After a while, he decided you were the winner and called you a kitten. Even when you both woke up sober and hungover, Felix seemed to remember the nickname well.

Seungmin- Prince

You had to get your way. That's what Seungmin says. You were stubborn and a flirt, and everything he says he hates, but everyone knows he loves how you are. He eventually said you were like a spoiled prince. You just smiled and teased him asking, "Would you be my princess?" He ran off after that, but he never stopped calling you prince.

I.N- Babe/Baby

Jeongin thinks everything is cringy. Nicknames were among that long list. He didn't really care for nicknames and would just use your name or a nickname based on your name. Eventually, he decided calling you baby and babe wasn't that bad. He doesn't do it often, but he does.. it makes your heart skip a beat.

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

Painter Baby pt.2

Pairing- Sully family x Sully!reader

Summary- After moving in with the Meykayina it was hard living your work behind and when you finally find another muse, but what are you supposed to do after you get shot?

Warnings- getting shot, blood, I think that's it lmk if it's not

Pt.1 Pt.2

"We have to leave." When the words left your father's mouth it was like a piece of your soul chipped away. You had to leave your home, your life's work what were you to do? Start over you have years of work here. You felt like you should just turn into a puddle and just evaporate but you couldn't. For your families sake you put a happy and calm face on.

You traveled for many days and Manny nights, through rain and through shine. It was a rough and tiresome journey but you finally made it. Your father was leading you to a strange land, you traveled over a beautiful ocean and then you saw a island many people saw you and surrounded you as you got off of your banshee. It was uncomfortable to have so many eyes in your before. Your father put your hands up to show he means no harm your brother Neteyam mirroring his actions. You watched your mother and her suspicious expression.

Your father had a conversation with the Olo'eyktan of this clan and the Tsahik came and interrogated your family said you would be weak and slow in the water, she said you had demon blood. And then your mother hisses at her and it seemed they had a dominance battle who would back down first. Your father stepped in before it escalated. And it was decided that you would stay there learn the way of water. You had to learn to adapt your father said. "Sully's stick together." Was what he said before you and your siblings to your first lesson.

Tsireya and her brother taught you how to 'breath' it took a while but you got the hang of it. "How about we free dive we can show you the beauty that the Great mother blessed the water with." A boy named Rotxo suggested. Everyone agreed but your eyes were glued on the way the rocks reflected the water creating ripple like shapes on the rock. Lo'ak tugged at your tail making you yelp and you it that. "What did dad say about pulling my tail." You say pinching him hard on his arm. "Ow, It's the only way I could get your attention come on we're free diving." He said and you only rolled your eyes getting up and jumping in behind them.

You kick your arms and legs to get deeper and farther into the water. Everyone seemed to be trying to figure where to go first, but you didn't have that kind of patience. Slowly you drifted farther from them swimming with a school of fish, and then it was as if Eywa herself led you here it was beautiful. So many colors of coral, different sea creatures played and mingled around the plants you've never seen before. So caught up with the beauty in Pandora you hadn't noticed the other teens coming towards you. Your hand caressed a pink tinted coral and then Lo'ak reaches out for you and you turn around and roll your eyes as you swim upward.

Cat hing your breath you smile as you swim toward the shore. "Y/N! Where you going?" Lo'ak called out and you stood out of the water. "I just remembered something I have to do!" You yelled back running to your mauri running past your mother and father. You grab your bag and take a little box that sat under the pillow in your hammock. It had multiple painting colors and leaf made brushes. You shoved it into your bag and ran back to your the beach. Your parents only watched as your ran back and forth. "Think shes up to something." Jake asked. "Most likely." Neytiri replied.

You hopped into your ilu and rode out far, farther than you've went with anyone and you found the perfect spot for your new studio. It was a medium sized cave it had smaller humps of rocks you could paint and the walls inside were smooth it was perfect, absolutely perfect. And you sat all the paints down along with the brushes and your hands just started there magic. You painted the coral and all the beauty the water around them held it had been several hours and you didn't realize to caught up in your art work. Only stopping when you realized it was getting to dark for you to see.

"Damn it." You whisper to yourself you used the last bit of light that was left to do the last stroke of paint you needed to finish it. You stared at it, it had been the first time you painted since you left home and it was amazing all the stress from learning a new way of life kind of just washed right out of you as you painted.

You left the art supplies there deciding that this would be your new studio. Jumping into your ilu and connecting to her you ride back to Awa'atlu. You hopped off and washed your hands off in the water, jogging to the mauri your father was standing outside. Giving him a cheeky smile you wave. "And where were you." It was more of a statement than a question really. "Oh um just looking around lost track of time." You reply, you could have told them about your new art cave but painting is the only time you can be yourself and not feel judged so you kept it on the down low.

Everyday two hours before Eclipse you would sneak off into the cave and you let you mind and hands run wild with the paint. And as time went on your the artwork on the walls and rocks of the cave grew and grew and so did your talent. Everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

The same people who made you and your family flee your home had found you once more and they had Lo'ak, Tsireya, Kiri, and Tuk. Hearing they had your siblings it made your heart stop, the blood in your veins froze. Your father had gathered the clan and was getting ready to attack but you had a plan you put in motion. The man who's man was Quaritch held a gun to your brothers head as he talked to your father over the microphone. ''Sacrafice yourself to save all these people that's all you have to do Jake.'' He said and your fathers face had a look od defeat as you saw him come closer, was he actually going to do it?

But before you could think a creature came from the water it looked like a Tulkun but it didn't have a fin and then it clicked Lo'ak bonded with Payakan he was protecting his soul brother. He flipped over onto the ship some of the soldiers flipped overboard others got crushed under him and some barely got away. You jumped onto the boat and Tuk squealed, ''Y/N!'' You put a finger up to your lip telling her to be quieter and she shook her head.

You cut everyone loose and as you cut Lo'ak loose you laughed. ''Who's the mighty warrior now?'' You joked and he only laughed. You ushered them in front of you as they went deeper into the ship finally finding a way out. And Lo'ak picked a gun up, ''Do you even know how to use that?'' You ask picking one up as he did. ''Yes.'' He rolled his eyes and then before Kiri and Tuk could jump they were snatched by the one and only Miles Quaritch. Tsireya fought to get them out of his arms but he was to strong and he pushed her back.

He held up a gun and shot, you yelped feeling a pericing pain through your shoulder and down your arm. You and Lo'ak fell into the water Lo'ak cheered.

You could barely hold yourself up in the water, ''Lo'ak I-I was hit.'' was all you could say before dipping back into the water. ''Oh shit I got you Y/N just stay a float.'' He said grabbing your uninjured arm as Tsireya gently held your injured arm wrapping it around their neck helping you swim to the rock your father and Neteyam were on.

''S-she was hit.'' Lo'ak said as he watched your chest cave in with every breath you took, he scared- no petreified. Was he going to lose his big sister? Neteyam dropped next to you he patted your face keeping you awake barely as he puts pressure on your wound. ''Your other sisters where are they?'' Jake asked gripping your hand to let you know he was there, but you were slipping in and out of consciousness. ''T-the boat.'' was all Lo'ak could say. Neytiri landed and she saw your body and the blood leaking from you.

''Neytiri we have to go they have the girls.'' Lo'ak stood up ready to follow his father before Jake pointed at him. ''You are not coming, you've done enough.'' he said eyes glancing to you. ''Get her back to Ronal she will help.'' Neytiri said before getting on her banshee riding to the boat. Lo'ak jumped into the water. "W-what are you doing Lo'ak." She cried as your eyes shot open and cried in pain. "I have to help."

"No..." Was all she said before Neteyam dragged you to his ilu. "Let him go we have to get her back."

And Ronal saved you, for the most part. You wouldn't have movement in you arm for a few weeks if not a month, and having said that you couldn't be left unattended in case the leaf wrap she used as bandages ripped you could get infections, deadly infections. Your father put you on lockdown in the marui and someone was always by your side.

Until Lo'ak was asked to go get something for your father and you were finally alone. You just wanted to paint, it was your safe space so now you find yourself looking around to make sure no was around and you jogged towards the ilus.

"Y/N Sully where in Eywa's name do you think you're going?" You hear your father's seen voice behind you as you hop off the ilu you just mounted. You rolled your eyes as you drag yourself from the shallow water and next to your father. "No where now." You whisper walking back to the marui. Jake knew where you wanted to go, well he didn't know exactly where but he knew you found somewhere to paint, he knew you felt at peace in your art studio but he couldn't let you go he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't want you to be miserable. But he also doesn't want his baby girl to get hurt.

So here he sits watching you look out at the ocean of the window opening of the marui as he cuts up some fruit. And then he got an idea. "Hey baby girl I need to go do something I'll be back please stay." He said waiting for your response before he leaves. "Okay." You say only looking at the ocean. He sharply inhales before walking out.

He stepped over to the men and women who gathered wood for communal dinners. "Hey! Hey, could I have some of these bark pieces, like the flat ones?" He asked two of them looked at him questionably, before gathering five or six of them and handing them to the older man. He tilts his head down before going to the beach sitting down on the warm sand.

He used the dull side of his knife he sanded down the rough side of the flat piece of bark in his lap. He did this to all of the barks he picked them up. And then Neteyam caught his eye, "Neteyam!" He yelled out and Neteyam turned around jumping up and running to his father. "Yes father?" He asked looking at the bark and the wood chippings around his feet. "Do you know how to make that paint that Y/N uses?" Jake asked his eldest son.

Neteyam pondered for a minute and then he remembered. "Yeah she taught me how to make it one day let's get some plants." Neteyam said going to the buses that grew around the place. "Okay so we need this one, this one, and this one." Neteyam whispered to himself as he plucked a red, blue, and purple flowers. He picked a few other colored flowers putting them in his bag. "Here you go all you do is smash them into powder and mix it with hox tree maple and you should be good." Neteyam instructed Jake handing him the bag of flowers. "Thank you son." He replied patting his shoulder.

"No problem, I got to go I promised Tul I'd take her to Three Brothers Island." Neteyam said as he jogged to his little sister who had been yelling his name for the past fifteen minutes.

The Jake did as Neteyam told him.

He grabbed a pot and first started to smash the red flowers up into a fine powder, and then he mixed the hox tree maple into the dust mixing it in until it created a paint like consistency, then he grabbed a small wooden box and filled it with the paint and put the wooden lid on top of it.

It took him a while but he finally made all of them putting them in their own little boxes. He put them all into a bigger box along with the wooden canvas he made. He picked the box up and walked towards the Marui stepping inside he looks at you, you hadn't moved since he left. "Hey baby I got you something." He said you turned your body as his paint covered hands put the box down in front of you. You looked inside and your face contoured into one of happiness and tears in your eyes.

He saw the tears and worry washed over him, "Oh my god did I do something wrong I'm sorry if I did I can take it back." He said reaching for the box not wanting to upset you. But instead of crying with a frown you have a soft smile on your face touching his hand and shaking your head. "I love it, thank you." You say wiping the tears from your face and then you see his arms covered in multiple colors of paint. "You hands." You laugh and he turns them over. "What? I think look very artistic don't you think?" He jokingly asked and you burst into laughter shaking your head up and down.

After a while the laughter died down, you picked up a canvas and opened the multitude of blues he made. "I'm glad you like it now I'll let you be-"

"No!" You yelled making him sit back down. "I haven't done a portrait in a while so now you get to be my victim." You laugh and he lets a chuckle out as you begin to outline his face. He watches how focused you are and that smile he has wanted to see for so many weeks now has finally came back.

[captainenjolras]

Good Omens demon hcs because the hyperfixation is fixating again

Demons sometimes present the behaviors of their animal counterparts (which is canon but lemme expand on it). Ex: Crowley forgetting to blink, Beelzebub rubbing their hands together, Ligur loves warmth, Dagon circling people she’s arguing with, etc..

They’re very physical creatures (physical affection, taking up space, more likely to get into physical fights) where as Angels are more reserved.

Expanding on the last one: board meetings in hell usually end in physical fights or at least threats of. Instead of fixing this, there is a tally going of who gets into the most fights, who wins the most, how many days it’s been since the last fight, etc.. There’s also like…no work being done down there at this point

Beelzebub’s flies all have names

Dagon loves going to the beach at night to swim

Demons are pretty artistic. Yeah the spelling is shit, but those fuckers can crank out a sick painting or tune

Crowley served as a muse for a few painters/writers, including John William Waterhouse and Shakespeare

Demons eat, but only the nastiest things you can think of. Raw meat, old fruit, expired chips, ext..

The angel/demon views on fashion are incredibly different (also canon but let me ramble). Angels prefer more neutral, modest clothing. Demons, on the other hand, prefer more shocking, revealing, alternative, etc. clothes/styles

Eric is really good at makeup

Beelzebub and Dagon are inseparable and have been since before The Fall

On the same note: Crowley, Beelzebub, Dagon, and Shax were all close in heaven and still are (I know this semi goes against canon but listen I need to softness of lasting friendships/making up because I am overflowing with love to the point that it causes me physical pain). Gabriel is fighting for his life for approval when he starts dating Bee because they trust few people, and anyone who breaks that trust is going to have to answer to a very angry friend group (same goes for any other potential suitors like Aziraphale and Michael)

Hastur and Ligur have something going on

Furfur and Shax like jazz. Idk why this one just came to me while writing

Demons have very strong emotions and reactions. When they’re stressed/angry/in pain, their true forms/demonic features begin to become more prominent (Crowley with the lightning)

When they were a Seraph, Beelzebub created butterflies, bees, and moths along with flies

VERY fast reflexes. Like scarily so

If you want more lmk if not I’ll probably just share more anyways cause once I start rambling I don’t stop ❤️

[rollingsins]

three's a crowd, part seven

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten (epilogue)

summary: you hadn’t expected this. to fall in love. with not one girl, but two. you hadn’t expected to ruin their friendship. love triangle au. 

pairing: emma myers x reader, jenna ortega x reader

warnings: language, angst.

word count: 3k

a/n: couple more chapters to go, and then we're finito. Love hearing your thoughts, as always, don't be afraid to hit that ask box!

The rest of the week passes by in a blur. 

You cry yourself to sleep the first night. 

Lay wide awake for the second. 

Memories flash by like nightmares. Emma and her sweet smile, walking you home that first night. Emma and her blue eyes, sparkling pretty as she’d kissed you. 

Her lips. Soft, so so addictive. 

Her voice, quiet. Shy. 

The feel of her under you, on top of you, near you.  

The look in her eyes when she’d realized you’d betrayed her. 

The sneer in her voice as she all but called you a whore to your face. 

The heavy finality in her voice as she’d told you she was done with you. 

It’s too much. You feel it all too much. 

Anger, at yourself. Hatred, towards yourself. 

Grief, loss, hurt, despair. Everything. 

So you lock yourself away like a hermit. Your apartment is your shell. You don’t have to film, thank god, so you don’t leave. Spend hours toiling in bed, staring at the ceiling. Taking long, hot showers. So hot the water scalds your skin. 

It feels good to hurt. 

It feels cathartic, like the physical pain will take you away from the grief swirling in your chest, if only for a moment. 

Georgie calls but you don’t answer. Joy calls but you hit decline. Hunter calls and you laugh. 

By the third day, people are knocking at your door, shouting at you to come out. 

Not Emma, not Johnna and not Jenna. 

But everyone else. 

You don’t care. Let them stand out in the hall shouting. 

You just want to leave this set and these people. You want to never see any of them again. 

Maybe Georgie. Definitely Georgie. 

But everybody else? You’ll pass. 

Definitely not Emma. Definitely not Johnna. 

It hurts to think about Jenna so you don’t. Let yourself stew in your own self-hatred instead. 

Maybe you’ll become a painter, you muse, laying in your bathtub, fully clothed, the fourth night. Tortured artist sounded like a fun gig, you were already half-way there. You’d buy a house in the middle of nowhere and never look at any girl twice again. It was better that way. 

It would hurt less. 

You let yourself imagine for a moment. And then the buzz of your phone jolts you back to reality. 

You almost hit decline straight away. No doubt it’s Georgie again, despite your explicit message you didn’t want to talk. 

Your fingers hover over the phone as you read the caller name. Your heart seizes. Anxiety washes through your body. 

It’s Jenna. 

She hadn’t called, not yet. Not texts, no voicemails. 

You don’t even know if she knows. But she must, why else would she call you? 

You bite your lip, then accept the call. 

“Hello?”

“YN,” Her voice is low. She sounds a little surprised, like she didn’t expect you to answer. You feel yourself start to sweat, grip the edges of the tub, “I’d ask how you are but-”

“You know then.” You say. 

She pauses. 

“Georgie told me.” 

That two-faced little weasel. 

“-Don’t be mad at him,” She says, hurriedly, as if she can read your mind, “He’s really worried about you, he says you won’t answer your phone. It’s the only reason he told me.” 

You bite your lip, vitriol at him softening. 

“Does everybody know then?” You ask, though you already know the answer. 

The slew of missed calls and cast members trying bang down your door tells you the answer. 

“They’re worried about you,” Jenna says, “We’re all worried about you.” 

“Even her?” You say after a long moment. 

Jenna pauses. 

“Especially her.” 

“She hasn’t even bothered to call,” You bite back. 

Jenna says, “She’s afraid that if she calls you-“

“I’ll what?” you ask, “Throw myself off the balcony or something?” 

Jenna pauses. 

“She just doesn’t want to upset you anymore” 

You pause, mind reeling, for Jenna to know this she’d have to have spoken to Emma. There’s a thought, niggling deep in your stomach. It gnaws, you want answers. 

“What did you say to her?” You ask, brows furrowed, “When we came around on Saturday. She was fine and then you spoke to her.” 

Jenna pauses. 

“I don’t…” She trails off. 

“Did you ask her to break up with me?” You ask, desperately. You want to understand. You need to understand. 

“No,” Is all she says. 

She doesn’t bother to elaborate. It makes you furious. A tired kind of furious. A silent kind of furious. The taste in your mouth is sour and you don’t want to talk to her anymore. 

Not if she won’t be honest with you. 

“Well, this has been fun,” You say, “Good chat. Thanks for checking in or whatever-“ 

“YN-“ Jenna says, voice sharp. She wants to say something, you can tell by her tone. 

You wait a moment. 

But she doesn’t speak. The only sound is the hum of your refrigerator and her sharp intake of breath. 

“Goodbye, Jenna.” You say, and hang up the phone. 

-

On the fifth day, Georgie breaks the door down. 

Literally. 

“Sorry,” He says, a little out of breath as you stare at him from your spot on the sofa, “Just needed to check you were still alive.”

He hugs you. Tight. So tight you find it hard to breathe. 

Then, he settles in beside you. Close, like he’s scared you’ll run away. 

“We’ve missed you on set,” He says. 

You cross your arms, “I wasn’t on the call sheet,” You say, “It’s my week off.”

Georgie hums. 

“You could have answered your phone,” He says, “Everyone’s worried.” 

“So I’ve heard.” You grumble. You sink back into the sofa, “What about Johnna? I bet she’s doing somersaults.”

“Everyone.” He insists. He squeezes your hand, “It’s a shitty, complicated situation, but no one wants you to not be okay. Even Johnna.” 

You hum. 

And don’t believe him. 

You don’t know what Johnna knows about your relationship with Emma, but it isn’t hard to imagine she’s thrilled with the lack of competition. Emma all to herself.

Is Emma with her now? Is Johnna holding her while she cries, soothing her upset with kisses? Kisses that should have been yours. Or maybe Emma’s not upset at all. Maybe she’s perfectly happy, fucking Johnna the way she used to fuck you. 

You imagine them entwined, Emma kissing her so softly. 

You sink back into the sofa, a wave of sickness flooding through you.  

Georgie cuts into your internal crisis with a squeeze of your shoulder. 

“Jenna told me she called you yesterday,” Georgie says, voice quiet, “She said you weren’t doing good.” 

“So you decided to break my door?” You ask, gesturing madly to the wreck on the floor. 

“It’ll teach you to answer your phone,” Georgie says with a shrug, “So how are you doing? Really?”

“Peachy.” You mumble. 

Georgie raises an eyebrow. 

“You know you’re shooting Friday, right?” He asks, “I checked. And we’ll all be there.”

You’d forgotten about that. The thought of walking on set with everybody knowing exactly what’s happened makes you want to sink into the sofa and never come out. 

Georgie rubs your back. 

“Everyone’s worried,” He repeats, “And we’re all here for you. You don’t have anything to be nervous about.” 

But you are nervous. 

You’re nervous when you go to sleep that night. 

You’re nervous the next day, and the day after.  

And when Friday rolls around, you’re so anxious you’re considering quitting the production all together. 

Being sued for breach of contract sounds a lot better than having to look Emma in the eye and pretend to be her love interest for eight hours. 

Emma isn’t there when you finally muster the strength to show up. 

You’re early - it’s all crew members and extras. And Joy - who you forgot has the habit of showing up thirty minutes early for everything. 

She hasn’t really spoken much to you, since the entire blow-out with Jenna and Emma went down. 

It’s understandable - you hate you too, why wouldn’t everyone else? 

But she doesn’t look like she hates you when she approaches. 

Her look is softer. Reserved. Pitying. 

You’d prefer the hatred. 

“Emma told us about everything,” She says. She rubs your arm, “I hope you’re doing okay. Everyone’s been worried about you.” 

“So I keep hearing,” You mumble. 

She pauses. Surveys you. 

“I know you don’t care what I think,” She says, voice a little hesitant, “And you shouldn’t. It’s none of my business. But your heart wasn’t in it. We could all tell.” 

You’re right, it’s not your business, you want to snap back. 

You refrain. This day is going to be hard enough and the last thing you need is more enemies on this set. 

“Sure,” You offer, a little lame. Joy squeezes your arm. 

-

The rest of the cast filter in one by one. 

Hunter hugs you. Georgie brings you a coffee and sits with you while the crew set up. 

He mumbles something, standing up to excuse himself after a while. You’re confused - until you see Jenna approaching. 

Damn you, Georgie, you curse internally. 

He hovers by the craft services table, peering back at you over his shoulder. 

You’d pull the finger at him if Jenna wasn’t staring down at you, body language tight. Hesitant. Like she’s not sure if she should be talking to you. 

You look up at her, watch the way she plays with her fingers. 

“How are you?” She asks.  She’s worried. You can tell by the way her eyes are flitting between yours. 

“Fine.” You say, “Ready to shoot.” 

Jenna stares for a moment. Then lowers her voice. 

“You can talk to me, you know,” Jenna says, voice soft, “I care about you, still. If you’re not doing well-”

“What did you say to Emma?” You ask, unable to keep it in any longer, “On the balcony? I know you said you didn’t ask her to break up with me but you must have said something for her to do it.” 

She blinks. Her shoulders tense. 

“I didn’t say anything bad,” Is all she offers, “I didn’t ask her to break up with you, I already told you-“ 

“But what did you say?” You ask, voice a little desperate. You need to know. It’s eating you alive. Emma had been fine. Happy, even. Soft, almost romantic with you. 

And then one conversation and she’d frozen over. 

“Nothing bad.” She repeats, her voice soft. 

She isn’t going to tell you, that much is clear. It pisses you off in a way that is maybe a little unfair. She doesn’t owe you anything, sure. Their conversation was private. 

But it was clearly about you. 

You look down at your phone, put your headphones back in. 

“I’m fine, you don’t have to keep checking,” You say. There’s a bite in your voice that makes her flinch, “Let’s not make this any more awkward than it already is.” 

-

Emma arrives a little later. 

You’re able to avoid her for most of the morning. Ducking out to the bathroom when it’s not your time to shoot. Clinging to Georgie like a shield whenever she gets a little too close. 

This afternoon, you’ll have to shoot with her. You’ve been dreading it all day. 

Your scenes with her are supposed to be romantic. But you can’t even look at her without your chest seizing and your palms getting sweaty. 

Like the world is playing some sort of sick joke on you. Karma, perhaps.

“Just talk to her and get it over with.” Georgie tells you all day, but you don’t listen.

You let it fester. This awkward, uncomfortable feeling that rots in you. 

In the end, it’s her who approaches first. 

You’re sitting out on the lawn by yourself, earphones in. Trying to drown your sorrows in angsty 80s music with your eyes closed. 

The world shut off. 

And then you feel her squeeze in next to you. 

You open your eyes, heartbeat quickening. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches as you tug out your earphones, mouth dry. 

“Hey,” She says, settling into the spot beside you, “How are you?”

The audacity of the question almost makes you laugh. 

“How do you think I am?” You say. It comes out grouchier than you intended. You curl your arms around your knees, “I’m sad.” 

She hums. 

Leans back into her hands. She looks out into the distance, to where a crew member is wheeling a tub of fake blood onto set. Another person lifts a giant gargoyle onto a crane. An extra with a fake axe through their head passes by. 

Set is bizarre, and somehow it fits your depressive mood.  

“You’re not sad because I broke up with you,” Emma says, peering over at you. She lifts a hand to her eye to block out the sun. 

You stare. 

“Yes, I am.” 

She shakes her head. 

“You’ve been sad for a while. And it doesn’t have much to do with me.” 

It’s coming, you can feel it. The “J” word. You hug your knees, hoping if you look too distraught, she’ll fly past it. 

It doesn’t work. 

“You’re sad because you’re not with Jenna.” 

You let out a sharp intake of breath. You can’t even think about Jenna right now. You don’t want to think about her. About what could have been. 

“We would have been so in love,” She’d murmured, ghost of a smile on her lips. 

It makes you ache. 

You'd given it all away to someone who didn't even want you anymore.

Karma, sings out that little voice in your head, again.

You swallow.

“We don’t have to talk about her.” You say, sitting up properly. You fiddle with the cord of your earphones. You want this conversation to be over. 

“It’s fine, YN.” Emma says, “I’m not mad anymore. Or upset. Or jealous.” 

She nudges your arm, glint of a smile on her lips. 

“Not like before.” 

“Because you don’t want me anymore?” You say, eyebrows furrowed. 

She looks away. 

“I did want you, you know that.” 

“But not anymore?” You press. 

She’s quiet for a moment.  

“I want someone who wants me back,” She says, simply, “Someone who isn’t confused. Someone who doesn’t like someone else.” 

“-Someone like Johnna.” You say, voice flat. 

She shoots you a pained smile. 

“Don’t be jealous.” She says, “You don’t want me, not really. You liked being liked, that’s all.” 

It makes you stare.

“That’s not true,” You say, sitting up, “I did like you, Emma. I do like you. I just-“ 

“Liked her more.” Emma says, after a moment. Her gaze is pensive, “It’s okay, you can say it.” 

You drop down onto your back. Stare up at the sky. 

“You should tell her.” 

“I should tell her?” You ask, a little dubious. 

“How much you like her.” Emma says. 

The words are strange, coming from her lips. You wait a bit for the punchline. But it never comes. She’s calm. At peace. Not a hint of jealousy in her tone.  

“Too much has happened,” Is what you say after a careful moment, “If it was meant to be- it wouldn’t have been so messy.” 

Emma purses her lips. 

“It’s messy because I made it messy,” She says, quietly. 

“I made it messy.” You correct her, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Except I pursued you knowing Jenna liked you.” Emma says, biting her lip, “Knowing you liked her back. I got involved because - I don’t know. I liked you so much and I thought- I don’t know what I thought.” 

You lean back. Try to gauge her face. She doesn’t look sad, not like you. She’s pensieve. Reflective. 

“Jenna’s useless at this kind of thing. I knew she’d never tell you and I used that to take you for myself.” Emma admits, “I thought she’d get over you. I thought it was a crush. If I had known-“

She trails off. Sits back on her hands.

“If you had known what?”

“You should talk to Jenna,” Emma just says, staring down at her fingers, “You should tell her how you feel about her.” 

“She knows.” Is all you say. 

Emma leans back. 

“Does she?”

Her gaze is so piercing you have to look away. 

“Why are you trying to set us up anyway?” You ask, “Aren’t you supposed to hate us or something?”

Emma hums. 

“I don’t hate you,” She says, “And I don’t hate her. I was angry at her for so long. But maybe she should be angry with me too. Maybe you both should.”

You don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything. 

It’s too much. You want to go back to your hermit cave-apartment and drink yourself to sleep. These emotions you’re having, you don’t want them anymore. 

Emma curls her fingers around a strand of grass. Plucks it out of the ground, absent-mindedly. She lets out a long sigh. 

“I thought I could get between you,” She says voice heavy, “I thought I could redirect you to me. But that isn’t how it works, I know that now. When two stars collide everything around it turns to dust.”

She has a penchant for the dramatic. But you don’t bother to correct her. There’s something else on your mind. 

“What did Jenna say to you on the balcony?” You ask, eyes flitting between hers. 

She’s being so open. So candid. An Emma you almost forgot existed. If there is ever a time to get it out of her, it’s right now. 

She purses her lips and looks away. 

Your heart sinks as you realize she’s not going to give you the answers you so desperately need.

“You should ask her.”

“I already did.” You say, aggravated, “She won’t tell me.” 

“I’m sure she’ll tell you when she’s ready,” Emma says, simply. She brushes the grass off her jeans as she sits up. She holds out a hand for you. 

“Come on. I think shooting is about to start.”

You stare at her open palm. Look up at her. 

She isn’t angry, not sad or hurt. She’s your Emma again, sweet, kind, loyal. She’s the Emma you could have had, before you ruined it all. 

“I’m really sorry, Emma,” You say, voice quiet, “For everything.”

She smiles at you, curls her hand around yours. 

“Me too.”

Next part

[archangeldyke-all]

masterlist 2!

so apparently u can only imbed 100 links per post, so here's my second masterlist haha!

slow living with sev

helping sevika workout

distracting professor sevika from grading

sevika naming your tits

christmas with sev

masc reader strapping sevika for the first time

scrawny reader winning a fight with sev

watching jeopardy with sev

sevika taking care of u in a depressive spell

sev and drunk reader

princess reader and knight sevika

cowboy sevika!!! 🤠

p.2 slow living with sev

sevika and reader's dogs cause a meet cute 🐕

how sevika proposes

bully sevika

wrapping presents for sevika

trying to have angry sex as a married couple

sevika sucking strap

sex store shopping with sev

the glitter incident

chubby reader!

reader who loves makeup

reader w/ body hair

short reader

sevika squirting again hehe

butch trucker sev

first time u fall asleep on sev

growing old with sev

dairy farmer sev x strawberry farmer reader

godmother sev x kindergarten teacher

amab ceo sev 💼

how u and ceo sev got together💼

nut video with sound? 💼

sev on her period :(

sev on anesthesia

out of pocket reader

getting pregnant with sev :,) 👶

sevika overstimulating and tying u up

sevika mindlessly groping u

happy chubby reader

waking sev up

subtop sevika begging 💼

scardey cat reader

butch4butch gym couple

reader w/ top surgery

synced period w/ sev

how sev reacts when ur hurt

flasing sev on facetime

cowboy sevika's family grows 🤠

asexual reader

touchstarved overthinking reader

cowboy sev smut ;) 🤠

farmer couple smut

finding a missing slayer :,) 🐕

finn's little sister reader

playing uno with the gang

list of quick blurbs

slayer being sev's wingdog 🐕

tailor reader

pussy spanking ;)

nsfw alphabet

sev's fanny pack strap asdfjsaljdf

pussy spanking ft. squirting

how sev talks to your baby 👶

sev w/ a plushy

ran and sev and reader throuple

how she tells silco about reader

cowboy sev adopting the girls 🤠

sevika warming up to kids 👶

sev during your labor and delivery 👶

finn cockblocking u and sev lmaoo

save a horse, ride a cowboy 🤠

PT reader/boxer sev pt. 2

another list of blurbs

sev w/ nail artist gf

slayer in the snow lmaoooo 🐕

sev w/ your kid from a previous relationship 👶

cowboy sev and reader jailbreak the girls🤠

sevika's kid eating crayons 👶

sevika hates scary movies

painter reader/muse sev

sevika's ass and how much we love it

how she dances

sevika after you have a nightmare

how she reacts to dustin licking reader

taking her skating

little slayer at work with sev 🐕

sev and a black vampire reader! 🦇

painfully obvious crushing reader

sev and slayer's typical convos 🐕

sevika lactation kink hehehe

black vamp and sev's relationship hcs 🦇

discovering her breeding kink

talkative reader who's shy around sev

pussywhipped sev

black vamp reader's little friend 🦇

sev comforting reader w/ hairloss

roach verse groupchat

switch sev and switch reader

[astermath]

my muse.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a short oneshot of steve's girlfriend painting him, and him being able to see his own beauty through your eyes.

word count: 1.1K

notes: got this cute idea out of nowhere, thought maybe steve would like to know how beautiful others think he is.

let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

“Is it done yet?”

Steve sits on a stool in front of the window in your atelier. The slowly dimming light of the sun setting illuminates him from the back, the lamp you have set up besides you letting you see him from the front.

“Almost Stevie, be patient.”

He’s been sitting perfectly still for over an hour. An admirable feat, to be honest. He’s not usually one for sitting idly at all, always fidgeting one way or another or wanting to move about.

But he’s been doing quite well. He wants to do well. For you. So you can do your thing.

He’s been secretly wanting to do this ever since he’s seen your paintings. You’re incredibly talented, something between a Monet and a Renoir. An incredible eye for colour and composition, but most of all, you like to paint people.

You do a hell of a job at capturing someone’s likeness, even through the lens of an impressionistic art style. Steve is sure you’ll make it big with your art one day. You told him most painters only get famous after they die, and that didn’t exactly sit well with him. He'd rather have you alive and famous, but mostly the first part.

You’d been going through a bit of an art block, and so you’ve went through your old sketchbooks. You realised there is a surprising, almost embarrassing, amount of drawings of your boyfriend in there. Like… Pages, upon pages. You’ve always thought he has this effortless, beautiful air about him that just made every pose look like it should be captured onto paper forever.

When you asked him if he wanted to model for your next painting, Steve's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He's always adored your art, supporting you and your passion every step of the way, so to be immortalised on one of your canvases is a huge honour to him.

He was a bit nervous though. He knows you think he's the prettiest boy alive, and though he does think he's serviceable, he's not sure if he's painting worthy.

Still, who is he to deny his sweet girl of using him as a reference?

At first, it was hard. How in god's name do you capture someone as beautiful and complex as Steve Harrington onto something as simple as a blank canvas? You want it to be perfect. You want it to reflect the type of person he is. You want the adoring glint in those gorgeous brown eyes to come through, the dimple in his cheek when he smiles, the constellations of freckles and moles gracing his skin. In a sense, it has to be your best piece yet.

"Alright," you lean back for what feels like the hundredth time already, getting a good look at your work. You take a moment, deciding not to let your nerves get the best of you and not overthink it. The urge is there, but you'd feel awful about letting your boyfriend sit there for yet another hour.

"I think... I think I'm done." you put down your brush, clasping your paint clad hands together in your lap.

Steve perks up in that adorable way he tends to do when he's curious. "Really? Can I come see?"

You bite your lip, unsure once again if the painting truly reflects the beauty of its subject. You sigh, knowing nothing probably ever will. You nod, lifting your hand so you can beckon him over.

He can barely contain his excitement, breaking into a little jog as he makes his way over to you. His arm drapes over your shoulders as he positions himself besides you.

"Woah..." His eyes widen as he takes it all in. The entire artwork exudes warmth. A mix of yellows, oranges and pinks surround him in the way a beautiful sunset would, and his smile looks as if it could cure anything. The brush strokes are a bit experimental, but not messy. Nothing is accidental, every placement and detail has a reason. A purpose.

You nibble on the back of your finger, anxiously awaiting his approval. You find that the longer you look at your art, the more flaws you notice. Now you're conflicted. You just want to do Steve's pretty face justice.

"D'you like it?" You look at him, all nervous.

But Steve looks like he has stars in his eyes. And tears. Yeah, he's definitely about to cry.

"Stevie? You okay?"

He blinks a few times, a stray tear rolling over his cheek as he clears his throat. "Yeah, I, uhm-- wow, it's-- it's beautiful." He looks at you, those pretty eyes he loves, all confused at him.

"Are you sure?" you smile a little sheepishly.

"Peach..." He leans in and presses a kiss to your head. "I love it. It's beautiful. It's just, I... I'm amazed you think I'm so beautiful too."

"I just painted what I saw. 'N what you make me feel."

Steve feels like he's going to melt, your words fulfilling every bit of his loving fantasies. You don't even mean to, and yet you know exactly what to say to pull on his heartstrings.

"Makes me feel so appreciated. Thank you baby, I love it." He grins, all boyish excitement.

"Yeah, I love it too... I think this one's my favourite, actually." You look up and capture Steve's lips in yours in a chaste kiss. "Might have to frame it, hm?"

"I have a better idea."

"I'm listenin'."

"Could you paint the two of us? Like on that polaroid in my wallet?"

He's referring to the polaroid you took when you first met. It was a party, and you were both fairly inebriated. Somehow, you'd started talking, and you hadn't left each other's side all night, leaving the dancing to the others and instead opting to entertain each other. Robin captured the moment the two of you were stuck in a laughing fit together, and Steve has kept it in his wallet ever since. It warms your heart to know he's kept you with him even far before you two got together.

"Yeah, I can do that. What do I get in return?" You smile, faces so close your noses are still rubbing together.

"One million kisses."

"Hmm..."

"Two million kisses."

"You drive a hard bargain, Harrington."

"Three?"

"Sold."

"Sold."

"Good." you peck his lips, "better start that down payment now."

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