#Finally the old art seeing the light of the day

[kalolasfantasyworld]

Happy Pride Month everyone!

I'm posting my old art of post canon Klance smushing faces ^^

[faaun]

Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship

[dynastine]

this one has been in a sketchbook for a while

[sugarverse]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class. 

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit. 

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking. 

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses. 

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart. 

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him. 

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes. 

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty. 

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut. 

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I’m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now? 

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them. 

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top. 

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out. 

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?” 

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother. 

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,” 

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights. 

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home. 

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat. 

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?” 

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him. 

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

 “You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about. 

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times. 

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment. 

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[confused-pyramid]

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

[doumadono]

Bakugo being a porn streamer (for Sinful Sunday)

Warnings: smut with plot, rough smut, pussy fingering and eating, cunnilingus, missionary, creampie, fem!reader, male masturbation, squirting, public sex, only fans & pornhub mentions, porn stream, Bakugo has OnlyFans account

A/N: this request got the second highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll I held over a week ago. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The cityscape glowed like a thousand gems scattered across a dark velvet blanket, each light a testament to the life teeming below. 

Katsuki Bakugo strode through the bustling streets, the remnants of his patrol echoing in the satisfied murmurs of bystanders he had saved earlier. His fiery eyes scanned the horizon, mind already drifting to the solace awaiting him at home.

Reaching the sleek, modern building that housed his penthouse, Bakugo nodded curtly to the doorman and made his way to the private elevator. As the doors closed, he allowed a small, rare smile to touch his lips. 

It had been a good day — no major catastrophes, no near-death experiences. Just another day of being the best hero the world had ever seen.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floor. 

Bakugo stepped into his luxurious apartment, the space a perfect blend of modernity and comfort. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, and plush furnishings invited him to relax. He shed his hero gear with practiced efficiency, revealing the chiseled body beneath — one that had become almost as famous as his explosive quirk.

Padding barefoot across the cool hardwood floors, Bakugo headed to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He took a long drink, his thoughts wandering to his evening plans. 

It had started as a joke, really — a whim born from boredom and pure curiosity. One night, he had filmed himself getting off, his muscular body glistening with sweat, his deep, guttural moans echoing in the silent room. On a lark, he had uploaded the video to his old Pornhub, expecting nothing in particular.

To his surprise, the video had gone viral. Within days, he had amassed thousands of fans, all clamoring for more. At first, Bakugo was amused. Then intrigued. And finally, he saw an opportunity. He was a hot man — he knew that. And if people wanted to watch him, if it made them happy and he enjoyed it too, then why not?

With the success of his initial video, Bakugo had created an OnlyFans account, eager to capitalize on his newfound popularity. It had been an instant hit. Fans flocked to his page, eager to pay for the privilege of seeing him in more intimate, exclusive settings. The subscriptions rolled in, and Bakugo found himself enjoying the attention, the adoration. It was a different kind of thrill, but a thrill nonetheless.

Bakugo set the water bottle down and made his way to his bedroom. The room was dominated by a large, king-sized bed draped in dark, luxurious linens. A camera was set up on a tripod in one corner, pointed directly at the bed. He moved with confidence, stripping off his clothes and tossing them aside. Naked, he admired his reflection in the full-length mirror. His body was a testament to years of rigorous training — every muscle defined, every inch a work of art.

With practiced ease, Bakugo positioned himself on the bed, adjusting the camera angle until he was satisfied. He grabbed a small remote from the nightstand and turned on the camera. The red light blinked to life, and he took a deep breath, letting the anticipation build. This was his stage, his audience waiting eagerly on the other side of the screen.

He opened his laptop, navigating to his OnlyFans account. With a few clicks, he started a live stream, watching as the viewer count began to climb rapidly. The chat box exploded with messages, fans greeting him eagerly, their excitement palpable even through the screen.

"Hey, fucking perverts," he greeted, his voice low and rough, tinged with the cocky confidence that had made him a hero. "It's your favorite pro hero, back for another round."

He ran a hand down his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs. He knew exactly what his fans wanted, what they craved. And he was more than happy to give it to them. His hand continued its descent, skimming over the taut skin until it reached his cock. Already semi-hard, it twitched in his grasp, responding to his touch.

Bakugo leaned back against the pillows, spreading his legs slightly to give the camera a better view. He stroked himself slowly at first, his grip firm but teasing. He knew how to build the anticipation, how to draw it out until he was practically vibrating with need. "You like what you see?" he growled, eyes locked on the camera as if he could see his fans watching. "Bet you wish you could touch me, huh? Feel how hard I am for you, little perverts?"

The chat box lit up with eager responses, fans egging him on, praising his body, his performance.

God, you're so hot!

I've been waiting all day for this.

Take it slow, Dynamight, make it last!

His eyes scanned the comments, searching for one particular username: sweet_daisyxxx. Amid the flood of adoring messages, he spotted it.

sweet_daisyxxx: You look amazing tonight, Katsuki

A rush of heat surged through him at the sight of your comment. He smirked, a new surge of energy coursing through him. His hand moved faster, strokes becoming more insistent. Pleasure coiled in his belly, hot and demanding. He was stroking his cock from base to tip, picturing you moaning his name. 

For Bakugo, starting an OnlyFans account had been a natural progression from his initial success on Pornhub. He'd always had a hard time settling down, despite his status as a pro hero and his undeniable attractiveness. His standards were high — too high, perhaps — and no woman had ever met all his requirements. His relationships invariably ended in one-night stands, fleeting and unsatisfying.

He had begun to find solace in the digital realm, exploring the myriad of content creators on OnlyFans. He followed the accounts of the girls he found hot, drawn to their beauty and charisma. It was a distraction, an addiction of sorts, but one he didn't mind. It filled a void that real-life encounters couldn't, offering a tantalizing escape from the pressures of heroism.

Then he came across your account. It was different from the rest. Yes, you were a camgirl yourself, you had a beautiful body, a captivating presence, but what set you apart was your approach. You didn't reveal everything, always touching yourself through the thin material of your lacy panties, always keeping your face off the camera, maintaining an air of mystery and intrigue while you played with yourself. Your streams were a mix of sensuality and intellect as you were trying to engage your small but dedicated follower count in discussions about literature, history, fashion, and the changing world. You were a tease, undoubtedly, but it was your depth that held him captive. Bakugo lingered on your page longer than he intended, entranced by your intelligence and charm. Your body was a work of art, but it was your mind that ensnared him. Not to mention you happened to be his biggest fan.

sweet_daisyxxx: Those muscles look even better up close. You're incredible, Katsuki

His eyes flicked back to the chat, watching as your other comments rolled in. 

sweet_daisyxxx: That growl you made just now? So hoooot, oh Gosh... Don't stop

Bakugo was incredibly turned on, imagining the taste and feel of licking your cunny. Even though he had never truly seen your pussy, the lingerie you wore on your streams left little to the imagination, perfectly outlining the curves of your folds. He couldn't help but think your pussy must be the prettiest one. What sounds would you make riding his tongue? Where would you want him to cum? On your face? Mouth? Tits? Maybe you would want him to save it for your pussy?

sweet_daisyxxx: Wish I could be there to touch you, feel every inch of you

His breath hitched, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He could feel himself getting close, the familiar tension building with every stroke. His fans loved it when he talked dirty, loved the way he lost control on camera. And tonight, he was more than willing to give them a show. "Shit, I'm so close," he groaned, head falling back against the pillows. "You want to see me come undone, don't you? You want to watch me lose it for you?" His hips thrust faster into his rough palm.

He worked on his dick energetically, holding his balls tight in his free hand, squeezing them from time to time. He moaned from the pleasure radiating from his throbbing dick. He could almost hear his fans' reactions, the collective intake of breath, the eager anticipation. And that thought pushed him over the edge. With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his seed hot and sticky over his hand and stomach. It gushed and bubbled through the wet tip of his throbbing dick, leaving a slick trail on his toned abs as he continued to thrust into his clenched fist. Spurt, spurt. The sensation seemed endless. Katsuki's breath hitched with relief, and his hips finally began to slow. Though his balls were drained, they kept clenching, desperate to empty every last drop of his cum. His head rolled back, mouth hanging open as he panted through the final throes of one of the strongest orgasms of his life.

sweet_daisyxxx: Yes, Katsuki, just like that. So hot. You're perfect

Bakugo lay there for a moment, chest heaving, heart pounding. He let the camera capture every second, every twitch of aftershock. When he finally moved, it was with a lazy, satisfied grin. He reached for a towel and cleaned himself up, his eyes never leaving the camera.

But even in the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, Bakugo’s crimson eyes returned to the chat, seeking your username again.

sweet_daisyxxx: That was incredible, Mr Pro Hero. Can't wait for next time ♥

He smirked, feeling a sense of satisfaction beyond the physical release. You were more than just another fan. And you intrigued him.

"Hope you enjoyed the show," he said, voice still husky with the remnants of pleasure, his words directed toward you from all of his fans. "I'll see you next time."

He ended the live stream and lay back against the pillows, a sense of contentment settling over him. This was his life — a hero by day, a star of OnlyFans by night. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Bakugo lay back against the pillows, his body still thrumming with the afterglow of release. The chat window on his laptop blinked out, and he reached over to close it, his thoughts already drifting to the next interaction he craved. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he navigated to his messages.

He found your name quickly — sweet_daisyxxx. 

Your conversations had become a regular part of his routine, an escape from the relentless demands of hero work and the empty satisfaction of countless one-night stands. With you, it was different. You talked about things that mattered, things that challenged his mind and made him feel alive in ways he hadn't expected.

Horny_Dynamight: Wanna FaceTime?

There was a brief pause before your response came in.

sweet_daisyxxx: m’kay, give me a min

He waited, the seconds ticking by with a tense anticipation. Finally, his phone buzzed with the incoming call. He accepted, and your face filled the screen, your eyes bright with excitement.

You were seated in your gamer chair, the fitted black tank top you wore accentuating your curves. Your earbuds were in, and as you settled into the call, Bakugo couldn't stop his eyes from drifting downward, where the neckline of your top revealed the top of your beautiful breasts. The soft swell of your cleavage was tantalizing, and he felt a familiar heat stir within him.

"Hey, handsome," you greeted, your voice steady despite the underlying tension.

"Hey, hottie," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "So, how'd you really like the stream?"

You bit your lip, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "It was amazing, Katsuki. You looked incredible. And the way you touched yourself… It was so hot."

His smirk widened. "Glad you think so." He paused, studying your face, the way your eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I was thinking, would ya like to join my next stream?"

You blinked, taken aback. "Join? How?"

He didn't hesitate, his response blunt and to the point. "For some nice fucking."

Your eyes widened, shock and excitement warring for dominance on your face. "Are you serious, Kats? I think I’m far outta your league…"

"Dead serious," he confirmed, his gaze never wavering. "We've been dancing around this for way too long. I want you on my stream. With me. In every way, Y/N. I can’t stop thinking about ya, for fuck’s sake."

You stared at him, the silence stretching out as you processed his proposition. 

He wondered if he had pushed too far, if maybe he had read the situation wrong. 

But then, your expression shifted, a slow smile spreading across your face. "Okay," you said softly. "When?"

His heart leaped, a fierce grin spreading across his face. He hadn't expected you to agree so quickly, but then again, you had always surprised him. "Tomorrow night. Same time. My place."

"Ok, but you’ll have to pick me up," you replied with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

When you finally hung up, Bakugo felt a sense of satisfaction settle over him. Tomorrow night would be a game-changer, a step into new territory that he was eager to explore. With you.

The next day, Bakugo's routine went by in a haze of expectation. His patrols were efficient but mechanical, his thoughts constantly returning to the evening ahead. He had spent the day thinking about it, every spare moment filled with thoughts of you, of finally meeting the person who had occupied his thoughts for so long. Katsuki pushed himself harder in the gym, needing the physical exertion to keep his mind from spiraling into endless scenarios of what might happen. 

When the day finally drew to a close, he found himself back in his apartment, preparing for what felt like both a stream and a date. He made sure everything was perfect — the camera angles, the lighting, the room itself. And then, he drove to pick you up from the mall you set up as a meeting place.

Bakugo's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and nerves as he drove to the mall. This was the first time he was going to see you in real life, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear. 

He pulled into the parking lot, finding a spot near the entrance. As he stepped out of the car, he adjusted his black, leather jacket, trying to look as casual as possible despite the literal butterflies in his stomach. He scanned the crowd, looking for you, knowing you would stand out even among the bustling shoppers.

And there you were, waiting near the fountain in the center of the plaza. You wore a girly white summer dress with a delicate floral motif, the fabric swaying gently with the breeze. Your white sneakers added a touch of casual charm to your appearance. As you spotted him, your face lit up with a bright smile, and your cheeks turned slightly pink with a blush.

Bakugo made his way over to you, his heart pounding harder with each step. When he finally stood in front of you, he could hardly believe it. You were even more beautiful in person. "Hey," he said after clearing his throat, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.

"Hey, Katsuki," you replied, your voice soft and filled with excitement. "It's so good to finally see you in person, Mr Dynamight.”

He nodded, his eyes taking in every detail of you, from the way your dress clung to your figure to the sparkle in your eyes. "Yeah, it is."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you took each other in, the reality of the moment sinking in. Then, with a smirk, Bakugo extended his hand. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Absolutely,” you replied, taking his palm as if you two were a real couple.

He led you to his car, opening the door for you before getting in himself. 

As he drove, the conversation flowed easily, just like it did during your calls. You talked about everything and nothing, the comfort between you growing with each passing mile.

Bakugo couldn't help but steal glances at you as he drove. The way your dress highlighted all of your curves, the way the sun caught your hair, the way your laughter filled the car with warmth — it was all purely intoxicating. He reached over, his rough, large hand resting on your thigh. 

You glanced at him, a playful smile on your lips. "Can't keep your hands to yourself, huh?"

He smirked, his grip tightening slightly. "Nope. And I don't plan to, sweet doll."

His touch was firm, possessive, his fingers occasionally squeezing gently and brushing your soft skin as he navigated the streets. Every time his hand moved, it sent a shiver of anticipation through you, the promise of what was to come making your heart race.

Finally, you arrived at his apartment. Bakugo parked and turned to you, his expression serious. "You sure you're okay with this?"

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "More than okay, Katsuki. I've been looking forward to this, actually. I just… It’s been a while since…”

“Hush, no worries, I’ll be gentle,” he whispered softly, reaching his hand out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing slightly against your lower lip as he gazed into your eyes. With a nod, he led you inside the apartment. 

The moment the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. The tension that had been building all day exploded into action. 

Bakugo reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you fiercely, all the pent-up desire pouring into that single moment.

You responded immediately, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor. 

Your bodies pressed tightly together. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw need in his touch.

Bakugo's hands roamed down your sides, pulling you even closer until there was no space between you. 

You could feel the hardness growing in his pants, pressing insistently against your lower abdomen as he pushed you on the nearest wall. 

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." His hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he walked towards the bedroom with you in his arms.

You wrapped your legs around him, the movement causing the bulge in his pants to press even more firmly against your clothed pussy. The friction made you moan, the sound driving him wild.

Bakugo kicked the bedroom door open, setting you down on the edge of the bed. He stepped back for a moment, his eyes raking over you with a look of pure hunger. "You look so fucking good," he said, his voice low and rough.

You blushed, but there was a playful glint in your eyes as you whispered teasingly, "Why don't you come over here and show me just how good?"

With a growl of satisfaction, Bakugo was on you in an instant, his mouth capturing yours once more. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under your dress to caress your soft skin. He paused, taking in the sight of you in your underwear. "Beautiful," he murmured, his hands tracing the curves of your body.

You got up and reached for him, pulling his leather jacket off and tossing it aside before working on the buttons of his shirt. His skin was warm and firm under your touch, the muscles rippling as you pushed the fabric off his shoulders. He helped you, impatient to feel your hands on him.

Once his shirt was off, you traced your fingers over his chest, marveling at the hard lines and defined muscles. "You're incredible, Katsuki," you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

He grinned, his hands moving to unbutton his pants. "You haven't seen anything yet."

As his pants hit the floor, your eyes were drawn to the impressive bulge pressing against his underwear. He moved closer, his lips locking with yours in a searing kiss while his body pressed tightly against yours. The feel of his firmness against you, combined with the fervor of his kiss, left your head reeling.

Bakugo murmured, "You know what I want to show on the stream?"

You shivered at the rough timbre of his voice. "What?"

"Mostly eating you out," he growled, his hand moving to caress your inner thigh, "and fucking you until you can't think straight."

Your breath hitched, the bluntness of his words sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. “Are… Are you sure?" you asked, your voice trembling with anticipation.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes dark with desire. "I want everyone to see how good you can make me feel. How much we both want it."

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like you were burning from the inside out. "Katsuki..."

He kissed you again, hard and possessive. "So, what do you say?" he murmured against your lips. "You in?"

You nodded, your mind a whirl of desire and anticipation. "I'm in. Just…”

"Oh, quit being shy, doll. Just because you haven't shown yourself on cam yet doesn't mean you're a saint. We both know you're not. I still remember you moaning on the phone, telling me how you'd suck my dick during one of our calls."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. "Katsuki, I... I don't want my face shown on the stream."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Why not? Are you ashamed of my idea?"

You shook your head quickly, cupping his face in your hands. "No, it's not that. I just... I don't think you want to be associated with an OnlyFans girl later. It could cause trouble for you. You’re a hero after all..."

His expression softened, and he cupped your cheeks in his rough hands. "I don't care about your fucking profession, doll," he said firmly. "I've developed feelings for you. You're more than a one-night stand for me."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the sincerity in his eyes making your breath catch. "Katsuki..."

He kissed you deeply, his lips conveying everything he couldn't put into words. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "We'll do it your way. No face. I want this to be good for both of us."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "Thank you, Katsuki. This means a lot to me."

He grinned, his hands sliding down to your waist. "Now, let's make this the best stream anyone's ever seen."

Bakugo adjusted the camera one last time, ensuring it was angled just right. He made sure only a slight part of your neck would be visible, keeping your identity safe while still capturing the raw passion of the moment. The red light blinked on, indicating the stream was live. He turned to the camera, his usual smirk in place. "Hey, fuckers," he greeted, his voice low and confident. "Got a special stream for you tonight."

Immediately, the chat exploded with messages, the viewers' excitement palpable even through the screen.

Bakugo! Who's the girl?

Is this for real? Bakugo's got someone with him?

Holy shit, this is gonna be epic!

Introduce her! What's her name?!!

Is she your girlfriend?!! omg Dynamight has a gf? I’m heartbroken!!!

We need details, Dynamight!

Bakugo glanced at the comments, his smirk widening as he saw the flood of questions about you. He enjoyed the attention. "Calm down, fucking idiots," he said, his voice a growl that only seemed to stoke the fire in the chat. "You'll get what you came for. That’s all. My girlfriend’s face stays out of the frame. Got it?"

You gasped as you realized he called you his girlfriend.

The chat buzzed even more, curiosity and excitement mingling in the rapid-fire messages.

Why hide her face?

Is she that shy?

Come on, Bakugo, just a glimpse!

Gosh, he said she is his gf, rip to my feelings :(

Damn, this is hot already

Just fuck that cunt already man

Ignoring the more insistent demands, Bakugo turned to you, his crimson eyes dark with desire. He leaned in, his rough, large hand resting on your thigh as he whispered in your ear. "Ready to give them a show?"

You nodded, your heart racing. "More than ready...."

With a growl of satisfaction, Bakugo's lips crashed onto yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under the hem of your dress and slowly lifting it over your head. “Lay down and relax,” he commanded in a whisper.

The cool air hit your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his touch quickly warmed you up. You obliged and lay down on his bed.

He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the dress off completely, tossing it aside before capturing your lips again. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve with a desperate need. 

You could feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of your underwear, his fingers tracing the lines of your body with an intensity that made your head spin.

Bakugo's hands moved to your back, deftly unclasping your bra and tossing it to the floor. He pulled back slightly, his eyes raking over you with a look of pure hunger. "So fucking beautiful," he murmured, his hands moving to cup your breasts.

You gasped as his rough palms squeezed them gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching slightly in response. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck as he continued to fondle your breasts, his touch both firm and gentle.

"Katsuki," you moaned quietly, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, the anticipation of what was to come making your body ache with need.

His mouth moved lower, his lips and tongue tracing a path down your neck to your collarbone. "I want to make you feel so good," he growled against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. "I want everyone to see how much you need this."

You whimpered in response, your body trembling with desire. 

His hands continued to explore, one moving to your waist while the other remained on your breast, squeezing and teasing your nipple. Bakugo's mouth soon found your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before sucking it into his mouth. 

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, the pleasure almost too much to bear. 

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hands and mouth working together to drive you to the edge.

The camera captured every moment, the slight part of your neck and the intensity of Bakugo's actions visible to his eager audience. The thought of being watched only heightened your arousal, the exhibitionism adding a new layer of excitement to the experience.

The chat was a blur of comments, the viewers enraptured by the display.

Damn, she's loving it!

Bakugo, you're a beast!

This is insane! More, more!

I can't take my eyes off this

Lucky girl, getting all of Dynamight’s attention

Bakugo pulled back, his eyes meeting yours with a look of pure desire. "I can't wait any longer," he growled, his hands moving to the waistband of your panties. He leaned forward, caught the waistband with his teeth and slid them down your legs, the fabric pooling on the bed as he knelt between your legs. He kissed his way up your thigh, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. "I'm going to make you come so hard on my fucking mouth," he promised, his breath hot against your skin. "And everyone is going to see how much you love it."

He pushed your legs further apart, exposing your glistening folds to the camera. The sight was mesmerizing, your arousal clear and inviting. Bakugo's eyes darkened with hunger as he took in the view, his fingers gently parting your folds to give the viewers a better look. "Look at that," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "So fucking pretty, and all fucking mine."

The chat went wild, the viewers unable to contain their excitement.

OMG, her pussy is beautiful ♥♥♥

Bakugo, you're a lucky bastard! I’m so gay for that bitch

This is the hottest thing I've ever seen

Look at those curves!

I can't believe this is happening live!

Ignoring the comments, Bakugo leaned in, his breath hot against your sensitive folds. 

Your pussy was tight and firm. It was flushed with your desire, and its lips were damp with your slickness. 

Your scent filled his nostrils and Bakugo growled as his cock twitched in his boxers, aching to be freed.

The first touch of his tongue sent a shockwave of pleasure through you, your back arching as you cried out his name. His mouth worked expertly, his tongue and lips finding every sensitive spot as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

His tongue reached out and gently licked from the bottom of one side up to the top. He flicked the pearl of your clit and then licked back up the other side of your lips before flicking it again. Bakugo placed his tongue at the base of your slit and slid it up between your puffy lips. He tasted and felt your juices pool on his flexed tongue as it slid up. 

You tasted so good, so sweet. 

His lips closed over your clitoris and he sucked on it, drawing a gasp from you and a buck of your hips. Bakugo pulled your pussy lips into his mouth and sucked hard on them. His warm tongue went as far inside you as he could reach.

Your juices coated his chin. 

He slid his mouth back up to your clit and eased a finger inside you. He growled against you, the vibrations making your legs shake.

Your lips parted slightly as his thick, rough middle finger slid in between the folds of your pussy. 

It reached in and he curled it up till he hit the top of your pussy. He yet again sucked your clit into his lips hard. 

Suddenly, your legs squeezed together, trembling. “Katsuki,” you whined, arching your back.

Katsuki sucked hard on your clit, his teeth teased it and he flicked it with the tip of his tongue as he slipped two more fingers into your pussy. Soon, they were coated with your translucent slickness.

He kissed your pussy lips and sucked up all of your juices. The nectar from your climax covered his face and hand. It was delicious and he smiled as he looked up from between your legs. 

"Katsuki…" you moaned, your fingers tangling in his ash-blonde hair as you pulled him closer, the need for release almost unbearable as you ground your pussy against his face. Your body tensed, your back arching as the pleasure crashed over you in waves, your cries filling the room. 

Bakugo didn't stop, his tongue continuing to work you through your orgasm, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling and breathless; your juices spilling on his tongue, overlaying his mouth and chin as he drank all of your essence.

The chat was in a frenzy, the viewers unable to contain their excitement.

OMG, that was intense!

Bakugo, you're a god

I need a cold shower after this

More, more, more!

This is the best stream ever Shhiiit her moans are hot

Fuck, she super hot, you’re lucky, man

Bakugo pulled back, his lips glistening with your juices as he looked up at you with a satisfied smirk. Bakugo stood up, his hands moving to the waistband of his black Calvin Klein boxers as he undressed quickly, his eyes never leaving yours. He stepped out of his underwear, his hard length springing free. 

You licked your lips, the sight of him making your mouth water with anticipation.

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs as he looked down at you with a possessive hunger. "I'm going to fuck you so hard," he promised, his voice a low growl. Ever so slowly he pressed the leaking tip of his cock to the opening of your pussy.

"Ohhh fuck," you whimpered as Bakugo gradually penetrated your entrance. You sucked in a breath and opened your legs wider to grant him better access. 

So slowly he pushed his cock further in until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Bakugo left his other hand at your throat as he began a slow pace, sliding almost completely away from you before plunging back in. 

You moaned deeply, relishing the searing hardness of his arousal. Your velvety walls clenched tightly around him, drawing a slight widening of his eyes in response to your movements. His arousal felt like forged steel as he continued to thrust vigorously in and out of you. Your desire had escalated to the point where it now glistened on the insides of your thighs and his toned abdomen, the soft, wet sounds filling the air each time he withdrew and then thrust back into your cunny.

Bakugo's lips captured yours passionately, his kiss fervent and insistent. He nipped at your tongue and the corners of your mouth, each bite sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you, melding the physical intensity with a deep, consuming heat.

A sharp yank on his blonde strands pulled his mouth from yours, and you looked into his crimson eyes. “Harder,” you begged.

Bakugo’s face transformed from an expression of animalistic need to one of desperate pleasure. He set a relentless pace, his hips driving into you with a fierce intensity. 

Sweat began to slide in droplets between his shoulder blades and broke out over his forehead. A single drop fell from the tip of his nose and splashed onto your soft belly and you gasped. 

Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the pleasure building with each thrust.

Withdrawing, Balugo moved back into your tight pussy with full force again, and again. He sunk his teeth into the red mark he had made earlier where your neck met your shoulder and moved his body roughly against yours.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, somehow pulling him deeper into your pussy, causing small moans to fall from your lips uncontrollably.

"Katsuki, I'm going to come again," you whined, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure.

"Do it," he growled, his hips pistoning into you even harder. "Come for me. Let everyone see how much you need this."

With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as your orgasm ripped through your entire being. You were trembling and quivering as Bakugo rubbed your slick clit faster and faster, making you squirm as you orgasmed. Your toes curled and uncurled with each movement, your pussy dripping wet as his massive cock hit your cervix with every thrust. Your breathing grew heavy, moans escalating in volume until you were screaming his name. Your entire body shook, legs trembling, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. Your pussy dripped, juices spraying the bed and Katsuki's abdomen, the bed squeaking loudly, rocking with the force of his thrusts as you squirted. “Fuck!”

Bakugo thrust madly, groaning as he felt the tightness of your pussy around his cock begin to ripple. He cried out a string of curses as his cock spurted in a mighty gush. He thrust thrice more, cumming with each push until he was absolutely spent, milking your velvety walls with his creamy, thick semen.

As the aftershocks of your orgasms subsided, Bakugo leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. "You're incredible," he murmured against your lips, his hands cupping your face gently.

"So are you," you replied, your heart swelling with affection as you ran your hands though his messy hair.

Bakugo gradually withdrew, his movements deliberate and slow, savoring the last vestiges of intimacy. He watched with a mixture of pride and amusement as his thick cum began to dribble out from your spent pussy, staining his bedsheets. His gaze was intense, capturing every moment with a fierce satisfaction. Ensuring that every second was visible to his viewers, he turned slightly. "How'd you like that, fucking perverts?" he asked his viewers, his voice rough with satisfaction.

The screen was flooded with emojis, exclamations, and messages that scrolled past almost too fast to read. Fans were expressing their thrill and approval, many praising Bakugo's intensity and the raw, unfiltered passion of the display. Some commented on the sheer boldness. It was clear that Bakugo's actions had struck a chord, igniting a fervent buzz among the viewers.

Wow, Bakugo you never disappoint! Absolute legend! 🔥🔥🔥

What a beautiful squirt! That was INTENSE! Way to go, Katsuki!! 💥💥 😱 Can't believe what I just saw! This is why Bakugo's the best! Dude, that was wild!! 🌋 Loved every second of it!

Loved that, absolutely killed it Bakugo! Can’t wait for more! Ur girl is fucking lucky

Bakugo glanced back at you, and asked simply, "So? Ready for another round?"

[lynaferns]

Redraw (well, third attempt) of an old drawing from 2022.

Alright, this is a big one, so, PC users: left click the image, right click the image, open in another tab, zoom and see all the details you want.

Phone users: press down on the image, download, find image in your phone gallery, it will download at full quality so you can zoom and see all the details.

The fancy stars and the inside of the piano were a pain in the ass, everything else went pretty smoothly, or at least the average complications. I'm proud of how I mixed the colors in the piano. I was convinced I'd end up making a mess but it turned out nice.

Once again, this is finished because I decided so. I have no energy to make the final look I had in mind.

The piano alone, close ups (cuz the jpeg won't let you zoom at the very max and that sucks, so I screenshot from my art program) and an idea for an AU + youtube playlist I made that I relate too much to the AU under the cut. vvv

SO!

This was never supposed to be an AU, and I probably won't do anything regardless, but I got the idea while I was working on it last month. And since I have a liiiiiiittle basic knowledge of music and experience, specially in piano... well...

I had bad experiences learning music as a child so probably the story would reflect on that lol.

An old astral auditorium that's abandoned and in ruins during the day and gets all shiny and nice at night when it's illuminated by the light of the stars.

Sun, Moon and Eclipse are in charge of the place, they do their best at keeping the place standing… and are the main musicians that play for the stars every month, once or twice. The day and night transformation affects them too.

Violet (y/n that's not really a y/n at this point) is a young altruist and selftaugth violinist (yeah yeah, I'm very original with the names, hush) that came across this old auditorium. She starts visiting the brothers to play music during the day and decides to join them in the auditions to play for the stars, and help them modernize a little bit to attract human audience too.

The brothers play several instruments to be able to acompany each other if necesary buuut they each have a "favourite". Sun mainly Piano, Moon mainly Harp (can also play piano and viola to accompany Sun) and Eclipse can play any instrument Sun and Moon can and more, but likes accordion :)

Sun is the most strict one when it's about playing music even though he likes to mess around with songs and improvise during day hours when no body is around, but will feel guilty afterwards... Moon is a gremlin that likes messing up and playing with the instruments in ways you are not supposed to (like using the viola bow as a sword). Eclipse is easy going and will match the energy of their brothers while keeping them out of trouble. Clip doesn't really like playing for the auditorium and prefers improvising silly songs alone or with Sun and Moon.

You can ask me about this AU if it got you curious, I'll be glad to answer!

I still want to make the MC design at least. And maybe some sketch comics if I have the energy for it.

[sundew199]

The comfort of you

Tags: zoro x f!reader, fluff

Zoro loves watching you sleep, loves watching the way your guard falls easily when you’re alone with him, like the only source of comfort is his presence. He considers it an honor to know you feel safe and comfortable enough to sleep, even more so when he finds out you force yourself to stay awake around others. He smiles to himself when he traces your soft cheek with his finger, how your brows twitch at the touch, pulling a soft laugh from him.

You sleep so deeply on his chest, a trail of drool beginning at the corner of your mouth, never quite reaching his own skin. Zoro refuses to sleep when you do, his mind racing with thoughts as he looks at you. How pretty you are, how kind and accepting, how you fell for him of all people. That part is still a mystery, remembering how closed off and brash he was to you at first, honed in on his goal. But his heart kept pulling you to him, like a magnet in the vicinity of the opposite pole, stretching to connect.

Zoro often wonders of the life he can give you outside of piracy, when his life long goals have been met, when he succeeds in aiding his captain in his. Will you still want to be with him? Would you consider a slow normal life where he could teach the art of the sword to young minds? Would your love inflame or dwindle now that thrill of life on the sea was over?

He likes to think it won’t, but he’s never been sure, he can’t place all his eggs into one basket, even if he yearns to. All he wants is to grow old together, tell stories to the students that’ll learn from him or maybe even the children he’ll give you. He’d like that actually, a couple of copies of you and him, something he was once so adamantly against, but you had such an odd way of softening his hard nos.

His mind races with possibilities when he watches you sleep, the good and the bad. There are things he wants to tell you that dance in his mind but fear of jinxing it if he says it out loud. Like how he wants to seal his love for you in a ceremony, make you his wife and let the world know that the famed pirate hunter now vice captain of the straw hat pirates has a heart softened by only you. Or how he wants to end his night with you in a home over tea and sake, let you lean back into his chest and you watch the sun set over the sea and the wind rustle the cherry blossoms.

Zoro allows himself to feel when you sleep on or next to him, feel how your beating heart synchs with his and how real you are against him. His life is filled with uncertainty that is almost certain, but he never questions you or the lengths he would go to ensure you’re in his life till the end. Zoro can’t imagine you not rolling over in bed to greet him with a kiss, whether on the sunny or the home he brings you too after this adventure has closed.

Anticipation for a future with you is so sweet, so sought after by him that he has to remind himself to cherish each day, because he knows he’ll miss the lapping waves outside of his cabin on the sunny as you curl into his chest, resting up for whatever the crew gets into on the next island they’ll land at. He’ll miss the way you’ll drag him away from a party thrown by their captain for a private kiss or two, pressing you to the wall with a bottle of sake in his hand or yours, drunkenly giggling as your lips find each others. He’ll miss the way you smile at him when he joins you in Nami’s orchard, forcing you to nap under the sun with him. But he also can’t wait for the quiet slow life of just you and him and a possible family.

Watching you sleep and envisioning the future has become so dear to him, he just can’t bring himself to close his eye and join you, making up for the lack of sleep during the day. He sees everything he wants with you in the content expression on your face, tracing your features with a calloused finger and dotting your moonlit skin in feather light kisses.

“I love you.”

Is what he says into your ear as he settles in finally beside you, his body no longer able to stay awake like he wants. Carefully adjusting you so you’re heart will beat on top of his, lulling him into a dream that he can’t wait to have, knowing it’ll be filled with your bright smile and warm eyes, pulling him along to wherever the future with you holds, hoping to experience it outside of his mind one day soon.

[covenofagatha]

'tis the damn season

You're in town for the holidays for the first time in seven years and you run into your old girlfriend.

Word count: 5100

Warnings: sex, fingering, oral, thigh grinding, angst

It’s been seven years since you’ve been back in Westview. 

And yet, as you drive back down the roads in the town where you grew up in, it seems like nothing has changed at all. 

You moved away after college to chase your dreams of becoming an actress in Los Angeles, leaving behind very little here. 

It had worked out; you had landed some roles in TV shows and movies, and you hadn’t been back since. 

Your parents had come to see you for most of the holidays wherever you were filming, and the years had just flown by. But this December, you had no projects in the works and they had begged you to come home. 

So you agreed. 

One day before Christmas, you pull up to the two-story house where you spent your entire childhood through college years. The outside lights are on, like they always were when you would get home late or go for a run or bring friends over. You used to joke that it was because your parents didn’t want you forgetting which house was theirs, but now you know it’s because they wanted to make sure you always knew to come back. 

“Yoohoo,” you hear someone behind you say. You turn around as you’re unloading your suitcase from the car to find Sharon Davis, the widow who lives next door standing there, looking pleased as ever. 

“Mrs. Davis,” you greet pleasantly. She holds her arms out to you and you step willingly into her embrace. The older woman had been your babysitter when you were younger and you remember the plates of freshly baked cookies she always had. 

She pulls back and gives you the once-over, squeezing your biceps. “Well, just look at you, hon. A movie star! How exciting.”

You chuckle and tug on your earlobe, a habit you’ve always had when people compliment you. “Thank you. So, how have you been? How are things here?” 

“Oh, things have been good,” Sharon says, waving her hands. “They built a new school, and that old diner? They tore it down!” 

“No,” you gasp, not really sure which one she’s talking about. 

Mrs. Davis nods like your mock outrage is the appropriate level. “And – oh, what was that girl’s name?”

Your brows crinkle. “What girl?” 

“You know, the one you used to hang out with,” she says, snapping her fingers, and you get a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Amelia…Abby…Addison…” 

“Agatha?” You offer, knowing that’s exactly who she’s thinking of. Your heart beat picks up.

She points at you. “Yes, Agatha! Well, I didn’t think anything of it until I saw you just now, but she’s been out and about with that Rio Vidal lady. Between you and me, I thought you and her made a better pair. Say, whatever happened with you two?” 

Your jaw clenches so hard you think you might crack a tooth. But thankfully, this is the exact moment when your parents decide to open the door and shout your name. 

“Happy Holidays, Mrs. Davis,” you say hastily, turning towards your mom who throws her arms around you. Now that you think about it, you haven’t seen them in close to a year. 

When she finally lets go of you, you give your dad a hug, and then your mom pulls you back in again. You let her, secretly glad to be home. 

“Well, just look at you,” your mom says, tutting. “Do they even feed you in LA? Come on in, I’ve put on a roast. Stan, grab her suitcase.” Your dad does as he’s told, and you give Mrs. Davis a weak wave, her words still echoing in your head. 

You’re ushered through the front door and to the kitchen table, to the seat that you had claimed as yours all those years ago. The house still looks exactly the same, the pictures, the macaroni art you made in third grade, the first place in the spelling bee certificate hung on the fridge. 

It almost makes you tear up, the amount of history they kept. You can hear the thud of your suitcase hitting the stairs as your dad brings it up to your room and your mom busies herself with setting the table, and you feel a longing pang in your chest for how things used to be. 

In elementary school, you’d run downstairs while your mom chased you around with your clothes and your dad would catch you before both of them walked you to the bus stop. They’d pick you up there too, always together, and you would peer over the countertop to get a glimpse of what your mom was making for dinner. 

In middle school, your dad would be tapping his foot by the front door waiting for you to finish texting and eating breakfast so he could drop you off. Your mom picked you up and then you would all sit in front of the television after dinner and catch up on whatever reality TV show you were watching. 

In high school, you would scarfe down a bagel and rush out of the house, pressing a quick kiss to both of their cheeks. You’d come home and sit at the table, doing homework until late at night, while your dad would do the crossword and your mom would work on her latest sowing project next to you. 

In college, they would give you your space, never prying too much and always having a home-cooked meal if you wanted one. When you started bringing Agatha home, they treated her like she was their second daughter. You would joke that they loved her more than they loved you, and you still remember how Agatha would wink at them, like it was their little secret. 

And then bitterness rises up in you at Mrs. Davis’s words. Rio Vidal? You don’t care who she’s with now, it’s been seven years, but you don’t want to hear about it. If you really cared that much, you would’ve just asked Agatha.

You had known her since your first day of third grade when she had moved to town. She sat next to you and you became fast friends when you offered her your green marker during a coloring project. 

The two of you had only grown closer through the rest of elementary school, middle school, and high school. 

One day, in the middle of senior year, she had started going out with this girl from your Biology class and you didn’t know why you were so jealous. You thought it was just because you were her best friend and you felt like she was replacing you, but then she took her shirt off in front of you while changing for volleyball practice, and your mouth went dry. 

Oh. 

You weren’t jealous because you were her friend. You were jealous because you were in love with her.

It was hard not to be, with her long hair and blue eyes and her easy smile, her entire personality, the way she would look at you like you were the only one in the world. 

Her and the girl broke up, and you couldn’t hide how happy you were about it. But you had never imagined she would like you back, until one night, the two of you were laughing so hard you were almost crying in your bed around midnight, when she had suddenly leaned in and kissed you. 

Immediately you kissed her back and she ended up holding a hand over your mouth while she fingered you that night in your childhood bed so your parents wouldn’t hear you. 

You had asked her to be your girlfriend the next day, and a month later, she told you that she loved you. You said it back with no hesitation at all, knowing that she was the first person you ever meant it to. 

And things were really good for the next four years. You’d gone to the same college, both of you living at home, and still found lots of time to hang out. 

But you were a theater major in college, and things were really starting to go right for you. Agents had been in touch, asking you to fly out to all these places around the US. It was your dream. But Agatha was here, and she had to take care of her parents. She hadn’t even asked you to stay, knowing that it was always your goal to make it out of Westview. Still, you considered it, not wanting to leave her. 

The decision tore you apart, but you ultimately chose to go. 

You told Agatha that maybe you could do long-distance, and you would fly back whenever you could, and you could fly her out to see you, but nothing was ever the same after that. 

There was a disconnect between you now, an ache in both of you, and you knew it was all your fault. She turned cold, colder than the New Jersey winter, and she didn’t even come to say goodbye when you left for the airport the last time you were here. 

You’re happy she moved on, you tell yourself. It’s been seven years. You’ve “moved on,” dated your fair share of stars, leaving a trail of broken hearts down the road. You weren't sure what was wrong with you, and why you couldn’t feel the same toward anyone else though. 

Your mom puts down the plate of food in front of you, the scent making your mouth water. It’s been too long since you’ve had a meal like this and you immediately dig in, the warmth helping you feel a little better about Agatha. 

After dinner, you’re helping your parents clean up in the kitchen when your dad suddenly slaps his hand to his forehead. 

“I forgot to get a pie crust for tomorrow,” he groans. On Christmas, it’s always been a family tradition to bake a pumpkin pie. 

“Oh, don’t worry, dad,” you say, swiping your keys from the bowl on the island. “I’ll run to the store and get one before they close.” Before they can protest, you’re getting in your car and starting the familiar drive to the grocery store five minutes from your house. 

You’re browsing the aisles, picking up the crust and seeing if there’s anything else you might need, when you hear a cart behind you. You automatically step closer to the shelves so they can pass, but the wheels stop right next to you. 

“Hey there, superstar,” a voice says, a voice that you haven’t heard in seven years, except in your dreams. It’s the same pet name that had been thrown in your face scathingly when you’d chosen LA, but now, there’s a certain fondness to it. 

Before you even turn, you know exactly who you’ll find. “Agatha,” you breathe, taking the woman in. She looks exactly the same, except for a few more lines on her forehead. Time has treated her very well and your heart hurts. She’s wearing a red dress and her long hair is flowing over her shoulders. 

She gives you a soft smile. “Welcome back.” 

“Oh, thanks,” you say, clearing your throat. “Um, how are you? How have you been?” 

She nods. “Not too bad. What about you? How long are you in town for?” The awkwardness hangs over your heads like a sword about to fall. 

“Just for a few days. I’m leaving on the 26th. I had Christmas off though, so thought I would come stop by for a bit. Good to see things haven’t changed around here,” you try to joke, but it falls flat. 

“Well, good to see you,” she says and starts to push her cart but you grab onto it, desperation sinking her claws into your body. You refuse to let her walk away. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and you quickly let go. “Do you want to maybe, like, get a drink or something? Catch up?” You ask, trying to keep the pleading tone out of your voice but it leaks out anyway. 

She chews on her lip and you want to cry. You haven’t realized how much you’ve missed her until now. “Okay,” Agatha says finally and you feel a weight lifted off you. “Let me get a few more things. Where do you want to go?” 

“How about I just get a six pack and we go sit in my driveway? Like old times?” You know it’s a lot, but you just want to feel like you’re twenty-one with her again. 

But she nods. “Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there.” You bite the inside of your cheek before you can say something stupid about how she still remembers where you live. 

You get the beers and the pie crust and drive home, wiping your palms on your jeans every so often. You don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s just like meeting up with any of your old friends. You’ve known her since you were about eight years old.

It’s only about five minutes before Agatha pulls into the driveway next to you and turns off her car. You swallow hard before unlocking your door so she can slide into the passenger seat next to you. 

“So, superstar,” she drawls, using her keychain to pop off the top to the beer bottle that you hand her. You wince preemptively at the name, worried that she’s going to cut deep. “How’s LA?” 

An exhale slowly escapes you and you launch into telling her the same things you tell everyone about your recent projects and the people you’ve worked with and how one time on set, you kept saying a word wrong and you ended up having to do thirty-seven takes before the director finally changed the script. 

Agatha hangs onto every word, sipping her beer but never breaking eye contact. When you’re finally done talking, she puts her hand on yours and it makes you gasp. “How are you?” She asks, and it makes you falter.

“I just told you–” 

She cuts you off. “Come on. I know you better than that. Do you give that speech to anyone who asks? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, tell me how you’re really doing. I can tell when you’re not okay.” 

It’s like a punch to the gut to realize that Agatha still knows you better than anyone else does, maybe even better than you know yourself. “Oh,” you say, voice croaking and you blink fast. “It’s a little lonely, if I’m being honest.” It’s the first time you’ve ever admitted it out loud. 

In the past seven years, you’ve sailed through relationships, both romantic and platonic. Girlfriends never stuck around or you pushed them away, while friends were fair-weathered and only wanted to hang out because you’re famous. 

Agatha never cared about any of that. You find yourself wondering what if you had stayed more than you’d like to admit. It seems like something was always going to bring you back to her. 

Her face softens and she squeezes your hand. “I’m sorry.” 

You give her a wry smile. “Don’t be. I chose it. I left. I left y-” Your voice breaks before you can say that you left her.

“No,” she shushes, and she cups your cheek to wipe the tear you didn’t even realize was falling. “You got out. That’s what you always wanted. I was so angry back then, but it’s okay now. I should’ve tried to stay in touch.”

“I could’ve come back,” you say but she shakes her head. 

“It’s in the past. We can call it even now if you want,” she says and you laugh, finally getting some semblance of closure. 

You nod and hiccup and her lips tug up into the smile you’ve missed so much. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” 

And then the next thing you know, her mouth is on yours and her hands are grappling at your waist to get you into her lap over the center console. You hit your knee on the gear shift and hiss in pain, but then her tongue is sliding against yours and you couldn’t care less about anything besides her. 

Seven years of yearning and pain are poured into the kiss and you can feel all the unspoken words flowing between you. She takes off your shirt, meaning you have to break away for a second. But it’s too long and you kiss her ferociously again to make up for it and all the other times you could’ve had her lips on you but didn’t. 

She digs her nails into your waist and you whimper, rolling your hips against her lap, feeling more alive than you have in forever. Her hot breath is panting into your mouth and your teeth clash and it’s so messy, but it’s absolutely perfect. 

Your fingers entangle into her long hair and she unbuttons your jeans but you pull back. Her eyes widen like she’s afraid she did something wrong. “Inside,” you whisper and she chuckles. 

“Just like old times,” she agrees and opens the door so you can step off and drag her upstairs, still shirtless. Your parents have gone to bed so you drop the pie crust off in the kitchen and carefully pull her up the stairs. She pushes you against the wall when you’re halfway up and claims your swollen lips with her own and she has to swallow your moan when she fits a thigh between yours. “Gotta be quiet, babe,” she reminds you and you want her to just fuck you right there. 

But you know that would be dangerous, and you don’t want your parents to catch you and Agatha again (the one time they did was mortifying) so you reluctantly push her back and lead the way to your bedroom. 

It’s the first time you’ve been back in it and you momentarily lose yourself in reminiscing about the trophies on your dresser and the stuffed animals on the bed and the pictures from all the shows you acted in throughout your youth. 

“They didn’t touch a thing, did they?” Agatha remarks, also remembering clearly what your room used to look like. 

You can still see hers in the back of your mind if you try and wonder how much it’s changed since you last saw it. 

Agatha advances on you, pulls you back in for a bruising kiss, sucks your bottom lip into her mouth. 

“Wait,” you say, a strand of saliva connecting your mouth to hers and her eyes darken. “What about Rio?” 

You don’t know much about Rio, only that she was in your grade in middle and high school. She was more of the wallflower type, intense and brooding and introverted. And weird. 

Agatha laughs breathlessly. “How’d you hear about that?” 

“Mrs. Davis,” you say and Agatha’s brows furrow. 

“Who?” 

You roll your eyes. “My neighbor? Remember, she would always bring cookies for the holidays? She said you’d been ‘out and about’ with Rio.” 

Agatha snorts. “Yeah, like once or twice. Nosy neighbor isn’t a good look for her. But I promise you, I’m not with Rio. Or with anyone else.” 

And that’s good enough for you to drag her back into a kiss and she walks you backwards, hands traveling up your bare back to unclasp your bra, until your thighs hit the bed. She pushes you down and kneels in front of you and your breath hitches. 

You forgot what a pretty sight Agatha on her knees for you was. 

You help her unbutton your jeans and you shimmy them off and she mouths at your pussy over your underwear. Your head falls back at the feeling. 

It’s been so long since you’ve had sex that simply making out with Agatha has you already dripping. 

Or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s her. 

“God, I missed you so much,” Agatha groans against you and her hot breath makes you whimper. 

You sit up on your elbows so you can watch her slide off your underwear and then she drags her tongue slowly through your folds. 

“Fuck, Agatha,” you whine when she swirls your wetness around your clit and you reach down to grip her hair. 

She scrapes her teeth against your inner thigh in the way that always had your hips bucking and this time is no different. “Shh, superstar. Unless you want your parents interrupting.” 

You nod and bite down on your lip as she resumes eating you out. She remembers every single thing that makes you tick: how to lick up inside you and curl her tongue to hit that spot and then suck on your clit and rake her nails down your thighs. She goes slowly at first, like she’s getting reacquainted with your pussy, but then she loses herself in the taste and her small noises of pleasure only add fuel to the fire growing inside your stomach. 

Agatha starts sloppily devouring you, trying to lap up every drop of your wetness, and your hips are grinding up and down on her face, chasing the intense pleasure you haven’t gotten in seven years. 

No one else came close to making you feel how she did. 

“Agatha,” you moan quietly and she sucks roughly on your clit, thrusting two fingers in and twisting them roughly and it sends you spiraling over the edge. Your mind goes white and you can’t think for a good minute as she continues to slowly fuck you through the aftershocks. 

She settles back onto her heels, face glistening with your wetness and the biggest smirk, and you yank her to you by the hair and lick it off her. And then you shove her over so she’s laying on the bed and you climb on top of her, positioning your weight on an arm next to her head. 

You lean down and kiss her softly while your other hand pushes up the hem of her dress and cups her over her underwear. You gasp when you feel how absolutely soaked they are. 

“Did the girls in LA fuck you that well?” Agatha asks smugly, still trying to regain some control even though she’s under you. 

You pretend to think about it for a moment, tracing her slit through the cloth and watching Agatha’s face contort with pleasure. “Hmm, not really,” you answer honestly. You push her panties to the side and gather her wetness with two fingers. “And how about Rio?” 

A teasing glint lights up in her eyes but when she opens her mouth to answer, you press those fingers into her and a groan comes out instead. You start slow and build up into a faster pace, also remembering exactly what she liked. 

When you feel her walls flutter around you, you rub her clit with your thumb and she clenches tightly, a strangled gasp tearing itself from her throat. You curl and scissor your fingers and squeeze a third one in on a particularly harsh thrust and her body jerks. Her hair is fawned out on your pillow underneath her head and you almost lose focus while thinking about how beautiful she is. 

“There we go, superstar,” she keens when you drop your head and start to suck kisses into her neck, wanting to leave a mark. You’re leaving in two days and you want her to still see the proof of what you did to her after you’re gone. 

You nibble at the skin half covered by her dress until she takes the hint and pulls down the top so she can take her breasts out, not even bothering to take off her bra, and you roll her nipple on your tongue. She gasps when you tug at it with your teeth and you can feel her throb around you. 

“Fuck, babe, I’m so close,” she says and it’s the old pet name in that desperate tone that makes you find the extra energy to fuck her even harder. 

She cums all over your fingers with your mouth on her boob and she tugs you in for a hot, filthy kiss. When you pull out of her, she takes your fingers into her mouth and sucks them clean and you feel the heat in your gut come back. 

But you flop on the bed next to her and she wraps an arm around you, running a hand through your hair. 

“I really have missed you,” she says and it almost hurts you how sweet it is. You smile and try not to cry. 

“I’ve missed you so much. I wish I didn’t have to go back so soon,” you say wistfully, part of you hoping that she asks you to postpone. 

But she just looks down at your lips and back up to your eyes. “You should come back more. I’m not saying that we have to…you know, or anything, but it would be nice to stay in touch.” 

You know that it would be just as unfair and selfish for you to ask her to wait for you as it would be for her to ask you to stay for her. So you nod and don’t ask for anything.

“Yeah, I can do that,” you say hoarsely and she cuddles against you even tighter. 

Sleep comes faster than it has in years and when you wake up, you see that it’s almost 11 am on Christmas. You also can’t remember the last time you slept in this late. Agatha is still sleeping, curled around you like the cutest koala. Her warmth radiates off her and heats you up. 

“Aggie,” you whisper, shaking her. Her eyes blink open and she gives you a lazy smile. 

“I’ve missed waking up like this,” she rasps and there’s no denying the way your cheeks burn. She must see it too because she pulls you closer and allots her thigh between yours, guiding you with a hand on your hips. 

You’re already needy, but you don’t know how much longer before your parents bring it upon themselves to get you out of bed. “Agatha, it’s late–” 

“Better be quick then,” she teases and forces you down harder against the muscles in her leg. She flexes and sounds spill out of your mouth. “Yeah, superstar, just like that. You’re doing so well for me, babe, you look so nice and pretty riding my thigh like that.” 

The memories from last night, the dirty words, the way she feels under you, and the fact that you’re having sex with Agatha has you cumming all over her leg in no time. 

You get out of bed and attempt to find some nicer clothes to put on to go open presents with your family while Agatha lounges in your bed. 

“What time do you leave tomorrow?” She asks. 

“We’re going to the airport around ten. Flight leaves at noon. What are you doing tonight? I might be able to get out for a bit after Christmas dinner.” 

“Still making the pumpkin pie?” She asks and you smile and nod. She had come over for quite a few dinners and helped you make them. “Um, tonight my niece and nephews are coming into town. So I don’t think I’ll be able to get out. What about tomorrow morning?” 

You frown. “My parents are going to take me out for brunch. I’m sure they’d be okay if you came, though.” 

“I know you don’t get to see them often, I don’t want to impose.” 

And for the first time since the grocery store, there’s the awkwardness again. You can’t help but think about where the two of you would be if you had stayed. You wouldn’t have the money or the fame or the experiences, but you’d have a simpler life, a life with the woman you think you’ve always loved. 

It would be enough, right now. 

“Well,” you say finally. “I’ll make more of an effort to come back when I can. It would be good to see my parents, too. And I can give you my personal number. Maybe you can come and see me sometimes as well.” 

“I’d really like that,” Agatha says and you believe her. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and you punch your number in and call yourself so you have hers too. She didn’t change her number. “Can I go out the front door or do I need to sneak out the window like I used to?” 

You laugh at the memories of her climbing the pergola to knock on your window in high school after your parents would go to bed. 

“I think we can try and sneak you out the front door if you want,” you say and she grins. She finally climbs out of your bed and straightens herself up in the vanity while you try not to stare at the marks littering her chest and boobs. 

The two of you quietly step down the hallway and down the stairs and you’re almost to the front door when you hear footsteps. 

“Stan, I think she’s finally awake,” you hear your mom say, voice getting louder as she rounds the corner and she gasps loudly. “Oh my goodness, Agatha! Stan, come look who it is!” 

“She came and stopped by,” you attempt to lie, but your mom shoots you a knowing look and pulls Agatha into a hug. 

“Oh, hey, kiddo! Haven’t seen you in awhile,” your dad says, embracing Agatha once your mom has had her fill. “Do you want to join us?” 

Agatha glances at you and you give her a tight-lipped, pleading smile and she softens. “I would love to, but I should really be getting home. I have some family coming and I need to be there when they arrive.” 

Your parents titter about how it’s a shame and go back into the kitchen. You open the door and step outside with her. 

“I guess this is it,” you say, trying to hide how much it hurts. The first time, she didn’t even come and say goodbye to you, but somehow this feels worse. 

She throws her arms around you tightly and you burrow into her, breathing in her cinnamon scent. “I’ll see you soon though. Let me know when you land tomorrow.” 

You almost tell her that you still love her, but instead you just agree. She pulls back and presses a light kiss to your lips and then she walks away to get into her car. 

She waves at you as she pulls out of the driveway and you stand out there on the porch freezing until you can’t see her anymore. 

But you have her back now, even if it’s just a little part. 

And that’s more than enough for you right now. 

[choochooboss]

Sketch dump! Vol. 5

September 2022 (Part 1/2)

The first piece on top summarised my cosplay rush for Tracon 2022! The second is an old idea for a charm.

"SURPRISE!!"

Back in 2022 I hosted an art raffle for reaching 777 followers on Twitter! The winner would get their submas themed idea realised (which was their friends throwing a surprise party for the twins!). I wanted to make a little comic and have the bosses walk in their office where depot agents, Elesa, Drayden, Skyla, Clay etc. would be waiting with decorations and treats and games.

Emmet is all smiles of course while Ingo gets so emotional he could only whisper a "super bravo".

Not really headcanons anymore but still funny ideas.

1. Emmet gets clumsy when off-rhythm! He starts walking in curves if there is nobody else around to match his rhythm with.

2. Emmet spaces out/forgets to say things aloud when someone speaks too long or when things go off-script! His thinking gets interrupted easily.

3. Ingo sometimes bumps into doors because he is too used to automatic doors!

4. When things go off-script Ingo speaks too much and rushes in straight lines"

Also my little inexpensive sketchbook & my trusty tools! Mechanical pencil and eraser pen are life when scribbling my skrimblos smaller than a postage stamp!

More Ingo~ I utilise a wide range of sources for references, including CSP's poseable 3D models, they can come really handy with perspectives and proportions!

The second piece is my very first attempt at cosplay in Tracon 2022: Blingo! I walked in with a sequin hat, leather jacket, leather pants and high heel patent leather boots.

The hardest part of cosplaying Ingo is remembering NOT to smile ahaha!

Some hairstyle tests

I drew these for a huge submas art collaboration over Twitter hosted by @/mimizukeii!! It was technically my first art collab before I started arranging them myself with Aggie/Magma.

While looking for train related songs I found this cute nursery rhyme to go with the marching:

"Over the mountains,

Over the plains,

Over the rivers,

Here come the trains.

Carrying passengers,

Carrying mail,

Bringing their precious loads In without fail"

I wanted to compare these silly twins, planning to do something more silly with them later. Also a sketch of @/fukurow's butler designs I never finished.. The capes compliment them so well, I love them!!

Prequel to this piece! Emmet is so confident in himself he thinks Pierce wants to learn from him but is invited for a duet on the stage instead!!

Emmet has really great voice actors in Pokemas! I especially love how his english VA gives him that bri'ish/posh/sophisticated vibe while also soft and melodic! I know for SURE this VA/Emmet can sing, I can show you later!

One of my favourite sketches!! I wanted to add a bunch of characters in the BG reacting to this sonic blast of emotion over a performance!

Heyyy it's the smile buddies comic!! I really hope Ingo gets to interact with Marnie in Pokemas one day!!

I feel Ingo's eyes in the mirror panel is a little off in the final comic, I meant to keep it softer like in the sketch!

It's Nimbasa trio!! Idea inspired by submas EX uniform colors. Might continue this later!

Some BG tests for this piece! Compositing is hard but absolutely worth the effort, it can make a huge difference in the appeal of your piece!!

Practise piece drawing over a photo I thought was cool! I want to get more experimental with lighting and perspective!

'How's it hanging bro?' Who hung him up there anyway??

Sketch for this arguing scene! Something REALLY BAD needs to happen for them to end up that tense! Even if I want to present them close to the canon material I still want to put them in really challenging situations to see how far I can push their emotions!

Thank you so much for coming all the way down here!! This set was pretty loaded, I hope you enjoyed scrolling through all this ahah!

Previous posts:

Sketch dump Vol. 1: April-June 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 2: July 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 3: August 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 4: July 2022 Part 2

[hairyjocktf]

Artist to Athlete

Theo had arrived home for thanksgiving after his first few months of college. He was excited to see family but at the same time dreading some of those interactions. Namely with his father, Nathan, who had been against him going to art school from the very beginning. Theo had always had a bit of a tenuous relationship with his dad, but this had been the final straw. Nathan was previously the football coach at a state school, and had wanted for his son to follow in his footsteps there. Theo was expecting some serious judgment once he walked through the door, especially once he started talking about his work.

He opened the door and announced his presence. His mom came running with tears in her eyes before hugging her darling boy. She was already talking up a storm with him, how much she missed him, everything that he’d missed, etc. After pulling himself away for a moment he lugged his suitcase upstairs to his old room, still exactly as he left it. He took a few minutes to lay out his stuff before heading back down. Nathan was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Nice to see you again, son,” he said in his typical gruff tone.

“You too, dad,” Theo responded, trying to at least put some warmth out there on his part. His father smiled and pulled out a baseball cap, one from his alma mater. 

“I found this while cleaning out a few weeks back,” he said, handing it to Theo. “Thought that if you’re gonna follow your path I’ll at least give you a little piece of mine.” It was honestly a rather nice gesture. Theo didn’t love baseball caps but it felt like this was his olive branch, and he accepted the gift and put it on. His father smiled and went in for a hug, unusual for the normally macho man, but Theo wasn’t complaining here. Nathan released him from his iron grip and retreated back to the den where the game was on. Theo sighed with relief as the worst case scenario had already been avoided, and went to the kitchen to help his mother with dinner. 

Once out of sight, a devilish grin emerged on Nathan’s grizzled face. That hat had been worn by one of his best players while he was still coaching. Soaked with years of sweat, testosterone, and who knows what else. He hoped that it would change his son for the better, make him into more of a real man that he could be proud of. And Theo had taken it, no questions asked, it was perfect. He settled down into his recliner, the noise of the football game on the tv washing over him.

The rest of the night was uneventful, a small family dinner where Theo got to talk about his semester and classes. Nathan sat opposite his son, trying not to stare at the cap still adorning Theo’s head. It was only a matter of time, he thought to himself. Theo was just relieved the house was civil, and he could actually relax during his break. He’d spent all day driving and was exhausted, so he called it an early night after dinner and headed upstairs. He took off the cap and hung it up, not noticing the layer of sweat it’d left on his head. 

Despite it being November, Theo’s room felt unbearably hot. He tossed and turned underneath his comforter before casting it off and laying exposed on his bed. He was sweating up a storm, soaking the sheet beneath him as he tried to stay cool. Unbeknownst to him, his body was working in overdrive thanks to the cap. His thin frame slowly began to grow, bony limbs plumping up with the slightest bit of muscle. Theo rolled the other way as sweat dripped down his chest, soaking into the skin. 

Before long, thin wispy hairs started to poke out of the center of his chest. At first it was just a few, light delicate things barely visible, but they began to spread. The hairs pushed out of his chest, growing darker and longer as they climbed up towards his collarbone, leaving him with a smattering of chest hair. His pits itched as the same long brown hairs broke through the bare skin he’d always known, growing and gathering into a thick tuft. He was starting to look like some guy you’d see in a high school locker room, but his body wasn’t done yet. The testosterone levels inside Theo slowly crept upwards, his balls swelling just a tad. His cock twitched under his boxers as hairs began rearing their heads across his groin, his sparse bush growing rapidly into something respectable. The hairs spread like weeds, covering his groin and spreading up towards his navel, thick brown hairs pushing out and tangling together. His thickening bush and pit hairs began to catch some of that sweat, giving Theo a hint of real body odor for the first time in his life. The peach fuzz on his face thickened, darkening as the follicles were doused in hormones. Soon enough it looked like dirt had been smeared over his upper lip and chin, with some sparse hairs emerging on the sides of his face. He rolled over again, letting the sweat drip through all his new growth.

Theo woke the next morning with a blistering headache. He instinctively reached over to his side table, grasping for the baseball cap that he’d hung up in the closet the night before. He rolled out of bed with a grunt before grabbing it. As soon as the cap was on, his headache subsided. Theo headed into the bathroom to piss, not noticing the changes to his body in the mirror. In just a baseball cap and boxers his mildly hairy chest and pits were on full display as he mindlessly scratched at one of his pits. Without a further thought he tossed on some clothes and headed downstairs.

His mom had made a full breakfast, and Nathan was at the table waiting for him.

“Rise and shine, son! It’s only what… 11 already?” he joked. Theo rubbed his eyes, he’d slept in that late? 

“It’s my vacation, give me a break,” he retorted, before sitting down. Theo demolished the food in front of him. He usually was never too hungry but he just couldn’t get enough of it today. After scarfing everything down he let out a belch, at which his father cracked a grin. Nathan could see the dark smear on his son’s face. The hat was working.

The rest of the day was fairly unremarkable; Theo hung out with his mom and showed her some of his recent works, though he felt like he was forgetting some of the details he liked to tell about them. His clothes felt a little tight as well, his shirt was constantly riding up, and he was strangely itchy. Every time he thought more than a second about that though his brain would fog up, and Theo would lose his train of thought, only scratching at the cap on his head.

Nathan was in the den in his recliner, watching football for most of the day. Every time Theo walked past his curiosity was piqued, and by the third or fourth time he stepped in to ask about the game. Nathan could barely hide his excitement, and eagerly chatted with his son about the team, their plays, and some statistics. Theo’s eyes glazed over for a few minutes before he snapped out of it and excused himself from the room, mindlessly scratching at the stubble growing thicker on his face.

By the time Theo was headed to bed his body had put on some serious mass. He could barely get his tight t-shirt off at this point. He finally pulled it off as seams tore in spades, revealing his newly muscular body. What had been just barely above scrawny was now packed with size, his pecs defined above his defined abs. His traps, shoulders, and biceps were all swelling with size as well, veins engorging as his body continued to grow. As he stared in the mirror his thoughts drifted back to the football game his dad was watching, oblivious to the thick hairs erupting across his pecs. The mild scattering from the night before was spreading, hairs popping up like weeds across the growing expanse of his chest. The hairs darkened and thickened as they wove together into a furry rug, spreading up over his collarbone and shooting down his abs, his stomach hair conquering more and more of his torso. Over the course of the day a dark shadow had spread across Theo’s face, and that shadow was now blossoming into a short but thick beard. Stubble pushed out across his upper lip and cheeks, darkening as gaps filled in with more and more hair. He grunted as he scratched the growing beard, before heading back to his room and climbing into bed. His feet now nearly hung over the edge of the bed frame. Theo took off the baseball cap and set it on his nightstand before promptly passing out.

Theo's eyes slowly opened as sunlight poured into his room, illuminating his large furry form. The bed creaked in strain as he rolled out of it, before grabbing the cap from the nightstand. As soon as he put it on he felt less tired, more alert, and ravenously hungry. Before he could head downstairs he checked his closet for something to wear for the day. For some reason, nothing in there would fit over his broad shoulders. He heard a knock at the door and spun around. There, standing in the doorframe was his father.

“Thought you might need some new clothes, son, think of it as an early Christmas gift,” he said, holding a tank top and gym shorts in his hands. Theo didn’t question why his dad was prepared for this moment, rather he graciously accepted the gift and threw on a black low cut tank. His new muscular form was clearly evident in his new clothes, shorts tight against his thick thighs and his lats protruding out from the tank. Nathan looked up and down at his son, a wildly different man from the one who arrived home days before. But he also knew the cap wasn’t done with him, and he grinned as they both walked downstairs.

Theo scarfed down yet another meal, feeling his stomach press against the tank top. He wanted to talk more with his mother, but he was having trouble remembering what about. His college work seemed so uninteresting to him now. After some awkward chit chat he found his father as normal in the den with more football on. Theo stepped in to join him, plopping down on the sofa as knowledge about player stats began welling up in his head. He eagerly began talking with Nathan, the conversation flowing smoother than it ever had in the past as they laughed over plays on the tv. 

As minutes and then hours passed, Theo felt the air grow warm and stuffy in the den. His body began sweating profusely, nearly gluing him to the leather sofa. He unwittingly scratched at his pits, where sweat had created a rank atmosphere with the small tuft of hair. As he scratched, the hairs began to spread, pushing out of the damp skin. The hairs grew thick and wiry, tangling together as the tuft grew into a bush, filling his pit and bursting out the sides and even connecting to the pelt on his chest. His pecs and biceps seemed to swell but the hair outpaced both, making itself known regardless. The stench wafting from his pits grew intense as the forest of hair trapped more sweat and pheromones. Nathan noticed the change and looked over, only to catch his son scratching his pit and then sniffing the hand after.

Theo’s body continued to drip with sweat as he adjusted himself to try and get comfortable. There was a growing sensation coming from beneath his shorts, his groin tingling as his balls steadily began to inflate. They grew to two, three times their original size, pumping Theo’s body full of testosterone. From there things began to accelerate; his small flaccid cock perked up to attention, pressing against the cloth of his shorts as it pushed out longer and thicker. The silhouette continued to grow reaching nine inches, creating a wet spot in his shorts from precum leaking out the tip. Theo scratched at his groin, trying to relieve the discomfort as his moderately sized bush came to life, tendrils of thick curly hair erupting across his groin, swallowing up bare skin as they tangled into a forest. The hairs continued to spread far and wide, a tidal wave of fur coating his balls and racing back across his taint. His hole itched as thick hairs wormed out before spreading across his ass in a dense rug. The hairs continued their march down over his massive thighs, like dark weeds sprouting and tangling together. Hair continued to multiply, covering his legs and across the tops of his feet. Theo grunted as they pushed against his tight shoes, growing several sizes larger into the feet of a real athlete, complete with tufts of hair sprouting on his toes.

Theo’s body swelled even further, muscle packing on more and more before softening as he took on the form of a beefy linebacker. Sweat leaked from beneath the baseball cap as the fur coating across his body thickened, hairs sprouting between old ones. His mind felt foggy as the last remnants of his skill and interest in the arts was replaced by knowledge of football plays, hours of practice flooding in. His conversation with his father slowed slightly, as it took longer for him to think of solid arguments, vocabulary and eloquence dissolving in real time. He didn’t like to analyze other people’s games, he just wanted to get back on the field himself. 

In a newly deepened voice he complained, “Dad, I don’t give a crap about their commentary, let’s just get back to practicing.”

Nathan smiled, taking in the sight of his bulky, masculine son. “Call me coach, Theo. It’s important to learn these plays down to the smallest details so you can keep up that win streak.”

“I thought I told you, coach, it’s Ted, not Theo,” he grumbled in return. “But fine, let’s at least go out to the field and try them out.”

“Deal, son.”

[lee-laurent]

Sparks in Jersey - Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke finally has the chance to wow the girl of his dreams

content: angst, fluff, underage drinking, kissing, suggestive jokes

wc: 7.1k

notes: requested!!! enjoyyyy

"Jack, stop!" Blair whisper-yelled, trying to stifle her laughter as the two of them crouched behind the bushes. "If you get caught, your mom's gonna ground you, and then I'll be next."

"She won't catch us," Jack whispered back, his wide grin not matching his feigned seriousness. He held up the spray can like a prized trophy, its contents intended for the blank patch of wooden fence at the back of the yard. "This is art, Blair. ART."

Blair rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. "You're a menace, Rowdy. If I get in trouble, I'm blaming you."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack said dismissively as he shook the can and began spraying a wobbly rendition of a hockey stick.

From the corner of her eye, Blair caught a small figure creeping through the grass toward them. Eight-year-old Luke wasn't great at sneaking--his floppy hair and oversized hand-me-down hoodie made him a blur of movement as he crouched and tripped his way to their hiding spot.

"Guys!" Luke whisper-shouted, clutching a flashlight in one hand. "Mom's looking for you. If she sees this, you're gonna get in so much trouble!"

Jack turned to shush his brother, but Blair intervened first, pressing a finger to her lips. "Luke," she said softly, leaning toward him. "We're almost done. Be our lookout, and we'll owe you one, okay?"

Luke froze, wide-eyed, as Blair's attention zeroed in on him. He nodded so quickly it almost looked painful. "Okay. But if you get caught, it wasn't my idea."

The grin Blair flashed him felt like the sun breaking through the clouds. Luke planted himself by the edge of the fence, clutching the flashlight like it was his badge of honour.

Luke knew one thing for certain: if it meant protecting Blair, he'd do it.

~~

Blair Adams had lost count of people who assumed she and Jack were siblings. From the time they started grade school together, their lives had intertwined like vines--endless hockey games, late-night study sessions, and whispered secrets that only best friends would understand.

By the time high school rolled around, they were practically inseperable. If one of them was missing school, then the other was guaranteed to be moping around the whole day. So when Jack got drafted to the Devils and she got into Princeton, it wasn't even a question that they'd live together.

Jack was her family in every way that mattered. But his brothers? That was a different story.

Luke, the youngest Hughes sibling, had always been sweet--quiet in a way that balanced Jack's constant energy. Blair remembered him as the little boy who followed them everywhere, starry-eyed and eager to impress.

And now he was moving into their apartment.

Blair set her coffee cup on the counter, glancing at the clock. Jack had texted her that morning, reminding her about Luke's arrival, and while she wasn't nervous, she did feel... curious. She hadn't seen Luke since a couple Christmases ago, and even then, their interactions had been brief.

"Probably still a beanpole," she muttered to herself. She couldn't picture him as anything but Jack's little brother.

Still, the thought lingered as she tidied the living room.

~~

Luke sat in the back of the Uber, his hands fidgeting in his lap as they wound through Newark's crowded streets. His suitcase bumped against his knee with every pothole, but he barely noticed.

He was finally here.

His older brothers had always been larger-than-life figures in his world. Quinn was the golden child--quiet, disciplined, and effortlessly skilled. Jack, on the other hand, was the whirlwind--his humour and energy lighting up every room he walked into.

But Blair? She was someone else entirely.

For as long as Luke could remember, Blair had been part of the family. She'd been at every birthday party, every Thanksgiving dinner, and every summer barbeque. And Luke had always adored her, even before he knew what the word crush meant.

Back then, he'd thought his feelings were something he'd grow out of, like his obsession with dinosaur pyjamas. But as he got older, those feelings only deepened.

Now, at 20, with two years of college hockey under his belt and an NHL debut on the horizon, Luke felt ready. Ready to prove that what he felt for Blair wasn't some childish infatuation.

He gripped the strap of his bag tighter. "Play it cool," he muttered to himself. "She probably still thinks you're a kid."

But what if she didn't?

When he walked into the apartment, Jack was already waiting, sprawled on the couch in sweatpants with his phone in hand.

"There he is," Jack said with a grin, standing to pull his brother into a quick hug. "Welcome to Casa Hughes-Adams."

Luke glanced around the space. It felt warm and lived-in, with mismatched throw pillows and the faint scent of cinnamon. It didn't escape his notice that Blair wasn't in sight.

"She's in the kitchen," Jack said, as if reading his thoughts.

"Who?" Luke asked, feigning indifference.

Jack smirked, leaning in. "Blair, dummy. And before you ask--yes, she's still single."

"Jack.." Luke warned.

"I'm just saying," he threw his hands up in mock innocence. "You two are gonna be living together. Might as well shoot your shot."

"Jack."

Jack grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "Relax, Lukey. I'm just here to help. Now, go say hi before she starts unpacking your bags for you."

As Luke moved toward the kitchen, his heart thudding, he caught the glint in Jack's eye. Whatever he was planning, it was bound to be trouble.

~~

Blair was standing by the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed and a teasing smirk playing on her lips as Luke wrestled a suitcase. The duffle slung over his shoulder slipped down his arm, and he cursed softly under his breath, making her bite back a laugh.

"Need help there, big shot?"

Luke looked up, a sheepish grin breaking across his face. "Nah, I've got it. Totally under control."

Blair's teasing died in her throat. When did he get a jawline like that? she wondered, her gaze catching on the sharp angles of his face, the broad set of his shoulders, the way he carried himself--despite his current struggle with luggage.

She blinked, forcing herself to refocus. Relax. It's Luke. Jack's little brother.

Still, as he straightened and ran a hand through his hair, her stomach did a flip.

Luke caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. "Something on my face?"

"Nope," Blair said quickly, turning toward the living room and willing the heat in her cheeks to dissipate. "Let me show you where your room is before you destroy the place."

Luke followed her, taking in the apartment as he went. It felt surreal being there, sharing the space with Blair. The same Blair he used to follow around as a kid, who used to ruffle his hair and call him "Lukey." Now she was standing there, effortlessly beautiful, and he couldn't decide if the butterflies in his stomach were exhilerating or terrifying.

Once they'd unloaded his bags into the spare room, Blair escaped to the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between them. She leaned against the counter, staring at the fridge as if it held the answers to life's most pressing questions.

Okay, so Luke's grown up. Big deal. He's an athlete; they all end up looking like Greek statues. She snorted at the thought and shook her head. Doesn't mean anything.

Still, the image of him smiling at her--his dimple making a rare appearance--lingered in her mind.

"Get a grip, B," she mumbled, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. "He's Jack's little brother. End of story."

But the flicker of doubt refused to fade.

~~

Later that evening, Jack stood in the doorway, pulling on his jacket.

"Wait, you're leaving?" Blair asked, arms of full of laundry she'd been folding on the couch.

"Yup," Jack said, popping the 'p.' "Dinner with some of the guys. You two have fun."

Blair frowned. "You didn't mention that earlier."

"Didn't I?" he replied innocently. "Must've slipped my mind."

Luke appeared from the hallway, his hair still damp from a post-flight shower. He glanced between the two of them, his expression cautious. "You're going out?"

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, but don't worry. Blair will take care of you." He shot Blair a pointed look before sauntering out the door, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Blair rolled her eyes, muttering, "Subtle as a brick, that one."

Luke cleared his throat. "So, uh, what's for dinner?"

They ended up in the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge.

"How do you feel about spaghetti?" Blair asked, holding up a box of pasta.

"Sounds good."

They worked together in silence for a while, the only sounds the clinking of pots and the soft hum of the stove. But as the pasta boiled, Blair leaned back against the counter, studying Luke.

"So... how's it feel finally making the big move?"

Luke shrugged, stirring the sauce. "Good, I think. A little surreal, honestly. I mean, this is Jack's turf. I'm just trying not to screw it up."

Blair softened. "You'll be fine, Lukey. You're good at what you do. Plus, Jack thinks he's way cooler than he actually is."

Luke laughed, the sound warm and rich, and Blair felt her chest get tight.

As they sat down to eat, the conversation drifted to Jack--his quirks, his bad habits, and all the ridiculous things he and Blair did as kids.

"Remember that time he put hot sauce in my water bottle?" Blair asked, laughing.

"Oh, yeah. You chased him with a fucking hockey stick."

"I should've hit him with it," she shook her head.

Luke leaned forward, his gaze softer. "You were always good at keeping him in line."

Her laughter faltered under the weight of his words, their eyes meeting.

"Yeah, well," she said lightly. "Someone had to. Hell... I still do."

The rest of the evening passed smoothly, but as they cleaned up the kitchen together, Blair felt like something had shifted. Luke might not just be Jack's little brother.

And that scared her... a lot.

~~

Blair had always thought of herself as someone who adapted quickly, but living with Luke Hughes presented a unique challenge. Much different than living with Jack. He wasn't difficult, per se--in fact, he was the opposite. Too helpful. Too funny. And, if she was being honest, too damn distracting.

It was the little things that threw her off.

Like the way he always tidied up without being asked. She'd leave her coffee mug in the sink and come back to find it washed and drying on the rack. Or the way he'd linger in the kitchen, chatting about his day as she cooked, leaning casually against the counter with his stupidly charming, crooked grin.

And then there were his routines. Every morning, Luke came out of his room in sweats and t-shirt, his hair adorably mussed from sleep, to make a protein shake before his workout. The sight had become so familiar that it almost felt... domestic.

Get it together, she'd tell herself for the thousandth time as she passed him on her way to make her coffee. But as she caught the faint scent of his cologne mixed with his shampoo, she couldn't help the butterflies she felt.

Luke wasn't sure what he expected when he moved in, but things had been going better than he'd hoped. Sure, living with Blair was a constant exercise in restraint--her laugh, her quick wit, the way she'd hum under her breath when she thought no one was listening--it was enough to drive him insane.

But he'd made a plan.

Step one: Show her he wasn't a kid anymore.

It was in the small things. Like volunteering to carry the groceries or fixing the wobbly kitchen stool without anyone asking. He made sure to cook extras for her once in a while, too--nothing fancy, just enough to make her pause and say, "Wow, you've really got this adulting thing down."

Step two: Flirt... just a little

Luke wasn't reckless enough to come on strong, but he'd test the waters now and then--a playful nudge when they passed in the hallway, a comment about how her sweatpants made her look cozy. He lived for the moments when her cheeks turned pink, even if she brushed off his remarks with a roll of her eyes.

What he didn't expect, though, was how much just being around her would feel so... right.

~~

Blair was cozied up on the couch, her laptop balanced on her lap as she scrolled through pages of research for a project. Luke was on the other end of the couch, his long legs taking up more than his fair share of space as he half-watched a hockey game on the TV.

"Hey, where's Jack?" Blair asked, glancing at the time. It was past seven, and he hadn't returned from his workout.

Luke shrugged, not looking up from his phone. "He said he was meeting some guys for dinner. I don't know."

She frowned. "Didn't he do that yesterday?"

Luke smirked, finally looking at her. "Maybe he's just really into team bonding."

Blair narrowed her eyes. Something was definitely up. Over the past week, Jack had mysteriously disappeared more often that usual, leaving her and Luke to fend for themselves. It wasn't that she minded the company--Luke was easy to get along with--but the pattern was hard to ignore.

Later that night, as she was rinsing her coffee mug (the one Luke usually beat her to), her phone buzzed with a text from Jack.

Jack: How's it going? You two getting along?

Blair: fine. why?

Jack: No reason

Her gut was telling her he was up to something.

Meanwhile, Luke passed by, grabbing a glass of water and shooting her a quick smile. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Blair said slowly, slipping her phone into her back pocket. But as Luke left, she couldn't shake the idea that her best friend was trying to play matchmaker.

~~

Jack was still out and the apartment was oddly quiet. Blair had given up on her work and was now scrolling through Netflix in search of something mindless.

"You watching something?" Luke asked as he emerged from his room, a hoodie thrown on over his sweats.

"Trying to," she replied, tossing the remote in his direction. "Your turn to pick. I'm too indecisive tonight."

Luke caught it easily and plopped down beside her, the cushion dipping under his weight. He scrolled for a minute before settling on a documentary about space exploration.

"Space?" Blair cocked an eyebrow.

"Come on, it's cool," Luke said, grinning. "Plus, you might learn something."

She rolled her eyes, but stayed put. As the documentary started, she found herself leaning into the couch, her shoulder brushing against Luke's. It wasn't much, just the barest contact, but it sent a spark through her.

At one point, Luke turned to make a comment about the astronauts, his voice low and close enough that she felt the warmth of it on her cheek. She glanced at him, and for a split second, the room seemed to hold its breath.

But then Luke pulled back, casually sipping his water as if nothing had happened.

Blair just exhaled, turning her attention back to the stipid documentary.

~~

The rain tapped against the windows of the apartment, the kind of soothing sound that made everything feel a bit more intimate. Blair was on the floor, sorting through all of her notebooks from every year of college. Luke was on the sofa, tossing a ball in the air absentmindedly.

"You sure you don't want me to just toss all this for you?" he teased, nodding at the stack of papers that threatened to topple.

Blair shot him a glare. "Do you want me to throw out all your hockey gear?"

"Touché." He grinned. "But my gear gets me paid. Does this" --he picked up one of her notebooks, flipping through it--"get you paid?"

"Rude," she said, snatching it back, though she couldn't stop her smile.

Luke leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. The movement drew her attention, and for a moment, Blair found herself distracted by how easily he seemed to fit into every situation. He wasn't a little kid anymore, and she was starting to notice.

"Why do you keep all this, anyway?"

Blair shrugged, shutting another notebook and hugging it to her chest. "I don't know. I guess in case I ever need any of it. Or... it reminds me of where I started. It's easy to lose sight of that when you're trying to figure out where you're going."

Luke set the ball down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I get that," he said. "Sometimes I feel like... I don't know, like I'm chasing something. Trying to prove I belong. First at Michigan, now here."

"You? You're one of the Hughes brothers. People expect you to belong."

Luke laughed, but it was a quiet, self-deprecating sound. "That's the problem. Everyone expects me to be just like Jack or Quinn. And they're... amazing. Don't get me wrong. But sometimes it feels like I'm playing catch-up, you know?"

Blair’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. She shifted onto the couch beside him, her knee brushing against his. “You’re not Jack or Quinn,” she said softly. “You’re Luke. And that’s enough. It’s more than enough.”

"Do you really think that?"

"I know it."

"What about you?" Luke asked. "You've got this whole life mapped out--Princeton, your career. Doesn't it ever feel... heavy?"

Blair hesitated, surprised by how much she wanted to answer honestly. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s like I’ve been so focused on what I’m supposed to do--keeping up with school, supporting Jack, being the dependable one--that I forget to think about what I actually want.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The rain outside grew heavier, the rhythm filling any silence between them. Blair glanced at him, his profile softened by the dim glow of the lamp. She felt her pulse quicken, the air between them charged.

"You're not what I expected," she whispered.

"What?"

Blair hit her lip, searching for the best words. "When Jack said you were moving in, I thought it'd be... different. I don't know. But you're--"

"Not a kid anymore?" he finished for her, a small, teasing smile playing on his lips.

Blair's heart stuttered. "Yeah. Something like that."

The smile faded as their gazes locked. The teasing warmth in Luke's eyes gave way to something deeper, something that made Blair's breath catch.

He leaned in slightly--not enough to close the distance, but enough for her to notice. For her to feel the magnetic pull between them.

"Blair," he whispered.

Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine, but reality crashed over her like a wave of cold water.

She pulled back abruptly, breaking the spell. "I should... I should finish sorting these," she said, gesturing to the forgotten notebooks. Her voice sounded unsteady, even to her own ears.

Luke blinked, leaning back as if to give her space. "Right. Of course."

He didn't push, but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.

Blair sat in bed that night, staring at the ceiling as the scene replayed in her mind like a broken record. She could still feel his breath on her, the way he looked at her like nothing else mattered.

He's Jack's little brother, she reminded herself, gripping the blanket tightly. This can't happen.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shut her brain off and fall asleep.

In the room down the hall, Luke lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the same way: This can't just be a crush anymore.

~~

Jack was sitting on a stool, arms crossed, a devious grin spreading across his face as he watched Blair finish her coffee.

"So," he said casually, "I was thinking we should do a group night. You, me, Luke, maybe a couple teammates and their girlfriends. Drinks, a movie, the works. Sound good?"

"Group night? Since when do you plan movie nights?"

"Since I'm such a generous, thoughtful friend," Jack replied. "Come on, Blair. You've been working nonstop. You need to relax."

Blair glanced at Luke, who was silently buttering toast at the counter. "Sure. Why not? It could be fun."

"Great." Jack clapped his hands together. "I'll set it up."

Unbeknownst to her, Luke caught Jack's michievous glance over Blair's shoulder.

~~

Two nights later, Blair was setting out snacks as Luke flipped through all the different streaming services the three of them were subscribed to. The apartment was warm and cozy, the perfect atmosphere for a chill night with their friends.

"Where is everyone?" Blair asked, frowning as she checked her phone.

Luke smirked, already knowing the answer. "Check your messages."

Jack: Oops! Something came up. Can't make it tonight. Have fun without me!!

She groaned, running a hand over her face. "Unbelievable."

Luke laughed, plopping onto the couch. "Guess it's just us, then."

Blair hesitated, tempted to go curl up in her bed with a mug of hot chocolate and watch a cheesy rom-com on Netflix. But as she glanced at Luke, comfortably lounging on the sofa, his smile easy as ever, she decided against it.

"Fine," she said, grabbing two coolers from the fridge. "But you're not getting out of picking a movie."

Half an hour in, the movie played, but Blair was much more interested in Luke than the plot.

He was relaxed, his arm draped over the back of the couch--not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence. Every so often, he'd glance her way to catch her reaction.

"This movie's fucking ridiculous," Luke said, shaking his head at the over-the-top action scene.

"I feel like that's the point," Blair replied, tossing a piece of popcorn at him.

Luke caught it, popping it into his mouth with a smug grin. "Impressive, right?"

"Maybe you're the ridiculous one."

"And yet, here you are, stuck watching this shit movie with me."

She turned to scowl at him, but it faltered as their eyes met. The room seemed to shrink, the movie getting quieter. Luke looked down to her lips, catching himself and looking back at her eyes.

She looked away quickly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "We should... get back to the movie."

"R-right, the, uh, the movie."

As soon as the end credits rolled, Blair busied herself with cleaning up, grateful to have something to do. Anything.

She'd enjoyed their unexpected time alone more than she cared to admit. Luke always made her laugh, left her feeling... seen. It was new. Different.

Too different, she thought as she set the popcorn bowl in the sink.

The idea of crossing that line with Luke felt impossible. Jack was practically her brother, and Luke was his little brother. No matter how much he'd grown, or changed, it still felt... complicated.

Luke watched from the couch as she washed the dishes. Her hair was messy from where she'd ruffled it during the movie, and the way she smiled as she hummed to herself made his chest ache.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" she glanced over her shoulder.

"Thanks for hanging out tonight," he said, his tone genuine. "Even... if Jack bailed."

Blair turned to face him fully, drying her hands on a tea towel. "Yeah, well, you're not the worst company."

Luke smirked. "That's high praise coming from you."

"Don't let it get to your head."

"Too late," he chuckled, standing up to grab a drink, his shoulder brushing hers as he reached for a glass. The touch was subtle, almost nonexistant, but Blair felt like her skin was on fire.

Luke caught the way she stiffened, but instead of pulling back, he stayed close, voice lower. "You know, you don't have to keep pretending."

"Pretending what?"

"That you don't like being around me."

Her breath caught, her mind racing for a response, but he stepped back, giving her space.

"Goodnight, Blair," he teased, heading to his room.

She wasn't sure what she felt more: frustration at herself for the way her heart reacted to him... or the undeniable truth that Luke wasn't wrong.

~~

The post-game energy was infectious, the crowd buzzing as fans lingered in the arena, snapping selfies and chatting excitedly. Blair stood near the players' tunnel, sipping a beer and watching Luke from afar.

He was good at this, she realized. Not just the hockey part--though he'd had an impressive game tonight--but the whole... persona. The awkward Luke smiles, the attention he gave to fans, the way he handled it without the sass his brother did.

She wasn't the only one who noticed.

Blair stiffened as a blonde girl, maybe a year or two younger than her, leaned close to him. She was bold, confident in the way only someone used to getting attention could be.

Blair tried to brush off as she watched Luke smile politely, but then the girl handed him her phone. Luke hesitated for a moment before taking it, his expression unreadable.

Her stomach twisted. She didn't want to feel this way--this hot, irrational pang of jealousy that clenched her chest like a vice. But when the girl's face lit up, giddy with what was probably Luke's number, she had to look away.

It wasn't her place to care. She had no claim over Luke. He was free to flirt with whoever he wanted.

~~

Blair was laying in her bed, a half-empty glass of wine resting on her bedside table. The room was dark, her laptop playing an episode of Law and Order that she'd already seen.

She heard the front door open, a bag hit the hardwood floor. Then Jack strolled into her room, flopping onto her bed like he owned the place.

"Alright, what's up?"

Blair glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're drinking wine in the dark and watching a show you've seen a million times. That's weird."

She groaned, burying her face in her duvet. "You're insufferable."

"Yeah, but I'm also right." Jack leaned back against the headboard. "So spill. What's got you all mopey?"

She grabbed her glass of wine, downing the rest of it. "It's nothing, okay? Just drop it."

Jack gave her a long look, his smirk softening into something more serious. "Blair. I've known you for, like, ever. You're not okay. Just tell me."

"It's... it's Luke."

Jack's eyebrows shot up, and his grin was immediate. "Finally."

"This is exactly why I didn't want to say anything!"

"No, no, this is great!" he sat up, his excitement bubbling over. "You like him! Like, like-like him."

"Can you not make it sound like we're in middle school?" Blair shot back, though her face burned at his words.

"Okay, fine... but you're into him, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe," she whispered.

Jack nudged her shoulder. "You do."

Blair let out a frustrated laugh. "Jack, it's complicated. He's your brother. I've known him since he was a kid. And tonight, at the game, there was this girl, and he was..."

Jack frowned. "And you were jealous."

She bit her lip but didn't deny it.

Jack leaned over, grabbing her glass from her and putting it down on the nightstand. "Blair, listen to me. Luke's not a kid anymore. He hasn't been for a long time. And he's crazy about you. He's been crazy about you since he was old enough to know what a crush was."

"He doesn't--"

"He does," he interrupted firmly. "And I'm telling you, you don't have to feel guilty about this. If you like him--and I think you do--then let yourself have this. You deserve it. He does, too."

"And... you're okay with it? With us?"

Jack grinned. "Blair, you're my favourite person in the world. Luke's my brother. If the two of you make each other happy, the yeah, I'm okay with it. More than okay."

~~

Luke couldn't help but notice that Blair hadn't talked to him after the game. He didn't even see her until the next morning when she was making her daily coffee.

"Morning."

"Morning," she said, not even turning to look at him.

He grabbed some frozen fruit from the freezer, getting ready to make his smoothie. "You okay?"

Blair hesitated, taking a look at his face. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept much, but his eyes were still as warm as always.

"Yeah. Just... thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"About how much things have changed. And how... how much you've changed."

"Good change or, uh, bad change?"

"Good... I think."

Then air felt heavier, but not in a bad way. Luke clicked his tongue, about to respond when Blair brushed past him, wrapping her housecoat around her tighter.

"I'm gonna get ready for class."

~~

Luke was tired of just waiting for things to change. Blair deserved more than casual glances and hesitant words. She deserved to know how he felt, and he decided it was time to show her.

He looked down at the litle notebook resting on the table, one he'd seen Blair scribbling in late one night while she thought no one was around. It didn't seem to be much--just a collection of her to-do lists and random thoughts--but it had sparked an idea.

Blair arrived home from classes, balancing her tote bag and a paper bag of takeout. She kicked the door shut behind her, surprised by the warm glow of the apartment. The living room was dimly lit, a few candles flickering on the coffee table.

"Luke?" she called, setting her things down.

"In here," came his voice from their balcony.

Blair crossed the room, stepping outside to find Luke leaning against the railing. The table next to him was set with two plates, her favourite flowers in a simple vase at the centre.

"What's all this?"

Luke stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I just... I wanted to do something for you. You've been working so hard, and I thought you could use a break."

"Luke, you didn't have to--"

"I wanted to," he interrupted.

He pulled out one of the chairs for her, gesturing for her to sit. Blair hesitated but eventually lowered herself into the seat. Luke took the spot across from her, his nervousness barely contained.

As they started eating, Blair couldn't help but notice the little details--how he'd ordered her favourite dish, how he kept the conversation light but still genuine. It was thoughtful... thoughtful in a personal way.

After dinner, Luke retrieved something from inside, returning with a small, wrapped package.

"What's this?" Blair asked.

"Just... open it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

She tore the paper carefully, revealing a leather-bound notebook. It looked old; the edges were slightly worn, and the faint smell of ink and must wafted from it.

Blair ran her fingers over the cover, her breath catching. "This is... like the one I had as a kid."

Luke nodded. "You, uh, you told it about me during one of our late-night talks. How you used to write everything down--your dreams, stories, your plans for the future. I thought... you could start again... as an adult."

Blair's throat felt tight as she opened the journal. It was so simple, but it meant everything.

"Luke..."

He stepped closer, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. "Blair, you've always been this incredible, unstoppable force. And I just... I wanted you to have something that reminds you of that."

She stood, clutching the notebook to her chest. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you matter to me, Blair. More than you know."

"Lu-"

"I know I'm just Jack's little brother to you," he said quietly, his voice steady despite his vulnerability. "But I'm not a kid anymore. And I've been waiting my whole life for you to see me--really see me."

Blair stared at him, processing his words. For so long, she'd fought against the pull she felt toward him, telling herself it was wrong, that it would complicate everything. But in that moment, with Luke standing in front of her, open and unguarded, she couldn't deny it anymore.

She reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek. "You're not just Jack's little brother."

Luke's eyes widened slightly, his breath hitching as her hand lingered. Slowly, carefully, he leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

But she didn't pull away. Instead, she closed the space, her lips brushing his in the most electrifying kiss of her life. Years of tension and unspoken moments poured into their kiss.

Blair pulled away, her cheeks flushed. "You've always been waiting for me to see you?"

"Yeah. And you were worth the wait."

~~

The morning after their kiss, Blair replayed the moment over and over again. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word from Luke had burned itself into her memory.

"Morning."

She jumped as Luke's voice cut through the quiet. She looked up to find him standing in front of her, his hair mussed.

"Morning."

"So... about last night."

Blair swallowed, setting down her coffee. "Yeah... we should probably talk about that."

Luke nodded. "Look, I'm not sorry it happened. But I don't want to make things harder for you. Or for us."

Blair's lips pressed into a thin line. "Jack's going to notice if things... change. And the rest of your family... I just don't want things to get too complicated too fast."

"So, what? We sneak around for a while? Keep this a secret?"

"Maybe," Blair said through her nervous smile.

Luke grinned, stepping closer until he was right in front of her. "I can work with that."

When his hand brushed against hers on the table, she didn't pull away.

Keeping their relationship under wraps turned out to be equal parts thrilling and frustrating.

There were more stolen moments in the kitchen, their hands brushing as they cooked. Blair would catch Luke staring from across the room, his eyes filled with something new.

Once when Jack was napping in his room, Luke cornered Blair in the hallway, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was quick but left her breathless.

"Someone's going to catch us," she whispered, trying to sound stern but failing.

Luke smirked, hands resting on her waist. "You worried about Rowdy? He sleeps like a rock."

Still, the constant sneaking around wasn't without its challenges. Jack had a knack for walking in at the worst possible times, forcing Blair and Luke to spring apart like guilty teenagers.

"Why are you both so jumpy lately?" Jack asked one evening, narrowing his eyes at them as they sat on opposite sides of the sofa.

"Jumpy? We're not jumpy," Blair replied quickly, her voice a little too high-pitched.

"Yeah," Luke added. "You're imagining things, Jack."

Jack's eyes narrowed further, but he didn't press--yet.

But it didn't take long for him to connect the dots. He wasn't oblivious, despite what Blair and Luke seemed to think.

The knowing grin that spread across his face when he walked into the kitchen and caught them in what they thought was a private moment. Luke's hand was on the small of Blair's back as she stood by the stove, and her laugh was just a bit too soft, too intimate.

"Oh my God," he startled them both.

"Jack! Wha--"

"No way," Jack interrupted, pointing between them. "Are you two fucking?!"

Luke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jack, just--"

"You are!" he shouted. "This is amazing. I knew it! I fucking knew this would happen!"

Blair groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Jack, can you not make this a thing?"

"Oh, it's already a thing," Jack said, crossing his arms triumphantly. "And I'm a genius for making it happen."

"Making it happen?"

Jack shrugged, completely unbothered. "I gave you two all those nights alone. The movie night? You're welcome."

"You... you're telling me you've been matchmaking this whole time?" Blair gasped.

"Matchmaking, nudging, masterminding--call it what you want," Jack said with a smirk. "Point is, I'm responsible for this."

"Yeah, sure, Jack. All you," Luke rolled his eyes.

"So, when's the wedding? Can I be the best man and the maid of honour?"

~~

The sound of goal horn echoed in Luke's ears, but this time, it wasn't in celebration. Another defensive breakdown. Another minus on the scoresheet.

Luke sat in the locker room after, still in his gear, staring blankly at the floor. Around him his teammates untaped sticks and headed for the showers, but he felt frozen.

The reporters were outside, ready to dissect every mistake he'd made that night. The fans would be tweeting about his rookie performance. But worst of all, he'd let himself down.

When he finally got home, it was late. Blair was waiting for him on his bed. The second she saw him, her face softened.

"Hey."

Luke dropped his bag by the door, sinking down into his bed beside her, leaning his head on a pillow with a deep sigh.

"Rough game?"

He nodded, jaw tight. "I keep messing up. It's like... no matter what I do, it's not good enough. I'm not Jack. I'm not Quinn. I don't know if I'll ever be."

Blair reached over, resting a hand on his arm. "Luke, you don't have to be Jack or Quinn. You just have to be you. And you're amazing, even if you don't feel like it right now."

"What if I'm not? What if I'm not cut out for this?"

She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around him. "You are, Luke. And so do a lot of other people. You're allowed to have bad days. It doesn't make you less."

~~

Blair's phone buzzed with yet another text from her mom.

Mama: So... Luke? Are you two really together? Luke as in Jack's little brother?

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the bed beside her.

Her relationship with Luke had been public knowledge for a few weeks now--thanks to Jack's slip of the tongue at a post-game interview--but the fallout was more stressful than she could've anticipated.

Her parents were surprised but supportive, though their questions about the long-term implications left her feeling uneasy. And Jack? He was thrilled that the world knew now, that he didn't have to hide the secret.

"What if this changes everything?" she murmured aloud as she folded her laundry.

"What changes everything?" Luke asked, walking into her room with a bowl of cereal in hand.

Blair hesitated, her hands stilling on one of Luke's sweatshirts. "Us. You. Me and Jack. All of it."

Luke set the bowl down. "Blair, what are you talking about?"

"It's just... I don't want this to mess things up. With your family. With Jack. If something went wrong, it'd be--"

"It's not going to go wrong. And even if it did, that's on me, not you. You're not responsible for holding everything together."

"But I feel like I am. Jack's been like family to me my whole life. And now, with us, it's like I'm risking everything."

Luke took her hands. "You're not risking anything, Blair. Jack loves you. My family loves you. And I... I'm not going anywhere, okay? No matter how hard things get."

But the cracks began to show.

Luke's schedule grew more demanding as the Devils pushed for a playoff spot. Practices ran longer, travel days piled up, and his rookie season came with added scrutiny from fans and the media.

Blair was juggling her internship and her last semester of classes. Their time together became scarce, and when they did have a moment, it was often overshadowed by Luke's frustrations or Blair's anxiety.

"It's like no matter what I do, it's not enough," Luke paced the living room, hands in his hair. "I make on mistake, and everyone is on my ass. Meanwhile, the vets can screw up all night, and no one says a word."

Blair looked up from her computer, bags under her eyes. "Luke, I get it. I do. But can we just... not right now? I have a huge presentation tomorrow, and I'm barely keeping up as it is."

"I didn't mean to dump that on you. I just... forget it."

He turned to leave, but Blair reached out, catching his hand. "Lu, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just--"

"It's fine," he pulled his hand away. "Good luck with your presentation."

The strain between them was becoming harder to ignore, and she didn't know how much longer they could keep pretending everything was fine.

~~

As soon as Luke entered the apartment, Blair warpped her arms around him. "I know it's been hard," she said quietly. "But I'm here. Always."

Luke exhaled, snaking his arms around her waist. "I know. And I'm sorry. For everything."

"We'll figure it out. Together."

"Yeah... together."

~~

The past few weeks had been spent making quick apologies and sharing half-hearted reassurances that everything was fine. But it wasn't fine. She'd spent so much of her time worrying about what other people wanted that she'd forgotten to think about what she wanted.

And she wanted Luke.

Jack: Game tonight. I snagged you a ticket. Go

~~

She slipped into her seat, spotting Jack on the ice with HUGHES on his back, just like hers and Luke's. He turned, catching her eye, and throwing her a thumbs up.

She spent the whole game watching Luke, her stomach flipping every time he would touch the puck. And when he scored in the second period, she leaped to her feet, cheering louder than everyone around her.

After the game, she waited by the players' tunnel, spotting Luke emerging from the locker room, his hair damp, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Luke!" she called.

His head snapped up, mouth dropping in surprise. "Blair?"

"Hey."

Luke glanced around, clearly aware of the people watching, but Blair didn't care. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You were amazing!"

"I... I didn't know you were coming."

"I wasn't sure I was going to," she admitted, pulling back from their embrace to look in his eyes. "But then I realized I was being stupid. I don't care what anyone thinks. I'm with you because I want to be."

"You sure?"

"Completely."

~~

Blair attended every home game she could after that. No more secrets and they were feeling the best they had together. She supported him through the highs and lows of his rookie season. And Luke helped her study, even letting her practice her presentations on him.

"You know," she said softly. "I think we're pretty good at this."

Luke cocked an eyebrow. "At what?"

"Us."

He leaned in, lips brushing her temple. "Yeah. We are."

Jack entered the room, a smirk on his face. "Told you so."

[calmcoldevening]

Back at it again with a prompt idea!

What if the slasher/s are trying to kill a victim but they are immortal and keep coming back

And the victim keeps following the slasher only to annoy and be a little menace to them >:3

(maybe they fall in love later O.O)

What ever slasher you choose is fine for me ;)

Art the clown x immortal!reader

Tw: blood, murdering, torturing? well, yeah. Art is an ass sometimes

• Art has always been a fan of violent and noisy 'games' that chilled the blood in his veins. That was his sadistic nature, and the whole of Miles County and people for hundreds of miles around had already heard a lot about it. A strange man in a clown costume, who sent at least a dozen unhappy teenagers and adults to the next world. He loved blood and horror, and no one would dare stand in his way, not wanting to become another victim of brutal violence.

• Maybe it was fate's will, or maybe it was just your bad luck or an accident, but one day Art saw you in one of the cafes late at night. He was watching you from a dark alley, so it's unlikely that you would have seen him even if you really wanted to. He clutched his garbage bag in his hands, and a cruel grin appeared on his face. You were a good little thing and you definitely could have brightened up this cold night for him.

• Without thinking for long, Art hit you on the head at the most unexpected moment and took you to one of his 'game rooms', which in fact was just a room of one of the old factories in the city. He wasn't in the mood to hunt you down and catch you in your own house for a long time. This game was supposed to be fast but colorful.

• The clown involuntarily licked his lips, watching you slowly regain consciousness and open your big innocent eyes. He walks around you like some kind of fancy Christmas tree. You're sitting on an old wooden chair, badly scratched and already soaked in blood from past victims. Your limbs are tied in wooden material with strong leather straps, and thick barbed wire with rusty, blunt teeth is wrapped around your neck, chest and abdomen. There was a smell of dampness and fear in the air, which made the Clown giggle noiselessly.

• Finally, Art stopped right in front of you and gestured at the trash bag to your right. Making a playful, almost pretended sweet expression, or reached into the bag as if looking for a Christmas present for a small child. In the flickering light, a long thin tool with a convex handle and a bizarrely curved metal tip appears, more like a sharply sharpened blade. A man comes behind you and caresses your tense shoulders with almost uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are rough and rough. The clown's palms slowly descend lower, sliding along your clothed back through the open part of the back of the chair. The movements are slow and measured. Suddenly his movements stop and in the next moment they are replaced by acute pain. Sparks dance in your eyes and you emit a strangled cry, reflexively your body gives way forward, blunt spikes painfully dig into your tender flesh. Art laughs soundlessly, continuing to press the blade deeper into your spine, and then abruptly moves his hand down. With a nasty creak, the fabric of your T-shirt is torn, and at the same time your soft flesh is torn. Art rejoices, seeing how his hands and white gloves are stained with maroon lingonberry liquid, flowing in a thick stream onto the concrete floor. Tears are pouring from your eyes as you desperately bite your lower lip in an attempt to control yourself. Your back, which was once a flawless canvas of pale skin, is now covered with a network of terrible red lines, each of which testifies to the cruelty of Art's tools and his relentless thirst for suffering. There is a pungent smell of iron in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that remains on your sweat-soaked skin.With deliberate slowness, I pick up the razor-sharp instrument again, its sinister curves gleaming in the dim light. Your body is trembling, every muscle is tense with fear, while the man is preparing to inflict even more torment on you.In the flickering shadows, a grotesque smile appears on his painted face, a silent promise of future torment.

• Suddenly, the blade hits the blood-soaked concrete with a ringing thud and bounces off somewhere to the dark wall. Art goes back to his "magic" bag and takes out some kind of leather strap. With a deft movement of his hands, he hooks the clips connected by a strap onto your wet cheeks, the gloves wet with blood rub unpleasantly against your face. Art smiles his creepy smile and gently touches your chin with his fingers. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were wet from tears and saliva flowing from your open mouth. But not that you can complain here. All you had to do was mumble something, barely moving your limp tongue.

• An unpleasant crunch filled the half-empty concrete room. With a strong crack, Art broke off a piece of your tooth with pliers, the fragment unpleasantly scratched the already bleeding gum. All you had to do was mumble something indistinctly, to which Art just grinned madly and jokingly grabbed your tongue with the edges of the pliers, watching the despair in your eyes. He broke off tooth after tooth until a dozen teeth had been pulled out in his hand.

• Your throat burned from screaming, and your eyes burned unpleasantly from the tears you shed. You wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Realizing that Art won't get the right reaction from you anymore, noticing your exhaustion, he snorts soundlessly, clearly losing interest. With a graceful movement of his hand, Art deftly takes out an old battered pistol from a trash bag. He slides the edges of the gun over your cheek, drawing uncomplicated patterns. His movements are slow and upward. One. Two. Three. Finally, his hand reaches your head, the muzzle of the gun is pressed against your painfully throbbing temple. You wearily close your eyes, feeling a leaden heaviness in your limbs. His arms and legs were already blue from lack of blood.

• Art blows on the smoke coming from the shower of the gun and throws the weapon back into the bag. The man steps back, admiring his work and your smoking wound on his temple for a couple of moments. After that, he carefully removes the straps from the dead body and puts them in a bag, slowly leaving the building.

• Art pinned a young man to the ground, slowly cutting the meat from his face and putting the skin in his mouth. A soft laugh was heard abruptly behind him, and another pair of hands, softer and softer palms, covered his hands. The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and turns back, meeting your satisfied gaze. Your face still looked tired and tear-stained, and there were bruises and streaks of blood on your neck, but overall you looked almost.. normal?

• Without thinking twice, you grab the scalpel from his hand and with a sharp movement stick the blade into the clown's eye. He screams soundlessly, raising his hands to his face. You step back, watching his agony with a satisfied expression on your face. "You didn't think it would end so easily, did you?" You purred, folding your arms over your chest. The clown frowns, baring his sharp black teeth, and jumps up from the lifeless body. He walks towards you with quick steps and grabs your throat with his cold hands, lifting you off the ground. No matter how thin he looks, the guy has plenty of strength. You giggle, covering his hands with yours. You can already feel the air leaving your lungs, being replaced by an unpleasant burning sensation. Without thinking twice, you reach out your hands, touching the clown's face with your fingers, and scratch his painted face, mixing the paint with the blood from his wounded eye. He presses harder, enjoying the crunch of your airways.

• It quickly turned into a constant game of cat and mouse. Wherever Art was, you were always there. And I was in his way. Art was angry, cursed, and killed you. But you were coming back. Each time, your body was still decorated with old scars, but the man added new ones. He realized that the old scars would disappear. He had to make new ones. It was as if he was celebrating his favorite, best victim in this way. He can't be uninterested in your natural stubbornness and immortality.

• Over time, the clown really begins to look forward to your recovery and return, despite the slight irritation that you cause in him. He feels it in the pleasant piercing of his fingers. His hands crave you, your body, his fingers want to touch your scars and leave new ones.

• Your constant presence in Art's life begins to gradually change his thinking and thoughts, your image has settled in his head like a damn poison.

• Your immortality and lack of fear make you a really worthy partner for Art, he realizes this on an unconscious level. There's something about you. Something that makes his blood boil in his head. He's falling in love with you. Yes, in his own way, but he falls in love. Despite your initial maniac-victim relationship, Art is starting to see you as almost an equal. This is surprising. He loves you in his own twisted way.

• Art and you are in a love-hate relationship, constantly joking and arguing with each other. Despite the constant quarrels, you are united by a deep connection and understanding, which becomes apparent in your communication. You both feel extremely comfortable in such a relationship in your own perverted way (this is especially damn noticeable in sex..)

• Art begins to crave your company and gets annoyed when you are not around. There's something nice about knowing that after a bloody murder, he can properly combine his anger and passion on you. Especially in your intimate moments. Playing with blood, strangulation and other elements of bdsm is an integral part of your pleasure. You are a perfect match for each other, you are feared by all the states in the district.

[aventurineswife]

hello! platonic aventurine,blade,jing yuan and sunday with a teen!reader like akane kurokawa?

reader is a genius actress specializing in theater, but theyre also like a detective, theyre able to accurately psychoanalyse and understand what happened

The Art of Perception

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Teen!Reader, Actor/Actress and Detective!Reader, Akane Kurosawa based Reader, Platonic Relationships, Mentorship, Psychological Insights, Mystery Solving, Mutual Respect.

Warnings: Themes of moral ambiguity, mentorship dynamic, light tension.

In the dazzling world of high-stakes gambling, where the clatter of roulette wheels and the shuffle of cards formed the rhythm of life, you—a teen with an uncanny gift for psychoanalysis—had caught the eye of none other than Aventurine.

You weren’t just a rising star in the theater world; your ability to dissect human behavior and unravel complex situations had earned you comparisons to seasoned detectives. Aventurine wasn’t drawn by your fame—he was intrigued by your mind. A meeting between the two of you was inevitable.

The setting was an exclusive gala hosted by the IPC. You were invited to entertain the guests, performing an intricate one-act play. Aventurine, lounging by the roulette table, observed you with mild curiosity as you captivated the audience with a performance that seemed almost too real.

After the applause subsided, Aventurine approached you with his trademark grin.

"Bravo! That was a performance worth betting on. But tell me, little star, how much of that was acting, and how much was you?"

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. "Both," you replied with a small smile. "Acting is just another way of understanding people, isn’t it? And you—" Your gaze narrowed. "—you’re a gambler, but you’re not here to win money. You’re here because the stakes are higher than anyone realizes."

Aventurine chuckled, the sound as smooth as a well-played bluff. "Impressive. Few can read me like an open book. What gave it away?"

"The way you observe people," you replied. "You’re not watching for their weaknesses. You’re watching to see if they’ll play the way you want them to."

For the first time in years, Aventurine felt genuinely caught off-guard. He saw potential in you—a spark that reminded him of his own strategic brilliance. What began as a chance encounter turned into a mentorship of sorts, with Aventurine teaching you the art of calculated risk, while you offered him insights into human nature he hadn’t considered before.

A dimly lit alley on a forgotten world was no place for a theater prodigy, but you weren’t here for a performance. You were here to solve a mystery—the disappearance of several citizens. What you didn’t expect was to cross paths with Blade, the Stellaron Hunter.

You had been tracking clues all day, your sharp mind piecing together fragments of the puzzle. When you finally encountered Blade, standing amidst the ruins of an old theater, your first instinct wasn’t fear but curiosity.

"You’re not the one taking them." you said, your voice calm despite Blade’s menacing aura.

Blade turned, his eyes narrowing. "And you’re not afraid of me. Why?"

You stepped closer, your gaze unwavering. "Because you’re not here to harm me. You’re here because you’re looking for someone."

Blade remained silent, intrigued by your audacity. You continued, "You carry guilt. It’s written all over you—in the way you stand, the way you avoid looking at me directly. You think saving these people will make up for something, don’t you?"

Blade’s fist tightened. "You talk too much."

"And you don’t talk enough," you countered. "But that’s okay. I don’t need words to understand you."

Despite himself, Blade found a reluctant respect for your insight. As you worked together to uncover the true culprit behind the disappearances, Blade began to see you as more than just a curious child—you were a mirror, reflecting parts of himself he thought he’d buried long ago.

The grand chambers of the Xianzhou Luofu were no stranger to visitors, but a teen with the reputation of a genius actor/actress was a rare sight. Jing Yuan had invited you personally after hearing of your knack for solving mysteries.

He reclined in his seat, eyes half-lidded as you entered. "Ah, the prodigy arrives. Tell me, do you only act on stage, or is this entire visit a performance?"

You smirked. "That depends. Are you genuinely curious, or are you testing me?"

Jing Yuan chuckled, impressed by your sharpness. "I see the rumors didn’t exaggerate. Let’s skip the pleasantries. I have a problem—someone within the Cloud Knights has been leaking information. I’d like you to uncover who."

You accepted the challenge, diving into the task with meticulous care. As you interviewed suspects and analyzed behavior, Jing Yuan observed you closely, marveling at your ability to draw conclusions from the smallest details.

In the end, you revealed the culprit with a flourish, your explanation as captivating as any play. Jing Yuan smiled, a rare expression of genuine admiration. "You’ve done well. Perhaps the next time we meet, I’ll challenge you to a game of chess."

"I’ll win." you replied confidently, earning another chuckle from the general.

The Charmony Festival was in full swing, a celebration of art and music orchestrated by Sunday himself. Among the performers was you, a teen actor/actress whose fame had reached even the distant skies of Penacony.

Sunday approached you after your performance, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Your talent is remarkable," he said. "But I sense there’s more to you than what you show on stage."

You regarded him carefully, noticing the subtle tension behind his serene demeanor. "And you’re not just a festival organizer. You’re hiding something, aren’t you?"

Sunday’s smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. "Perceptive. I see why they call you a genius."

As the festival continued, you found yourself drawn into Sunday’s world, uncovering the truth behind the Sweetdream Paradise. Your sharp mind clashed with Sunday’s idealism, leading to long debates about humanity’s capacity for growth and the morality of.

Despite your differences, Sunday grew to respect your unwavering determination and intellect. In you, he saw a kindred spirit—someone unafraid to challenge the status quo, even if it meant standing against him.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

WOVEN BONDS IS AMAZING!!!!! Pls make part 2,3,4,5,6 😭🫡💖

woven bonds pt 2

this was very requested so here we are!!

You've been sold to an orc by your father, and after shutting yourself in for a few weeks, youve finally started to come to enjoy your new husbands company

warnings/tags- bedrotting, arranged marrige but pertah loves you so thats nice, pert'ah speaks with semi-broken english

word count- 1167

The days that followed were filled with silence, but it was a different kind of silence. No longer filled with the heavy weight of anger or hopelessness, it was instead filled with uncertainty. Pert'ah continued his routine—bringing you food, speaking to you in soft tones, always giving you space while he worked outside or wove intricate tapestries by the hearth. He never pushed, never demanded anything from you.

Yet, you felt a change inside yourself.

It was small at first. One morning, after he had left a bowl of fruit by your bedside, you reached out and took a piece, biting into it with a sense of resignation. It was sweeter than you had expected, and you found yourself eating more. That night, you ate a bit of the stew he left. It wasn’t the same as the dishes from your old home, but it was warm, hearty, and made with care.

Pert'ah noticed. You could see the relief in his eyes when he glanced at the empty bowl later that day. He didn’t say anything, but the gentle way his lips turned upward spoke volumes. 

As days passed, you started to leave the bed for longer periods. You’d sit by the window and watch him work outside. Pert'ah would spend hours weaving, his large hands surprisingly nimble as they guided the threads into beautiful patterns. Sometimes, he would carve small figures out of wood or clay, his concentration deep as he brought the raw materials to life. The more you watched him, the more you saw the softness behind his hardened exterior. There was an artistry to everything he did, a careful thoughtfulness.

Slowly, you began to speak to him.

It wasn’t much at first—a word here, a question there—but Pert'ah’s eyes lit up each time you addressed him. His responses were always careful, his voice soft and unsure as if he feared saying the wrong thing and scaring you away.

One evening, you found yourself standing outside the hut, watching him work on a large tapestry. The orange light from the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting warm shadows over his figure. He glanced up when he noticed you, his brow furrowing slightly as if he couldn’t believe you were there.

"I… I work on this for winter," he said, standing up slowly, dusting off his hands. "Keep us warm."

You nodded, stepping closer. The tapestry was beautiful, its rich colors weaving together in patterns of leaves and flowers. It was unlike anything you had ever seen, a testament to his skill.

"It’s… it’s beautiful," you said softly, your voice quiet but sincere.

Pert'ah’s eyes widened slightly. He looked at you as though you had given him the greatest compliment in the world. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he took a step toward you, his large hand tentatively reaching out as though he wanted to touch your arm, but he hesitated.

"You think so?" he asked, his voice low, almost shy. "I… I make it for you. For us."

You felt something in your chest stir at his words, a warmth that was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Pert'ah had been nothing but kind to you, patient in a way you had never expected from an orc. And now, as you stood in the golden light of dusk, watching him look at you with such raw vulnerability, you realized you were no longer as angry as you once were.

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn to him more and more. Pert'ah would tell you stories of his clan, how he had been raised as a weaver and how orc culture was not as warlike as humans believed. He would sit by the fire in the evenings, his deep voice filling the room as he spoke of the orcs’ long history of craftsmanship, of art, and of building rather than destroying.

And slowly, your barriers began to crumble.

One night, after dinner, you sat together in the hut, the fire crackling softly as you both shared a quiet moment. Pert'ah was working on another carving, his large fingers skillfully shaping the wood into something delicate. You watched him for a while, fascinated by the contrast between his size and the gentleness of his craft.

"Why… why do you make so many things?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Pert'ah paused, looking up at you with a small smile. "I make because I love it. It make world… more beautiful." His eyes softened as they met yours. "And now… I make for you."

The way he said it, so simple and yet so full of meaning, made your heart skip a beat. Pert'ah wasn’t just making things to fill the space. He was making them for you, offering pieces of himself in every woven thread and carved figure. 

Over time, Pert'ah became more than just the orc you had been forced to marry. He became the person you looked forward to seeing each day, the one who spoke to you with care and treated you with a tenderness that slowly melted away your fears.

Pert'ah, for his part, was falling deeper in love with you with each passing day. He adored every small smile you gave him, every word you spoke. It was as though you were the center of his world now, and he wanted nothing more than to make you happy. He would wake up early to prepare your meals, always trying new dishes to see which ones you liked. He would carve small figures for you, weaving your favorite flowers into tapestries.

His love grew more intense, almost obsessive, but never in a way that felt suffocating. He watched you with reverence, always making sure to give you the space you needed, but it was clear in his eyes—Pert'ah was head over heels in love. You had become his muse, his heart, and every moment with you only deepened his feelings.

One night, as you sat together by the fire, Pert'ah spoke softly, his voice filled with emotion.

"[Name]… I never think I can feel like this. You make my heart… full." He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "I love you. I love you more than anything. I do anything for you. Alway.."

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. You could feel the depth of his feelings, the way his eyes searched yours for any sign of rejection or acceptance.For the first time, you didn’t shy away. Instead, you reached out, placing your hand gently on his. His skin was warm, rough but comforting beneath your touch.

"I don’t know if I’m ready to say that yet," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "But… I do care about you, Pert'ah."

His face lit up with a smile so wide it made your heart flutter. "That enough for me. I wait for you..alway.."

And for the first time since your marriage, you smiled back.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

the albatross, here to destroy you (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. First, a chance meeting between two rising stars seeking an escape leaves a handprint on their hearts.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smoking, language, greek mythology references, hella unresolved sexual tension(!!!), art is highkey a baby and lowkey a brat lol, did i mention unresolved sexual tension?, sooo much pining

Notes: this idea has consumed my waking days for weeks. I contemplated making it a really long fic, but after a long and careful consideration, I have decided to make it a trilogy! Two reasons; a) it’s gonna be really long, and b) I wanted to put Art’s look as a reference in each part lmao. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Part One: London, July 2011.

It was quite an impressive feat. 23-year-old American rising star Art Donaldson had miraculously beat the defending champion-slash-legend Rafael Nadal at the Wimbledon final.

Or so they said.

You don’t know, nor do you care much, to be quite honest. You were basically ordered to attend by your publicist, outfits picked out, hair and makeup team on full throttle only to have you sit pretty on the side of the Centre Court. And now, after milling around and halfheartedly mingling at the afterparty, you decide to give yourself some respite and slip away to the balcony.

“Oh, shit—” the man quickly turns back and stubs his cigarette on the railing, waving away any trace of smoke.

(You say man in a very broad term. He looks more like a teenage boy with that messy blond mop and skittish way about him.)

You raise your hands, showing no threat. “Sorry. Didn’t realize this balcony was taken.”

“Wait, no. Please.” He stops. He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. The only thing more embarrassing than getting caught smoking was getting caught smoking by a pretty girl. And pretty is… a fucking gross understatement, based on what he was seeing. “Don’t leave on my account.”

“You sure?”

You flash him that soft, understanding smile and he very nearly asks you not to leave, like ever. But fortunately, he’s got enough game to hold his tongue and smile back at you, “There’s more than enough room for both of us here, right?”

Technically, the balcony is big enough for the two of you to stand on opposite corners without even addressing each other. But his fingers are resting on a pack of Marlboro Green, and you bite the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. “And more than enough cigarettes, I hope?”

He’s not sure what he was hoping for, but he sure is surprised to hear you accept his invitation to stay. Gosh, he must’ve looked like an idiot right now. “Sure, of course.”

He slides a cigarette out of the pack as he offers it to you, readily leaning in with his zippo. For a split second, the two of you share a breath in the space that he encloses with one hand as he lights your cigarette. You would be lying if it didn’t make your heart stutter.

“So…” you inhale, taking the nicotine hit to calm your thoughts, “I thought smoking was bad for athletes.”

“I thought smoking was bad for singers too, but I guess it’s less frowned upon, huh?” He murmurs, trying to balance a fresh cigarette off of the side of his lips, smirking at you over the flicker of flame he started.

“Touché.” You lean your back against the railing. It’s an interesting game of chess you’re playing. Each of your reputations precede you and don’t at the same time. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re out here smoking on your own, instead of in there…” Celebrating is left unsaid, although the implied word hangs in big and bold letters.

“Ah well, maybe this is my way of celebrating. We’re allowed one vice every now and again, right?”

You look at him like it’s a bullshit excuse—and it is.

“This is gonna sound insane, but…” he takes a drag, looking out at the landscape before him, “I don’t feel like I should be celebrating.”

You look at him like that bullshit excuse grew a new head.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I worked hard for it and I’m glad it paid off, but…” he flicks the ash on the end of his cigarette three times. “I could’ve been better. Quicker. Won more points earlier. Beat him faster. And until I can do that, I don’t think I deserve a celebration just yet.”

You hum softly. “Sounds like you’re making a Sisyphus out of yourself. That can’t be fun.”

His mouth tugs into a crooked smile, not expecting to be called out like this. “I mean, at least I’m not rolling a boulder up a hill. I’d take tennis over that any day.”

“Yeah, but it seems like tennis is your boulder up a hill.”

“Touché.” He smiles bashfully as he takes a long drag. And then, he offers his hand. “I’m Art Donaldson, by the way.”

It’s a formality at this point. He knows who you are, heard your songs on the radio and saw your face on billboards more times than he can count. Hell, he saw you on the stands in your little Dior sunglasses earlier—and you saw him looking, just for a moment, sweat dripping down his perfect nose and all. But out of courtesy, you tell him your name and accept his handshake.

You pull your hand away, and he almost groans in protest. But again, he holds his horses. “Alright, I’ll bite. If I’m Sisyphus, what does that make you?”

“Oh, definitely Dionysus. Living on wine and theater and good vibes.” You’ve got that shit locked and loaded. It’s obvious that you’ve thought of this before.

“Is that so?” He chuckles. “Well… as long as you don’t sacrifice me to the maenads, right?”

“Can’t promise you that,” you quip back, tapping the gray off of your remaining cigarette. Pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t make the obnoxious remark that Dionysus is also the god of sex, as boys would do. Even more so that he knows enough to know the difference between the sirens and the maenads.

There’s no fighting the raging flush in his cheeks anymore, but he just hopes you would spare him. “Will you at least promise to make it swift?”

It comes out faster than a trainwreck, but without even blinking, the one thing that comes out of your mouth is, “What if I wanna take my time with you?”

Fuck.

The party carries on inside, although Stevie Wonder’s ‘My Cherie Amour’ sounds a mile away. His cigarette smoke comes out in a stuttered huff, as he looks away, not knowing what to do with himself. Eventually, though, he recovers, taking another drag. “It wouldn’t be a terrible way to go, huh?”

“I suppose not.” You sigh into a smile, exuding a flume of smoke through your nose. Shit, he doesn’t know which one is hotter; that, or the lipstick mark on your filter. Or the pensive look as you watch the party through the window.

Oh, he’s down bad.

“So, Dionysus…” he leans out against the railing, flicking ash off his stub one, two, three. “What brings you out here? You a tennis fan?”

“Me? Oh, no. No, I… don’t even really understand how it worked until today,” you admit bashfully. Somehow the truth doesn’t feel so embarrassing, even though you spent the day lying through your teeth. “Not until I saw you play. Which… congrats, by the way.”

“Wow. Thanks.” He’s not sure whether it’s the earnestness in your congratulations, or the fact that the game finally makes sense because of him, but his heart grows three sizes.

“But, yeah, no, my publicist dragged me here kicking and screaming.”

“So you were forced into a party, huh? That’s not very Dionysian of you…” He muses playfully, and those lines on each side of his lips aching to break out into a full smile. And they do. And it warms your heart that those smile lines only emphasizes the way his face lights up. “Nah, I get what you mean. My agent had to drag me out of the locker room to make an ‘appearance.’”

“Yeah, she said something about… shifting into a classier, more grownup image?”

“By watching a couple of dudes hit a ball with a racket?”

“By sitting there and looking pretty. It’s the only reason I’m all decked out in this ridiculous fucking thing,” you look down at your outfit with a grumble. Of all the days you could’ve run into someone cute, you’re in a fucking pantsuit like some middle-aged politician.

“But you do look pretty,” he replies without even blinking.

“Thanks, it’s Ralph Lauren.” You smile faux sweetly. “I believe I’m contractually obligated to say that.”

“Still pretty,” and he means it, lackadaisical smile and all. The ivory cape-like blazer is an interesting cut that goes down to your knees, and it makes you look regal. The cut of the pants makes your legs go for miles. It certainly doesn’t hurt that your off-white shirt is unbuttoned halfway, showing a generous amount of cleavage.

(And hey, he’s still a guy. Can you blame him?)

He has this way of looking at you. Like he’s studying you. It would’ve been unsettling, if he weren’t so fucking beautiful to look at and you don’t mind an excuse to stare back and admire the angular lines on his face. Like Apollo in the moonlight. “What?”

Art taps his cigarette much more deliberately and inhales, exhales out of the side of his mouth, much more deliberately this time. “I think you’re more Aphrodite than Dionysus.”

You take another drag. “How so?”

“First of all, for a god of parties, you don’t like to party all that much,” he grins knowingly, smugly, like he’s proud to have figured you out. But his smile softens, and there’s intensity behind his eyes. “And because you’re beautiful. And dangerous.”

Your mouth twists, pausing for a long moment. To calm yourself. To gather yourself. “But it’s so cliched, though…”

“Well, who would you rather be? Medusa, maybe?” He turns his body, leaning on his side against the railing so he’s fully facing you, and you can’t help but mirror his position.

You raise a forefinger pointedly, French manicured nails on display. “Hey. I think Medusa gets a bad rep. Neptune fucked her over, but she was the one cursed.”

“And what, you think you’re as cursed as Medusa, too?”

You shrug, maybe.

Despite the weight of your answer, he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “There’s no way you’re cursed. A curse wouldn’t be so beautiful.”

“But a curse could be deceiving, no?”

“Or maybe it’s a matter of perspective. Maybe you think you’re cursed, even when you might not necessarily be.”

“Oh, just like you’re so inclined to keep pushing your boulder up a hill?”

Art blinks, and sucks his teeth bashfully. Just when he thought he’s got you figured out… Check and mate. “You know, if I didn’t know you any better, I would’ve thought you were some kind of an oracle. Like Cassandra.”

Your eyebrows raise in interest.

“You have this strange, unnerving ability to see right through me. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had a few drinks, or you’re just very observant, but…” he trails off thoughtfully and then nods like he’s made up his mind. “Cassandra.”

“Cassandra,” you echo quietly. “I like that.”

“Mm-hm. I’d say it’s a very fitting title for you.”

That fond little glint in his eyes is becoming a staple in the way he looks at you. And you don’t ever wanna see it dim. So you speak up again, leaning in conspiratorially. “You wanna hear something funny?”

“What?”

“My parents almost named me Cassandra.”

His jaw drops, dumbstruck. “Shut the fuck up.” His grandmother would have smacked him on the back of his head, knowing the profanity he uses (to a girl he likes, no less). But out of all the things he tried to figure out about her, he never expected to get this one right.

“I shit you not.” You watch him double down laughing, grinning to yourself. “Freaky coincidence, right?”

“Or the Fates working overtime. I’m sure they’d be laughing at us right now.” He looks up at the deep blue sky with a shake of the head.

You wave at the stars, taking a mock bow to your invisible audience. “Thank you. Glad you’re enjoying the show, guys.” The laughter lingers on your lips, and you wonder if it tastes the same on his. “We really are just the court jesters, huh?”

He nods. “Although I wouldn’t mind playing the fool for you.” Maybe it’s the drinks or the cigarettes or the unlikeliest conversation with the most stunning creature he has ever laid eyes on, but at one point, his inhibitions are starting to leave him.

It’s now or never.

The dubious smile that comes out of you is involuntary. He can’t be serious, right? “You are so full of shit, aren’t you?”

“You don’t believe me?”

You look at him like, obviously.

“What are you gonna do, punish me for lying?” There’s that glint again, the bite against the inside of your cheek, and Art steps in.

Your heart catches. He doesn’t feel much like a boy now, inches away from you with a disarming look, his intentions crystal clear. And your head drops for a moment with a wry smile. “You can’t say that to me...”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Because? His grin widens, because for the first time this whole evening, he’s got the upper hand. And he likes it.

“I…” You blink at him, finding yourself cornered. Thankfully, though, your phone comes to the rescue, buzzing in your pocket and popping the tension between you and Art like a balloon. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I—”

“Yeah, sure.” he backs away a step, flashing an understanding smile. He watches you pick up the phone, looking out at the London sky. He would swear up and down that he didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just loves to watch you gnaw at your lower lip in thought, study your moonbathed profile.

Listen to the sweet, sweet sound of your voice.

“Hi… no, I’m still at the— yeah. I’m not sure… are you still with…? Oh, good. Good, just checking. Say hi to everyone for me... Yeah, I’ll call you when I get back?” You catch Art’s gaze, and your stomach drops as you hear the dreaded words on the line. But again, you’re backed away into a corner. So you look away and say it back, “I love you, too. Bye.”

There it is.

Art really should’ve known this. He should’ve seen it coming. You were way too good to be true, but that doesn’t stop him from getting disappointed. No, his heart breaks on the spot, and he’s pretty sure you can hear it.

(You can’t. But you can see it in his face.)

The silence is awkward. It’s ugly. The steady sounds of cars passing by on the ground feels like it’s right in front of you. For the longest time, the two of you can only look out onto the horizon. Anxiously tracing the outlines of skyscrapers in sight.

He is reeling, like he’s been shaken awake from a dream. “So, I take it you’re taken, huh?”

The look you give him is apologetic, and it kills you as much as it destroys him. “Yeah.”

Art rubs at his jaw like he’s willing himself to say something, anything. “I see you’ve cursed me, then.”

“What?”

It takes him a moment to gather his words. Put together his thoughts in a way that you would understand. He didn’t mean it to sound so damning, but it’s the first thing that comes out. It feels like taking a boulder out of his throat. “By making me like you.”

Oh.

Your face falls. Of course. How cruel of you to play his game, knowing you’re setting him up to lose. “I’m sorry. I never meant to…”

“No, no. I’m not blaming you, I swear,” he quickly interjects. “It’s… not your fault one of us is a fool.” He smiles ruefully at nothing.

“It’s a shame,” you quietly admit.

And even then he can’t be mad at you. Not from the way he looks at you oh so tenderly. “It’s a real shame, love.”

There are no words, no more witty remarks. They’ve all been exhausted out of you. There’s nothing left to exchange but that soft look of resignation. Of defeat.

Of wishful thinking.

The cigarettes have long died out and forgotten, only the filters left between your fingers. Your ashes fall in a big chunk on the railing, while Art’s… have free-dived and dispersed in the muggy night air.

“I should go.” Your voice comes out in a whisper. “Let you go back to your party.”

Art can only nod. He keeps his mouth shut, not trusting himself enough to not beg you to stay.

You reach out, almost pulling back, but you can’t help it. Even if it’s just a nothing hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

He covers your hand in his, just for a second. His thumb caressing the back of your hand. His heart is in pieces, but at least he will have this. If nothing else, he will still know how your hand feels in his.

And just as quickly as it happens, it ends. Art doesn’t dare watch you leave. He misses your touch instantly, and the sound of your footsteps, and the door opening and closing follows. As Al Green’s ‘What Am I Gonna Do With Myself’ plays on in the party, Art looks out towards the London sky and lights another cigarette.