#drawing those uniforms from the side is actually such a struggle

[ban--tam]

no take backsies

[musicalmoritz]

Though on genderswap Mitsukou? What would their characters belike both appearance and personality wise?

Yuri Mitsukou!! I love this question

So awhile back I posted smth like “no fem4masc Yuri Mitsukou it has to be masc4masc” which like. I don’t really agree with anymore. I like that in canon one of them is feminine while the other is masculine and it’s not really done in a stereotypical way. Fandoms make a really big deal about people feminizing male characters- and for good reason, it does happen a lot. But that gets taken to the point that they end up unintentionally reinforcing traditional gender roles. “How dare you draw that man in a skirt” or “that male character would never cry.” It’s also weird to me that I never see the same defense given to female characters being masculinized, so it ends up feeling like a lot of fans just hate femininity. So when a male character is feminine and seemingly likes masc dudes but has one of the loudest personalities in the manga, I think it’s pretty neat. Ofc there are fans that are weirdly against calling Mitsuba feminine but I already blocked most of them so idk what they have to say

(I could talk more in-depth about how fans are so worried about feminizing Mitsuba that they erase all the soft parts of his personality and make him one-dimensional but I’ll hold my tongue)

However, with fem!Mitsuba things are usually portrayed differently. Since dude Mitsuba’s initial conflict was being bullied for looking like a girl, most people say that the reverse would be girl Mitsuba being bullied for looking like a dude. This is fine but we also have to keep in mind that the entire gag of Mitsuba’s character is that he looks feminine but has an unfiltered personality, based on his looks you would never expect him to act that way. So if girl Mitsuba looks boyish, does that mean her personality would be super soft and delicate?? Because, yeah Mitsuba does have a soft side but not in that way, and it’s not at the forefront of his personality. Plus girl Mitsuba could still get bullied for looking too feminine, internalized misogyny is very much a thing

However, at the end of the day it really depends on personal preference so I’m not at all bashing either depiction of fem!Mitsuba. I go back and forth over which one I like more. Gender themes are a pretty big part of how I write Mitsukou so it’s hard for me to imagine that switched up, but it’s also incredibly interesting to think abt. All in all I like to keep fem!Mitsuba looking androgynous, maybe she has a boyish face but still dresses very feminine. Or maybe she has a girly face but dresses very masc. It’s one of those things I like a variety of interpretation on. For this I say she keeps the same hair length and pink cardigan but wears the girls uniform. So like yeah she basically just looks the same

As for Kou, those of you that read my wlw Kou//Nene fic should know that masc girl Kou is actually everything to me. A lot of fans sort of flip their gender presentations when gender bending them- Mitsuba becomes masc and Kou becomes fem. That’s totally great if that’s what you like but for me personally Kou is gonna be wearing Old Spice. I like to imagine her hair a tad longer in the back, like a choppy version of the Bisexual Bob. She wears some type of hoodie over her uniform the same way canon Kou wears a t-shirt under his uniform. The hoodie is blue btw (gotta incorporate the lore from my mtsk fics)

I feel like their personalities and dynamic would stay mostly the same! Maybe make them a bit clingier the way female friendships are but they’re already pretty clingy in canon lol. I do wonder if Kou’s flaw of not being able to open up about his feelings properly would change due to gender socialization. But many women (including myself) have that problem too so I think it would stay the same. She might be able to open up to Teru or Yokoo and Satou better but she’d still struggle to admit when she’s feeling overwhelmed. I could see her not being the type to tell someone how she’s feeling until all those emotions have built up for months. That’s how I’ve seen the whole “can’t talk abt your emotions” problem present itself in women. And men tend to only feel comfortable opening up to their romantic partners, which is something we very much see with Mitsukou in canon. But with fem!Kou, if Yokoo and Satou were girls two they would probably encourage her to talk abt her feelings rather than just being like “let’s give him a task to distract him” (which is fine too, men have different ways of comforting their friends)

Thank you for this ask!!

[misteria247]

So a little bit of the Muppets concept for Welcome Home that I've come up with so far. Please bare with me as I can't actually write, write anything for this little au but I can ramble so hopefully it'll make sense-

The reader (you) are a tired, struggling adult just trying to get by in life. You've kinda forgotten about how wonderful the world can be, because of all the responsibilities and such that comes with growing up. You just live a mundane existence, go to work and just exist. And you're content somewhat, though not really.

You ended up getting the puppets from a local town auction house. The person who'd owned the home previously had passed away, leaving behind their precious treasures. Since they didn't have anyone in their will to inherit their prized possessions, the town council had decided to do any auction house to get rid of everything within it. You don't know exactly why you'd decided to stop by. Perhaps it was to try and change up your routine, or perhaps fate had a hand in it. Whatever it was you soon find yourself inside the vast, old red home surrounded by other potential buyers and looking through all the knickknacks that were being sold off.

You stumble over all sorts of things, from old records to folders full of drawings and designs. Old musty costumes and a lot of older merchandise that came from the 70s. You noticed that a lot of said merchandise was apart of one of those older shows, like the Muppets and Sesame Street, called Welcome Home. An old 70s children's show that had ended up being canceled due to the loss of funding and such before its existence faded into obscurity. It's while you're looking around that you caught sight of a puppet off to the side. That puppet would be Wally.

You go over and look at him and find seven other puppets, all of them in somewhat mint condition, save for a few rips and tears that you can easily fix. You don't know why these puppets of all colors and sizes caught your attention, but you did know this. You wanted to take them home with you. You'd hunted down the auctioneer who was holding the event and asked him for prices and such like their names. Unfortunately you didn't have enough money for all of them but the auctioneer decided to give you an offer, stating that if no one else showed any interest in the puppets by the end of the auction, he'd give them to you for the price you tried to offer.

Two weeks later you get a call, and soon you're bringing them to your home. Once they're settled in you're a bit reluctant about the situation, seeing how some of the puppets are bigger than you. However seeing them in their somewhat saddened states made your reluctance disappear. If anything these puppets would at least give you a project to do to spice up your normal, mundane routine. And so that's how it started. Every time you had spare time, you'd get out your sewing kit and begin to repair the rips and tears in the old soft felt puppets. You had to visit the seamstress store to get some materials and had to order some too, using what spare money you put back to cover the costs of all of it. This was how you spent a lot of your time whenever you weren't working or doing other things.

However during all of this you'd also began to notice rather strange occurrences. You find that sometimes your things go missing, such as your house keys or parts of your uniform whenever you'd have to get ready for work. Things were being moved around, and even a bit of food had started to go missing. Not only that but the puppets you were fixing up and taking care of began to pop up in random places that you didn't put them before you'd left the house or room. Soon you find yourself wondering if perhaps a stranger was secretly living in your house, and it made you incredibly uneasy. However nothing could have prepared you for the actual reasons as to why all the strange things had been happening.

You'd been let out of work earlier than usual, your boss having no need for you to be there. And after getting a few things from the store you'd made your way home and took out the key to unlock it. Only to hear someone on the other side of the door talking. Going deathly silent, you slowly open your front door, glancing around for the source of the voice. Grabbing a nearby vase to defend yourself, you slowly made your way towards the direction of the voice, raising the vase to be ready only to come face to face with Barnaby B. Beagle.

Let's just say that you used that vase and by God did it do it's job. You also may have screamed and ended up making the other puppets come running which may have freaked you out a little bit more. Once they'd managed to calm you down from your panic attack and you began to question if you were finally losing your mind cuz puppets can't talk??? Much less walk and eat????? Yet here they were, doing exactly that and watching you with borderline concern. It was a very strange and awkward day for you after that. But little did you know that these puppets would become some of the most important people within your life.

[cyancactus]

Skullgirls redesign: Filia!

Redesigns and gijinkas are one of my favourite things to draw at the moment, and I hate oversexualized characters, so here we are!

Thought process and sketches under the cut.

My first step was the trace the pose and change the figure. I made her clothing more like an actual school uniform by making the skirt & shirt longer. I also turned those weird tights into those knee-high sports socks you wear for gym.

Honestly i can kind of see what they were going for with those tights, my old winter uniform had similar ones, except they were the actual pant-legging things, not what she has.

Also, side note, SHE'S 16! (It's fucking crazy how sexualized school uniforms are, like, search 'school girl' and you'll likely find ai porn)

I debated tucking her shirt in and giving her gloves, but figured since this is my first redesign from this universe, I should keep her as close the her original design as possible.

I also attempted to draw her hair differently, but scrapped that when I realised it made her silhouette harder to recognise.

The metal waist band os obviously an asthetic choice on the original, but I decided to interpret it as a back brace (like come on, demon hair has to be pretty heavy, right?)

I struggled with her features a bit, but after a google search, I think she's supposed to be Italian? So I scraped my earlier more japanese looking sketches (sadly lost to the delete button) and landed on my final design:

[verdemoun]

The gang would go batshit over decorations in modern times, i think. Plants. Charles probably has a lot of indoor plants. Somehow he keeps them alive. The house is 70% kitchen 25% plants and the 5% is other stuff (aka Not Relevant).

I'm not sure what they're called in English, but those little gel fuckers you can stick to a window? Yeah that. I'm looking at them as I'm typing this shit. The first person to get them in shape of bloody handprints (again, what I'm looking at, I'm absolutely projecting) is sentenced to death aka a rant from Bessie.

PAINTING OH GOD. Let's be honest, those interested in building/house renovation are divided into two groups. Technical stuff, aka Charles for example, and decorating. They tried to paint on furniture at least once. And it's pretty!! Hey, carving into wood isn't the only option anymore, furniture can be colorful! Those girls on social media that paint furniture and it's funky but also rly pretty??? Yeah that's happening. *glances at mr morgan*

Same for wall decorating. You mentioned Lenny's uhhh right okay i forgot what it was called in the middle of typing. I am. drunk actually. sorry lol. But that wall where he's gonna figure out who appears next? Yeah that was the start. Then came notes for his studies. Someone saw that and had a wait you can do that??? moment. Posters appear soon enough. Abigail wishes she could have double sided tape in Beecher's Hope. Jack's old drawings would be up on the wall, much to his embarrassment. Luckily for him, nothing survived.

I'm so normal abt this au okay

Took a week to reply because this is just a yes and post absolutely 100% nailed it you get it. A+ gold star sticker like lost my mind multiple times over this. Welcome to the timewarp brainrot you get a name badge and t-shirt official uniform of people who just get it. We're all so normal here.

Arthur might have a garden bed outside full of herbs for cooking but Charles is the king of indoor plants. Arthur is banned from touching them because he will overwater them and Charles will give him the quiet treatment. The plants are on the couch if people are coming over Charles will grumble about having to move his plants. The gang absolutely believe they miss 1899 camping so much they are trying to make their house look as much like outside as possible. These are not traditional houseplants there are vines and flowers and a homemade hydroponics set-up growing vegetables.

I love that shit it was Sean he was at least self-aware enough to know he'd get in trouble and put it on the window of his trailer/caravan only to be woken up by Bessie who was originally panicked he'd been hurt and then threatened to hurt him herself for putting bloody handprints on the window like she wasn't meant to panic. Still gives her a heart attack when she walks out. Lenny got annoyed he has no talent for drawing meanwhile Arthur successfully covered the whole kitchen window with mock stained glass that makes the house glow with the whole color spectrum when the sun catches it just right.

Mr Poor rancher John Martson is the worst at hoarding road-side furniture, has accidentally brought bed bugs into the house at least once. However Abigail queen of youtube adores fixing up and painting furniture with Arthur's help if she texts he knows it's a solid 50/50 their sons are in jail OR she needs to borrow the soda blaster again. By borrow she needs him to come over and do it she refuses to learn herself she just likes painting. Loves painting. Best in-laws ever fixing up furniture together. Arthur does the fine details like cabinets with birds and plants painted on the side so intricately.

Lenny's murder wall!! When they realize how much easier it is to pin things to walls than it is tents they all absolutely go nuts. Bessie struggles so much not wanting to interrupt them learning they can express themselves and feel stable enough in their new home to put their own personality into it but Sean goes through a phase of putting up take-away menus instead of posters and photos just because colorful. Abigail is so determined to let Jack be a kid she knows her poor boy grew up way too fast and is still trying to act like an adult despite being 19 she wants him to know he's always her baby. He certainly isn't much of a artist anymore but she will frame serviettes he scribbles poetry and song lyrics on to his mortification. First time she went to a hardware store she 'stole' almost every single paint color swatch and just pinned them up for a bit before realizing wait I can actually... buy paint. First thing she did was paint the kitchen blue. Lets her daughter draw on the walls. The centerpiece is a massive print of the blueprints to Beecher's Hope they found in an history archive, framed above the wall mounted gas heater in place of a fireplace.

[tacticalhimbo]

WIP WEDNESDAY

i missed this last week, but i saw the tag and actually have a wip on hand so! i was tagged by the talented @detectivelokis to share a bit of my current wip. and it's thursday still so... it's close enough! dunno who to tag so if you wanna do this, go right on ahead!

started a drabble involving toni and walker, and wanted to expand on one of the canon flashbacks in the game. so! that's what this is. tw/cw for descriptions of violence/death below the cut.

The shot rang out before the solider could get another word in, and the silence that followed was deafening.

It was only broken by the ragged breaths the apparent target had let slip past her lips as grey eyes darted to her companion. She watched his armed hand fall to his side, smoke still hot as it floated off the barrel of his revolver. She watched the back of his head remain steadfast, knowing his gaze was focused on the pool of crimson that sept into the floorboards by his feet. Her gut twisted.

"Walker, what… the hell did you do? He was done!"

"Well, now he's done." Walker's voice was flat. Far from reassuring.

Antonia stood straighter as he finally peeled his gaze from the dead soldier on the ground, turning his body toward her as an unfamiliar expression crossed his rugged features. She studied it, watching the way his lips threatened to curl upward. Watching how a deep scowl settled in those dark eyes of his. He looked not like a man, but an animal. A wolf, snarling over its claim and slow to ease as a realization settled into the air. He believed had done his job. No more, no less.

"Besides," he began, stalking toward the doorway and briefly pausing before his companion "If I didn't kill that worthless pog, the whole village might have come after us."

An airy scoff left Antonia as he stepped past her, shoulders brushing as she lingered in her place. Without him there, she could see it all much more clearly. See how the younger man stared at the wall to his side, eyes wide and lifeless. A single wound was all that remained, drawing her gaze to his features. Forever horrified by what was to come. He would know no peace, not even in the afterlife (if there even was one). Her mouth struggled to call out, body turning and arm raising in an attempt to grab at the other's uniform. Yet she was unsuccessful, as Walker had already breached the doorframe and found his way out of the room.

"Hey—This isn't right, Walker!" Antonia shook her head and turned on her heel, stomping toward the door, only to stop and spare one last look to their fallen comrade. Her mind raced, breaths growing heavy as she tried to wrap herself around what to do.

Did she radio it in to base? Did she try to move him? Try to close his eyes and stop that damned stare? How would they explain this away? Could they even? Fuck, what was the court going to think of this? She's an accessory. She could have stopped it.

She could have stopped it.

Walker waited by the entrance to the building, weapon holstered and arms tucked over his chest. Much as he wanted, there was no sense in leaving her behind. They needed to get back to base together, or too many flags would raise. Explaining one disappearance was hard enough; trying to explain two, only for one member to show up screeching and hollering was in a whole other league. So when Antonia came stomping out, fire in her eyes, he was glad to see she was still coming along for the ride.

"You ready?—"

"Don't. Fuck, Walker, what the hell were you thinking? And don't give me some short answer. You know the kind of shit you've just put us in? Killing a senator's son? Shooting him execution style? How the hell do you explain that?"

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

summary: kissing your friend aka your crush

pairings: riddle :: jamil :: vil :: idia x gn! reader

warnings: none! just fluff ♡

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Sunlight was falling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Heartslabyul Lounge and reflecting in your tea cup as you stared at the paper in front of you. Tapping the pencil against your chin you read through the assignment again only to lean back against your seat and sigh.

“Prefect, is there anything I can help you with? Please, do not hesitate to ask me if anything is unclear.” Riddle’s voice rang through the quiet room, the scraping of his pencil momentarily stopping as he looked up at you. “I’m sure it must be hard having to study an entirely new curriculum, especially when you can’t draw on any practical experiences with magic. As a housewarden it is naturally my duty to help my peers in their education.”

You were sure Riddle’s offer to help went beyond just his housewarden duties, having become pretty close friends with you after the overblot incident in your first month. Since then, he had gradually warmed up to you, inviting you over for unbirthday parties, study sessions or a stroll through the rose labyrinth. 

So, quite inevitably, you slowly felt your feelings for your friend change. What used to be gratitude for getting the Adeuce combo off your back or joy at having someone to eat lunch with shifted into excitement at seeing him again or disappointment when you thought you had caught sight of him in a crowd, just for it to be someone else. Once you realised the situation you were in, it became even harder to hide those feelings, especially when you could feel the heat crawling up your neck when the housewarden reached over to fix your tie or straighten your uniform.

“Thank you, Riddle. There actually is something I don’t understand,” you sheepishly scratched the back of your head. Sliding over your Applied Magic homework, you pointed out the question you were struggling with. “Why is it dangerous to use a spell like this in that situation?”

“Ah, I see.” Taking a moment to reflect on how to explain it best, Riddle’s steel grey eyes flitted to the roses outside for a moment. “Try visualising the question’s context and the effect of the spell you're casting before your mind’s eye. What kind of environment are you in and how would the magic affect it?”

“Hmm, the energy released from the spell could… shake the unstable structure of the walls and ceiling and cause it to collapse? And even if it doesn’t collapse, the falling debris could still cause major injuries?” 

“Yes, that’s correct. A lot of offensive magic packs more energy than defensive magic and therefore has a greater impact on the environment rather than the caster themselves,” Riddle explained further. “Now, consider all previously used magic. In this example, a few spells have already been cast, like this shielding spell for example. How straining are they on the caster and how long do they linger in the area?”

“Uh, let's see… The elements of previous spells might react with that of the current one, causing unpredictable side-effects. And in a stressful situation like this casting an unstable spell could put more pressure on the magic user, leading to… faster blot accumulation?” The last part was a total stab in the dark and you nervously watched Riddle’s unreadable expression before he gave you a satisfied smile.

“Correct again, Prefect. It is very impressive that you have such a nuanced understanding of Applied Magic, despite not being able to use it yourself.” The gleam in his eyes was genuine before he let out a defeated sigh. “If only some of the Heartslabyul first years would give magic a second thought before leaping into action…”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, having a pretty good image of just who he was referring to. Now, with your work out of the way, you could finally let your thoughts drift. And almost immediately they went to the housewarden sitting next to you. 

Looking at him, it was almost as if time stood still. In the afternoon sun, his hair was positively glowing and his grey eyes seemed even brighter than usual. As always, his posture was perfect and poised and there was such an elegance in the way he carried himself. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was actual royalty.

When he put the tea cup to his lips and took a sip you suddenly remembered the videos you had seen back in your world where people kissed their best friend to see their reaction or to confess. Riddle probably wouldn’t approve but when he turned to you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips. You’d bet on the fact that they were soft with the taste of tea…

“-fect! Prefect! Are you alright? I’ve been calling your name multiple times now.” Blinking back into reality, you came face to face with a concerned Riddle who was leaning over. Putting the back of his fingers against your forehead, his brows creased even more. “I wanted to ask if you want to try the strawberry tarts Trey baked but you’re burning up. Perhaps you should go and rest up. The rules might not state it but you can even stay at Heartslabyul if Ramshackle’s too–”

Before the thought process registered in your brain, you had already pulled Riddle closer by his collar and connected your lips. You were right. As with every aspect of his life, his lips were properly cared for and pillowy soft and after you parted, you thought you could make out a hint of sweets and lemon.

With a shocked yelp of your name, Riddle snapped you back to the present once more. Under different circumstances, the sight of the usually put-together housewarden staring at you with saucer-wide eyes and his face decorated with a rose-red hue might have been endearing but, right now, it chilled you to the bone. 

Jumping up from your seat and noisily scraping the chair over the floor, you hurriedly stuffed all your belongings in your backpack, ready to book the hell out of there. “I’m sorry, Riddle, I really have to go water the cat and feed the plants–”

“Prefect please wait.” A hand gently wrapped around your wrist and made you turn around. The short-tempered housewarden wasn’t yelling (yet), which you took as a good sign. In fact, he wasn’t meeting your eyes at all. “I have to admit that was quite the surprise. But… not an unpleasant one. Prefect, if I may be so bold, do you have feelings for me?”

“Well, I don’t kiss just anybody I meet,” you awkwardly chuckled but you quickly abandoned the idea of joking yourself out of this situation at Riddle’s unimpressed reaction. With a sigh, you conceded. “Yeah, I do have feelings for you. Look, I am really sorry, I don’t know what–”

“I’m not,” he quickly interrupted. “I’m not sorry this happened. I, too, like you. More than a friend, that is. I might not have the most experience in this field but I’m willing to try if it’s with you. However, I do believe there is a proper protocol to be followed.

“Prefect, before you spring another surprise kiss on me, may I take you out on a date first?”

JAMIL VIPER

The sound of boiling water and knives moving over a chopping board filled NRC’s kitchen. At this time of day -or should you say night?- nobody but Jamil usually came here. Most students were probably already heading to bed or cramming in a late-night study session right about now but the vice housewarden of Scarabia was still diligently meal prepping for the following day.

“Could you pass me the turmeric please?” He didn’t even look up to see if you had heard him, eyes still trained on his task at hand. 

“Sure, here you go.” Sliding over the spice, you took another moment to study his side profile. As always, there wasn’t much of an emotion readable on his face but you noticed how his shoulders seemed less tense than during the day. Or maybe it was just your imagination.

After he hummed a ‘thanks’, both of you went back to working in silence. You really appreciated Jamil trusting you enough to let you lend a hand, knowing just how strict he was about being the only one to prepare Kalim’s food. The first time you asked to help, in fact, he had watched you like a hawk and your hands had never shaken more.

At first, Jamil had been a little annoyed, thinking he’d have to look after someone else instead, but as you swung by more often, he started to appreciate the company. Not only did you not cause any trouble for him but you also stuck by him even after his overblot, whereas the rest of his dorm gave him a wide berth. So he allowed you to stay and if he ever ‘accidentally’ made too much food he let you take the leftovers.

And you, too, started to enjoy his presence more and more. You didn’t necessarily need to do something together, just being in the same space while working was enough to put you at ease. That was when you realised your actual feelings for Jamil but you didn’t know what to do with them.

Besides fear of rejection, you were also well aware of his position as Kalim’s retainer. Acting out on your feelings could cause a lot of problems for him even if he were to reciprocate them. Could he even accept them?

Before you knew it, your thoughts had distracted you enough to where your knife was merely hovering over the poor vegetable in front of you. As you were about to shake your distractions away, two warm hands already took the knife and board from you.

“You shouldn’t handle sharp objects when you’re not feeling well,” Jamil sighed but you could tell he wasn’t upset with you, rather, he was concerned. “You could seriously injure yourself.”

“I’m feeling fine actually,” you said. It wasn’t like you were physically unwell.

“Are you now? I couldn't help but notice you spacing out a lot more often lately.” Quickly throwing everything into the pot, Jamil leant against the counter with his arms crossed, giving you an earnest once-over. He was quiet for a while before mumbling “It’s okay to ask for help you know. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Workaholic,” you snorted. “Between the two of us, the one in need of a break is not me. Anyhow, it’s nothing, so don’t worry about me.”

“So there is something after all,” Jamil cocked his head to the side with a raised brow. 

“Great Seven, if you must know. Yes there is something that’s been weighing on my mind,” you groaned. “Are you happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you also told me how I can help you.” 

“And if I told you you can’t?”

“Then I wouldn’t believe you.” This guy…

“Agree to disagree, then,” you deadpanned. Turning your back to hide your burning cheeks, you pretended to wipe your hands. This once, you had wished Jamil’s sharp senses would fail him but of course not. 

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on you.

As you had your back turned, you hadn’t noticed Jamil stepping closer, so you nearly collided with him as you went to face him again. Quickly, he steadied you by your shoulders, his touch lingering perhaps a little longer than necessary.

“Prefect, let me be perfectly honest with you, I’m worried about you. You’re not normally this distracted or careless.” And whose fault was that? 

“You know it’s hard to keep saying no to you like that. But I really don’t think you’d want to know,” you sighed. 

Aside from the bubbling pot, the kitchen was quiet as you leaned against the countertop and examined your fingers. For a moment, nothing but you two in this moment seemed to exist. Jamil wasn’t bound to the Asim family and your future wasn’t so uncertain. If only it matched reality.

“Try me.” Jamil’s voice was a lot gentler now. You thought you saw his hand hover over yours for but a second, then chalked it up to wishful thinking. “You’ve shown me that it’s okay to be my own person and that it’s possible for me to have my own dreams despite my status; I’m very grateful for that. I also really like… spending time with you, so please tell me what’s wrong.”

Heaving a deep exhale, you braved yourself for whatever was bound to happen next. Maybe you were about to lose a friend.

“I don’t know if it’s wrong but… I like you, Jamil.”

As you looked up you caught a glimpse of surprise on his features before it was replaced by his usual poker face. “I’d hope so, seeing as you’ve referred to me as your friend.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know that.” If you took the leap you might as well see it through to the end. Leaning in, you placed a quick kiss against his cheek before turning and marching straight towards the door, leaving Jamil alone in the kitchen. “I like you like that.” 

Luckily, the next day was a Saturday, so you could stay in bed and pull the covers over your head. Ignoring the yelling cat in your house and the absolute flood of text notifications from what you assumed was the first year group chat might as well have been your signature spell.

Eventually, you did crawl out from under the sheets and got dressed, even if it was just because the growling of your stomach became too annoying to ignore. As you were rummaging your fridge for something edible that wasn’t tuna, the doorbell rang which was suspicious enough. Nobody ever rang the doorbell.

As you approached the door, you could already make out Jamil’s neatly tied back hair. Steeling yourself, you slowly opened the door to find he hadn’t magically transformed into someone else.

“Jamil, what brings you over at this time of day?” Forcing as much normality as possible into your voice, you hoped that maybe he had just forgotten.

“I wanted to talk about what happened last night.” So much for that. “I sent you a few messages but you didn’t respond.”

“Nya! What’s that? Are you the reason my henchman has been hiding in bed all day?” You whipped around at hearing Grim speak, promptly grabbing him by the bow around his neck and throwing him out of the dorm.

“Go play with Ace and Deuce for the day.” Ushering Jamil inside, you threw the door closed before Grim could protest. “Don’t mind him.”

“I didn’t see you at breakfast,” he started as he handed you a container with some of the food you cooked yesterday. “I thought you might be hungry.”

As on cue, your stomach growled rather loudly. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Jamil, but you didn’t have to come all the way here just for that.”

“I also wanted to apologise,” he blurted out. Ah, so he came to reject you once and for all. “I didn’t give you a proper response. Well, to be fair, you didn’t give me the time to do it.”

You bashfully looked away, standing with your back towards him, at the memory of storming out of the kitchen. Your response came out a lot more seriously though. “Jamil, I’m sorry for saying something so selfish, I know that your work–”

You were cut off by being spun around suddenly until you were looking into Jamil’s sharp eyes. “No, I’m tired of my work getting in the way of what I want. You said it was selfish of you to tell me your feelings? Then let me be selfish as well and tell you I reciprocate them.”

There was such genuine certainty in those pools of grey, you couldn’t help but reach out and cup his cheek. One of his hands wrapped around your waist to pull you closer as the other found yours. Bringing it up to his lips, he held eye contact as he placed a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“For once, I’d like something entirely to myself.”

VIL SCHOENHEIT

“Hold still.” At Vil’s commanding tone you completely froze despite not moving much in the first place. “Good. Now close your eyes.”

You did as he said and tried your best not to flinch as the cool brush touched your eyelids. While Vil concentrated on perfecting your eye make-up, you did your best not to think too hard about his fingers currently holding your chin or how the scent of his perfume invaded your senses.

Despite being close friends with the Pomefiore Housewarden, it was still quite the task not to shrink away under his scrutinising gaze, even if it was directed at his own work rather than you. How did Epel endure this every day?

Well, the first year was most likely not head over heels for Vil and didn’t turn into a stuttering mess every time he talked to him. So much for your plan to play this crush cool and be as graceful and elegant about it as possible. Yeah, there was probably a reason you weren’t a Pomefiore student.

But then again, this was Vil you were talking about. The walking, talking, breathing definition of perfection. On top of that, he was smart and hard-working with the skills to back up his confidence. Naturally, he had people falling at his feet, no matter how intimidating he came across as. Not wanting to be seen as just another one of the masses, you decided to hide your feelings to the best of your abilities.

And so far, it seemed to be working. You were a regular visitor at Pomefiore dorm, so much so, the guards already let you pass the gates as if you actually belonged there. Seeing the actor achieve loftier goals over time, surpassing others and himself on numerous occasions, was fulfilling in its own way. There was a spark of pride every time he was chosen for a new lead role or when he had the chance to work on a new line of skin care. Yet, although you got to be close to Vil this way, it still kind of stung to know that this would be all there’d probably ever be between the two of you.

“My, I have to say, this is a job well done,” Vil concluded, giving you a content smirk and turning your chair to face his pristine vanity. What could you say, he was right. Even though the make-up wasn’t all that elaborate or out there, you still almost didn’t recognise the person staring back from the mirror. “You clean up nicely, potato. I’ll permit you to stand by my side now.”

“You never fail to impress me, Vil. Just, how do you do it?” you chuckled, your eyes finding his in the reflection. “Normally, I would’ve called it magic, but I know better now.”

“Magic has nothing to do with this. It’s solely hard work and practice which makes perfect.” Spinning you back around, he came face to face with you again. “While you flatter me, I am far from finished. I will see this through ‘til the end and perfect this look.”

With that, Vil went back to work, prepping your lips to the point where you were convinced this would be the smoothest they’d ever be. Then, with a look of utmost concentration, he started tracing them with a lip liner before filling them out with lipstick and applying gloss after blotting it.

Despite being finished, the housewarden didn’t move away from you and you were suddenly keenly aware of the distance between you. Or the lack thereof, rather. Subconsciously, your gaze drifted to Vil’s mouth before snapping back up as you caught yourself. Your heart was racing so fast, you’d be surprised if he didn’t hear it. Was this how you died?

You knew you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t, but screw it. The few months here had already put you through so much, at one point you stopped thinking things through twice and just leapt into action. If you’d learnt anything in this school, then it was that you had to take what you wanted because nobody would just hand it to you.

So, against better judgement, you closed the gap between the two of you. 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise but a simple kiss from Vil was overwhelming; it was entirely too much and then again not nearly enough. If you had to find just one word to describe it, it would be intoxicating. He might be the death of you but you couldn’t care less.

Even after such a short contact, pulling away wasn’t easy. Especially because you didn’t get far before a hand at the back of your neck held you in place. Your eyes flew open to see the challenge and amusement written in his lilac ones. Not that you minded per se.

In the end, you were positively stolen of your breath whereas Vil looked as dazzling as ever, except for the slight smudge of lipstick in the corner of his lips. In your opinion it only added to his charm though. 

When you had sorted your thoughts again, your tone was slightly accusatory. “You did that on purpose.”

“Whatever do you mean?” His infuriatingly handsome smirk looked just a tad too smug for him to play coy. “May I remind you that you are the one who kissed me?”

“You weren’t even surprised!” You bristled at his act. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I can read you like an open book, sweet potato. I just wanted to test if you’d be daring enough. Seems as though you’ve passed.” Reaching out a perfectly manicured hand, Vil wiped the stains under your bottom lip with his thumb while his gaze was trained on how your mouth parted at the movement.

“Hmm, it seems I need to do this again...”

IDIA SHROUD

Standing in front of Idia’s room, you firmly knocked on the door in a very specific rhythm to let him know it was you. Otherwise, there was a rather slim chance the housewarden would even open it. But luckily for you, you were one of the only people who were granted access to his abode. 

After grumbling a greeting, Idia widened the crack of his door just enough for you to slip through. The two of you might be friends but that still didn’t mean he was suddenly a ray of sunshine, especially when it came to social interaction. As you adjusted to the artificial blue light, you were already prepared to be tackled by a certain blue-haired boy but the anticipated weight never came.

“Huh? Is Ortho not here today?” you wondered.

“Ah no, uh… Ortho’s out running errands,” Idia mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. “You’re probably disappointed now, right? It’s like seeing your bias is not at a fanmeet…”

“No, not at all! I was just noticing it. You’re the reason I’m here.” Winking at him, you were already grinning at his reaction for what you were about to say. “I’m Idia-biased after all.”

And he didn’t fail you. Instantly, his eyes widened and you could practically see him blue screen behind his golden irises. Meanwhile, the ends of his long hair tinged pink as he tried to hide himself by tugging the drawstrings of his hoodie tighter. “HUH?! I- You- What– You can’t just drop SSR dialogue like that on me…”

“Why not? It’s the truth and you’re supposed to tell the truth, no?” You tilted your head to the side expectedly. 

“What’s with you and your ability to turn a supposed buff into a massive debuff?” Idia shook his head miserably.

“Come on, I’m just teasing you. Although you are my fave, that part’s not a lie.” Nudging him back into the realm of the living as you pass, you plopped down on one of the gaming chairs in front of his PC. When had you asked him why he had two, he’d said that one was for Ortho, yet it was perfectly adjusted to your height. You just pretended he had fooled you though and didn’t comment on it further. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Uhm, that show we’ve been watching released a new episode today, so maybe we can catch up on that…” At your approval, he started setting everything up as you watched his fingers fly over the keyboard with such practised ease it amazed you every time. “You still remember the plot, right?”

“Of course, who do you take me for,” you playfully accused him. “The protagonist basically gets isekai’d to a mmorpg-like world and would die almost every two seconds if it weren’t for the cooler side characters.”

“Ya, cut him some slack. Everyone else grew up there while he’s a total noob.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” you deadpanned. “But even you have to admit his decisions are questionably stupid.”

Idia just looked at you as if you had grown a second head. “Is the outside perspective making you realise something or what?”

“HEY! I can go three minutes without being an orc’s breakfast.”

“Only because there’s no orcs on Sage’s Island,” he taunted with a grin, showing you his sharp teeth. In return you gasped in faux indignance before dissolving in a fit of giggles.

“Just imagine there’d be a show like this about NRC…” You tapped your finger against your chin. “I wonder what kind of tropes everyone would fall into. Like, Kalim and Jamil are your classic deredere and tsundere duo.”

“Riddle is the type of crazy skilled character you wouldn’t consider at first. But then he saves everyone by casting some seriously dangerous magic or something,” Idia sniggered.

“Meanwhile Malleus is the impossibly powerful, show-breaking character who is always conveniently absent when there’s a problem to be solved,” you sighed. Turning in your seat, you leaned your head against the back of the chair. “Say Idia, what kind of character am I?”

He tried to suppress his tiny squeak at the drop of your voice. To be honest, you had never been shy about showing your affection for the housewarden but you had come to the realisation he just wouldn't catch on, no matter how many hints you threw his way. Or rather, he’d convince himself you couldn’t possibly mean any of it.

“Y-You? Uh I guess, you always jump in to save the day no matter the risks, so you’d probably be some sort of knight in shining armour type. But with a serious case of ‘chosen one syndrome’,” he mumbled. “Seriously, only crazy people would play hard mode with those gimmicky stats of yours.”

“Aww, really?” you cooed before preparing yourself to strike. “What if I want to be the love interest though?”

By the look in Idia’s eyes it was a critical hit. 

“Lo-Love interest? You can be both I think… I mean there’s a lot of people you’re close to…,” the poor guy stammered. Seriously, how could one person be so smart yet so dense at the same time? But fine. If you needed to spell it out for him, so be it. 

Getting up, you slowly came to stand in front of his chair and propped your hands on the arm rests. You almost felt bad for him with how he was staring at you like a deer caught in headlights; Idia looked as if his life was flashing in front of his eyes. But you’ve had enough of your little cat and mouse game, it was time for the chase to come to an end.

“I was talking about your story. I want to be the love interest in your story, Idia. Hmm, how am I going to get that thought through your thick skull, I wonder…” You pretended to think about it for a moment before giving him a cheshire grin. “Ah, I think I have an idea.”

By now Idia’s hair was bright pink, matching the colour of his face, and he was radiating heat like a fireplace. As much as you wanted to see his reaction to a kiss on the lips, you were afraid it would actually kill him and you didn’t want this experience to end in giving him CPR.

So you settled for a sweet but lingering kiss to his forehead. Just as expected, his skin was warm to the touch and you felt him relax after the initial tense up. Maybe it were your own rose-red glasses but as you pulled away to cup his cheeks you could swear little hearts were flickering at the end of his hair. “Pardon the straightforwardness but I really needed to get my point across.”

“Wait, so you like me?!” Apparently his brain had kicked back into action at this point.

“I have for a while now,” you laughed, “but thanks for noticing.”

“So you were serious when you got me roses? And chocolate? And said I was your favourite?” The incredible tone of his voice was simultaneously endearing and heartbreaking. How could he not notice how amazing he actually was?

“I told you, it’s the truth,” you smiled. “So how about it? Can I be your love interest? Or is my affection already high enough to clear your route?”

“Woah you’re like straight out of an otome game,” he breathed. “Is this the super secret ending you have to play flawlessly for?”

“Oh come on, Idia,” you shot him another wink, paired with a teasing smirk, “You don’t really think this is the end, do you? If anything, it’s only the beginning."

if you want to be notified whenever i post for twisted wonderland (or in general), send an ask to be added to my taglist! ♡

[comicaurora]

Question regarding magic effects: could you explain your thought process about how you decide on the shape/flow of your magic effects like fire and lightning? I struggle with making it look like it’s not…contrived if that makes sense? I feel like when I draw it it looks mechanical or doesn’t really fit into the scene.

(Side note: love Aurora, been following it since you first announced it on OSP, you’re a big inspiration to me as an aspiring comic artist :) )

That's a very good question! Drawing glowy things is deceptively difficult, and drawing any sort of energy is even more complicated. In general it's good to understand the underlying motion the energy takes and shape its outline that way.

For fire I will refer you to this post, now let's get to the fun bit and talk about lightning.

Traditional cartoony lightning bolts, of course, look like this:

But the core principle that drives the movement of lightning is essentially brownian motion. A lightning bolt carves its way down to the ground in a branching pattern of stepped leaders, ionizing the air one molecule at a time. Which direction the stepped leader moves at any given moment is unpredictable, because air is not a uniform substance and does not ionize at a uniform rate. Despite the way it's often described, lightning does not seek a destination - it moves blindly and erratically.

Lightning doesn't always strike the tallest point and it can't magically seek out lightning rods. Those things are closer to the approaching bolt and sometimes produce an upward channel of opposing charge as the stepped leader's approaching negative charge induces an increasing positive one in the ground, and contact with that positive upward channel can fast-tracks the stepped leader's progress to the ground, meaning that statistically tall things end up in the path of lightning bolts more often, but ultimately lightning is functionally almost completely random.

Stepped leaders move too fast to see and are typically mostly invisible. The part of the lightning strike we actually see is the "upstroke", or more accurately the aftershocks after the upstroke, which is ridiculously bright and fast. The stepped leader that reaches the ground first becomes the path of least resistance that the opposing charge follows back to the clouds overhead. This upstroke, of course, follows the ionized path carved by the step leader, but because it doesn't have to do the work of ionizing all that air, it moves through much faster and much more violently - almost a third of the speed of light - producing the bright flash and thunderclap we associate with lightning. It's like if you chiseled a gouge into some wood, then poured water into the gouge. The water will flow much faster than the chisel did. So the shape of the lightning bolt is carved through the air by the stepped leader, but the flash of the lightning strike is caused by following that path the winning stepped leader carved.

Here is a photo I managed to snag of some lightning during a recent storm. (I took a video and screenshotted it, I'm not some kind of wizard speedster who can photograph lightning bolts by hand.) As you can see, this bolt moved all over the fuckin place. It looks like silly string. The "winning" stepped leader that hit the ground first went up for a while before looping back down. And when the upstroke illuminated it, it sent smaller pulses down the other stepped leaders, providing ghostly illumination in the other branches of the strike.

This tells us that, on the most basic level, lightning will not look like our nice regular jagged bolts from the cartoony illustration. Lightning will look fractal, jagged, sharp-cornered and random. A central bolt will produce the thickest, brightest line, and branching offshoots of lightning will be smaller and less intense.

Lightning can have curves, but mostly lightning is nothing but corners. On every conceivable level, lightning is irregular. It will not be symmetrical, smooth, even, or anything like that.

Of course, as artists, we don't draw how things look - we draw what we need to in order to make it feel right. So if I were drawing a lightning bolt similar to the one in the picture, I'd probably start more like this:

Now this isn't a bad start, but I really want to highlight that central bolt, and I want to make it look more jagged and sharp. So I'll go over it again, and anywhere there's a slightly rounded corner, I'll sharpen it up.

That looks MUCH better. Realistically, lightning wouldn't have that sort of unraveling-rope effect I'm doing with the little mini-bolts branching off and reconnecting with the main stroke, but I think it serves to make the lightning look a lot more wild and sharp.

Now we can do our standard duplicating-and-blurring jazz for the actual glowy lightning effect.

Pretty nice, but we need to remember that lightning is irregular, not smooth. That can also be applied to the radiant glow. So I'll go in with a rough brush and blend out one of the glow layers to produce more glow around the thicker parts of the bolt, the sharper corners, and the points where it presumably connects to the clouds and ground. And for funsies I'll also imply clouds overhead being illuminated by the flash, because when adding glowy stuff to a scene it's important to let it actually shine light on the people and things in that scene.

And now we have a pretty nice crackly lightning bolt!

[realmsbetween]

my mc for @lemonade-if with the template i’ve created for it! since the game is still in dev, i’ll most likely recreate it once the demo is out — for now i’ll share it for others to use for their mcs if they like (will upload separately)! more information about natsume under the cut;

natsume was a shy child and a crybaby, but grew with severe social anxiety after never quite adjusting to the constant moves. he copes by hiding under his hair, with a face mask, and — after hitting his growth spurt much sooner than his peers — hunching over and trying to appear as small as possible. he has a hard time controlling his expressions, which makes him seem like he’s glaring constantly. he fumbles over his words when speaking, so chooses to stay silent most of the time instead. due to sensory issues, he struggles to wear his uniforms properly. this all, unfortunately, has given him a reputation as a delinquent, and others tend to judge him before getting to know him.

natsume definitely keeps things to himself and isn’t much of an open book, but he really likes the company of others. it doesn’t take much to earn natsume’s friendship, but it can be difficult to get past his anxiety. he’s very sensitive, but incredibly loyal to people he cares about, to the point of impulsive defensiveness (or fighting...in case of befriending yuushin).

picking a club for him was really difficult, but music fit the most. i think natsume is most like himself when he’s alone and playing music, able to channel his thoughts and feelings through it instead of words. it’s really in his element! he probably has the worst stage fright though lol hopefully he can learn to overcome it and pursue something he truly enjoys...?

i imagine hikaru is someone natsume instantly finds himself comfortable with, since they just ‘click’ even after years apart. hikaru is probably his ‘safe’ person, someone natsume trails after and hides behind, even clinging to the back of his shirt if he gets too anxious. he feels more comfortable with his other childhood friends too, but hikaru is the person that really reached past natsume’s bubble first.

i can’t decide who he’ll romance! i’ll end up doing all the boy’s routes, but yuushin will probably be first. i actually don’t like love triangles despite being such a staple in manga, but i hope to explore poly relationships in fanworks in the future! ...if i can make myself draw or write lol [insert meme of ‘do not separate them’ with natsume and all the boys] route vibes:  natsume and yuushin: what can i say except for that i’m a sucker for ‘bad boy x sad shy boy’. if it stays in game that you can help yuushin out when fighting, his route will really bring out another side of natsume — that side being the Impulsive Fighting for yuushin’s honor if he ever hears someone threatening him. but natsume will also do his best to take care of him, even if the help isn’t accepted. praying for those soft moments for these two!! natsume and hikaru: this is where he loses all of his braincells. with the others, when he gets a crush he understands pretty much right away (hopeless romantic). but with hikaru, it takes him forever to realize he’s not just feeling ‘oh, this is my best friend, i missed him.’ from what i know about hikaru...he will not help that either LOL natsume and aleksei: he is NOT immune to aleksei’s charms, but doesn’t think he’s being serious. natsume’s self esteem issues have him struggle to believe anyone, let alone aleksei, would be interested in him. he’s just lucky his mask hides his blush. natsume and yosuke: i feel like these two are somewhat similar in ways that could either make them understand each other better...or make them butt heads completely. probably a lot of miscommunication and patience...but natsume cares for him a lot, so they’ll get there in the end!! thoughts from others, to keep with the mc trend: “He’s a bit...overwhelming, don’t you think? I don’t know what it is about him, but he just has this aura that makes you want to look away...”

“Did you know he has heterochromia? I saw after he fell asleep at his desk and woke back up when I walked in... I didn’t mean to look!! But, it sort of gives him his own charm, you know? He’s a bit cat-like.”

“I don’t think Hayashi is a bad guy, he can’t be if he’s hanging around Takeuchi, but...you don’t think he’s bullying him, do you? He’s always around him, just sorta lingering. He never makes small talk, just nods when Takeuchi tries to include him. Maybe he owes him money?”

“Hayashi is a bit misunderstood, I think. I let him borrow some hair clips since his bangs were bothering him, I didn’t see him use them, but when he returned them he looked a lot less stressed. Maybe he’s just not sleeping well? I haven’t seen his dark circles go away since he got here.”

[aenaxes]

omg!! congrats on 200!!!! 🥰🥰 ur my fav crosshair writer so: crosshair + trust, with a gender neutral reader? nsfw or not, it's up to u!! congrats again 🎉🎆🎉

kinesthesia

[crosshair x gn!reader] with precision, there is control, and with control, there is tension, not easily soothed. you take it into your own hands to prove that wrong.

warnings: nsfw, fellatio, (kind of) sub!cross

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: prince my he a r t 🥺💕 ily bb ! this was also a super fun prompt to write hehe, and look i openly accept that i’m a pillow princess bottom, but i think i would enjoy making crosshair squirm. uno reverse card on his oral fixation—mine now.

“I’m still not entirely sold on this,” Crosshair admits as he takes a seat at the edge of your bunk. His toothpick bobs anxiously between his lips, chewed down flat where his lips brush up against the bleached wood. It’s not often that this breed of restlessness finds hold: stiff shoulders and hands folded tight over his lap.

Nerves.

“That’s why we have the safeword,” you quip from across your quarters, voice rising as you struggle to twist out of your heavy uniform jacket.

(Un)surprisingly, Crosshair makes for a quick study. Beneath the stony, oftentimes sullen disposition, he’s a simple man. Of course, that simplicity didn’t necessarily limit himself from branching out into an actual person, but you could boil him down to one thing and one thing alone: control. Whether it was his genetic acuity that shaped him into the sniper persona or vice versa, control centered him, grounded him, tied him so close to his sense of duty and personhood that sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart.

So when you had offered two rotations prior to take the reins—offered both as something new and the hypothetical of release from, well, everything that kept him in a perpetually alert state of coiled tension—you honestly hadn’t expected for Crosshair to pause, rolling his toothpick thoughtfully between his teeth, and accept.

There’s certainly a part of you that hopes the manufactured brevity to your tone is enough to soothe the anxiety radiating from where Crosshair makes himself prim and small on your bed, smaller still without the bulk of his dark armor weighed over his shoulders. But, against your better judgement, a low-lying anticipation simmers at the base of your lungs when you finally shuck the day’s sweat and blaster smoke to the side.

He’s seen you undone under him time and time again, beads of sweat following the smug lines of his expression as he bent you to his—and, to be entirely fair, your own—pleasure. And as satisfying as that arrangement has proven itself to be, curiosity has always been that single, nagging vice at the back of your head.

Who can blame you for wanting a taste?

“You remember it, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you catch the heavy dregs of uncertainty (perhaps even bashfulness, ha) dragging at his voice.

“Then say it,” you prod. You gently nudge the point of your knee up against Crosshair’s calf and offer him a mirthful glance. And when that doesn’t seem to banish his withering hesitance, you drop down onto the bunk beside him, grasping his hand in yours and squeezing snug.

“I—” he clears his throat with a soft wince: embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

“Cross,” you warn. Because if you were going to do this, you were going to do this right.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, scrubbing his palm over the highest points of his cheeks. You wonder if the warmth over his cheeks is the same as your own, desirous and shy as you venture into those dark, uncertain places hand in hand. “Tooka, happy?”

“Very happy,” you grin, and you lean close to press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

Crosshair leans towards you, lips parted to chase your touch, more, more. But he’ll have his fill, and you’re quick to dart away, leaving him even more disoriented than he already is, all wide eyes that seek you like fading light.

You’re tempted to indulge him because it’s not often that he looks like a kicked loth cat (and he does a damn good impression when he does). But you manage to stuff down the creeping sympathy, opting instead to reach into the pocket of your trousers and produce a well-worn headband.

“Please tell me that’s not Hunter’s.” The rosy edge of desire vanishes from Crosshair’s voice as he catches sight of the broad black swatch of fabric in your palm. In its place, the testing edge of judgement so often home in Crosshair’s snide play.

“Ew, no—what? That’d be weird. And gross. Who do you think I am?”

That seems to do what your previous efforts could not, and your heart jumps when Crosshair responds with a soft snort and shrugs. He’s not resentful, not in the slightest. It’s just trepidation, jumping into uncharted waters with nothing but the trust that your hand, snug over his, would hold fast.

But the laughter settles, drawing back to reveal something that hums quiet between the small eternity between you. Even with your thigh pressed close against Crosshair’s own, you feel him drawing away, hesitant and wanting all at once. You gently pull his hand between you, squeezing once.

“Trust me?” you murmur.

Crosshair offers you a tremulous look, more nervous than apprehensive. You suppose it’s only fitting of him that relinquishing his steady grip over control might be more appealing in concept than on the eve of practice. Nonetheless, when you meet his gaze, you find the kind of uncertainty that heralds excitement, careful but enamored all the same. He nods.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Finally, as you raise your hands to his temples, pressing the dark fabric over his eyes, the tension pulls away from his coiled muscles, dropping his shoulders and bowing his head as you reach around him and tie a knot over the back of his silvery hair. He exhales long and slow as the knot settles snug over his scalp, warmed by the creases left behind by your fingertips and the sudden comfort yet complete unpredictability that shrouds his senses.

Testing the waters, you bring one hand to his cheek, just barely ghosting your fingertips over the lean lines of his jaw, and you are rewarded with a full-bodied shudder that shocks through Crosshair’s form as his lips gently part around his toothpick. Without that precious ability to see, he sits in your palm at your every whim.

You lean forward, gently biting your teeth around the tapered free end of his toothpick, and you feel him swallow hard when you free it from his mouth and drop it to the floor.

“Trust me.”

Chest heaving, he nods again.

“Safeword?”

This time, there is no snark to accompany a begrudging response. “Tooka.” Instead, his voice dips breathy and low between the long breadths between his soft exhales, his beating heart.

“Good boy.”

You surprise yourself at how natural the praise feels, rolling from your tongue and rising over the ambient hum of the ship around you. It fills your chest with something like affection, bordered pride that only swells as you watch him shudder, his lips parting just a little wider to pass that barely-there whimper riding on his exhale.

The hard planes of his body, that star map you’ve committed to the deepest parts of your heart, are familiar terrain under your skin as you flatten your palms over the sharp jut of his collar and travel lower. You pause the heels of your palms over the base of his ribs, pressing softly against the quickening rise and fall of his chest. Satisfaction curls sweet and rich over the tip of your tongue as his stuttering inhale shifts the air around you.

With slow, firm force, you push him backwards onto the bunk, Crosshair’s elbows catching his slow descent over the dark grey sheets until finally drops his head back onto the firm mattress. His chest heaves.

Your fingertips pass over the sinew and soft scar of his abdomen, chasing how his breathing expands from his chest and leaches tension over the length of his torso. You’re certain this isn’t new, not when your intimacy has you stealing the other’s breaths between stuttering gasps. But to feel it under your palms, thrumming and deep—it sets your nerves on fire.

Control. It’s wholly and entirely yours.

You still as the pads of your fingers catch the faint ridge of his waistband. And a part of you is smug with the power of reversal, that it wasn’t Crosshair offering you a knowing smirk as he parted your thighs and pressed close, that it was you, privy to only the deepest intimacy Crosshair could offer.

But it’s exactly that which keeps the power from rushing to your head, stymying the teasing mischief for something warm in your stomach when you trail lower and gently cup over the straining bulge in his blacks. And it grows fonder when Crosshair’s legs jerk with a labored puff of breath, the same one he breathes into your ear when he finally pushes up deep inside you and presses his skin close against yours. He whines, a straining, soft noise through his bitten lips, and you’ve teased long enough.

Crosshair makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whining moan, when you finally hook your fingers over the hem of the dark fabric and expose the curved strain of his cock. He’s so open, you think as you reach forwards (though, you suppose being deprived of the one sense that reigned king would do that to you).

You don’t need to be able to see the half of his face rising above the bridge of his nose to envision the soft knit of his dark brows, eyes squeezed shut and lashes fluttering with every soft noise that passes his lips. You don’t need to see the half of his face bound under that broad swath of fabric to envision how his expression breaks from restraint to unbridled euphoria when you trace the edge of your nail down the underside of his cock.

“Please,” you think you hear him whisper past a breathy moan.

Whatever he might have had prepared, the whole gamut of biting, bratty demand to wide-eyed pleas, tumbles back into his throat when you finally climb onto the bunk by his hips, lick the flat of your tongue over your palm, and wrap it snug around the middle of Crosshair’s cock. Instead, you watch with a satisfied awe as he jerks up into your touch, spit-slick lips parted in a silent cry.

“You want my hand or my mouth?” you croon, pumping slowly from the thick base of his erection to the ruddy tip. You want him to feel every quiver of your touch as you run your thumb over the pearly drop of precome beaded at the crown of his cock, reveling in his shudder beneath you. You want to be the only thing he feels.

“Mouth,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“You’re so polite today,” you muse, reaching up with your free hand to rub your thumb over the plush bitten skin of his bottom lip. Emboldened, you slip your finger past his lips, grazing over his teeth as you push the pad of your thumb over his tongue, all the while slowly working your hand over his cock. “The good boy gets what he wants, then. Right?”

For a brief moment, something like disbelief occupies the warm air between you—you, amazed at how easy it is to hold the reins tight; him, stunned that somehow, you in control was as good, if not better, than being the commandeering weight to push your face into the pillows.

Crosshair nods, trembling as you squeeze softly over the base of his cock.

“I need to hear it, mesh’la.”

The last line of his restraint crumbles at the sound: one only ever given from him to you, yet suddenly brought back to him with the full brunt of lust, affection, the secret words you’ve come to call your own. Crosshair bucks up into your hand with a low groan, gasping soft and breathy when you slip your thumb from his mouth and hold him down to the mattress.

“Yes, please.”

You smile and dip low.

Unlike the slow deliberation of your earlier touch, you seal your lips over his ruddy cockhead with one smooth motion, pressing your tongue flat against the underside and hollowing your cheeks. And the heady taste of salt, of trembling anticipation, of him, only sweetens when you flick your eyes up to catch Crosshair tip up his chin, dig his heels into the mattress, and sob.

You sink his cock deeper into your mouth, achingly slow while you continue to work your fist around the base of his cock, and close in a way that coaxes soft, whimpering noises from his lips as he turns his head and clenches his jaw.

Flicking your eyes upwards, a pang of regret shocks through your chest that you aren’t able to see Crosshair come undone from the slightest of touches, tame in comparison to some of your particularly energetic nights. But you do away with the thought as quickly as it comes as his blunt cockhead brushes over the back of your tongue.

His pleasure has always been yours, yours his, you think as you pull back, just until your lips part around the tip of his cock while he shifts and gasps beneath you. You’ll have your turn soon enough.

Before you can sink back down, swallow him as deep as you can, the air by your cheek shifts, and expecting the worst, you lift your chin. But where you expected some stifled yellow light, Crosshair’s fingers feel blindly around you until they find purchase over your cheek. His relief is palpable as his stuttering touch curls over your skin and holds you close.

You smile.

“Trust me?” you ask again, your lips mouthing softly over his cock, catching thick smears of precome over your skin.

“I trust you,” he whispers.

Crosshair cries out, hoarse and as loud as he’s been all night, as you drop your mouth near-midway down the straining length of his cock in one motion, lavishing your tongue under his pulse. His hand tenses over your jaw, blunt nails digging light into your skin as his fingers curl with that bone-deep shock of pleasure. And if the breathy, desperate noises he whimpers into the alcove of the bunk are of any indication, you have a good feeling he’ll want to do this again.

You moan around him in answer. It doesn’t matter to you that his brothers might hear, only a few panels of durasteel away and connected by the reverb of a narrow ship corridor. They probably do hear, but all that matters now is Crosshair, coming impossibly more undone under your tongue as he runs his trembling thumb over the skin of your cheek.

His hips buck up towards you, catching the back of your throat with a soft sting that reaches your nose. If you weren’t so desperate, you might have pinned him down harder or pulled away entirely to let him think about what he had done. But as much as you want to chase this power play, hearing him lose himself to you has you desperate for his touch.

You follow him with every uneven jerk and thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, letting him take his fill. You simply stroke firmer as his skin warms over your tongue. It’s all so hot, the air heady and thick as you breathe in sharp through your nose and lean into his palm, and you wonder what it feels like, anchored to nothing but you, his sole light in a world gone dark.

His motions fall uneven, his hips twisting against your touch, his breaths becoming deeper, louder as they bounce over the steel ceiling overhead. He’s close.

You twist your fist over his cock, redoubling your efforts. You sink down so far over his cock that your eyes water as you crush the head up against the back of your throat. Heavy and thick, it muffles down a soft gag for you—it’s the deepest you’ve ever taken him. Crosshair notices, and he nearly wails.

He’s been good, you decide as you all but choke around him. He can take that coveted control back. You gently rub his hand, unspoken assent, and his hand slides up your jaw to finds purchase at the back of your head to fuck you down onto him in earnest.

And you take it, eyes blurring with tears and shallow inhales through your nose, holding still and letting him fuck over your tongue until he’s taken his fill. It doesn’t take long for him to spill down your throat, a low, hoarse groan passed between his lips as you struggle to breathe between every dutiful swallow of his thick come down your throat.

“Good boy,” you rasp as you pull the blindfold from over his head.

Crosshair meets you with unfocused eyes, full of wonder and a shaky haze that finds focus on you alone in the low light. Over the ache in your knees, you crawl up to meet him, collapsing down beside him with a soft sigh. He meets you with habit, practiced and true as he tips down his chin and presses his lips to yours, tasting himself on your skin when he swipes his tongue over your lip.

“How was that?” you whisper, breathing soft over his lips.

You tilt your head up enough to catch your nose over Crosshair’s. He still meets you with that same stupor, but you see it begin to mellow into something other than the shock of enjoyment in submission in a man who has only ever known control to be his. It’s quiet and raw, splitting open your chest with that rare kind of warmth that the broad expanse of space and war leave little space to grow.

Yours, whispered and cradled close between your beating hearts, yours alone.

“I’ll remember the safeword,” Crosshair says finally, his voice distant and soft as he still rises out of the aftershocks of his orgasm. But in that weary daze, you catch the rosy relaxation, vulnerable and yet increasingly less rare in your palms. Relief, pride, joy, honeyed goodness rises to the apples of your cheeks at the sound.

“I still think I won’t need it, though.” And you both laugh, curling close.

[lightdancer1]

A three part scene from the Ba Sing Se AU:

Ursa savored, quietly, one irony of her past-present-future. With the departure under a cloud that only she knew the full extent of (and had not informed Zuko because after the incident, as she called her son's expulsion and disowning of her daughter she did not think he could be trusted with certain things) of Lord Jamukha, she was the Great Eye and Ear. So if she was leaning at a table and someone had seen her in the intimidating uniform designed for the Sun around which the Eyes and Ears orbited they wouldn't have been surprised much.

They might have raised an eyebrow at some of the images and the letters but even then they might have seen it as an effort to gather intelligence on someone important. At a level of detachment far higher than Ursa had been able to afford for years, that was precisely what it was. In times of lulls in her job she would do this, take out scrolls where her daughter had written her heart out in increasing sophistication from when she was very young and seeking to understand her as a person.

In the beginning it was guilt and shame that motivated her. Guilt that she had failed all three of her children in different ways (even if Kiyi and she were much happier now, happier than they'd been as Noriko and Kiyi in a way. She did not think that, Kiyi had told her and it was one of the phrases she was grateful her kids sincerely thought). Shame that she had so woefully misjudged her elder daughter rather than letting the actual person shine through.

She had seen the girl as a young child as someone far older than she was. The writing of the six year old and the nine year old made that clear. Sketches, doodles. Her thumb and forefingers pressing smudges of soot onto a page. Some of the drawings were childish but a bit mean-spirited and she remembered some of the images she'd drawn herself as a child.

Later, with the designs and sketches and attention fully focused on them the drawings changed. Many of them were beautiful. There was one she had quietly taken and had framed in her room. A sketch of her, distant and staring into a window in her full regalia, shadows around her.

Other sketches of Mai and Ty Lee, including the other one she'd framed from the war. The three of them against a tree, Azula drawing herself asleep sitting up, painfully dignified. Mai was curled on her right side, an image drawn from life. Ty Lee was sprawled on her front in a shape that left Ursa wondering how many splinters it gave her but that wasn't her problem or her concern, really.

It was the recognition of her daughter's gifts. For so long she'd struggled to get her to take art seriously and then there were these sketches. Images. Azula had. It was not the art she'd wanted her to do, it was a sense of realism that she had never seen or imagined anyone might do.

Those were among the things she'd learned, earlier. Now........now it was another time in between crises, as the so-called Salvation Committee had clearly begun to arm itself and to form its Storm Battalions. Other movements were lurking in the wings, and her own native island had sent her an invitation that she had said nothing to. Not then, anyway.

So very easy to bury herself in who Azula had been rather than confront the rising tide filled with the mythical leviathans of the western ocean, fangs and claws and ready to devour all they wished. Earlier it had been the girl of childhood. Now it was the girl of thirteen and fourteen.

Beyond that, there were those images and stories, some of them surprisingly annotated. She'd seen the annotations and shook her head with a wry amusement. No, bodies could not do that. Yes, men did write of breasts as if they had sapience and yes, men did write stories like this.

It could have and perhaps would have alarmed her slightly that her child seemed to treat stories like this as a measure of reality, let alone that she was growing up enough to think like this. Instead Ursa simply let herself see a glimpse of some of the very most hidden parts of who Azula was, and who she had been.

There were these things, that were very serious and taken seriously.

And there were comical drawings of Admiral Zhao holding a fish and getting the fish's tail to smack him with a character in red ink, not black. There were characters for 'idiot,' 'damn fool', and 'fucking idiot' that Ursa knew well in the standard Fire Nation writing. Azula had used a special one to write 'world's biggest fucking idiot' and it was part of a scroll with scathing comments on her father's lack of wisdom in deciding to approve anything that could lead to the Moon being attacked at all.

That was the part that she kept being drawn to. Again and again her daughter showed she was brilliant, that she was not blind to the truths of what she saw. She might criticize her father's actions yet she still loved him and was loyal to him, and the ideas of going to the war (a sadness crept into her at that thought but it had happened, all of these words were written years ago and they could not be changed) was written with a painfully naive earnestness. And yet she'd rightly written of her father's decisions as reflecting at best a deliberate blindness to the nature of the realm he ruled.

Those were words that made her think, and think more than she'd ever really thought about much of the views she'd held. She knew what the Fire Nation had done to her family, to her grandfather, her mother (a small spike of anger flashed through her at that memory). To her and to Ozai, to their children. Yet a fourteen year old who was dutifully loyal still saw things that Noriko had not seen at that time, nor had Ursa.

She kept being drawn to the image of Zhao. It was a caricature of his with his sideburns hanging down from his face and giving him the image of an overgrown shaved red ape (not entirely untrue to the man in life), the image of a fish-fin with the moon-rabbit slapping him in the face with a spray of water.

She couldn't not laugh at it.

[t0wnspersonb]

Practice Makes Perfect (Tsukishima Kei x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 3,823

Warnings: SMUT, loss of virginity, bad language, Tsukki being too damn beautiful.

Summary: It’s been several months after Tsukishima’s confession in the infirmary. You two are dating now, and after a study session in his room, you two decide to take your relationship to the next level.

~~~

I hear you guys! I fucking see you!😂 we all need some Tsukki smut in our life so here is part 2 of Kiss it Better, I’ve included the link for anyone who hasn’t read the first part. I hope you all enjoy it and I would love the feedback afterwards:)

ALSO. I AM TAKING REQUESTS. I know I have some sitting in my inbox right now that I need to get to still so I apologize in advance if I can’t get your request out right away. But I literally adore all of you so much. Thank you for taking the time to read my shit writing:’) Anyway please enjoy the shit show lol.

~~~

It had been several months since you and Tsukishima started going out, after his confession in the infirmary, and after you guys had walked home together – well – things just naturally fell into place.

 It felt like your interactions were the same, he was still a cocky little asshole, teasing you and harassing you endlessly.

 But it was different somehow. You guys were almost inseparable it seemed. There were sides to Tsukishima that only you got to see, an unsaid trust that went both ways. You confided in him, sought comfort in him, and he did the same. He was your person, and you were his.

 You hadn’t realized how same and different it would be once you guys were in a relationship. 

 But you loved it all. 

 You loved every second of it.

 You loved him.

 You were in love with him, and while it was something that neither of you had said yet, that feeling was definitely there.

 It was said through his endless lectures on how you needed to eat better, it was said through the way he held your hand, or when he carried your bag. It was said in the way that his eyes gleamed when you proudly showed him the latest photos you had taken.

 It was said in the way that you praised him for being an amazing blocker in volleyball, it was said when you would give him a new dinosaur figurine. It was said when you would introduce him to a new song that reminded him of you.

 No, you guys had never uttered the words ‘I love you’ to each other, but you did.

 He did.

 And that was all that mattered.

 Right now, you two were currently cleaning up the classroom together, since it was your week to clean.

 You guys easily conversed with one another as you wiped down the blackboard and Tsukishima swept. 

 “– because of those dimwits we had to do twice as many drills.” Tsukishima said, finishing his story on how exhausting yesterday's volleyball practice had gone.

 “Kageyama and Hinata sure are energetic.” You mused, pausing your wiping to glance over at the tall blonde in amusement.

 He sighed and looked over at you, “They’re idiots. They act like everyone has the same amount of stamina as them. It’s ridiculous.”

 You couldn’t help the soft laughter that bubbled up from your lips. “I think you’re just lazy Tsukki.”

 His eyes narrowed, but not at your comment, but at what you had called him. He had told you weeks ago to start calling him by his first name, considering that you guys have been dating for a while now.

 He leaned the broom against one of the desks and walked over to you. You were near the teacher’s desk as you surveyed your work. He moved in front of your vision, towering over your small frame, causing you to crane your neck back to just look at his face.

 He moved closer, his palm resting on the desk behind you, trapping you in.

 “What’s the matter Tsukki?” you asked in confusion, your head tilting to the side. 

 His eyes narrowed further, a frown creasing his lips. “I told you to start calling me Kei.”

 A soft blush covered your face as you broke the eye contact with him, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. 

 “I – I know. It’s just a force of habit.” You mumbled quickly, shifting from foot to foot.

 Tsukishima couldn’t help but smirk, leaning in closer to you, causing your back to press into the edge of the desk as you tried to put more distance between the two of you.

 “Why are you acting so nervous?” he murmured, the hand not resting on the table coming up to move your hair over your shoulder.

 You visibly flinched, which caused his smirk to widen as he saw the blush coating your face. 

 “I’m not nervous stupid!” you fired back, looking at him now. “You’re just too close!”

 You could feel your heart racing, your palms accumulating sweat. 

 “I’ve been closer.” he said simply and pressed his body against yours, one of his thighs coming to rest between your legs. This caused your skirt ride further up your thighs, and you couldn’t help but clutch at the front of his uniform helplessly as you attempted to stabilize yourself.

 Tsukishima wasn’t lying, he had been closer. Many times, in fact, in the comfort of his bedroom. While you guys had never actually had sex, it had gotten close. 

 If Tsukishima was being honest, it was because he couldn’t help himself. Your expressions were just too much, the sounds that escaped your mouth were incredibly sweet, it made him want more. Every time. 

 But the same could be said about you. Tsukishima was incredibly good looking, his lust filled expressions drove you insane, and the way he made you feel was just too good.

 “S-Shut up idiot.” You moved to push him away from you, but he was already cupping your face and tilting your head up for a kiss.

 You melted against him, kissing him back with vigor. You all but breathed want and need into his lungs as Tsukishima explored the wet cavern of your mouth, his tongue hot and wet as it rubbed against yours gently.

 The kisses you shared always spoke volumes with how you were feeling. They ranged from short and sweet, to something incredibly passionate and needy. 

 Either one, they always left you breathless and needy, your head spinning with so much want and need. 

 Tsukishima’s grip on your jaw tightened ever so slightly as he continued to explore your mouth. His tongue tracing over your teeth and bottom lip before going back to massage your own tongue. You were at his will completely, not that you minded. Not that you could even think about anything else other than the way he was making you feel.

 The leg between your thighs shifted suddenly and you felt yourself being pressed against his clothed thigh in the most intimate way. A surprised noise could be heard in your throat, and desire rippled through your body like a tidal wave.

 Tsukishima pulled back slightly, allowing his lips to flutter against your jaw and down your throat. His fingers working at the buttons of your uniform.

 You were left feeling delirious and incredibly achy. Your grip on his uniform tightening as you tried to get your bearings. 

 You finally realized where you were. 

 School. 

 You couldn’t do this here. 

 “Tsuki - ah - shima. S-Stop, we can’t do this here.” You gasped out, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as he nipped at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and at the same time pressed himself harder against your core. His hands were now on your hips, and at the same time that he pressed his thigh closer to you, he had moved your body forward, causing you to grind against him.

 Pleasure rippled through your being; you knew that you were soaking wet right now. It was unfair how well he touched you, how he knew how to make you hot and bothered.

 “I told you to call me Kei.” he murmured and dragged your body against his thigh again. A delicious gasp escaping your spit stained lips. 

 “K-Kei. We c-can’t do this.” You whimpered out. “W-We could get caught. A-And if y-you’re late to practice, you know that Yamaguchi will be sent out to find you.” 

 He sighed deeply, and reluctantly pulled away from you, adjusting himself accordingly. You were right. He didn’t want anyone seeing you like that, that was for his eyes only. 

 It was so hard for him to not want to continue after he saw your disheveled form. It was fucking beautiful. Your lips were swollen with his kisses, your shirt unbuttoned, exposing the dark mark he had left on your soft skin. Your skirt was hiked up on your thighs, and your face was dazed with want and need.

 Tsukishima gritted his teeth, stopping himself from pushing you up on that desk and having his way with you finally.

 It was silent as you guys made yourselves presentable and finished cleaning up the classroom. The tension was thick in the air, lust buzzing in the air between you two. 

 Club activities flew by and so did the walk home. The tension never disappeared between the two of you, which had made Yamaguchi a bit nervous as you all walked home together. Of course, he wasn’t aware of what had transpired in the classroom, nor could he decipher what exactly the tension was, but he could feel the strange energy between the two of you.

 “You’re coming over tomorrow right?” Tsukishima finally said as he dropped you off at home.

 “Yeah. I definitely need help studying for that math test next week.” you sighed frowning slightly.

 “That’s why you need to take better notes in class. You can’t just keep drawing like a mindless idiot all the time.” Tsukishima said, causing you to scowl at him.

 “Whatever asshole! Goodnight! Text me when you get home. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” You said childishly slamming the door in his face.

 At least some things would never change between you two.

 ***

 You grumbled under your breath as you attempted the math problem in front of you. 

 You were in Tsukishima’s room, the said male was currently reading a book, sitting across the table from you and ignoring you completely as you struggled.

 “I don’t get it.” You sighed, slouching your upper body on the tabletop. You hated math. It was your worst subject despite the good grades that you got.

 His eyes flickered over to your dejected form before going back to his book. “Whining about it isn’t going to change anything.”

 You scowled at his blunt statement, pulling your head up from the table, you stuck your tongue out at him. “Don’t be such an insensitive jerk.”

 His eye twitched at your statement as he looked at you once more. Before he could retort his older brother entered the room carrying a plate of snacks.

 “I thought you guys could use some food.” he said brightly, carefully placing the plate of food on the table.

 Your mood brightened immediately. “Thanks, Akiteru!”

 Tsukishima felt his eye twitch further, so you could easily call his brother by his first name but not his.

 His brother smiled back, “No problem Y/n-chan! Ever since you and Kei started dating his mood has improved a lot!” he said, giving you a thumbs up.

 Tsukishima slammed his book shut, placing it on the table and glowered at his older brother. “Don’t you have to go practice?”

 He waved him off as he turned to look at you. “Who knew that Kei could get such a cute girlfriend!”

 A soft blush coated your face much to Tsukishima’s annoyance, he stood up and began pushing his brother out of his room. As soon as he slammed the door shut and locked it, he turned his glare on you.

 “S-Stop looking at me like that! I didn’t do anything.” You said nervously. He ignored you completely and took a seat right next to you, leaning in closer. 

 “What are you doing?” You whispered, your heart racing in your chest as he grabbed your chin, turning your head to look at him.

 He was staring at you intensely. “You better pay close attention; I’m only going to help you go over this stuff once and if you miss any of the problems you can just go home.”

 You frowned at his bluntness but nodded, nonetheless.

 You weren’t sure how long it was, but you somehow finished the problems, and luckily didn’t get any of the answers wrong.

 Tsukishima was surprisingly a good teacher. At least when he wanted to be, he was still incredibly impatient when teaching you, but you learned the material. 

 “Finally.” he muttered as you finished putting everything in your bag away, before you could say anything, he grabbed your arm and slammed his lips into yours.

 You made a noise of surprise before kissing him back, eyes fluttering shut. 

 The kiss was hungry and desperate, his tongue prying your lips open and immediately beginning to fight your tongue for dominance. It was hot and wet and sent a wave of arousal throughout your entire body. The hand that was resting on your arm slid up to grab your jaw, fitting his mouth against yours perfectly.

 His other hand moved to rest in the middle of your back, and before you knew it your world shifted.

 Tsukishima had maneuvered your body to the floor, hovering over you. The hand that was on your back moved back around and you felt long slender fingers wrap around the back of your knee, carefully hiking your leg over his hip.

 This new position allowed Tsukishima to get closer to you. He pressed his body into yours gently, being sure not to crush you with his weight. He adored the softness of your body, and the sweet smell of your skin.

 But it wasn’t enough. 

 He wanted more.

 Tsukishima carefully snapped his hips forward, pressing his growing member against you. The only clothing separating him from your weeping core was a pair of thin panties.

 He groaned against your lips, pressing harder against you. A soft whimper from you egged him on, he couldn’t help himself. He grinded his hips harder against you, his member uncomfortably hard and searching for some kind of relief.

 His lips began trailing kisses along your jaw and down your throat, his fingers brushing against your collarbone, pushing your shirt away to reveal more skin.

 You gazed up at his ceiling in a daze, softly gasping at each thrust of his hips, you could feel your panties dampening further with your arousal as you clutched at his shoulders.

 “Take these off.” he demanded huskily in your ear. He tugged at your jacket and shirt, his fingers dipping underneath the fabric and brushing against the delicate skin at your stomach.

 “You first.” you breathed out, your own hands sliding beneath the blue shirt he opted to wear today. The tips of your fingers trailing softly against the hard lines of his stomach, his skin was warm and soft, the muscles flexing as he exhaled in a shudder.

 He sat back on the balls of his feet, his hands easily removing his shirt, tossing it behind him on the floor. He almost moaned at the sight before him. 

 You were sprawled out on the floor, legs bent slightly at the knee, your skirt was hiked up just below your panties. Your face was flushed red, your eyes half-lidded as you stared him with desire. Your chest heaving up and down.

 “Your turn.” he said simply and helped you sit half up. But before you could even remove the clothing yourself, Tsukishima was already at it. Pulling the jacket off your shoulders and then tugging your shirt over your head, revealing the soft white colored bra to his greedy eyes.

 “Fuck.” he whispered under his breath, you were fucking beautiful, and you were all his. “Come here.” he breathed, pulling you easily onto your feet and then pushing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you.

 You loved the way he looked at you, like you hung the moon. Like you were the brightest thing he had ever seen in his entire life. It made you feel wanted, loved, adored. 

 Tsukishima’s lips easily found yours once again, still needy and urgent. He was pressed against you between your legs once more, grinding softly against your soaked core.

 His fingers trailing up softly from the hem of your skirt, up your stomach, to your ribs, and then they were cupping your right breast. 

 Kneading you softly through the cup of your bra. Like before, his lips began trailing kisses along your jaw, sucking at your throat, and then to the tops of your breasts.

 His breath was hot and damp against your overheated flesh, his tongue flicking out to taste your soft skin. You tossed your head back in pleasure, unable to stop the sweet moans and gasps that were escaping your lips as he began sucking and biting.

 “K-Kei.” You stuttered out, eyes slipping shut in pleasure. He glanced up at you and reached to pull one of the straps of your bra down, allowing one of your breasts to pop out freely.

 He watched as your exposed nipple began to harden before softly engulfing the pebbled bud into the hot cave of his mouth.

 Fuck, he’s never heard anything as sweet as the moans and high-pitched whines that escaped your swollen lips.

 You couldn’t breathe, the pleasure was overwhelming as he began flicking his tongue back and forth against your nipple. The back of your hand resting over your mouth, attempting to quiet the moans that were escaping your lips. Tsukishima began rolling your nipple between his teeth carefully, causing you to arch your back off the bed.

 Hot white pleasure shooting into your body, your lower half was on fire, burning with so much need. You had soaked through your underwear completely, and your cunt was throbbing to be touched now.

 “Please.” You whined out, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. “K-Kei. Please.”

 He hummed against your breast, releasing your nipple with a soft pop before moving up and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

 “What do you want?” he asked, voice low and deep. But he already knew that answer, his fingers already dancing across the zipper of your skirt, easily opening it, and pulling it down your legs, where you kicked it off of your ankles. 

 Tsukishima could have cum in his pants then and there. You had luckily decided to wear a matching bra and panties today, but that wasn’t why he was in awe. He could visibly see how wet you were.

 Your wetness soaked through your panties; a dark wet spot easily being spotted by the tall blonde. 

 “Is this because of me?” he murmured, a long finger gently rubbing up and down against the stain. “You’re soaked.” he breathed out, feeling the moisture collect on his finger.

 “Kei.” a high-pitched whine left your lips. “I-I want you. Please.”

 He exhaled loudly through his nose and began removing the rest of your clothes, his gold eyes drank in your exposed body greedily. 

 This. this was all his. You were all his.

 He then removed the rest of his clothes; his body bare for your eyes to see. 

 Tsukishima was the most beautiful person you had ever laid your eyes on. The muscles in his body flexing as you took him in, and then… he was fucking hard. It looked incredibly painful, his member pulsing and leaking precum.

 Gently parting your legs further, he carefully rubbed his member against your glistening slit, moaning at the wetness.

 This was it.

 “Are you sure?” he asked softly, gazing at you with a gentle expression, his thumb rubbing softly against your knee.

 You nodded, fearing that your voice would shake with the nerves you were experiencing, but the desire for Tsukishima overshadowed that. You wanted him.

 He shook his head. “I need to hear you say it Y/n.”

 “I want you Kei.” you said breathless. “I-I love you.”

 You weren’t… fuck, you weren’t planning to say that. You could feel panic rising in your chest, your eyes widening as you took in his expression.

 Tsukishima’s eyes were wide, his lips parted softly at your statement. A soft blush coating his face.

 “I love you too.” he finally said, and then pushed his hips forward.

 The sudden pressure below, the intrusion you weren’t used to had you gasping loudly, throwing your head back at the unfamiliar sensation. 

 The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, there was the slight fear at the back of your mind that it would hurt based on all the stories that you had heard from your friends and senpais. 

 It was just different… but fuck. The expression that was now on Tsukishima’s face wiped away any kind of discomfort you may have been in.

 His face was contorted in pure bliss, his eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in pleasure. It was a beautiful sight.

 You were the one making him feel that way, you were the one that was giving him all this pleasure. This was yours to keep, this moment.

 You gasped softly as he began moving, carefully rocking his hips against yours. His cock rubbed against your velvety walls, reaching a depth within you that you didn’t even know you had.

 “Y-You’re so tight.” He stuttered out. “Feel so good.” he praised and began moving in and out of you more. 

 You were getting used to the uncomfortable feeling of being full; and that’s definitely what you felt when Tsukishima was inside of you.

 It started to feel… good actually. 

 Tsukishima must’ve realized that as well, his speed and force increasing a bit more. He reached down and carefully began circling your clit with his thumb. 

 Oh fuck. No, that was good. That was really good. Your body jolted in pleasure, a soft whine escaping your lips. 

 “I’m close.” Tsukishima said panting, his eyes began to focus on your expression, wanting you to feel just as much pleasure as he was. 

 You were beautiful. You were so fucking beautiful, naked, and gasping, taking his cock so well. He gritted his teeth, hastily removing himself from your weeping core. Tsukishima grasped at his member tightly and thrusted twice into his fist before spilling himself onto your lower belly.

 His cum was hot and thick as it splattered onto your skin, you had never seen anything more perfect than the way Tsukishima looked coming undone. 

 You couldn’t help but stare at him as he came down from his high. His blonde hair was disheveled, sweat gleamed on his pale skin, outlining the hard muscles in his arms and stomach. 

 When he finally opened his eyes they immediately softened as they took in your spent form. 

 “Hold on.” he murmured softly and got up to find a towel, carefully cleaning up the mess he made on your stomach.

 You couldn’t help but to continue laying there, exhausted despite the fact that you hadn’t done much. After Tsukishima finished taking care of you, he pulled the blanket on the edge of the bed up as he laid next to you. You moved closer to the blonde male, resting your head against his chest, his fingers began combing through your hair.

 “I’m sure that wasn’t good for you.” he said quietly, after a moment of comfortable silence. “But I plan on making you feel good every time from now on.”

 “It was good.” You said softly, on the verge of sleep. “We just need more practice… like volleyball.”

 Tsukishima laughed softly against your hair. “Shut up stupid. Go to sleep.”

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 6. high

Previous | Next

[warnings: SMUT (it's female receiving oral), weed]

"i think of you in colors that don't exist." — Watching Sal shift repeatedly in his seat and squirm uncomfortably the entire way home is almost comical. You watch him shorten the distance between his thighs and then spread them over and over again as he drives, smiling to yourself.

"Doing okay over there?" You ask, a giggly lilt to your voice as you sit still in your spot.

The feeling between your legs is still buzzing and the engine rumbling your seat beneath you is a bit.. overstimulating.. but you're decent.

"Hmm," he hums in response, squinting your way. "Stop baiting at me," he teases.

When you pull into the parking lot at Addison's Apartments, the both of you remain seated for a silent moment, after Sal pulls the keys from the ignition. The high from moments ago has dulled down, and you're left to soak in what exactly had happened.

Except you don't. You don't even think about what had happened—you barely meet Sal's eyes, nervously grin and reach for the passenger door handle. "Alright, see you tomorrow, let me know what your dad says, text me, goodnight!"

Before the blue-haired boy even has a chance, you've opened the car door, hopped out, and gently shut it behind you. You weren't looking for him to catch up to you, either—so you ran like mad into the apartment complex and took the stairwell instead of waiting for the junky elevator.

When you'd gotten home, you were light on your feet and tiptoed through the living room towards your bedroom. You'd took note of Sal's earlier tactic (taking his shoes off before he entered the apartment) and mirrored it.

When you'd finally gotten to your room, you collapsed onto your bed, comforter beneath your back, and stared up at the ceiling.

Your mind was blank. You couldn't even mentally conjure the words to describe what had just happened.

As you ran the earlier events through your subconscious, you remembered the feeling of his teeth and mouth on the flesh of your neck—and how he'd sucked on it until it hurt. You jumped from your bed, ran (lightly) to your bathroom, turned the light on, and peered into the mirror.

You pushed your hair from your neck—which was stuck to your skin from sweat—and gasped in horror at what you saw.

Sure, they weren't fully formed and hadn't reached their full potential, but those were hickeys. Blood red, slightly purple, forming hickeys. And, from what you remember.. you'd attacked his neck worse than he had to you.

The boy was practically translucently pale. You burned with shame at yourself because of the purgatory you'd subjected him to. He'd have to hide them for a week.

You closed your mouth after hanging your jaw open for 30 minutes and breathed out slowly. Despite the nightmare they'd be to hide.. it was almost nice to see on you. Something of him was left behind. At least you had something to remind you that what had played out tonight occurred and hadn't been a dream, or something.

You pressed your fingers on the marks and winced. They were sore.

After a shower—a cold, icy shower—you retreated into bed. You were so exhausted, you didn't dream.

What felt like moments later—you knew better to say it was, though, because there was early morning light shining through your blinds—you were jostled awake by a cold hand on your shoulder. You groaned, turning to the person and squinting.

"Mom?" You slurred tiredly, taking in Michelle's dim silhouette looming over you. You almost couldn't tell who she was at first before you'd rationalized that the only person who'd be shaking you awake in this ungodly hour would be your mother. Also, you could tell by the work uniform she wore. "Wha'?"

And although you were half-awake, your mind was rational enough to remind you to pull the covers up and conceal the bruises on your neck, which you knew had probably worsened.

"The school called," her words are like a bite. You expected this, but hearing her confrontation is sort of scary. "Not only did you receive detention yesterday, but you skipped it. You're lucky you weren't suspended—I had to lie and blame family emergency for your disappearance."

You didn't say anything, staring up at her and into her eyes.

"I can't believe you. You'll still be attending detention—they've rescheduled it for today. If you pull a stunt like this again, you'll pay the price, got it?"

You couldn't remember the last time she'd scolded you. It's not like you did much to warrant it. You never had someone before recently to play hooky with—or to cheat answers off of in class. You never had friends before.

"Okay," you reply, breaking away from her eyes and looking anywhere else. Eventually, her dark gaze rips from your face and she leaves the room.

You watch your bedroom door that she'd closed behind her—listen to the muffled shuffling and jangling of keys in the living room, and when she finally shuts the front door, you breathe out a sigh of relief and roll over onto your back.

And you smile. Because it's funny. Because she has no idea what you did with a boy last night.

You reach beneath the covers and fish for your flip phone (which you'd started sleeping on, a habit spawned from paranoia) and open it. You know it's early, but you slept before receiving any texts, so maybe...

There's nothing. He hadn't messaged you.

Eventually, you roll back over and give yourself another hour or two of sleep. It's too early to start getting ready.

When you woke up again, you got ready—threw on a black halter top, along with an a-lined, purpley-blue plaid skirt. Slid your feet into over-the-knee black socks and rolled them up your legs and to just below your thighs. Topped it off with a chunky black shoe.

After that, you spent a moderate amount of time on your hair and a little on your face.

You made it a point to wear flavored lip gloss. For no particular reason.

The hickeys were still a bit visible, so you topped off your outfit with an oversized denim jacket. You didn't think that much about it. Whether or not that was a mistake would be decided later. There wasn't much you could do—you didn't own all of the makeup necessary to cover them.

You meet with Sal in the lobby first. You approach him before he's noticed that you're even there—standing with his eyes on his feet, kicking the ground and toeing at nothing.

"Hi," you breathed, unsure of yourself.

His head raises. When he meets your eyes, the light fixture over you flickers. "I can see them," Sal says, stepping closer to you and inclining his head to examine your jawline and below.

The actual is a bit abrupt—you're momentarily started. That is until you've processed what he'd said.

"Yeah," you agree, shrugging. He looks back up at your eyes, his gaze widening. "I can't do anything about it."

He laces a hand through his hair and genuinely looks panicked. That's when you decide to examine him—and his neck.

"Holy shit, Sal," you breathe, a laugh of pure disbelief slipping off of your tongue. "You look like someone choked you."

Sal groans. "Yeah, pretty sure you used teeth."

"What're you going to do about that?" You choose to disregard his prior statement.

"I have an easy way out. I'll claim Travis did it yesterday. Super suspicious because I wasn't bruised this way at the time.. but-"

You meet his eyes with a deadpanned expression. Internally, though—it's almost humorous.. the fact that neither of you are even questioning what you'd done together. But you knew that would bite you in the ass. You'd only done what you'd done once—maybe it shouldn't happen again.

"I don't know, Sal." You press your lips together, smooth the gloss around. You taste artificial cherry flavoring on your tongue. "They look like hickeys."

"No one is going to believe I've been given hickeys, Y/N."

"They'll believe it whenever they see we've got a matching set!" You exclaim, meeting his gaze warily. You struggle a bit. Before, it felt so easy to make eye contact with him—but now you could barely lock eyes without looking away.

"Matching set?"

You jerk, breaking your staring contest with the floor and sliding your eyes upward. Larry was a few feet away, speedily approaching as his long legs closed the distance. Quickly, you split your hair in the back—separating it into two sections and placing one on either side of your face.

You watched Sal mess with his in the corner of your eye.

Nervousness made your heart drop what felt like ten stories when Sal spoke in reply. "Hey, Larry," he says. "Is Ashley driving again?"

"Uh, yeah," He replied, running lanky fingers through his lengthy brown hair. "'Was thinking we could all do something after school."

You hold your breath.

"Oh," Sal takes a moment to swallow thickly. "Y/N and I are doing detention—so we can't."

Larry's dark brows draw downward, casting a shadow over his deep eyes. He glances over at you, examines your face, and then locks eyes with Sal like he had been moments before. "Again? Didn't you guys do that yesterday?"

You decide to give your response this time. "Must've been a misunderstanding. We did go to it yesterday—we just, um.. have to do it again. Today."

Before he can further question the situation, you all hear the beeping of a car horn outside of the complex. It sounds familiar—it's Ashley's car. You all step outside.

Looking at the pale silver Ford Fiesta leaves you with mixed feelings. It's nice to look at—but now it just reminds you of the fact Larry tried to get into an altercation with Sal inside of it.

This time, Todd is in the back seat by himself. It's almost comical. You raise an eyebrow and look towards Ashley in the driver's seat. She rolls her window down and acknowledges you with striking green eyes.

"Shotgun?"

You almost feel bad for leaving Sal in the backseat, knowing he's probably on edge with those marks on his neck. But you can't help yourself as you run around to the other side of the vehicle and climb into the passenger seat beside Ashley.

"It smells great in here, Ash. I forgot to tell you that last time," you smile as you breathe in the familiar strawberry scent.

"Thank you!" She grins. "Yeah, I really like these car fresheners."

The guys get into the back seat—Sal's in the middle, having climbed in first, to Todd's left, and Larry entering last.

Once the doors are shut and all hands and feet are inside of the car, Ashley shifts gears and gets going. She looks to you, then throws a look over her shoulder toward Sal. "How was detention, troublemakers?"

Your eyebrows furrow, about of stupidity washing over you. Even having discussed this with Larry and Sal only moments ago, you've completely forgotten that they thought you'd attended detention.

"Huh-"

"It was great," Sal cuts in. "We sat for hours and did nothing. A lot of fun."

You come to realization quickly, and look up to meet Sal's eyes in the rearview mirror. He's shaking his head in lighthearted disappointment—a glint of amusement in his blue gaze.

"Yeah," your laugh trails off. "Sal couldn't sit still. It was funny."

You smirk deviously. That was an obvious reference to last night, on the way back to the apartments.

He meets your eyes once again in the mirror in front of you. "Don't bait at me," he warns, but you hear his grin. That's what he'd said when you'd laughed at him last night.

You smirked, shifting in your seat. You smelled cigarette smoke and guessed Larry was smoking again. It doesn't smell regular, though—smells a bit grassy.

"You're fogging up the car, Larry! It'll be your fault if we crash!" Ashley confirms your suspicions as she yells over the sound of rushing wind. He's rolled down the window—it fails to eliminate the smell but clears your line of sight.

"Sorry," he grins around a cigarette. It was nice to see him in a better mood.

"Have any of you decided on the plans for after school?" Todd speaks up for the first time day, absentmindedly fiddling with his flip phone. It's not any of your business, but you wonder who he's texting. Every time you see him, he's playing with his phone.

Larry laughs, pulling the cigarette away from his lips. "No. Thought Sal or Y/N would have some ideas, but they can't even go. They've got detention again."

Ashley looks toward you, awaiting your confirmation.

"We always had detention again. It was a miscommunication.." you trailed off, telling a lie. They didn't know that, though.

You watch Sal fiddle with his rings in the rearview mirror. "It's my fault, really."

You're not sure exactly what he means. He could be talking about the reason you'd even been given detention (attempting to share quiz answers) or maybe he was talking about the fact you'd even ditched detention—because he'd proposed it.

You disliked how easy he was to blame himself. You'd agreed to it.

And it wasn't something you found yourself regretting—not only had you received the pleasure of grinding Sal into oblivion in the driver's seat, but you'd came while you were at it.

Something you did regret, though... was doing that while you were so unsure of yourself—and what exactly it was that he wanted from you.

Not only that, but what did you want from him?

What was this?

"No, not really," you replied, after momentarily zoning out. "I agreed to it—to you... um- giving me those answers, Sal."

You hear his rings clack, keeping your eyes on the road, and on the broken white lines in the middle of the asphalt that pass beneath the car. You assume he's pressed his hands together harshly. "Yeah, well, it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't proposed it."

This conversation wasn't really about test answers, was it?

You hear the crackle of a cigarette. No one else seems to assume anything about the conversation—just two people who refuse to blame the other person.

"The only thing I care about is the fact that you have to deal with the repercussions, Sal. I wouldn't care if it was just me having to do detention."

That shuts him up. He doesn't say anything after that.

"It's okay." You say, one last time.

After that (thank god) Ashley reaches towards the radio and turns to a channel. Heavy metal plays through the speakers—not too loud, though—and although it's a bit unsettling considering your mood, the distraction is welcome.

As soon as you've stepped out of the car in the school's parking lot, you regret the fact you hadn't worn a heavier jacket. The denim jacket is oversized, yes—but it's lightweight and breathable and you can feel the autumn wind fluttering against your skin.

Goosebumps rise on your arms. You involuntarily shiver.

You, Todd, Larry, Sal, and Ashley begin the walk inside of the school. You still smell smoke, and a glance to your left confirms that Larry is still smoking that cigarette.

"A teacher will see," you warn lightly.

"Eh, it'll be alright." He looks at you inquisitively and raises it toward you. When you meet his eyes, they're bloodshot. Your lips part in surprise.

"Are you... high?" Your gaze flickers to the cigarette again. Turns out, it's a joint. Larry is smoking weed. Figures.

He doesn't answer the question. It's not like he has to. Instead, he raises it toward you again, quirking an eyebrow questioningly.

You swallow the thick saliva that had begun to pool in your mouth and look toward the rest of the gang as they continue on.

"Why are you looking over there?" Larry calls you back from your reverie. You look up to meet his blown pupils again. "You don't need anyone's permission. If you want to smoke it, smoke it."

You bit your lip, raising a hand. Your digits twitched as you reached to pluck it from him. As you took the blunt away from his grip, and your fingers brushed, his eyebrows twitched upward.

Nervously, you inhale like you'd done with the cigarette. You don't feel it enter your lungs until you've ripped it away from your lips. You don't want this to go like the first time you'd ever smoked, so you hold it in. Those few moments feel like forever—but eventually, you cough, and allow yourself that relief.

You don't feel high, per se. You've only just smoked it, but it was a big draw, and you're already feeling the effects of lightheadedness.

Your head spins as you absentmindedly drag from it again. You don't realize how long you've been inhaling until lanky fingers have grabbed the blunt from you and pulled it away.

You blink slowly, looking up to Larry in confusion.

"Holy shit," his red eyes widen, before laughing comically. You find yourself giggling as well, experiencing a high that wasn't from weed—but from the rush of trying something forbidden and new.

"You're going to be so fucking high," he laughs again, passing a hand through his hair and looking down to the blunt. "It's... gone."

You can't even remember how long you'd been smoking that shit. How long had you been walking? How far back had Ashley parked?

Conveniently, as he examines the used-up joint, you pass by a green trash bin. He opens the lid and throws the useless blunt inside of it.

A few moments pass as you step onto the concrete leading up to the school. You vaguely feel Larry's large hand gripping your shoulder to steady you. Even though you felt a bit woozy, you remember to keep your hair in place, covering the hickeys Sal had left on your skin.

When you've stepped into the halls, the amount of people walking all around and bumping into you feels a bit overstimulating.

You hoist your bag tighter over your shoulder and follow after your friends. You feel Larry's arm bump into yours every so often, reminding you of his presence.

When you reach your locker, you put your books away, arranging them accordingly, etc. Once you've shut the locker door, hard enough for the cage to rattle—you sort of.. just- stand there. It feels like your consciousness is somewhere completely different, and yet all of this noise feels like too much.

Your heart is beating way too fast and it hurt to stand up straight.

It didn't feel bad—but you'd certainly rather snort salt and pepper than have to function an entire school day like this. You felt way too floaty, like everything was swaying—you honestly couldn't deter up from down.

You don't know where the rest of the gang is, and you're too high to care. You wander down the hall, and continue like that, even when the bell rings and everyone steadily begins to file off and into their respective classes.

Desperate to be alone, and sitting down somewhere, you find a door. It looks like the door handle is growing dust, and there are no signs or labeling on the wood. So you turn the handle and try your luck.

Of course, it's locked. Why else would a school keep an unused room unlocked?

You dig into the denim compartments of your large denim jacket, blinking away the blear in your eyes as you search between the seams at the pit of your pockets. Eventually, you find a stray bobby-pin. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you stick it into the keyhole and wiggle and force it accordingly.

There were multiple reasons you knew how to do this. Your mother used to accidentally lock you out of your previous flats. It wasn't a hobby you'd picked up—it was something you were required to learn. At least, so you wouldn't have to sleep in the hallway at night.

The door eventually gives. When you've entered, you find yourself in a storage room. It makes sense. All of the junk was stored here.

Still high as shit, and becoming a bit nauseous, you close the door behind you. That shuts out any light, and you feel a chill roll over your skin. You couldn't see shit.

You make haste as you reach into your pocket again and rip your flip phone out. You pop it open, and soon enough, your eyebrows raise in surprise. The messages are a bit unclear, but they're visible once you focus.

Sal :) Missed Call (2)

Sal :) where r you?

Sal :) i'm looking for you. class is about to start

Sal :) larry's gone too. you're with him?

Before you type out a reply, you use the phone's light to search the room for a light source of some kind. Eventually, you find a shaded lamp. You feel around for a cord, and once you've found it, you pull a bit. Thankfully, it's already plugged in.. somewhere.

You return your fingers to the lamp itself and turn it on. Soft yellow light fills the dusty room, and you sigh in relief.

You try to disregard the floating dust particles, and sink to the ground, pressing your back against a wide, wooden desk. As you adjust on the floor, the cold tile momentarily presses against your bare thighs. You breathe in sharply, allowing yourself a moment before going to reply to Sal.

You are you in class?

Sal :) No

Sal :) where are you?

You i'm not with Larry. m alone. DK where he is

Sal :) sure he's skipped to smoke. where are you

You allowed yourself to look around the dimly lit room before replying. You swore you felt the dust sticking to your skin, and the skirt hugging your lower half felt too tight.

You shakily breathed in, and then breathed out. You repeated this process, shaky fingers gripping the phone tightly.

You bobby-pinned my way into some storage room i'm sitting on the floor so high rn lol

Sal :) i know where that is. coming rn . it's at the end of a hall, right?

Sal :) what did you smoke?

You blinked slowly, wiggling your thighs back and forth.

You you're correct.

You smoked weed

Before you could comprehend what was even happening, the door directly in front of you had opened. You blinked as white light constricted your pupils before they returned to their expanded state as the silhouette closed the door. While he did that, you reached up to the desk, slid a drawer open, and placed your phone inside of it.

You could've just put it in your pocket. You didn't know why you didn't.

He sunk to the floor in front of you, sitting criss-cross applesauce. His shoes were a breath from yours as you hugged your bare knees tightly. Your lazy eyes followed his movements as he clasped his hands around his ankles. He seemed to be watching your eyes—because when you looked up to make eye contact, he'd already been looking.

"Can barely tell what your eye color is," Sal says nervously. "Your pupils are blown."

"Is' just the dark," you chide softly. "I'm fine. My heart's just beating really fast."

"How much did you smoke?" He asks, his blue eyes—ever vibrant, even in this dingy lighting—searching your face. "Larry gave it to you, right? Jesus.."

You genuinely think about it. It seems you think about it too hard because the room began to rotate.

Maybe that wasn't just the high. You'd fallen onto your side. Luckily, you'd been sitting already—so it was a gentle collide with the cold tile. It felt nice against your cheek. You closed your eyes and watched the floating colors and shapes that look like nerves flash across the backs of your eyelids.

You fully press your side against the floor snuggling into it like it's the softest blanket you've ever slept with.

"Hot," you breathe. "Get this jacket off."

Soon enough, you feel purposeful hands sliding the denim off of your arms. It takes effort to get it off of the arm beneath you, but Sal manages. He balls the jacket up and slides it beneath your head. When your cheek meets the cool denim, you feel at total peace.

"Better," you open your eyes. He's watching your face. You can tell he's concerned, but there's something in his gaze—a look that tells you that he knows he's got this handled. He was confident in himself to take care of you.

He's probably experienced this before.

You roll onto your back, holding your eyes open to look up at the ceiling. Your eyelashes ghost your eyebrows as your imagination forms clouds in the shapes of the floating things you see.

Your skirt rides up your thighs a bit. You don't pay attention to it until you feel Sal's ring-clad fingers gently fixing it for you. You look at his face and smile.

"We need to do it again," you mumble. You don't feel the sickness of the high anymore—only complete clarity.

"Do what?" He asks, curiosity lilting his words.

"What we did in the car."

After those words roll off of your tongue, all that meets you is the intaking of breath. It's so quiet in this storage room that you can hear him licking his lips. You hear shuffling, the clacking of rings, and your breath—and for a moment, you believe he won't say anything back to you.

"I," he starts, swallowing hard. "You.. when do you.."

"How about now?"

You grin, meeting his eyes. He blinks a few times.

"Y/N, I-" he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh. You don't know if he feels nervous—or he just genuinely cannot believe this is happening. You wouldn't blame him, because you can't process it, either.

It's the weed boosting your confidence like this.

Then and again, you'd been confident with him during your first sexual encounter. Maybe the high just amplified that.

"As much as I'd like to," he starts, voice tight, "I don't know how well walking around the rest of the day having... uh— would go. I know it'll happen. We've got detention to sit in, too."

You pouted sadly but accepted it. He didn't want to, and that was fine.

"But, I, um.." his eyes flickered across your face. "I could go down on you."

The words surprised you so much you jerked upward and into an upright position. Your shock had also made you a dumbass, it seemed, as well—because you smacked your head straight into the wooden drawer you'd left open, which you'd put your phone in not even a few minutes ago.

"Ow," you winced, hand reaching up to rub the sore spot.

"Holy shit," Sal says, now closer to you. He closed the drawer (something you should have done way earlier) and blinked down at you. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," you breathed, meeting his gaze. "You'd.."

His eyes shifted to the left momentarily. "Yeah. If you don't want me to, that's fine. Your decision. I mean, I have no experience, besides things I've heard before."

You felt a bit giggly all of sudden. Your forehead was pulsing but it was fine. "I can always teach you. I mean, I've never had someone go down on me but I know what feels good."

Sal's demeanor seems a bit nervous as he glances around the storage room. "You want this to happen in here?"

You let out an abrupt laugh, holding your upper body weight on your elbows and arms. "Yes."

He chuckles along with you. "Alright."

Once again, you thank whatever intuition it is you have for swaying you into choosing to wear a skirt again today. You feel Sal's eyes burning holes into your skin as you grip the hem of your skirt and pull the material of your skirt higher on your thighs until it's bunched up at your hips.

His eyes—which, moments ago, were so blue and clear—had now grown a bit darker and looked as though a shadow had been cast over their pretty sheen.

"Did you lock the door when you came in?" You breathed, the ache between your thighs painful as he stares you down.

"I don't think it locks from the inside. We'll have to make it quick."

You're heart's never beat this fast before. And it keeps crashing against your ribs when he slides his fingers up your legs. He pulls your knees away from each other, and shifts so he's a bit farther between your legs.

You watch him slide every silver ring off of his digits, collecting them in a palm and sliding them onto the wooden surface of the desk beside him.

Your blood pumps in your ears so loud you feel like your brain is going to explode. That is, until you feel the pressure of the pads of his fingers right between your thighs, over the fabric that separated his fingertips from the burning heat there. Every other sense diminishes as your entire body focuses on what you'd just felt.

You instinctively gasped, never having been touched so intimately before.

You can tell he's shocked, barely having to glance at his face. You know he's nervous, but you don't believe he has reason to be.

"You're.."

"Wet?" You finish the sentence for him shyly, feeling completely dirty about insinuating something like that out loud. "The fabric is thin, but.."

"I haven't even done anything," he murmurs.

"Yes, you have," you reply, giggling quietly through your chest. "You're torturing me. Get on with it."

His hands shake as he reaches his hands behind his head and unclasps the buckles that hold the prosthetic onto his face. Before you can even take him in, he's turned the lamp above you off.

It's completely dark in the room.

"Can I.."

You know what he means when his hands brush the sides of your thighs. "Yes," you reply, instantly.

Sal hesitates. "Are you sure?"

You smile to yourself. "I am. Are you?"

"Absolutely," he mumbles, hooking his thumbs around the lace of your underwear and pulling it down your legs. You can't hear your heart anymore, thank god—you can only feel it. It beats unmercifully against your ribs as he daintily finishes sliding the fabric off of your body.

Sal barely moves after that. You guess he's put your panties in his pocket.

Before you know it, he's flattened the tip of his middle finger on the place between your legs. You shakily sigh as he barely dips a finger into the place your dampness had collected. He then slides his digit upward, spreading the wetness up and through your slit.

You know what he's doing—preparing you for what's to come—but you can't help it when his touch ghosts your clit. It takes a lot of self-control not to clamp your thighs around his hand—so you hold yourself back with a whine.

Sal stops when you make the sound, but his touch remains. "There?" He asks lowly—like now you're more at risk at being caught. There's no way, though. When you'd picked the lock, the doorknob seemed like it hadn't been used in forever.

"Yes," you whisper, barely lifting your hips to press into his hand. He uses more fingers this time—passing them through your wetness again. Eventually, he makes it back to that bundle of nerves, and gently circles it. You feel your gut tumble as he presses on it just eight.

"God, please," you sigh, settling on your back and raising a hand to grip at your hair. "Sal, I want-"

"Okay," he murmurs. You hear shuffling, feel him move. You know he's lower when his hair tickles the flesh between your thighs.

His breath fans over the apex of your thighs. You'd expect breath of this proximity to be hot—but it's cold and feels minty. It makes sense. That's how he smells—and whenever you'd kissed him last night, that's how he'd tasted.

What broke you from your musing was the feeling of his warm tongue flat on your sex. You throw your head back, dropping your jaw. You'd been waiting this whole time for that feeling—and now you'd gotten it.

Your skull feels like it's rattling (you had just thrown your head back and into the hard flooring) but you disregard that and focus on everything else.

"F-fuck," you stutter, as he rolls his tongue up and over your clit. You knew his memory was basically photographic—but you didn't realize he'd be able to find that spot every time.

He flicks his tongue over your clit in a way he hadn't been like he was experimenting. And it worked because you'd cried out and reached between your thighs to grip his blue hair.

He pulls away from your sex, exhales cool air onto the junction of your thighs and pants. "Gonna need to be quiet," he reminds you, his voice thick.

"I'm sorry," you swallow, before feeling him duck back down.

You shiver in anticipation as his mouth closes over the slope of your inner thigh, sucking onto your skin. You whine as he nibbles your flesh, barely closing his teeth over it before pulling away and returning to what he'd left.

Your spine arches off of the painfully hard floor as he closes his lips over your cunt again, flattening his tongue again and rolls it upward and back into his mouth.

It's not like he has a technique—he's just reacting to your reactions.

Your eyes are watery and fill with tears as you close them too tightly. Your fingers interlace with his hair, gripping close to his scalp and pulling just a bit. He hums in acknowledgment against your clit, and you feel that coil that had been steadily tightening in your gut began to tighten excruciatingly.

"Close," you breathe. "Please. Gonna cum."

Surely enough, he smiles into you, passes his tongue through your slit one last time before flicking it over your clit, and with purpose. He feels your legs spasm against his shoulders, so he flattens his tongue over the bundle of nerves.

That's when that coil in the deepest pit of your stomach unraveled.

"I'm coming," you whined. The feeling stuttered, you felt like you were teetering off of a cliff before it finally crashed over your body and through you harder than anything you've ever felt before.

He rode you through your orgasm—and it was hard not to clamp your thighs around his head.

"Fuck," your legs twitched as you came down, sighing as he pulled away from your sex. He panted, taking in the air quickly, before reaching up and turning the lamp on.

You met his eyes, pressing your thighs together as they shook.

"Oh my god," you exhaled, allowing yourself to soak in your shock. You watched him lick his lips before passing the back of his hand over them.

Sal seemed a bit lost for words himself. "Was that- um.."

You sat up—hiking your skirt back down with one hand while catching him by the nape of the neck with the other. You captured his mouth with yours, kissing him with fervor and want and appreciation. It took less than a second for him to reciprocate.

You didn't care if you could taste yourself on his tongue—it didn't matter much. It wasn't even bad, thank god.

After passing your tongue over his lip, you pulled away, eyes wide with shock. "I should.."

"I know what you're going to say," he cut you off, reaching into his back pocket with a smile. He hands you his underwear, and you close it in your fist. "And I'm alright. We've spent way too much time in here, anyway."

Your knee accidentally nudges between his thighs. Of course, he's hard. He was a teenage boy and he'd just made a girl come in a dingy old classroom at school during class. You felt bad.

"Another time." It's not a question. You're promising it to him.

"I.. okay." He murmurs, nervous in a way he hadn't been when he'd been eating you out moments before.

You watch him slide his rings back on, buckle his prosthetic back onto his face—and pretend not to notice how he adjusts himself as he stands up. You slide your denim jacket back on, slide your panties up your legs, and move to stand. You nearly fall back down when your legs spasm.

"Are you okay?" He asks, concern dripping off of his low voice.

"Fine. A little shaky," you breathe, gripping his arms and rising to your feet. You let go of him a few beats later and move toward the door. You forget your phone, but Sal grabs it for you and slides it into your pocket.

And as the both of you go to leave, you think about how the rest of the day will play out.

[lovesanmotion]

ateez reacts: their crush is a police officer

💌 This is: Requested

Taglist: @yunhobabygurl

Hongjoong:

Hongjoong is very much curious to find out what his s/o does for a living as his s/o never mentioned or talks about it. But from what he does know is that, you work from 5pm - 3am for five consecutive days with two days off and your workplace is situated in the red light district of the city. Furthermore, he did recall seeing silver cuffs in your bedroom. Putting two and two together, Hongjoong thought what if you were a stripper-

"You seem to be lost in thought? I always told you to be a little easy on yourself." Eden says as he enters the studio room, sitting down on the swivel chair before taking the headset in his hands.

"I'm really curious as to what y/n does. Do you have any idea?" Hongjoong finally spoke up his curious as he lets his back fall back on the swivel chair, slowly swinging himself from left to right.

"Police officer." Hongjoong stops and stares at him for a moment.

"How come you know but I don't?" He frowns to himself. But Eden only lets out a chuckle.

"Y/N still isn't comfortable talking about it. Especially what they deal with when the clock strikes midnight."

Seonghwa:

When Seonghwa came home one night, he found you playing with a weird looking stick that you kept swinging forward, letting it expand before you.

"What is that?" He asks, removing his shoes in the door before coming up to you to place a kiss on your cheek.

"It's an expandable baton! The director says I have to keep practicing and do good with my aim." You spoke happily to him. Seonghwa never had a clue with what you do day to day. But with what you've just told him, he thought you were a screen actor with an upcoming role in a series or film. And the following day during practice, Seonghwa finally told the boys what you do. However, he was only met with laughter as a response.

"What- was something I said funny?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the other side.

"Hyung, look over here" Wooyoung says, drawing the curtains slightly, pointing out at something. To his curiosity, Seonghwa follows where Wooyoung was pointing and there you were, walking with a few other police officers in your uniform.

Yunho:

"Why are you wearing a police officer uniform? Do you model costumes?" Yunho chuckles as he watches you admiring your new fitted uniform.

"You must be a model. You always look at yourself in the mirror and you're always worrying about your appearance." Yunho beams. "But personally, I wouldn't care how you look like. I'd still love you even if you became a worm!" Yunho chuckles once more, earning a slap in the arm from you.

The following day when Yunho was out with Mingi, there was a police car stationed with only one person sitting inside behind the steering wheel. But as his eyes squinted on the windows, there was no denying that it was you instead.

"Y/N?"

Yeosang:

His schedule for today is a public schedule, and as it is public, thousands of fans would surely be swarming around them in the airport. He was squished, pushed aside in the shoulder and had cameras really up close to his face. But Yeosang paid no attention to them and kept a straight face. His mind was somewhere else, more specifically, on what you do for a living.

He tried to make out different jobs that suited your interest. But nothing seems to fit. Until a familiar figure came to his rescue and gave him a few space to walk amidst of the crowd forming around them. It was you who gave him space to walk to towards the immigrations gates.

San:

"Y/N please tell me!" San whined as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. His curiosity to find out what you do is killing him, he direly wanted to know, however, you always tell him-

"Sannie, I'll tell you when I feel comfortable telling you what I do in life." You smiled at him, placed a kiss on his forehead and headed out because your shift time is about to start.

All alone, San decided to bother the other members to talk to him. The others were busy, but Wooyoung spared him some time.

"I just wanted to know what Y/N does! I don't think-" but he was cut off by Wooyoung shortly.

"If I tell you, please pretend to be shocked or surprised when Y/N actually tells you what they do. You got that?" Obediently, San nods his head, humming.

"Y/N's a police officer in the city proper. Y/N didn't tell me but I only found out about it while I was still out late the other night."

Mingi:

"Y/N is so cute and so precious" Mingi sighs dreamily as he stares at the pictures of Y/N that he has on his phone. "but why can't I know what Y/N actually does for a living?" His voice suddenly boomed, making seven heads turn to his direction.

"I always see Y/N going out late at night and heading to a corner" Jongho started, facing Wooyoung before winking at him to get the idea.

"Right?! I even saw Y/N talking sweetly to a police officer! I'm sorry hyung, I think Y/N likes people in the professional setting." Jongho and Wooyoung started to chuckle before a glaring Seonghwa turns to them, immediately shutting them up.

"If it makes you happy, Y/N works in a police station. I heard she's getting transferred to the station near the company building." Hongjoong says. All five mouths lets out a chorus of "Oh", however, Yeosang had his eyes widened. "Y/N clearly didn't want Mingi to find out but we snitched on Y/N."

Wooyoung:

"Do you think Y/N is cheating on me?" He suddenly asks. Yeosang who was sitting beside him finally turned to face him. "What makes you think so?"

Wooyoung took a seat beside him, head hung low. "Y/N always leaves their place at ungodly hours and returns the following day when the sun is up." Wooyoung sighs. But Yeosang only chuckles.

"Your eight year friend is in pain and struggling and you only laugh at me?" Wooyoung stares at Yeosang who suddenly stopped laughing.

"Y/N isn't cheating on you. They work in those hours as an officer in the city next to us." Yeosang chuckles before covering his mouth with his hand. "I should not have said that."

Jongho:

"Are you a call center agent?" "No"

"How about a nurse who works in the graveyard shift?" "Oh my god no I wouldn't be able to stand it"

"Then, what do you do?"

Jongho juts his lower lip out and then proceeds to make a cute face.

"You acting cute won't get you anymore. I have to go now too. See you tomorrow." You smiled and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. But Jongho didn't stop there. After three minutes, he followed you outside and kept a good distance from you before seeing you get inside the police car parked in the corner of their street.

[riversofmars]

i wonder if you might do a story on river/13 going to a gay bar in space and they meet a bunch of previous companions/friends there too? (definitely jack for sure!) thanks

Okay first off, I love this prompt!! And it’s perfect for Pride month! I may, however, have taken some liberties and gone a bit bigger than a simple gay bar.... anyway :D I set out to write the gayest thing you’ll read all month... I hope I’ve succeeded! Happy Pride!

Invitation With A Kiss

“So what is this place, Doc?“ Graham asked as they made their way to the door of the TARDIS.

“Had an invitation!“ The Doctor retorted with a grin double-checking her psychic paper to make sure she had the right place and time.

“Who from?“ Yaz asked curiously.

“Ah, well, you know…“ The Doctor tried to wave it off but Yaz was quick enough to snatch the psychic paper from her fingers before she could try to hide it.

“Signed with a kiss?“ Yaz gaped and a wide grin spread across her features. Finally something to truly wind their friend up with and Ryan smirked as well:

“You sure you want us to tag along?“

“Oh, shut up, it’s not exactly a private party.“ The Doctor huffed trying to hide the blush that crept onto her cheeks. Quickly, she opened the door before any of her friends could comment and stepped outside.

“Oh wow, I don’t think I have words for this…“ Yaz started laughing as she joined the Doctor. They found themselves at the side of a most colourful parade. There were rainbows EVERYWHERE! Balloons, confetti, flags, people were dancing, hugging, kissing, having the time of their lives. “Please tell me this is…“

“Planet Pride.“ The Doctor grinned and put her hands on her hips as she took in the atmosphere. It was elating. There was a mild breeze that carried music and exotic smells, the sun was blazing down but not unpleasantly and the joy surrounding them was almost palpable. “Think of your 21st century Pride celebrations, multiply it by, I don’t know, a whole galaxy celebrating togetherness and inclusivity, and you get the greatest queer party this side of the universe.“ The Doctor turned to her friends who were still in awe.

“Isn’t this like… the future?“ Yaz finally found her voice and looked to the Doctor who was surprised to find concern in her eyes: “Is there a need for Pride still? Like I would have thought the issue would long be resolved and…“

“Oh it is, don’t worry!“ The Doctor grinned as she understood what she was getting at. “Doesn’t erase the past though. It’s part of the history of humankind… very sad, pointless, stupid part, but history nonetheless. Can’t and shouldn’t erase history, else you can’t learn from past mistakes… But let’s face it, Pride is brilliant. By this point it’s just an excuse to have one hell of a party.“ She pushed her hands into her pockets and they started walking down the street.

“This is brilliant.“ The Fam quickly found themselves accessorised by strangers, flower garlands and all sorts of amusing party hats were being passed out.

“Who’s the invite from, then?“ Ryan asked as they quickly caught up with the Doctor who was looking around the sea of people, clearly searching for someone.

“My wife.“ The Doctor answered knowing full well that there was no way she could keep it from them. She stopped and gnawed her bottom lip as she scanned the crowd. Where was she? Like she stood a chance of finding her amongst all these people…

“Your what now?“ Graham’s face fell and he nearly ran into her.

“Wife.“ The Doctor retorted matter-of-factly looking back to her friends. “We’re here to celebrate Pride, remember?“

“Yes but… you’re married?!“ Yaz exclaimed and carried on teasingly: “Who would agree to that?!“

“Well, we have always wondered that at one point or another…“ A voice sounded behind them and they all whirled around.

“Jack!“ The Fam exclaimed in unison as Captain Jack Harkness saluted with a grin.

“Hello, Doctor.“ He scooped the Doctor up in a tight hug who squeaked as the air was pushed from her lungs. “Fancy seeing you here! Are you ready for a party?“

“Hello Jack.“ She managed as she tried to extricate herself from his arms. “Bit too much to drink already?“ Jack ignored her comment and turned to the Fam, extending his arms.

“Ryan. Yaz. … Graham.“ He winked at Graham who blushed a little. Jack’s flirting was not lost on him or anyone else for that matter. “Missed me?“ He grinned. “Did you come here to see me?“

“While I knew you’d be here, no, not exactly.“ The Doctor retorted, trying to let him down gently.

“Well, that’s just as well.“ Jack huffed, trying not to look too offended. “I’m here with a Doctor of my own anyway. Though I seem to have lost him… and Donna just keeps trying to pass me drink after drink so…“

“You’re here with me? And Donna?“ The Doctor’s eyes widened in shock.

“There’s another version of you here?“ Yaz asked, utterly confused. The Doctor had told them plenty of times about how she had been a different person before and how Time Lords could regenerate their body, but they had never actually seen proof of it.

“And I don’t remember it… timelines crossing…“ The Doctor realised running her hands through her hair nervously. There was potential for disastrous chaos here.

“Doctor?“ A voice called and they all looked around. The girl that had called out wasn’t looking at them though, she was scanning the crowd and turned to another girl whose hand she was holding. “He must be here somewhere, that’s his TARDIS over there.“ They were searching for the Doctor too.

“Well, I’ve got a Doctor here if you’re looking for one!“ Jack called out without thinking. He didn't know the girls but the look on the Doctor’s face revealed that she did. She was simply too stunned to respond just yet. The girls looked at Jack who waved with a wide grin. “I think you mean to say: Her TARDIS. Times change!“

“Bill…“ The Doctor finally found her voice again as she stared at her long lost friend. There she was. Brilliant, beautiful Bill Potts. Cyberman no longer, holding on to her girlfriend’s hand and shock painted all over her face as the realisation hit her.

“Oh my GOD!“ Bill exclaimed, frozen to the spot.

“And Heather.“ The Doctor was beginning to grin now and hurried over.

“You have to be joking!“ Bill was still in shock, she shook her head to herself as the Doctor came to a halt in front of her with the Fam and Jack following close behind.

“Hello Bill!“ The Doctor smirked, amused by how her brain was reeling. “What? Not even a hug?“ She chuckled as Bill was finally pulled from her stupor.

“I really don't think I should hug you…“ Bill found her voice at last as she looked her up and down. “Cause you’re like… dead hot right now…“ She glanced at Heather who just laughed. “But also, you’re my weird space grandpa! So come here!“ She pulled the Doctor in a tight hug laughing.

“Fam, this is my friend Bill and her girlfriend Heather.“ The Doctor introduced them all.

“Lovely to meet you.“ Heather smiled. “I have a feeling you will be seeing quite a few familiar faces.“ She told the Doctor with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, it’ll get complicated when you run into yourself…“ Bill grinned, amused at the very prospect of it.

“He’s here, too?“ The Doctor’s face fell. Things were bound to get even more complicated with two of her former regenerations around!

“Well yeah, we were looking for him, lost him somewhere along the way…“ Bill explained. “Oh God…“

“What?“ The Doctor frowned, alarmed at the dread in her friend’s voice.

“Quickly, hide!“ She pulled the Doctor and Heather behind a make-shift beach bar that served all sorts of colourful cocktails. The other’s mirrored their actions. While they didn’t know what was going on, it seemed like the right course of action.

“Bill, what…“ The Doctor started to protest but forgot where she was going with it when her eyes fell on two very familiar people, making their way towards the bar.

“I really don’t know why you insisted on coming here.“ Missy gave a huff as they came within earshot.

“Why not? It’s fun.“ Clara retorted, amused at the displeasure on the Time Lady’s face.

“I don’t see what’s so exciting about drawing rainbows on your face and parading around the street.“ Missy rather stood out in her almost completely black outfit.

“Humour me.“ Clara retorted, who - in her colourful waitress uniform - looked the complete opposite. “I’ll make it worth your while.“ She looped her arm around Missy’s.

“You better.“ Missy pursed her lips, looking to the girl at her side, then continued to scan the crowd.

“If you didn’t want to come, why did you?“ Clara asked and scoffed as Missy paid her little attention and kept looking around: “You’re hoping the Doctor will be here, aren’t you. And here I was thinking you actually wanted to spend time with me.“

“Doctor, who are they?“ Yaz whispered to the Doctor, struggling to follow what was going on. Those two women clearly knew her and the Doctor seemed to know them too as all colour had drained from her face.

“Doctor, what do you want to do?“ Bill whispered to her but she didn’t respond, she was transfixed.

“Don’t get me wrong, Clara, dear, I enjoy a booty call as much as the next Time Lady.“ Missy smirked, looking back to Clara. “Particularly one where my sweet little plaything is intoxicated on sweet drinks and self righteousness but if I just happen to run into the Doctor and get the opportunity to kill him, that would be a two birds one stone kind of scenario. Particularly if I get to mortally embarrass him by putting you in a rather compromising position first.“ Missy ran her fingertips along Clara’s jaw, pushing her head up a little.

“Right, that’s it!“ The Doctor exclaimed. “Clara!“ She called, marching out of their hiding place.

“Huh?“ Clara and Missy looked around confused, annoyed at the moment being so rudely interrupted.

“Oh God…“ Bill groaned and they all rushed after the Doctor.

“Sorry dear, this is a private conversation, pick a number and I’ll get to you in a sec.“ Missy gave a dismissive wave of her hand, refocusing her attention on Clara but the Doctor wouldn’t have it.

“Missy, get your hands off her right now!“ The Doctor threatened.

“Who’s this, Doctor?“ Yaz asked, hoping for an explanation.

“Doctor?“ Missy raised her eyebrows, her lips pulling into a smirk.

“Doctor?“ Clara echoed, surprised, excited and embarrassed in equal measures.

“What are you doing with her??“ The Doctor demanded to know off Clara as she wildly gestured at her nemesis.

“My my my, isn’t this some sight. Finally had the upgrade as well?“ Missy ignored the comment as she regarded her childhood friend’s new body. She snaked her arm around Clara and pulled her close to her side.

“Missy!“ The Doctor growled. “Get away from her!“

“Why?“ Missy feigned innocence and hurt. “She asked me here? She wants me here. You could even say she wants me .“ She gave a triumphant smirk and the Doctor flushed scarlet with embarrassment and anger.

“Clara, is that…“

“Uhhh…“ Clara blushed even more deeply than the Doctor herself.

“Does anyone else feel like they're slightly out of the loop?“ Ryan piped up, trying to make sense of the situation in front of them. For whatever reason, the Doctor was interrupting what looked like a perfectly consensual, happy date…

“This is the Master.“ The Doctor spat angrily. “Earlier version… don’t let the lipstick fool you, just as deadly.“

“Lipstick makes for a wonderful weapon, particularly in the right hands. Just ask your lovely wife.“ Missy retorted with a smile. “Where is she, by the way? You’re not here single , are you?“ She tightened the grip on Clara for emphasis.

“Missy!“ Clara slapped the Time Lady’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re all here to have some fun, can’t we just do that.“

“I can have fun with you anywhere I like.“ Missy smirked, moving her hand lower to the hem of her skirt, just enough to make the Doctor nearly lose it. “Fine. Alright.“ She let go of her. “Be a good little puppy now and fetch me a drink then.“ She smirked at the Doctor who balled her hands to tight fits, looking like she was about to burst. Missy laying her hands on one of her friends like that was just too much.

“Anyone else for a cocktail?“ Clara turned back to the group, hoping to move to conversation along to where she wouldn’t be mortally embarrassed in front of her best friend.

“I’ll help you carry.“ Heather volunteered quickly following Clara to the bar.

“So the Master used to be a woman?“ Graham exclaimed at last, when the situation seemed to have defused a little.

“Spoilers.“ Missy tutted at him.

“This is going to get very complicated with everyone here.“ The Doctor had to agree. “You can’t reveal anything about anyone’s future or we could be ripping space and time apart.“

“Yes, this is quite the explosive combination.“ Missy had to concede as she regarded the Doctor’s entourage. “Which begs the question, Doctor, what brings you here? Other than the rainbow candy floss?“

“River invited me.“ The Doctor shot back, almost too quickly, as if to make the point that Missy didn’t have one over in her.

“Well, she’s here somewhere…“ Missy smirked, delighting in the fact that she knew something the Doctor didn’t. “Busy though, really busy…“

“Busy?“ The Doctor frowned. She didn’t like the way Missy was saying that but she couldn’t help her hearts somersaulting just a little bit at the confirmation that her wife was here somewhere. She would get to see her again. It had been such a long time.

“Your bride dances at numerous weddings, as usual.“ Missy hummed just as Clara and Heather returned with colourful cocktails. “Thank you dear.“ She took a bright red drink that was unsettlingly reminiscent of blood and took the opportunity to press a firm kiss to Clara’s lips. “Oh I should start doing this to all your companions, the look on your face!“ Missy laughed at the Doctor’s expression. She looked like she was about to throw a punch. “Or, you know, your wife… now that would be fun.“

“Watch it!“ The Doctor growled threateningly.

“Wherever is Professor Song?“ Missy hummed in a sing-song voice and sip her drink in delight.  

“Clara!“ Everyone looked around as two female voices chanted in unison.

“Oh hello!“ Clara recognised Vastra and Jenny immediately as they were heading straight towards them.

“More old friends?“ Ryan asked and the Doctor’s face brightened. It was hard to worry about the timeline when it was so nice to see so many of her friends.

“Vastra! Jenny!“ She grinned at them in greeting and while Jenny frowned, confused, her wife’s superior senses helped her recognise her immediately.

“Doctor!“ The lizard woman looked at her in shock. “Now that makes a change.“ She looked her up and down, surprised, but not unpleasantly. Jenny must have noticed the look on her face as she gave Vastra’s arm a playful slap.

“Oi! Married!“ She reminded her. “Hello Doctor.“ She carried on cheerfully and gave a wave to everyone else, who, with the exception of Clara, they didn’t know yet.

“It’s getting rather crowded, isn’t it.“ Missy pursed her lips shooting Clara a glance with the intention of getting out of there soon but her companion was more concerned with meeting the Doctor’s other friends, past and present. “Oi!“ She shot Jack a glare who was just putting his arm around Clara all too familiarly.

“Sorry, dear.“ Vastra gave her wife an appeasing smile and turned back to the Doctor. “We didn’t expect to see you, Doctor. At least not like this.“

“Don’t tell me.“ The Doctor groaned, sensing where this was going.

“We didn’t mean to interrupt, we just thought, when we saw Miss Oswald, perhaps she’d know where the Doctor was, a younger one, that is. Suspenders too, but bow tie…“ Vastra explained apologetically. They had lost the Doctor they had arrived with quite a while ago.

“Is that who you’re here with?“ The Doctor asked, wincing at the prospect of yet another version of hers running around this place.

“Following an invitation from your wife, as I understand it. He didn’t want to go alone.“ Jenny added.

“Where is he now?“ The Doctor asked, sensing where all this was going.

“That is a very good question.“ Vastra agreed and they all looked around, everyone scanning the crowd for their particular Doctors.

“I already have a very bad feeling about this…“ The Doctor sighed.

“Are you sure you want to find your wife?“ Missy snickered, highly amused.

“I would if I knew how.“ The Doctor huffed, as a cheerful voice carried over from the other side of the cocktail bar:

“That River Song really is something, isn’t she.“ Everyone looked around and saw a blonde pulling herself onto a bar stool, setting down a nearly empty glass.

“Don’t say it like that.“ A second woman, brunette with shoulder length hair, huffed as she climbed onto a stool beside her. The Doctor looked around to her friends, none of whom recognised the two women, with the exception of herself and Missy who pursed her lips with intrigue. Now there were two people she hadn't seen in quite some time.

“Like what?“ Helen laughed, twirling the straw of her drink between her fingers.

“Like you admire the woman…“ Liv answered, clearly not enjoying the conversation.

“You’re just jealous.“ Helen retorted playfully.

“Jealous? Of what? Don’t be ridiculous.“ Liv shot back a little too quickly.

“Then stop sulking!“ Helen grinned. “The Doctor is having fun, leave him to it. And let’s have some fun too! These cocktails are really good…“ She waved at the bar keep for another.

“And really strong, you sure you want another one.“ Liv couldn’t help but point out.

“Most definitely.“ Helen nodded full of enthusiasm and nearly fell off her stool. Perhaps she had had a little bit too much after all. Liv was quick to hold her up. “Thank you Liv, you’re the best you know that?“ Helen smiled happily and reached out to stroke her friend’s cheek.

“I try.“ Liv replied, blushing at the gesture and her friend pulled her forward into a tight hug.

“No really, you are…“ Helen held her tightly, nuzzling into the crook of her neck and Liv didn’t know what to do with her hands. She nearly fell off her stool herself but she didn’t want to pull back either, so she wrapped her arms around Helen’s shoulders, glad she wouldn’t be able to see her blush. Helen was completely oblivious to her discomfort, she just carried on mumbling: “You’re so kind and clever and brave and… so pretty…“

“I think you’ve had enough to drink…“ Liv pulled away, momentarily worried for her friend’s state but Helen wouldn’t let her go. Instead she grabbed Liv’s head and kissed her.

“I had money on that, you know.“ Missy smirked as the Doctor just watched, delighted and confused in equal measures. How had she never picked up on this when they were travelling together?

“Oh God…“ Helen pulled away when she realised what she was doing. But only after thoroughly snogging her best friend’s face off. She blushed deeply, her intoxication seemingly gone in an instant as sobering reality hit her. Liv blinked overwhelmed still, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest. “Sorry, I was just… getting carried away and…“ Helen stammered, letting go of her but this time it was Liv that wouldn’t let go.

“You can do it again… you know in the spirit of… or just because you want to…“ Liv bit her bottom lip nervously.

“I don’t know why I did that…“ Helen carried on stuttering until Liv’s words sunk in: “What?“

“Oh Helen… my beautiful, clueless friend…“ Liv shook her head and laughed.

“Sorry, I have no idea what I’m doing.“ Helen admitted, blushing scarlet.

“I do.“ Liv assured her more confidently and leaned in to kiss her again when Helen stopped her.

“Liv…“

“What?“ Liv’s heart sank, wondering if Helen had thought better of it but she realised her friend was stopped for another reason. She was looking past her and Liv noticed they had an audience.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.“ Missy gave a wave of her hand when she realised she had been spotted. Of course, she was the only one Helen Sinclair and Liv Chenka would recognise. “Wasn’t sure where we were, timelines and all!“

“You again!“ Helen exclaimed and Missy sighed. Why were the Doctor’s friends always so stuck up on the past? So what if she had kidnapped and nearly killed her?

“I was hoping we would bump into you again, now I can finally…“ Liv was about to go for Missy but the Doctor quickly intervened.

“No, no, no, none of that!“ She held Liv back and Missy chuckled.

“Come on, Doctor, if Miss Chenka wasn’t to play, that can be arranged.“ Her eyes flashed dangerously.

“Missy! Timelines!“ The Doctor scolded. The time lines were already all messed up, without anyone losing their life before their time. Missy gave a shrug.

“Doctor?“ Liv echoed, looking at the blonde in front of her bewildered. She took a step back, accepting that maybe violence was not the right course of action right now.

“While I’m sure the Doctor is elated to see you two finally stopped doing that silly little I don’t know how she’s feeling about me - but what if she doesn’t like me - but she’s from the past - but she’s from the future - I can’t ruin our friendship dance of yours, she’d rather like to know where her wife is and you seem to know.“ Missy sighed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“The Doctor?“ Helen repeated incredulously.

“Wow…“ Was all Liv could manage staring at the blonde and Helen, gripped by a wave of jealousy, hit her arm:

“Liv!“

“Not to interrupt the happy reunion or whatever but I think your search is over, Doctor.“ Jack announced and everyone looked around to where he was pointing.

“She didn’t just invite you, did she…“ Missy chuckled as they watched River push through the crowd accompanied by no less than thirteen Doctors, all of them competing for her attention and affection.

“She invited all of us, didn’t she…“ The Doctor sighed, realising that the same message she had received would have popped up on every other Doctor’s psychic paper as well.

“Go on then, Doctor.“ Jack put his arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her along. “Because if you don’t go over there, I might.“ He smirked. “Professor Song!“ He called before the Doctor could protest. River looked over to them, grinning, as she recognised Jack.

“Captain.“ She smirked flirtily as she sauntered over, while the other Doctors shot Jack annoyed glances.

“Think this is who you were looking for.“ Jack gave the Doctor a shove forward and decided that for once, he should be the wing man instead of going for the prize himself.

“Hello River.“ The Doctor managed a half smile and her feelings were incredibly conflicting. She was thrilled to see her wife; who looked beautiful in a flowing dress with the sun dancing in her curls. She was jealous that the other Doctor’s got there before her. And most importantly, she was annoyed: How could she have been so irresponsible?! All of space and time could rip apart if they put a foot wrong!

“My my my, now that makes a change.“ River smirked as she only took a moment to realise who she was. She stepped closer, looking her up and down far more obviously would have been necessary. The Doctor blushed and decided to go on the offensive to get herself out of the awkward situation:

“You know you will have to make them forget!“ She pointed to all her other selves. “This could end so badly!“

“Timelines will do that. Relax, Sweetie. None of you will remember a thing after crossing your own time stream. I can’t believe I’ve had to have this conversation fourteen times.“ River sighed but the expression on her face indicated that she had no problem repeating herself with her spouses. “Now, less sulking, how about a kiss for your old wife, hm?“ She smirked, grabbed the Doctor by the collar of her coat. She pulled her in for a kiss that quickly muted any sort of protest.

Just then, a confetti cannon went off, dousing the group in a rainbow of colours.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it.“ Missy grinned as the Doctor’s friends shot her accusing glances and she hid her sonic umbrella behind her back. “Anyway, I wonder if there are more versions of me about…“

The Doctor didn’t even notice. She was too occupied kissing her wife to the chorus of jealous calls from several of her past selves. She had missed her so much .

[a-n-conrad]

Painting (Steve Rogers x Reader)

[Summary: You decide to paint your friend, Steve Rogers, realizing that no one had ever painted him without his uniform. However, things start to get heated after you start to daydream during your painting session. (She/Her pronouns)

Warnings: SMUT (18+, but with emotions), Not Canon Compliant (Because fuck you, Marvel.), Swearing, unprotected vaginal sex

Request: From my request survey (https://forms.gle/D9rsJtkERoBPaKvv8)]

You and Steve Rogers were widely considered to be an unlikely pair. There were a lot of things that you didn’t exactly agree on. Steve was a lot more social, being bold and outgoing. You were a bit quieter, preferring to avoid the company of a crowd. Steve was prone to waking up early to exercise. You stayed up into the quiet hours of the night, choosing instead to get a majority of your sleep in the morning. You weren’t exactly fond of Steve’s workout routines either, though you would join him on a short jog on occasion.

While you were technically considered an Avenger, you were really only brought out to fight for emergency circumstances. You had some incredibly powerful, incredibly volatile powers, but you really had no interest in using them unless it was completely needed. So you ended up making a few deals. You’d be treated like an Avenger, but you were basically benched unless some drastic, world-ending issue came up. So until then, you were kept on hold in Avengers Tower, spending most of your time painting in the studio that Tony had gotten set up for you.

Despite this power, and despite your title as an official Avenger, you were still a bit of an outsider among the team. You tended not to talk to them a lot, becoming a bit easily overwhelmed by the chaos that the team seemed to radiate. But surprisingly, you and Steve got along incredibly well.

You had originally bonded over your love of art. You loved Steve’s drawings. You admired the linework and shading in his drawings. He could do so much with just a pen, let alone if you gave him a few colors. He admired the amount of emotion you managed to instill into every single painting that you made. No matter what you painted, whether it was a portrait, a landscape, or something entirely different, it was always filled to the brim with the emotion that you had felt while painting it. It was like looking through a window into your soul. It was so honest and refreshing.

Eventually the two of you started to talk a bit more while you worked. It started pretty tame, just discussions of how your day was or general questions about each other like “What’s your favorite color”. But eventually you moved on to the harsher topics of your lives. Steve would talk about how exhausting it was to be the face of America, to be held on such a pedestal while also being expected to sacrifice everything at the drop of a hat. You talked about how cold and dehumanizing it felt to be seen by the American government as nothing more than a weapon, a walking nuclear bomb.

Your struggles overlapped at certain points. You both spent a lot of your time being used by the government. You were both seen as tools more than you were seen as people by a lot of the general public. You were a weapon and he was an idol, some sort of trophy. So you bonded a lot over your shared struggles as you talked to each other and worked on art side by side. And when the hard stuff got a bit too heavy, you’d sit and talk about art. About subjects that you just loved to add to all of your work. About what each shade of every color meant to you, about the emotions that you saw in every tiny color shift.

It was so nice, for both of you, to have something like that. The studio that you spent time in was so safe and peaceful for both of you, since the other Avengers tended to avoid it. And the two of you had started to see through each other’s masks enough to truly get to know each other. Steve couldn’t remember the last time someone had known him as Steve Rogers more than they had known him as Captain America. He had Bucky, but Bucky was far too busy with his own issues for Steve to even consider burdening him with anything else. But with you he could truly be himself, even if that meant getting angry, sad, or frustrated.

So the two of you had become incredibly close, despite your differences. And every day that you had some free time without any big meeting or mission, you would be in the studio helping each other with art. It was a good way for you to relieve stress, just relaxing with each other. It was one of those days that you came to a realization.

- - - - -

“Has anyone ever painted you?” You asked suddenly one day as the two of you sat side by side in the art studio. He looked a bit surprised, and then he looked confused.

“Of course. There are murals of me up all over the place, (Y/n).”

“No, there are murals of Captain America,” you responded, shaking your head, “They don’t really look that much like you. You really only look like that when you’re working as Captain America. So has anyone ever painted you? As Steve Rogers?”

He looked surprised again. And you could tell as the emotions cycled through his face that he didn’t really know how to respond. You supposed it was a bit of an odd question. And you knew that it was a bit odd to think of someone and their superhero persona as two different people, but Steve couldn’t disagree. He wasn’t Captain America all the time, and he loved that you understood that, “I suppose I’ve never really thought about it, but I guess not.”

You hummed a bit, “That’s a shame. It feels like a waste that everyone paints a costume. You should let me paint you sometime.”

You said it in a way that he wasn’t sure if you were serious. Your face was entirely serious when you said it, but you said it so casually, not even really looking at him, “Really?”

You finally looked up at him, noticing the pure confusion on his face, “Of course. I mean, you’d have to sit still for a while, but honestly, you could probably just sit and sketch for a while. You just seem too good of a subject to not be painted without the costume.”

Steve wasn’t really one to blush, but it was quite the compliment coming from you. He had women trying to hit on him all the time now, being Captain America, but that never really felt heartfelt. It had been a fairly long time since he had actually felt a real connection with someone. But to hear you compliment him, thinking of him as Steve Rogers instead of Captain America, made his heart flutter a bit. And the fact that he knew that you were rather picky about the subject you painted only made it more effective.

“I, uh, think that’d be cool,” He responded as soon as he was sure that he could trust his voice not to crack, though he couldn’t hide the slight stutter. It was honestly endearing how much his personality changed when he wasn’t working. While he was still headstrong and stubborn, he was a bit less confident. He knew he could win a fight. He knew that he looked good on television. But he didn’t really know how to interact with people in the new modern age. He was lucky to have the friends that he did. At least, that’s how he felt about it.

“Wonderful,” You hummed, starting to put away all of your supplies, “Why don’t we pack it up for the day and I can start painting you tomorrow if we aren’t too busy?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

- - - - -

The next day was surprisingly slow. You had to say that you were thankful. You had been looking forward to getting to paint Steve, even though you knew it was making him a little nervous. You were honestly excited to have a new project, and part of you was excited for the opportunity to stare at Steve for a bit without it being considered weird. He was easy to admire, both physically and on a personal level, so you found yourself staring more often than you’d like to admit. You were pretty sure that you had been lucky enough to avoid being caught though.

He was physically gorgeous. Obviously. But something about the way that he looked when he was drawing was nearly angelic. The way he furrowed his brows just a little and turned his paper at odd angles to make sure that the proportions of his sketches were right was adorable. The look in his eyes when his work started to come together made your heart melt. When he got a bit frustrated and would run a hand through his hair you could feel your heart skip a beat. You felt a bit dumb to be drooling over your friend, but you had to admit you were falling pretty hard for him. So you’d use this painting as an excuse to admire him without any questions.

He was already blushing a bit when he came into the studio, and you had a feeling that part of it was from Tony teasing him. He had a habit of giving the two of you a bit of a hard time about how much time you spent together. But the blush was still adorable. Something about Steve when he was nervous stole your heart. He was surprisingly soft when he had the space to be.

“So, uh, what’s the plan?” He asked as he strode over to your work station that you had already gotten set up.

“Just pull a chair up in front of me. You can get comfortable, start sketching, and I’ll get a base outline and block out as much as I can. Just let me know if you need a break and try not to change your pose too much. At least until I can get all of the base shapes right,” You instructed, trying to keep your voice even. You were surprised at how well you managed to hide the fact that you were completely lovesick.

“Alright, sounds good,” He responded, pulling up a chair and getting himself situated. He crossed one of his legs over the other, resting his ankle on his other thigh to give himself a place to set his sketchbook. You tossed him his pencil once he got himself settled, and then you got to work.

You had to admit you had started to get a bit frustrated with how easily you managed to get distracted by him while you were trying to paint. You had hoped that maybe painting him would help. You had no reason to get distracted from your painting when you were painting him. At least, that’s what you had thought before you started sketching out the form.

You felt yourself losing focus as your brush moved smoothly, the incredibly thin, light paint building a form that you found yourself wanting to know a bit more intimately. You tried your best to stay focused on the canvas in front of you, but you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting. You imagined what his body looked like under his clothes as you blocked out the lights and shadows of the fabric that rested over his abs. And the vivid image in your brain, the detailed picture of his body that you had conjured up in front of you, followed your brush as you worked.

The brush slid smoothly across the canvas, outlining his muscles, almost all of which showed through his thin t-shirt. Your brain almost instantly conjured up a matching image, the fantasy becoming more and more dynamic as you went on. It shifted from regular images of what his abs looked like when he was shirtless to more detailed images. Thoughts of his biceps flexing a bit as he held himself over you, his arms covered in sweat. Thoughts of his hands sliding across your skin. It only got worse as you moved down, eventually reaching the point between his legs.

“(Y/n)? Are you alright?” Steve’s voice finally broke you from your thoughts, his eyes which had been focused intently on his drawing when you had last looked were now trained on your face, scanning for any sign as to what was causing you to space out, “You don’t normally get distracted when you’re painting, is everything alright?”

“Oh,” You tried your best to pull yourself back to reality, though the fantasies seemed to be burned into your brain, “Yeah, sorry. I was, uh, spacing out a bit.”

“Do you want to take a break for a bit? Maybe we should get up and stretch,” He suggested. You nodded in response, hoping it would help you refocus on your painting.

It didn’t help much, though, as Steve stood, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt lifted up just enough to show some skin, and his pants were riding fairly low. Your eyes almost involuntarily moved to look at him, landing right about the button to the jeans that he was wearing. The muscles in his hips and stomach formed an almost perfect V shape leading into his pants.

“(Y/N)?” You had been caught staring. You tried your best to look casual, relaxing your posture. Your mistake was to try to lean on the table, setting your hand directing on your palette, which was covered in paints.

You froze, and Steve’s eyes landed on your hand, the red and blue paint gushing out from the sides. You felt like an awkward teenager, doing stupid ridiculous shit in front of your crush. You watched intently for a reaction from Steve, not really knowing what to do and hoping that the way that he reacted would give you something easy to respond to.

He raised one of his eyebrows at you, a look of confusion, with a small hint of amusement under the surface painted across his face, “You seem to have set your hand in your paint.”

“Uh, yes, it would seem so,” You responded awkwardly, finally lifting your hand out of the paint. You still really weren’t sure what to say, and not knowing where to put your hand so that you wouldn’t smear any paint anywhere wasn’t really making you feel any better. You cleared your throat a bit, trying to think of something smart to say, something that wouldn’t signal exactly how far gone you were into your fantasies, but instead you just signaled to Steve how flustered you were.

You knew that Steve had never been the biggest ladies’ man. From what he had told you, he was actually pretty awkward growing up, but the confidence that washed over him as he finally figured out what was getting you so flustered was visible. He walked closer to you, standing close enough to emphasize how tall he was, “Got something on your mind, sweetheart?”

“Oh, uh,” You stuttered, not sure what to say. You could tell that he knew from the smirk on his face, but you could feel your face heating up as you thought about explaining your fantasizing to Steve. He smirked even more as you got visibly flustered.

“It’s okay, honey, I don’t mind if you stare a little,” He said, standing a bit closer, his hand moving to hold your chin. You swallowed deeply as his fingers brushed against your skin softly. Your eyes locked with his as his hand tilted your chin up just a little.

As much as he was keeping up his confident, masculine persona, you could see the complete warmth in his eyes. He softened completely when you looked at him, pure admiration in your eyes. He had to admit it warmed his heart to see you looking at him like that, like he was your whole world. And maybe it was because he felt the same way. He had been falling in love with you slowly, and as he looked at you, he wanted to find every way possible to express it.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his voice soft.

“Please.”

His lips were much softer than you thought they’d be, but you didn’t think about it too much as his lips moved against your own. It was soft at first, but it began to escalate quickly, getting rough and more passionate. His hands moved to your waist, pulling your body into his own, and your hands moved to his face, too focused on the kiss to notice the fact that you were smearing paint across his cheek.

He pulled back, allowing you to get a breath of air. That was when you noticed the red and blue streaks across his cheek, “Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about,” He brushed it off, before pulling you into another kiss. He truly didn’t seem to care at all about the paint, choosing instead to focus on you.

This kiss started off much more passionate, building even further. Before long he pulled away again, pulling a groan from your mouth as you instinctively wanted more. Your complaints were silenced, though, as he began to kiss down your neck, nipping slighting at a few select spots, leaving marks for you to see later.

“If you want me to stop, just say it,” He said, as his hands started to move towards the hem of your shirt. He was moving slowly, giving you the chance to stop him at any point. You didn’t.

Before long, your clothes were entirely discarded, scattered haphazardly across the floor. Steve’s followed shortly. Neither of you could keep your hands to yourself, feeling the curves of each other's bodies as you continued to kiss. Both of you were desperate, the tension that neither of you even realized had been building finally crashing to the ground around you, any sort of restraint being thrown out the window.

However, you had to take a few moments to admire his body. You knew that it was perfect, he was a super soldier, of course it’s perfect, but you didn’t really know how perfect until it was right in front of you. There was no way you could’ve imagined it in a way that did it true justice. The warmth under his skin, the pace of his breathing, the firm feeling of his grip on your waist. Those were things that you could never have imagined fully.

He lifted you up without any issue, placing his hands under your thighs, carrying you to the work table and setting you on a clear section of the table without breaking the kiss. His hands slid across the tops of your thighs before grabbing your hips. Yours moved from his cheeks to rest on his bare chest, smearing a bit more paint across his scalped chest. You could feel his erection brush against your leg as he leaned over you, the two of you trying to get as close to each other as possible.

You were breathing heavily, your brain clouded with need, both new and left over from your earlier fantasies. Fantasies that were coming true, “Please, Steve.”

“What is it, Sweetheart?” Steve asked, looking down at you, his pupils blown wide with desire, “What do you want?”

You began to grind against his thigh without really thinking about it. He had to admit that something about you needing him this much turned him on, but he wanted to wait until you said it before he did anything, “Please fuck me.”

He would’ve liked to have a bit more foreplay, but both of you were so needy, having built up to this for so long with so little release until now. So he complied with your request. He pulled you quickly to the edge of the table. You were forced to lay your upper body down completely so that he could pull your hips to hang over the edge a bit. He took a few moments to rub himself against the entrance to your pussy, coating the head of his cock with liquid that was practically dripping from your pussy. Finally, he pushed himself into you slowly, making sure to monitor your reaction for any sort of discomfort. You were indulging in the feeling of him slowly stretching you out, completely enjoying the feeling of having him as close to you as possible.

He started moving after he was sure that you were comfortable, his hands beginning to wander your body, squeezing at your hips and breasts, basically any part of you that had a bit of squish, something for him to grab. His mouth latched on to the base of your neck, leaving a deep, dark hickey. You could feel every movement of his hips, his cock brushing against your internal walls again with each thrust.

You couldn’t hold back your moans as he found the perfect spot to hit, one of his hands gripping one of your hips tightly to hold you in place as his thrusts gained momentum. He started picking up speed a bit, taking care to continue to hit the spot that made you moan the loudest. His other hand slid down further, his fingers making their way between your folds. He was surprisingly quick to find your clit, not that you were complaining. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head as he started to rub small circles over it, keeping pace with his thrusts.

You were practically putty in his hands, falling apart as he found every way to make you moan. Touch, squeezing, kissing, and biting exactly where you needed him to. You had no idea how he knew exactly what you wanted, but you didn’t really care as a knot began to build in the pit of your stomach.

You practically screamed his name as the knot finally snapped, Steve continuing his motions, continuing to rub your clit, as you rode out your climax, your whole body feeling as though fireworks were shooting through your veins. Your walls tightened with the waves of your orgasms, the fluttering feeling clear to Steve as he continued to bury himself inside of you. Soon after your climax finished, you could feel his thrust begin to get a bit sloppy, focus clear on his face as he tried his best to hold on longer.

He couldn’t hold on that long, though, soon giving in to the building pleasure. He came hard, his hips snapping into your own and his head being buried in your neck to hide his curses as he came completely undone. You could feel the thick hot ropes of his cum coating your insides as he finished. You both stayed like that for a few moments in order to catch your breath.

As you started to come back to reality, you finally noticed the mess you had made. Steve’s hair was a mess, blue paint sticking some of the tips together. You couldn’t even remember when you had grabbed his hair, but the paint smears left a clear map of where your hand had wandered. The blue and red stripes across his face and chest were clear, too. In fact, you had gotten paint all over his sculpted body, the blue smears outlining his muscles.

“We should probably clean up and get back to work, huh?” He eventually sighed, his eyes never leaving your body.

“I suppose.”

(A/N: Thanks for reading! If you want to send me a tip for my writing feel free to tip me over venmo! My venmo is Al3x13l. Tips aren't required, but as a broke college student, they are appreciated.)