#what is the bare minimum shading I can get away with

[malenjoyer]

Hello! I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but I just wanted to tell you about how your style has inspired me so much!! Probably an ask you’ve gotten a lot, but I just have to know; how do you go at line work? It looks so good when you do it. Like, you’ve perfected where to leave gaps, what should be thick and thin, what should be subtle shading, etc. I’m so jealous! Do you have any suggestions on how to improve in this area? I’d love some insight!!

Thank you! That's very unexpected to hear but also kind of nice! :D That's the first time anyone has said that to me.

For line weight, Mark Morales covers it very well here

Aside from using line weight to show light source, you can also use it to emphasize stuff, which is what I like doing. I think it's essentially the same logic though- I just bend the rules often to make it work the way I want it to. Lots of trial and error and fixing stuff.

As for the gaps, I don't really know how to explain it without sounding a little weird. I think it's just something I developed as a habit where areas where you're supposed to connect with thin lines, I just don't finish it. Most of the time I don't finish my lines, because I don't need to. I live and embrace the karma of not connected line art when I color it.

I think my style boils down to How do I draw good with the least amount of work which sounds questionable, but the less I focus on whether each individual line connects or looks good, the more stamina I have for the rest of the drawing.

If you've got this hamster, you're like 60% of the way there.

Real answer: probably try doing gesture drawings with the least amount of lines possible with 2 minute timer to simulate what happens in my brain when I do line art. you can try to apply the line weight stuff and think okay where would I apply thickness to show shadow or emphasize curves

[heich0e]

rintarou's sheets are scratchy.

they're new, and haven't yet gone through the wash enough times to properly soften. they haven't been slept on enough times to be fully broken in. you know he bought them because you always used to tease him about his old sheets: faded with some holes in them—a mismatched fitted sheet and top sheet in two different shades of blue, unbefitting of a grown man making grown man money.

so, he got new ones.

these new sheets are green, in the exact shade you like so much—the one you always point out when the two of you are walking in the park near your office on your lunch break. he sent you a picture of the package when he got them home, fishing for praise you refused to give him for doing the bare minimum. they're nice sheets, though. expensive, organic cotton with a high thread count.

but right now, they're scratchy.

and they're irritating you as you lay tangled up in them, the top sheet wrapped around your waist like a belt and twisted around one of your bare legs. you must have been tossing and turning a lot in your sleep, because when you properly rouse from your slumber to take inventory of your surroundings, the first thing you notice is that you're practically knotted into the stiff, new cotton.

you extract yourself from the blankets, stumbling a little towards the door in a fog, and make your way from rintarou's bedroom in the direction of the kitchen.

"oh," rintarou perks up once you appear around the corner, his eyes bright when they spot you. "you're up."

you shuffle around the kitchen counter towards him, your head heavy and pounding, your mouth dry. you feel nauseated, and without thinking, you slump against him with your forehead pressing into the valley between his shoulder blades. you're confused. you're hungover. but he's warm, and smells like laundry detergent. suddenly you feel a little less queasy.

"what's going on?" you grumble into his back. you peel yourself away from him, blinking slowly, and sweep your gaze around the room to get a better sense of things.

suna holds up a frying pan and a whisk. "i'm cooking!"

you blink again. "okay?"

it's not what you meant when you asked him your first question, but rintarou simply smiles. he has an almost puppy-like personality when he gets like this—you can almost picture ears atop his head and a tail wagging happily as he stares down at you.

"how'd i get here last night?"

rintarou freezes, but only for a moment. he quickly turns his back to you again to continue on whatever misguided culinary adventure he'd been attempting before you woke up. "you were pretty drunk."

"my seniors kept egging me on," you complain, rubbing your forehead as the hazy memory surfaces from the night before. it was a company dinner you couldn't get out of, and it had quickly spiralled out of hand. "i don't even remember leaving."

rintarou laughs a little. but he still won't look at you.

"suna."

he doesn't turn, whisking something you can't identify but that you're almost certain should not be whisked in a bowl in front of him on the counter.

"suna." you repeat yourself again.

suddenly, a wave of nausea overtakes you.

no.

no.

you pat yourself down in search of your phone, but the attempt is useless. you're dressed in one of rintarou's t-shirts and boxers, neither of which come equipped with any pockets, and your phone is nowhere to be found. you whip your head around in search of it, but don't spot it anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

"hey—" rintarou finally looks at you when he senses your alarm, and his tone mirrors your own panic. "don't—!"

you swipe his cellphone off the counter in front of him, using the passcode you'd managed to weasel out of him a few months ago to unlock the device and navigate to his call log. you take off running as you tap your way through the various screens on his phone, but he's quickly in pursuit of you—leaving whatever he'd had on the stove to burn like he world's saddest funeral pyre.

"stop, stop!" rintarou is faster than you are, and has longer legs, but even by the time he catches you, you've already found what you're looking for in his call history. he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you down onto his sofa with him in the living room, and the two of you land in a tangle of limbs against the cushions, your breathing laboured.

"i didn't make this call, did i?" you ask meekly, pointing at a brief call in the late hours of the night prior that sits at the top of his call history. it's from your number, but you're confident you hadn't been the one to dial.

rintarou pouts a little bit, avoiding your eyes. after a moment he shakes his head. you groan, rolling over on the sofa underneath him and hiding your face in your hands.

"i wasn't even there long, i promise," rintarou says, his voice impossibly close because of the way the two of you are sprawled across the sofa. his breath is warm against the column of your throat when he speaks.

you refuse to look at him.

"i didn't even say anything embarassing."

you still don't budge.

"i made sure to thank your coworkers for calling me to come get you and everything."

your hangover has been overtaken by your own mortification, a horrible heat creeping up your face to accompany the taste of bile in your throat. you've been so, so careful not to let your relationship and your career overlap thus far. so cautious about introducing rintarou into parts of your life that would make it even harder to face if or when the time came that he wasn't around anymore.

"are you embarrassed of me?"

his question makes your chest ache. the way he says it twists the knife.

you lift your face from your hands and peek at him over your shoulder. he's so close that your noses almost brush.

"no." you mean it.

the anxiety in rintarou's gaze eases. he presses closer.

"you sure?"

you narrow your eyes at him. "depends. were you wearing that awful yellow track suit?"

rintarou laughs, all breath, and then dips down to kiss you softly. you want to complain that you haven't even brushed your teeth yet, or that you kind of feel like you might be sick, or that whatever he was trying to cook is on the brink of burning down the building. but you don't. you just let him rest on top of you. you let yourself enjoy it.

when he finally pulls away, rintarou has a somewhat sly smile on his face.

"what, rin?" you ask him gently.

"just wondering if now that i've met your coworkers you're going to let me come visit you at lunch, or if you're still gonna make me hide in the park."

"i like the park," you pout.

because the park is green, the colour you like so much. like rintarou's scratchy bedsheets. and his eyes.

"okay, okay," he laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. "i like the park, too."

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 5.

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The library was quiet when you walked in. Since it was still early in the morning many people hadn't shown up yet. Your luck of finding a tutor were slim right now. It was best to start independent so you could tell a tutor what you needed to learn more about anyway.

You wonder the shelves contemplating where to begin. Maybe the computers to look up what fourth grade standards? Didn't those vary though? Okay maybe you should have goaded your 'family' into telling you were the 'boarding school' was supposedly base. Science sounded like a good option. It used a mix of math and reading comprehension.

You had to choose a science fourth grades typically learned, though. Honestly you wished you could just pick any science and say the school had specialized classes. However you didn't know what type of boarding school Bruce claimed you went to. The slightest misstep and your siblings would alert him that something was up.

Being realistic Bruce could send you back at anytime. By playing into his lies, you would appear compliant or like you don't suspect he was involved. That could buy you time. If it seemed like you were truly trying to integrate back into the family and not expose the experiments, he might let you stay for a little longer. Why get rid of someone if their potential as a threat was limited by their ignorance?

For now you need to match the cover story. Whatever books were labeled fourth grade level than. Maybe a few fifth grade books. You had implied that you were doing more advanced work. Maybe you could safely make the claim that you were placed in advance classes. They had been talking about those during your last year at Gotham prep.

The kids section was full of basic cartoon style books. You browsed a few before frowning. Most of the information was the bare bone minimum. Half the books mark 4th grade level only covered surface level knowledge.

You pulled out a book on human anatomy and almost bursted out laughing. The drawings were over simplifications of the organs, nothing compared to how they really looked. Slimy, covered in veins, shades of pink or gray you didn't expect once the blood was removed. That thought brought back a haunting memory. You shoved the book back on the shelf. Medical research would come later.

Grabbing any books that caught your attention, you headed over to a secluded area. Most of the information was basic understand. Yes, you learned some new things and were fairly certain your reading comprehension was ay the appropriate level. But there was nothing involving math. "Maybe a few tutors have shown up or a librarian can help me call one."

Standing back up you wondering over to the librarian desk. No one was there. You yet out a heavy sigh. Oh course they weren't there, that was just your luck.

"Hello, are you looking for something?" You jumped at the sudden voice behind you. Spinning around you saw a woman with long dark brown hair and green eyes. She carried herself confidently but some part of you screamed the she was capable of violence.

"I was looking into what's available in terms of math tutoring. Maybe social studies or history if that's an options." You angled you body away from her.

She laughed slightly more to herself than you. There was a gleam in her eye, like she was impressed by her assessment. "Well you're in luck. I happened to home schooled my own son in math and know a lot of teachers. What do you need to know?"

"Pretty much everything above adding and subtracting." You scowled down at the books in your arms. It they had and hadn't been useful. Maybe you should take advantage of this woman's help. You needed a tutor, it shouldn't matter who it was also long as your family didn't find out. "What’s your name?"

"I'm Talia." She crouched down to your level and held out a hand. You stopped thinking.

Talia.

The woman mentioned in your mother's diary. It couldn't be. Though she mentioned having a son. No Talia might have been an older flame and Damian's mother had a different name. Maybe you had been to quick to get in a fight with him. Now you couldn't ask him about his mother. What if he sent her to spy on you because you had pissed him off? Not good, really not good.

"I'm (Fake Name)." You gave her the wrong name and watched. If Damian had sent her, she would probably already know your name. So by giving her the wrong one you could figure what she already knew about you. It wouldn't be through her words or actions. No the hints would be subtle. Some kind of disappointment or a sign she felt slighted.

Yet her face remain pleasant. That slight hint of being impressed remaining, "It's nice to meet you. Let's do a few tests so I can see where you are first." Just like that you were swept away into a world of learning.

Talia was beyond impressed with the young Wayne girl. First she correctly identified Talia as a threat. It was obvious by the way she angled herself away from the older woman. How her eyes flicked for the nearest exit, probably a subconscious reaction. Without Talia's weapons or reputation, the girl had pick up on danger.

Next was the wrong name. Said so surely like it truly was her name. The girl shifted so fluidly into the new identity too. Talia would have believed it if she hadn't already done research. Never once did she catch the girl not responding to the name. All without proper training.

However, that all paled in comparison to her true shining trait. The girl's intelligence was well beyond average. She caught trick questions and picked up topics quickly. Talia was willing to bet her intellect could rival Bruce's. Obviously not at her current state, she need guidance to reach that level. Still all the material was there.

"Thank you for the help, today." Her voice was quiet. Movements quick to put away the notebook she had written all of her work in. They had moved from mathematics, to English, social studies, sciences, and the one that she seem the most interested in Criminal Investigation. Damian had taken his father's intelligence but was held back his ego. She didn't have that fault.

Talia smiled, "of course. Will you be returning tomorrow? I would love to continue our lessons. There's a chance I might be able to teach you Arabic."

"Arabic, the language?"

"Yes. I taught my son but well he lives with his father now and I don't get to speak it with him anymore." Talia said the information to get the girl to relax but the opposite occurred.

(Name) bit her lip, "I apologize if this is sensitive to you but what's your son's name?"

"Damian." Talia observed the girl's reaction. Her shoulders tense, body angling again, one deep breath. "Too bad his father turned him against me."

"How?" The girl blinked after saying the word. Her face was too blank to be natural. The information was throwing her for a loop as she tried to make it fit her reality. They would need to work on that.

Talia shook her head sadly, "I'm not a hundred percent certain what he told my boy but I think... I think he made Damian believe that he was in love with me and I broke his heart. Even though it was the other way around when he cheated on me."

Talia watched as the words hit home with the girl. Oh she had chosen the right story to turn her against Bruce. The girl gave her an easy smile that was a smidge too tense in the corners, "Yeah. I'll be here tomorrow. Can I ask one last question?"

"Go ahead." Talia gestured with her hand.

"Do you happened to know any self defense teachers?" Determination morphed her features. It made her come alive in a sense. That fire she saw yesterday back in her eyes and brighter. Confidence shifted her stance into one more sure.

"Oh I know several material arts teachers."

Bruce sat in his car, rubbing his brow. In a little over twenty-four hours since his youngest had shown up at manor things had arguably gotten worst. First the information coming out about (Name) never being at school followed by a full blown investigation by his kids. Than there was what the others had officially dub "The shit list". Damian had become so upset he secluded himself in the barn. Last but certainly not less were the changes the other reported in his youngest.

Dick's last phone call said she was at the library researching for 'school'. They had decided to watch her through the cameras believing space was what she actually need. Yet one thing was clear from the little time she had spent in the manor since coming back. Whatever had happened was traumatic and she was not going to tell them directly. Perhaps whoever had her was now stalking her to ensure she wouldn't cooperate.

Bruce would double the manor's security. He wouldn't fail one of his kids a second time. She hadn't arrived home from the library yet, so Bruce had time to prepare. Taking one last deep breath he exited the car. First stop the Batcave to get an update on investigation.

Bruce might as well have entered a war zone. At least there he would know where to start. Dick and Jason were in a screaming match about who should have been checking in on her. Tim was two steps away from drinking coffee straight from the pot, while pouring over financial records. Barbara looked like she was having an aneurysm. Cass was analysising video footage taking notes on presumably her body language. Duke was being interrogate being Steph on how (Name) acted while the two were out and what she could have been writing in "the shit list."

"Status report." His voice shattered the chaos in a matter of seconds. "Oracle you go first."

"I searched through city wide surveillance feeds and found some video footage from a few days ago. It seems like who ever had her did chase after but..." Oracle, Barbara trailed off. The screen flash to show (Name) being chased by an armed pursuer. In two seconds, she had turned thrown a knife of some kind than ran down an another alleyway. Her pursuer fell to the ground weapon lodged in his throat. "Police reports identified him as James Lenon, a low level criminal with a history of violence. He had a scalpel in his trachea and was pronounced dead on arrival of the scene."

Bruce now understood why Barbara looked ready to have an aneurysm. This footage showed (Name) committing murder. Just to get away from whoever was holding her captive. He could only imagine what might have pushed her to that point. That or she didn't know the guy was dead. It would technically count as self defense either way but not a good sign.

Barbara typed something on her laptop before another video appeared. "Than there's this one." It show (Name) running off screen injured. When she reappeared the injuries were gone, not even a speck of blood. The video ended with (Name) throwing a mangled bullet at the camera. An act of defiance, but towards who.

"Has this video been edited?"

"No. This is the orginial video. Do you think she might actually be a meta?" The room filled with anticipation at that.

Bruce nodded once, "we'll need to test her DNA but the odds are good. Red Robin what do you have?"

"She was telling the truth about her card being stolen. It would seem whoever stole it though knew better than to use it to pay for something directly. All of it's cash withdrawals, the ATMs used are in Gotham though so it's all local. Oracle any updates on ATM footage?"

"Na-da. They're smart, covered their faces with sunglasses and sick masks. Generic brand sunglasses and disposable mask so no identifying markers. They wear them on video until they disappear." Barbara brought several still shots onto the screen.

Bruce nodded to the two, taking in the information. It assumable from the ATM footage alone there were multiple people involved in this. They would need to identify which group had the most to gain.

"Nightwing, Red Hood. What did your investigation of the PO box reveal?"

"They scorched the damn place the night she escaped." Jason dropped a picture of a burnt and destroyed PO boxes on the table. One box in the third row was circled "Also destroyed any mail going to all the PO boxes on that wall. Feds are looking into it since the post office was involved, I couldn't get closer than that."

"The person who orginially opened the box, Marcus Antonio, was found dead last night." Dick placed crime scene photos on the table. A man with a singular bullet wound laid in a pool of blood. There were tipped over and rifled through drawers, books, coffee containers. The scene was mess. "Decided to take a look around. It was a clean hit but catch this. The guy had loads of cash stashed all over the place. GCPD thinks it was a robbery gone wrong since they didn't take all of it and left in a hurry. With what we know, I think it was a targeted attack. They mostly just took the cash they could find, figuring they were going to get cut off"

Tim interrupted, "I second that. All cash withdrawals stopped the day after she escaped. They pulled more than they usually did so the bank flagged the card. It's shut off pending investigation."

Bruce nodded. It was likely that most of the people involved were going to leave Gotham. Cash would be necessary for that. "Any sign of the mail?"

"No but he had a burn bucket in the bedroom." Dick shook his head. Leaning against the table he sighed. "They're getting rid of evidence quickly and have a three day head start."

"Orphan."

"She shows signs of hyper vigilance, avoids cameras, and I think she probing us for information." Cassandra looked up from the tablet she was using one.

"Wait, she's probing us for information?" Tim stopped typing on his laptop before throwing his head back and groaning. "She's become one mystery after another."

"At the breakfast table. She was trying to figure out if we read her diary, was gauging how we all reacted to her mentioning school, and was ensuring the debit card got closed out. The roommates she referred to as troublesome were probably the gaurds."

Everyone nodded. Bruce looked to Barbara, "I want a video of breakfast this morning. I need to know exactly what was said. Spoiler, Signal."

"If she doesn't have PTSD I don't know what she has." Steph leaned back in her chair rubbing her eyes. "Though this one wasn't pay any special anytime to her behavior."

"I didn't know I was supposed to. I genuinely thought she was upset because Damian attacked and having to leave 'school' early." Duke ran a hand over his face. "In the hours we spent at the mall, she implied she had to leave school quickly because something really bad happened. That and she's..."

Duke froze, pieces connecting in his head. When he looked at Bruce, horror started to mix with realization. "Was she a Meta two years ago?"

There was a pregnant pause as everyone in the room thought. Bruce shook his, "No. She never showed signs of being a Meta."

"Disappeared for two years, comes back with meta abilities, refers to the thing making her leave as really bad with potentially two triggers for her being needles and the smell of disinfectant." Duke looked at all of them more pieces falling into place. Bruce's eyebrows knitted together. Duke was on to something but for the life of him, Bruce could piece it together? "What was happening two years when she disappeared? Other than that Joker attack."

It finally hit Bruce what Duke was getting at. Two years ago Meta Human traffickers stop looking for ways to find 'product'. Instead they began looking for ways to create new it. There were reports of them doing horrifying things to create new meta humans. It didn’t work because most of them lacked the funding to get the necessary chemicals and equipment.

Yet, with a Wayne kid's debit card that gets weekly deposits. He even gave her a higher amount than the others because she was supposedly aboard. It was possible but there was one missing component for this. "There are no meta humans in my biological family. She wouldn't have the gene to activate."

"And her mother's half of the family?" It was a valid question for Duke to ask. Bruce thought for a second, had her mother had a meta in her family. She mentioned an aunt that was disowned but that was it.

"Spoiler I want you looking into her mother's side of the family." Bruce gave the command before looking across the room again. "Red Hood start looking into Meta Human Traffickers who went off the grid two years ago. Red Robin you're in charge of looking into whoever made those withdrawals. Find out where that cash went. Oracle, look into the two people we've identified as being involved, get contacts, favorite hunts, anything you can. Send that information to Oprhan and Signal. You two are with me in tracking them down."

"What about me B?" Dick gave Bruce a questioning look.

"You're going to talk with (Name) and get her to open up to you." Bruce nodded at Dick, "Go be her older brother."

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Taglist:

@stove-top96 @mysticalhills @00hellohello00 @a-lurking-fae @yhin-gg @twismare @charlenexoxo1 @moondust-clouds @darkumbreon92 @jsprien213 @bellethesleepypotato @time-shardz @randomlyappearingartist

[ikeukiss]

A TEAR IN SPACE | 최한솔

⟢ PAIRING: hansol vernon chwe x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 5.9K ⟢ GENRE: comedy, fluff, smut ⟢ TAGS: tattooartist!vernon, spit play, semi-dom!vernon, degradation kink, pet names (princess, etc), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, backshots, creampie ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Your first tattoo shouldn't be left in the hands of a stranger. But what scares you the most about the entire experience may just be how hard you're already falling for the tattoo artist. ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Finally posting the damn birthday fic I planned weeks ago. Better late than never! Beta'ed by my usual sweethearts, @lovetaroandtaemin @gyubakeries, and to all of the friends who read it early and hyped me up, I love you so much. Also song title inspiration from a song by Glass Animals!

If your family and friends had known you were going in with no game plan for your upcoming tattoo, including what you wanted or where you would put it, they would have a heart attack. The only thing you’re certain of is the parlor itself, the place having tons of room for walk-ins since it opened barely a month ago. Despite its infancy, though, the business was getting rave reviews.

Better yet, it was only a ten-minute walk from your apartment. It had to be a sign to get one of your own, now or never.

Your heart rests in your mouth when you push the door of the business open, the blue neon sign for Cheol + Chwe Ink Company flashing in the corner of your eye. Only one customer sits in the tattoo parlor. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth as the tattoo artist repeatedly shades the same lines.

“First timer,” the artist says as he moves his hand and the ink gun from the reddened space on the guy's arm. He looks away from the canvas and to you for a moment, and your heart feels heavier with his eyes on you. His brown eyes captivate you, even as you look over the rest of his face and outfit. Shaved head, white t-shirt, and both arms covered from biceps to the backs of both of his hands in ink. “Told him not to get a dragon.”

“Fuck you, Vernon,” The guy spits, turning his head away and huffing out bated breath. His bangs fall into his eyes, and he has to use the arm not being tattooed to swipe them from his face.

“All I’m saying is, I told you to go for the roman numerals. Roman numerals are easier and faster than animals.”

You laugh to yourself and turn your head away, looking over the station around and behind Vernon’s head. Sketches litter the wall, some impressionistic, others dark shades of white and black. You recognize a couple of the art styles from your copious research on tattoos: neo-traditional, fine line, and so on. Some sketches remain unfinished; he’s tacked others, fully colored, to the wall. The guy clearly knows his stuff.

“Welcome to Cheol and Chwe! I’m the Cheol, Seungcheol that is. What can I do for ya?” The muscular guy behind the counter had to have materialized in front of you without you noticing. He’s got a warm smile that eases some of your nerves. And he has even more tattoos than Vernon, some covering his neck area.

“I was wondering if you could take a walk-in today for a free canvas.”

You see Vernon’s jaw tick and his ears perk up. It may not be an everyday occurrence for someone to come into a parlor with no expectations for what they get, especially for someone as capable as Vernon clearly is.

“Completely free? Alright, we can do that.” Seungcheol pulls out a clipboard with paperwork for you to sign. “Tattoo minimum is a hundred. That work for you?”

You nod. “Not a problem.”

You both go over the paperwork together, and by the time that you have your cash and ID out, Vernon walks over to Seungcheol with the cordless ink gun still in his hand. “Can you take over the rest of Mingyu’s tattoo? Just the shading needs to be finished.”

“What the fuck man!” Mingyu throws his free arm in the air, and Vernon smirks at him.

“Rather do the free canvas than another dragon, man. Sorry.” Vernon slides his focus back on you with a smile. “I’ll try to keep the design to the standard minimum. Unless you want something worth more than that.”

You contemplate and pull a few more bills from your wallet. “All I got is two hundred on me. Is that enough for a masterpiece?”

He chuckles and brushes his fingers against yours for the extra bills. The contact makes you shiver, but he’s cool and collected the entire time you touch. “I think I can work with that.”

With the way Vernon talked about the other guy’s first-time experience, you weren’t about to let him know you were also a first timer. Then again, you wouldn’t take the pain like a baby. You’d handle it like a pro, for sure.

“You’re in excellent hands,” Seungcheol pipes up, breaking the sudden tension in the air that still simmers between your fingertips.

The second you sit in Vernon’s chair and Vernon has a blue Sharpie in his hand, ready to freelance the design on your skin, your eyes once again shift across the space. It’s all black brick with industrial lighting, meant to give off the art as the focus. Where Seungcheol’s side is a lot cleaner, only a handful of his prints and designs on the mirror overlooking his chair, Vernon is scatterbrained. But he has to have some kind of system in place, flitting across drawers and supply boxes without issue.

You can tell he has you pegged already with his small smile and inquisitive eyes. From the way you fidget in your seat to the antsy movements of your eyes, it has to be obvious you’re a newbie to all of this. But Vernon is ever the gentleman, not pointing any of your behavior out when he asks, “Do you have any specific style in mind for the tattoo?”

You shake your head. “Free canvas, remember?”

He chuckles and takes the cap off of his marker with his teeth. “Just checking,” he remarks before the first touch of permanent marker goes over the skin of your forearm. 

Vernon creates broad strokes with the marker, his hands steady as he works with the free space. He follows those lines up with more precise details a few moments later, going in with cross-hatching and shading that looks absurd at first glance. Only he can see the greater picture of the design in his head. It may be a mixture of techniques and methods to anyone else, but ‌you trust the process the longer he continues.

Moments later, you look over the art on your forearm, stunned to see the biomechanical shapes and lines forming a pair of angel wings.

“If you hate it, we can start over.” He looks incredibly vulnerable as the words leave his lips, eyes sparkling with inspiration as he shares his stare with you and the drawing on your arm. He may say he’ll be okay with you detesting the idea, but you know better; it’s written all over him.

And you don’t detest it, not at all. It’s a beautiful design of contrast and light that isn’t too bold, yet in no way simplistic. The artwork sits so perfectly on your arm, you can only imagine how happy you’ll be with the ultimate piece.

When you tell him you love it, you know he knows you mean it, and he’s just as excited to start as you are. Sure, residual nerves relating to the pain of the entire process still linger, but with a smile as bright as Vernon’s guiding you through the fear, how can you think this is the wrong decision?

Before the ink gun’s tip can hit the first layer of skin, Vernon tries to explain the process to you, all while you keep your hard gaze on the contraption at his side. “The layer underneath the epidermis is where the ink goes, and it stays on that layer, which is what makes it permanent,” he says. “That’s why it stings so much at first, but once we go for a little while and your nerves go away, you’ll barely notice.”

“Who said I was nervous?” You quirk your eyebrow, trying to play it cool once more, but by this point, why lie? The feelings you thought were merely residual spring back up, your fear at war with your enthusiasm. You sigh as Vernon gets out a razor to shave the hairs on your forearm. Unsure of how to say what you want, no words come out while he slides the blade across your skin.

He looks up from your arm with a pout. “What happened to the girl who kept looking at her soon-to-be tattoo in the mirror? Bring her back, I miss her right now.”

You huff out a laugh, crossing your arms. “I’m still excited! I’m just nervous about how long it’s gonna hurt.” You cover your face with your hands, your cheeks turning a deeper shade than a moment before. “And now I’ve ruined my cover because you probably think I’m a big wimp like your friend over there.”

You both turn to see Mingyu biting down on his fist hard at another portion of the shading, so lost in his own misery he didn’t notice you just shit-talked him. Seungcheol keeps his thoughts to himself as he inks, but he looks like he’d rather deal with a thousand pages of paperwork than the guy in his chair.

Vernon chuckles quietly and continues preparing the cups of ink and his work station for the tattoo. “Wanna know a secret? Everyone is kinda nervous about their first tattoo, to varying degrees obviously.”

“Really?”

“Really really.” He winks and takes one of your crossed arms in his hand to lie on  the small resting place of the chair. “Think you’re a bit more comfortable now?”

You nod your head, bottom lip caught in your teeth. The gun sits a ways away in the corner of your eye, but it’s just the process. And accepting it makes it less scary.

Besides, you’re in excellent hands, as you’ve been told.

When the first puncture happens, you try not to suck in a breath or jolt as much as you can without disturbing the beginning of the process. You just take it for what it is and focus on the guy in the chair willing to create something beautiful for you and you alone to have on your body.

THREE MONTHS LATER

Vernon looks up from your sternum, his design partially completed under him. “Look at you now. Who would’ve thought we’d be here?”

“Just shut up and keep inking, Tattoo Boy. It’s a bitch to hold my chest like this.”

Vernon smirks and does as he’s told, running over another piece of empty skin with his usual cross-hatching technique. It reddens from the needle, but the feeling doesn’t phase you now. You just keep your breasts in your hands so as not to disturb Vernon working on the newest ink on your body. 

It’s your newest one. Half of a dozen tattoos already litter your body in random places, all done by the master himself. Cheol tried once to give you a small butterfly behind your ear a month ago, but Vernon was quick to shut the idea and the artwork down. “If she’s gonna get any design, it’s gonna be made by yours truly, Cheol.”

So there you were, toeing the line between becoming a full on tattoo fiend and keeping what’s left of your skin unmarred by Vernon’s ink gun.

You have told yourself countless times it’s because the final artwork is always top-notch, and no piece comes at an unreasonable price. Yet all of your friends look on with knowing eyes and judgemental expressions.

“Is it about the art, or is it the artist you really like?” One of your close friends asked over lunch two weekends ago with a glint in her expression. You couldn’t answer then. A million excuses came to mind that didn’t adequately explain what it was about overall. Your lack of a response seemed to be the only answer needed to confirm their suspicions and confuse you further.

Maybe you were lying to yourself. Maybe it truly was about the designs you loved so much. Either way, it was all the reason you needed to see the guy behind the ink gun, and you wouldn’t stop now.

Seungcheol walks in from the backroom and puts on his jacket. “Alright, man. I’m leaving for the night. Lock up for me?”

“No problem.” Vernon retracts his gun to run his wet cloth over your skin to soothe the redness. “Give Yeri my love.”

Seungcheol waves at you on his way out, and you tip your head in acknowledgement on account of your occupied hands. The bell dings above the door to signal his exit. “Who’s Yeri?” you ask.

“New girlfriend. Probably won’t last another month, but the old fart’s a lover, not a planner.”

You giggle, but the sound’s stunted once the needle presses down and into you again. “And which one are you, Chwe?”

Vernon chuckles, his breath tickling the skin just under your breast, making it harder for you to stay still. “Why don’t you tell me?” His hand holds you in place as he goes over another line. The sterile glove concealing his hand probably can’t detect how warm your skin has become, and you bite back the whimper in your throat as his thumb rubs circles into you. It’s the only thing that could make you relax the first time, the two of you came to realize. He’s committed the act of touching you in that way with every tattoo since to try easing your nerves, despite your protests that you’re not the same girl from all those months ago.

One thing that hasn’t changed is his ability to upend the feelings in your stomach like a professional. A couple of butterflies seem to knock around in there every time he says or does things no other artist would do to you and for you.

How is Vernon so calm every time you sit in his chair, composed as ever, while you’re in shambles? In all the encounters between you two, despite all of his implicit and explicit behaviors, he’s been stoic. He’s a still river amid your frenetic energy swooping in and out of the tattoo parlor.

Maybe he isn’t giving anything away because he doesn’t feel how you do. He’s not hiding anything, if that’s the case. He just isn’t interested in you, save for giving you countless tattoos that he’s hand drawn or you've requested and making a good buck out of it.

The thoughts sober you into a supine position, your voice quiet and any budding warmth chilled as he finishes the rest of his work. Vernon runs his rag over the last lines, pleased with the ultimate design. “Perfect art, perfect canvas,” he mumbles with a hint of a smile. “What more could I ask for?”

When he’s done, you try to rise from the chair and walk away, but he puts the gun to his side quickly to grab your naked waist. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His face scrunches up in confusion, his pout almost doing you in. “I gotta bandage you up, goof.”

You shake your head, trying to move back toward your shirt. “I’m going home, okay? Nothing crazy. I already have all the aftercare stuff in my—”

“Why are you running from me? Did I hurt you?”

You turn your back quickly to yank your shirt over your head without Vernon seeing your full chest, but you know he’s probably turned his head by now as well. Gentlemanly, as always. “You didn’t, not at all,” you say, partially believing the half-truth on your lips. “I just know what this is.”

“And what’s that?” His face turns serious, jaw locked and eyes trained on yours. You want to be blunt and out in the open with the thoughts on your mind. It’s too raw and real for you to expose yourself so blatantly right now, however, when you were shirtless two minutes ago. It’s much easier to be naked in one way rather than the other, unfortunately.

“Transactional,” you say. “I pay you for something, and you do it. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Is that what you think?” He tries to step closer when he catches the undercurrents of your statement, but you back away.

You don’t let him get close enough to shatter you further.

“You can send me the invoice.” He doesn’t say another word after that. Vernon lets you pack up your things and walk out of the parlor without asking you to slow down, to stay, to do anything except go. The chime of the entrance and exit bell rings through your ears as you walk home, your heart distraught and face tear-stained by the time you make it to your apartment, unsure of what to do next to mend the shattered parts of your heart.

“You were in here four days ago, kid. Maybe let the paint dry before you come in for another one?” Seungcheol asks with an air of concern that you want to smack him square in the face for. You don’t need another person in your life, close or not, complaining about your “new habit,” as they’ve called it. Is it so wrong to want to do things on your own and with your money that bring you joy, even if it’s excessive?

“Cheol, just gimme the damn butterfly, okay? It’s not rocket science.” You move past him at the counter to sit in his chair, back turned away from him and the door. “I want one piece that isn’t done by He Who Shall Not Be Named, alright?”

Seungcheol makes a sound of defense and walks over to you, his black boots stomping against the concrete floor in a way that rattles inside of your ears. “Alright, lemme print the stencil.”

You don’t want to talk, to think, to breathe the very concept of the frustrating tattoo artist you’ve grown to know over these past few months. He is not anything to you, and vice versa, as it was so clearly stated yesterday. Why are you wasting your time focusing on him so much when the relationship you’ve built has only existed in the walls of your mind?

When you turn your head to the bell above the door chiming, you expect to see anyone but him in a sleeveless tie-dyed shirt and ripped jeans. You silently curse your thoughts for conjuring him up, like a bad memory that paints the insides of your eyelids. He walks in with his Avengers backpack slung over one shoulder, the contents of it you’ve seen him take out and put back in thousands of times. Sketchbook, iPad, a case of nondescript pencils and pens for him to draw with.

Before Vernon can say a word to you, his eyes sparkling with an intention that you have yet to understand, Seungcheol walks out of the backroom with prints of the butterfly tacked to sticky paper. "Oh," Seungcheol exclaims. "Thought it was your day off."

Vernon instantly loses the hopeful expression in his eyes, the lines of his face glazing over into indifference and something else entirely that you cannot place. "I needed to clear my head. Didn't expect you to be here either." It feels like he's saying the words to you directly, the venom in them not going without notice.

"Was just doing the books when this one came in." He tips his head at you, and you blush hard.

"I mean—I can go if it's a problem," you whisper, turning your head in Seungcheol's direction but feeling the heat of Vernon's gaze on you like a wildfire, brushing across your skin without rhyme or reason.

"No." Both of the men’s responses almost overlap, but Seungcheol doesn't have the same strength in his tone that Vernon does. You feel anchored to the chair by the force of it, too scared to confront Vernon right now but too stuck to run away, trapped in every sense of the word.

Seungcheol's ringtone pierces the air, the sound high-pitched and girly to signify a specific person on the other end of the line. "It's Mina. I should take this." He sets the papers down near the chair you’re sitting in and runs outside. Hearing his new slice of the week’s voice is better than the impending argument between his coworker and his client, you think.

Only, you’re not Vernon’s, truthfully. Not in the way you want to be.

The first minute between you alone is pregnant with silence, both of you unsure where to start after leaving it on such a brutal note four days prior.

You huff out a breath before asking Vernon, "How are you?" The bags under his eyes tell you he hasn’t slept. His clothes look haphazardly put on, his belt practically flinging open from the rush he must have been in this morning. You feel guilty for being in any way involved in his flurry of negative feelings, but that saps out of you the minute you remember why you’re mad at him.

You immediately stand up and let a laugh escape, feeling idiotic for the question you just let leave your lips. "Actually, I don't want to know how you are right now. I shouldn't even be here."

"One, that hurts." He has the nerve to pout at you, his bottom lip jutting out like a little kid who dropped their ice-cream cone. "Two, I have to agree. Can’t focus when you’re around, to be honest." He moves from his spot in front of the door in case you want to run now, but you refuse to leave. Not when everything inside of you is bubbling up so perfectly for an explosion.

"Still waiting on that invoice from last night, by the way," you sneer with a close-lipped smile. You cross your arms, waiting for him to give you something besides a sarcastic comment.

"Ripping into me was enough payment, I think." Vernon sighs in between his smile and pinches the bridge of his nose. He steps closer to his workstation, and even closer to you, before letting his backpack fall onto the floor with a thud.

"Still trying to break your iPad?" you ask.

"I can buy a new one at this point. The point is that I've been a jerk.” His following gaze is vulnerable, his brown eyes remorseful. “You're right."

You roll your eyes. "Was that so hard to admit?"

"You haven't been exactly forthcoming either, princess. It's not like I'm an idiot, I see how you look at me."

You clench your fists at your sides and swallow your disappointment. "No, that role’s been reserved for me since the day we met." You're grateful the guy can be honest in this one arena at the very least, but it doesn’t make the rejection hurt any less. "So, I guess I'll see you around. Tell Cheol I'll send him a twenty or something for the wasted paper."

Before you can walk out of the parlor, Vernon clasps your forearm in his hand, his touch soft but charged with force. You can feel it in the way the pads of his fingers press into your skin, not too deep but in no way gentle. “Where are you going?” he asks in the quietest whisper you’ve ever heard.

His voice melts all the ice in your heart, pure warmth flooding your senses from the way he grazes his fingers from your forearm to your wrist and ultimately to your hand, intertwining your fingers.

“I don’t think you should touch a client like this, Tattoo Boy,” you murmur, unwilling to separate from him at this point.

“I think you know by now I don’t just see you as any other client.” He presses the hand not intertwined with yours to your cheek, thumb crazing the highest point. “I’m just sorry it took so long for me to admit it to myself. I’m not the best at…all of this.”

“Didn’t ask you to be,” you respond. “I just wanted honesty, and I appreciate it.”

He nods and steps closer, his lips barely a few inches from yours and breath fanning across your face when he asks, “What do you want now?”

“Now…” You pretend to contemplate before dragging your lips into a cheshire-like smile. “I want a lot of things from you, but I think a kiss will suffice for now.”

He obliges your request, pressing his lips to yours in a featherlight fashion. Only when both of you sink in the feeling of each other’s mouths does it go deeper, his tongue pressing against the meeting of your lips to sink into your mouth.

And sink he does, as do you. You fall deeper into him as he holds you tighter, running his fingers along your neck and down to your waist, squeezing the shirt and shorts you’re wearing to emphasize his newfound need.

“Oh, shit!”

You and Vernon separate quickly, the sound of Seungcheol’s voice reminding you that you’re still in a public place and should have some respect for their business. Then again, Vernon was making out with you just as strongly as you were with him, so the blame isn’t entirely on you.

“Sorry, um—Mina needs me to pick her up anyway, so…I’m gonna go! I’ll reschedule with you if you want me to, kid.” Seungcheol can’t look either of you in the eye as he walks past to grab his stuff, the tips of his ears red as he makes his way to the entrance.

In a flash, Seungcheol’s gone, and you release a squeal of embarrassment as Vernon laughs into your neck. “It’s not funny! I didn’t expect your boss to see all of that.”

“Hey,” Vernon interjects, “co-owner.” You stick your tongue out at him in response, but he just brushes a free strand of hair from your face. “We don’t have to be ashamed.” His eyes darken as he pushes his fingers into your neck. A small whimper escapes you, as much as you try to fight it. “Don’t tell me you’ll actually call him back for a tattoo.”

You roll your eyes again at him, the boy oblivious to the most logical answer. “What do you think?”

Vernon pecks your lips one more time in relief before walking towards the windows at the front of the parlor, the open space outside visible from the ceiling to the floor. Before you can ask, he says with a smirk as he brings the curtains down, “Don’t want anyone else getting a show, right?”

Vernon’s tongue touches the roof of your mouth as his hands roam underneath your t-shirt. You lie splayed out on his tattoo chair, with half of Vernon's body covering you. He pinches the skin that peeks out of your bra as his tongue works circles against your own. His fingers ghost so close to the curve of your breast that you may fall apart untouched at this rate. You can only imagine what you’ll do when he explores the places you want him to the most.

“You’re okay with this, right?” He asks with sudden vulnerability, his lips swollen and kiss-stained as he parts from you. A string of saliva peeks out in the corner of his mouth, and you find it utterly adorable how lust-blown his irises look already. “I get it if you’d prefer for this happen somewhere more private, I just—”

You press his mouth against yours. The method of shutting him up works wonders, Vernon groaning into your mouth as you palm him above his jeans and let the actions of your body do what the words can only do for so long.

Weeks of waiting, months of wondering, just for him to bring the pleasure of heaven down onto you like this. Inked arms caressing your body, sounds signaling his pleasure, mouth burning kisses into your skin like your own Vernon-shaped badges of honor.

Like a tattoo, every touch marks you as his.

“Open your mouth,” he commands as he wraps his hand around your jaw and chin, and you do it without a second thought. Before you can register the action, he spits his saliva onto the center of your tongue. It’s filthy, pure sin. From the sound that leaves his lips to the way he looks at you, expectant and waiting, any normal girl would probably retract and think it odd for a make-out session to come to this point.

But, because you’re you, eager for any and all of him, you swallow it. He emits a hum of approval, roaming the expanse of your face like a man who’s been without a real meal for too long, ready to devour anything that’s in front of him.

Vernon scoots you both closer to the edge of the tattoo chair, dragging his hands up to the top of your jean shorts as he slides further down until his knees hit the concrete floor. “I want these off. Lift your hips.”

He takes the clothing off as soon as you lift your lower half up for him to discard the fabric. Your body jolts from the cool air, the chillier temperature in the space hitting your core and the wet patch on your underwear.

“Shit,” Vernon says as he parts your legs, his hands splaying out on the insides of your thighs. “This wet for me, already? I have a lot to live up to.”

“Don’t tease me,” you say with a pout in his direction. You wiggle your hips closer to his body, needing more than he is giving in the moment. He stills you with one hand on the outside of your thigh, and the other pulling your panties to the side, the air completely brushing against your exposed cunt.

He kisses both of your kneecaps before he inches closer, each second a drag into the ultimate oblivion you want to fall into. If only he would quit making you wait for it.

The second you think to chastise him for moving so slowly is the second he attaches his mouth to your clit. He licks a stripe from your perineum to the swollen bud, his open mouth latching onto your pussy like it’s all he wants to consume for the rest of his life.

You latch your fingers between the strands of his hair, moaning into the open air above you as he works your body for all it’s capable of. He’s only seen you naked for a minute yet he seems to know exactly how to make it stop, start, speed up, and slow down just from his ministrations.

Stars paint the back of your eyelids as he continues to run his lips and tongue across your center. Your hole flutters at the entrance of his tongue between your walls. His nose pokes your clit as he does so, and you think this may be the best sexual experience you’ve ever had, despite the abnormal setting in which it’s taking place.

You’ll never look at another tattoo chair the same, that’s for sure.

Your release comes at the rapid movements of his tongue against your clit, the figure eights too fast for your mind and body to keep up with. Unfiltered moans and curses leave your lips as you fall back down to earth, Vernon not letting up until your body stops shaking and turns to mush against the chair.

His wet mouth lingers on your thighs, lips sticky with your essence. “Think you can get on all fours for me, princess?”

You don’t know how to sit up when you feel so limbless, all the energy sapped from you from your orgasm, but you’re willing to do what he wants if it means he gives you another.

Anything for more of the pleasure he’s made you feel in such a short span of time.

He removes your underwear completely and then unbuckles his belt as you stretch your hands and knees out on the small tattoo chair, bending it all the way down to accommodate your body on top of it. You feel the head of his cock rub against your pussy, and a garbled whimper escapes at the friction. Moving backwards into him is no use, him sensing your eagerness in a second and pulling away.

“Don’t be a brat,” he chastises.

“I wouldn’t have to be if you gave me what I want,” you talk back, turning your head to look him in the eye.

In that moment, he decides to sheath himself fully inside of you, and you shut your eyes tight at the overwhelming stretch of his cock filling you completely. “‘S even better than I imagined,” he groans as he picks up his pace. The tattoo chair squeaks underneath you as he thrusts. His hips are unrelenting as his pelvis meets yours with every slap of skin against skin.

“You look so good on my chair like this,” he grunts, hand reaching in front of you to snake down to your clit. He rubs circles against the nub, your pussy tightening around his cock from the touch of his fingers. “Perfect canvas, and my perfect slut.”

“Yes, Vernon. All yours,” you whimper, clamping down on him harder to bring yourself closer to your second release. It crawls down your spine, inching closer to the center of your thighs and waiting for the perfect moment to hit you all at once.

“Hansol,” he says, breathless. ��My real name. Want to hear it come from that pretty mouth.” He snaps his hips harder into you, his tip kissing your cervix with perfect force.

“Yes—fuck! Hansol! I’m gonna come!” 

“I’m right there with you, princess.” Vernon moves faster, presses his fingers against your clit in tighter circles, does anything and everything so you both fall apart at the same time. He wants it as bad as you do, his huffs of pleasure mixing with your whines of ecstasy.

Soon enough, your body shatters around his cock, your release gushing out of you and onto his fingers as he slams himself deeper inside of you. You quake underneath him, holding the chair with a death grip as you ride out the high that turns you into nothing but a mess of pleasure.

He stills after a few more thrusts, warmth filling your insides as he leans forward to groan into your ear at the feelings overwhelming his senses. He runs his fingers across the tattoos of his making once he’s completely still, mesmerized by both his own artwork on your skin and the euphoria he’s just experienced.

Droplets of his cum leak out of you when you both separate, and he finds a random rag in a desk drawer to clean you up with. When you shudder from the sensitivity still coating your nerves, he kisses your cheek and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You grab your clothes from the floor to put back on, but all you can focus on as you readjust the buttons of your shorts is how cute Vernon’s face looks all flushed and glistening with sweat.

“You know I can tattoo that ridiculous butterfly on you if you really want it.” His eyebrows quirk into mischievous lines, ones that make you giggle.

“I don’t. But maybe you’ll design something worth my while.”

He pulls you in by the hips, reattaching his lips to your with the taste of you on his tongue. It’s perfect, too perfect to believe it’s your reality. Yet, he’s the realest thing in your life now, save for the ink that adorns your skin. He pecks your lips once again before saying, “You know I always do.”

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @jjunberry @yvnempire @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings @g0r3wh0rre

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𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑴𝒀 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑺 𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝒀 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑺 © 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋���𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖢𝖧𝖶𝖤; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍.

[frostedfragments]

getting undressed in front of each other for the first time & zayne 👉🏼👈🏼

send a lads man and a prompt!

ps sorry this is so late lol...will try to work on the others asap!

Third date, first time sex is always awkward in some way or another. Whether its because one of you is kissing too hard or too sloppily, or because your earring gets caught in your sweater while you're taking it off, it can be a rather embarrassing affair even when you're with the right person.

But Zayne kisses you like he's hungry for it, like he's on the brink of starvation and the only thing that will save him is your tongue brushing his. He's so good with it, so slow even as his large hands span the bare skin of your thighs. Each eager little grunt he presses into your lips has you trembling in his arms, practically vibrating with the need to get your underwear off. But as you've learned over the last three dates, Zayne is a patient man, and he won't be rushed.

"Can you please fuck me now?" You ask, too horny to care about the desperation that soaks your words, "I need you to fuck me. Just take off your pants,"

Zayne hums and grins, or at least the soft curve of his mouth is the closest you get to a grin from him. He leaves your lips, pressing lusciously wet and achingly slow kisses against your neck. You actually might start crying.

You might've guessed Zayne would be the type to tease and to take his time the moment he said goodnight on your first date with nothing more than a peck on the cheek. You had wanted to jump him then, too, but you had tried to be a lady about it.

You don't feel like a lady now, you feel like a beast, a psychotic animal ready to stand up and throw the couch the two of you are kissing on through the wall. You whine, and Zayne smiles again, this time he pulls away slightly, eyes a whole new shade of green you don't even have a name for. They're dark, heavy as they graze your features, his hand brushing your hair from your warm face.

"Are you gonna fuck me now?"

He does smile this time, hiding it behind his hand as he rubs his mouth, pressing the feel of your lips into his skin. When he moves his hand the smile is still there like an afterthought, a shadow, "Have you never heard of delayed gratification?"

"If it doesn't involve me and you rolling around naked on your bed I don't want to,"

He shakes his head, pulling away from you completely so that your body goes cold with the loss of him. For a heartbeat, you wonder if the horny monster controlling your brain has scared him off, until he stands, holding out his hand for you to take.

He reminds you of a prince when he does things like this; taking your hand, pulling your your chair, holding up your coat so you can slip your arms in. Maybe it's the bare minimum and you're just that damaged, or maybe he is just perfect.

You imagine it's a mixture of both, but you like the second one best.

Zayne leads you to his bedroom, leaving the door wide open, and you briefly ponder what it must be like not to worry about roommates seeing you naked and bent in half on your bed. The fact Zayne can afford to live in this sleek apartment all by himself is just another thing that turns you on.

When Zayne stops by the bed, he pulls you so you're standing in front of him and he's gazing down at you, an unreadable look on his face. And then, he shoots you straight through the skull.

Not really, he just starts unbuttoning his shirt, but it has the same effect.

He's slow, his fingers working deftly to undo each button, the V of his shirt slowly revealing more and more skin that you itch to sink your teeth into. When the shirt is off completely, falling from his hands onto the floor, you try to swallow despite the severe lack of saliva in your mouth. All the moisture in your body has fled to other places.

One place, in particular.

"Your turn," He says, his voice rough in a way you've never heard before, but your thighs tighten in response. For the first time tonight, you're actually hesitant about getting naked with Zayne. It's been a whole year since you last had sex (which, in hindsight, may explain a lot actually) and nobody has seen you naked.

Zayne tilts his head, maybe picking up on your train of thought, but he doesn't say anything, just looks at you patiently with those pretty eyes that seem to melt through any wall you've built up over the years between you and the men you date.

Grasping the hem of your dress, you pause for half a second to gather your courage before whipping it off in a move far more elegant than anything you've ever done. It joins Zayne's shirt on the ground, fluttering on its way down, and you look up from it to seem Zayne's heated gaze rolling over your body slowly, like he's mapping out his plan for attack. Committing it all to memory.

Whatever he's doing, it makes you sweat and fidget, and his eyes instantly find yours and soften. When he speaks, its in a soft tone you know somehow is just for you, "You're beautiful. Like a daydream come to life,"

"Oh," You blush furiously, almost embarrassed to be reacting to his sweet words so dramatically. He steps towards you then, his thumb brushing across your lips before he dips his head to give you another slow, hot kiss. His other hand runs over your spine and down towards your ass, gripping the skin tightly, a total contradiction to the soft-hearted man you've come to know. He holds you like he wants to leave his mark on you, and the idea of it spurs you on, your tongue tangling with his.

He doesn't stop you when you make the move to his belt, ripping it out of the loops so fast it's a wonder it doesn't tear his pants completely, though you can't imagine you would care. Instead of admonishing you he smiles that secret smile again, twirling you so your thighs brush the mattress. When he pushes you down, you yelp, bouncing lightly on the bed and looking up at his imposing frame, towering over you.

His eyes tell a completely different story to the man you've gotten used to, but you can't wait to see how it ends.

[cr4yolaas]

every year, with you — kageyama tobio

content: timeskip tobio, established relationship, self indulgent, fem reader, angst if you squint but mostly fluff, not proofread

note: happy bday to me !! i’m not celebrating irl, so this is my way of appreciating the day :) (p.s. mezzo forte will be updated eventually — i unfortunately don’t have the energy for anything more than this rn 😓)

tobio doesn’t usually celebrate his birthday.

he isn’t attracted to the notion of a sweet sixteen, nor does he find the idea of bar hopping at twenty one appealing. he’s content with whatever is below the bare minimum — quick greetings, maybe one small gift, and a normal day. that’s all he needs.

as such, he doesn’t find it necessary to do much for his friends’ birthdays. he’ll usually purchase something small, like a plushy or a gift card. it’s simple. it’s easy.

but with you, his routine shifts. he marks down your birth date on his phone as soon as he catches wind of it, and in the weeks leading up to the day, it fails to slip his mind. he wants to do something more than simple, something more than easy.

after all, he thinks you deserve more than that.

if you were to peer into his notes app and figure out the password for a locked note with an ambiguous title, you’d find a list of everything you’ve ever mentioned — the show you watched religiously for two months straight, a clothing collaboration you were particularly excited for, the animated character whose merchandise is littered throughout your bedroom — all neatly listed for him to remember. the contents vary; some items are specific, like the shade of the lip tint you searched up a week ago, and others are vague, like ‘silly white mouse with big round eyes.’

tobio finds that, when it comes to you, he wants to give you the world. he wants to cradle you gently in his arms, as if you’re the most important figure in the world (to him, you are). he wants to make your special day just that — special.

the summer heat pierces through your air conditioning, even in the middle of night. your boyfriend has yet to return home, presumably preoccupied with volleyball practice, and you decide that tomorrow you’ll greet him with extra kisses as a reward for working so hard.

but as soon as your hand flicks the lights off, the front door squeaks open. you’re silent. soft footsteps thump against the floor, and if you listen hard enough, you can hear tobio’s heavy breathing in the kitchen. your rationality overpowers whatever yearning has festered within your heart throughout the day during his absence. a soft wave of quietude washes over you as you lay down, opting to wait for him to come to you when he’s ready.

it comes sooner than later, however. tobio slowly opens the door to your shared bedroom, assuming you’re fast asleep given the time. he’s a little startled to find you awake.

“i got you something,” he whispers against your forehead. he doesn’t realize you just laid down — he’s quiet, as if there’s sleep riddled in your system. but there isn’t. he doesn’t know that. and yet, he’s still careful in his movements. his hands reach to brush away hair from your eyes, and his lips ghost against your skin as he stamps his affections onto your flesh.

he slips away for a moment to carry something up onto the bed. it weighs heavy in his hands, although you can’t quite make out what it is in the dark of the room. “well, it’s a lot of somethings,” he muses while he reaches around for the bedside lamp. when the warm light floods the bed, you see it — a gift basket, overfilled with everything you could possibly like. you look at tobio and find his ears dusted with pink and his eyes cast aside. “i wasn’t sure specifically what to get you. so… i got a lot of different things, in hopes that you’d like at least one of them.”

it’s hard not to laugh at him (endearingly, of course). “tobio, you put all of my favorite things in here. i’m not sure why i wouldn’t like it.”

his lips, albeit chapped from his troubles of the day, curl up into a smitten smile. “there’s more, by the way. it just didn’t fit into the basket. and i’m way too tired to bring everything here right now,” he speaks as he curls up on his side of the bed. his athletic wear clings to his muscles from the coalescence of sweat on his skin, but nonetheless, he finds himself clinging to you. the gift basket sits on the table beside you, and in the morning when you arise, you’ll thank him for it, again, but with a little more energy.

“happy birthday,” tobio mutters into your shoulder. he looks like a sleepy baby. “i love you.”

[synthaphone]

Allowing myself to go on a tangent about the nearly 26 year old virtual pet website that i am way too invested in.

So today they released the Candy Pteri. While I appreciate what they were trying to do here with it effectively having two designs that you get to choose between (The "Melted Candy Pteri" on the left is a Paint Brush wearable that can be removed to reveal the customizable base pet on the right), I think in this case, they have created two extremely boring designs when they could have easily created one strong design, or hell, even two strong designs if they wanted to do extra work.

Because with this release, we get a base Candy Pteri with no real lineart changes (like the rounded hair tufts and spines on the Candy Zafara), and an alternate design that's just... a drawing of a Marshmallow Peep™???

I would have WAY preferred a base Pteri where they did something like give it a little marshmallow dollop shape on its head and in place of the tail tuft, like my friend @darieyrie suggested. Or they could give it the Peep dot eyes and more rounded features! There's all kinds of ways you could do this concept.

I'd be less frustrated if the Peep wearable had any Pteri traits whatsoever, but its JUST a Peep that's been slightly microwaved. Which is a little funny, but even more than the Toy Poogle is just an iDog, the Candy Pteri does not have any deviation from its base inspiration at all. It's not actually an execution of the concept of "Candy Pteri thats based on a Peep" if there's no Pteri left at all!

(also are they just banking on the Just Born corporation (who make Peeps) never taking any action on this? it kind of goes beyond 'cheeky reference', its EXACTLY their product. I mean, it seems unlikely that they'll notice or bother doing anything if they do, but i don't really know why you'd risk that.) The saving graces of this design, imo, are that the pink and cream color scheme of the base pet IS pleasant (though the lineart and shading treatment aren't really my bag), and some people will enjoy the novelty of having a pet Marshmallow Peep™.

But really this is just the latest of a number of recent outfit and color releases that feel like they don't think people want Neopets. Like. This cardinal outfit that they also released today.

I love the idea of a cardinal Pteri! But this outfit literally takes away every distinguishing trait of the Pteri to make a high effort, nicely rendered, but stylistically incongruous generic cartoon cardinal????? Its not even a Neopet anymore!!! Even if I set aside my personal dislike of the overly rendered style they're using for more and more of the site assets, this wouldn't work with most of the rendering removed either, because it would still be a Pteri in pose and proportions only.

Not every new design and outfit that's come out in the past couple years has these issues and there have been a number I've really liked, and I DO think its great that the quality of the art has improved since the JumpStart era. But I would really appreciate it if the new pet colors in particular were designed a little more thoughtfully, so that they at bare minimum still resemble the species they're supposed to be outside of the rough pose and proportions. It sometimes feels like there isn't a rough draft or workshopping progress for new colors, and the members of the art team just kind of do their own thing and then the very first draft of an idea is what gets polished and released.

The current art direction for the customization aspects of the site just has me feeling like they've decided to throw out years of relatively cohesive art and world design for a strange jumble of ideas that don't really capture the appeal or feeling of Neopets to me.

[mncxbe]

can i request dazai x reader where the two end up getting side tracked on a mission and end up kissing and stuff the entire time . and reader is nervous because they know kunikida will KILL them if he found out but dazais just chill

oh my I absolutely loved writing this. Also I imagined dazai in that pretty suit he wore at the end of season 3. I hope it's what you were looking for♡ Enjoy

9:31♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡/ passionate kisses?

It was usual for Dazai to skip work or do the bare minimum. He's good at reading people and he can solve any case in only a few minutes so why bother putting in some extra effort when he can spend time with you instead?

That being said, when the time came for you two to go on a mission, he was more than prepared to slack off.

"Don't worry darling" he said in a playful tone "Let's just enjoy ourselves. After all we finally have privacy"

You were currently sitting at a table at the far end of the dim lit room. The beautifully ornated lampshades were casting dark shadows on the walls; the smell of tobacco filling the room. The restaurant was chic, quite elegant but secluded, exactly the place criminals choose to meet to discuss business.

A few days ago Kunikida received a tip from one of his informants: two underground organizations were planning to join forces in order to rob a bank and they would meet at that certain restaurant to discuss the details. Naturally, your job was to eavesdrop on their conversation and report everything back to Kunikida. Your superior even made a reservation for the table next to their and allowed you to buy a bottle of expensive wine to set the scene.

That said wine was now being poured in your glass by your boyfriend. "I really can't believe that Kunikida was this generous" he chuckled

"Well, it would be suspicious if we just stood here and did nothing"

"Good point darling"

The two of you clinked glasses just as your targets entered the room.

"Osamu, they're here" you spoke lowly. Your boyfriend nonchalantly looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the two men through the wooden shade that separated your tables.

"And now the party starts" He took another sip of his drink, resting his arm over your shoulders.

The targets ordered something and immediately began discussing their plan, not minding the fact that there were people around them; so it was quite easy for you to hear what they were saying. However, only a few minutes later, Dazai's fingers started ghosting over your thigh.

"Tell me, dear. Are you enjoying the wine?"

"Sshhh" you snapped at him "I'm trying to listen"

Your sudden outburst amused him, a sly smile making its way to his lips. "Why so serious, hon? Just relax a bit." He leaned in, cold lips leaving a trail of soft kisses along your neck.

You tried to protest again but he wouldn't buy it. He could tell by the way your pulse incresed that you were as eager as him. You slowly batted your lashes as he tilted your chin to the side, exposing your neck even further. Dazai's lips were warm and wet against your skin, his occasional needy moans driving you crazy. You snapped out of it when his hand slid up your thigh. Your fingers instinctively wrapped around his wrist, pushing his hand away.

"Dazai, can we please focus? Kunikida is going to kill us if we mess this up and~"

He suddenly pressed his lips against yours, earning a muffled moan from you. His arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer, teeth nibbling at your lower lip. You felt your body get hotter with each second that passed; the taste of red wine on his lips shutting down your senses. Dazai's kisses always had this effect on you. As soon as his lips pressed against yours, all sounds became distorted, as if you were underwater and all you could do was melt into his embrace.

You kissed for a good number of minutes until you heard the men behind you yell.

"Oi, you two. Get a room for fuck's sake" they cursed. You suddenly became aware of the position you were in, your cheeks taking on a red tint.

"We're so sorry, sirs I~"

"Just shut it, woman" they spoke again before returning to their conversation.

"Assholes" you mumbled under your breath as you turned to face your boyfriend, who was grinning at you.

"See now, bella. Maybe you should be more quiet next time." You didn't find his remark amusing in the slightest, but all you did was pout as you tried to focus on what the targets were saying.

Unfortunately, the two men asked the waitress for the bill, threw a stack of money on the table and left. A sudden wave of despair took over you and you started panicking.

"Shit I didn't catch the time and place. I'm done, I'm so done. I'm gonna get fired"

"Bella, it's alright" Dazai said in a soothing voice, placing a hand on your shoulder "You're lucky you have such an amazing partner, you know? I have all the information we need here" he continued, gently patting his head with a finger.

You exhaled deeply and allowed yourself to rest in his comforting embrace. "Thanks, Osamu. You're amazing. But please, next time don't distract me like that"

"How about you don't let yourself be distracted, pretty girl?"

A scoff left your lips as you rolled your eyes. Your boyfriend chuckled and downed the last sips of wine. "And what now? The mission is done and we still have half a bottle left. It'd be a shame if it went to waste." His slender fingers caressed your thigh again, making you shiver in anticipation "How about we finish the rest at home?"

"Sounds wonderful, dear" you replied in a honeyed voice "But we have to write the report first"

He kissed you one more time, a soft peck that melted your heart "I believe that can wait 'till tomorrow morning, darling"

[mp3minded]

okay. idk who reiji is — but why are you right 😳

(first of all, thank you for providing a direct visualization JDDHDHDH 😭💙)

Before I tell ya who he is, I gotta break down what the blue thing is all about because—basically his chosen color for his character / merch etc. *is* blue, so that's why it's extra heartbreaking since it wasn't too far out the realm of possibilities, him having dark blue hair instead of dark purple 🥺 some artists do give him blue-ish hair in fanart though, and I can hear an angel cry every-time.

OKAY — Reiji Sakamaki. He's from an otome series, "Diabolik Lovers," that also has other media tied to it, such as an anime, volumes of manga, and a FULL catalogue of CD dramas / songs that I've still gotta seriously catch up on 🥸

The series itself is not for the faint of heart though—most of the love interests are vampires, Reiji included, most of whom (cannot speak for Kino since I still know too little about him) have a "my whole personality is a trauma response" sort of thing going on, due to the circumstances of their upbringings.

So as a result, they're not just red flag love interests — they're INFRAred flags, due to their potent danger as (mostly) vampires, and general mental instability. Now, back to Reiji—one of my personal favorites uwu the rest of this post will be a full-on ramble, and I will NOT apologize for that 😈

His character just MELTS me every-time because, speaking for myself as an autistic person, I've grown up so used to masking often that, I kinda felt connected to Reiji in that regard.. like even with how standoff-ish he can be, I love how freaken wholesome his taste in partners is—just someone who puts him first is his true bare minimum. That combined with his intense self-reliance (something else I relate to—) AAAAAH!!! 🫠

These are some of my favorite manga moments from his route 🥺

And I really appreciate you sending me this ask because it gives me the perfect opportunity to touch on something I've been meaning to share/put light upon in my own words, that I find really interesting about his character—

On the flip side of his bare minimum, his deal-breaker is becoming too entangled with his brother Shu, specifically—it'd be a lot to get into here, but the tl;dr is that Reiji deeply resents Shu for being their mother's favored son, of the two she had (them) simply because Shu was older, and that's on top of Shu not wanting any of what came with that full attention on him (and seldom any towards Reiji, unless it was to discuss supporting Shu as the birthright heir to their father's throne, who is the closest thing to Dracula you'll have in this series, to put in my filthy casual terms).

Since it was the only game I've played in full (so far), I'll just discuss everyone within the context of what happened in Haunted Dark Bridal (HDB). But yeah, he's truly the boogeyman of Shu's route—

On the worst ending (Brute), Reiji kills Shu.

On the moderate ending (Manservant), he almost gets away with killing Yui (the heroine/who you play as in the games).

On the best ending (Vampire), you run away with Shu—I honestly think a large factor leading to this (as it's Shu who decided upon it first), is that he can tell what would happen if y'all didn't KSBSHSJSJD 🥸

But yes, the thing I've been thinking about lately, of Reiji—on his route, in none of his endings would he ever consider killing Yui/MC, which cannot be said for all the LIs (no shade here—some of my other faves would 🤪) yet, the minute Shu's in the picture, all bets are off. That's another thing I've found very interesting about Reiji's mindset, like—he WOULD kill Yui/MC easily, but not unless she was into him, and ONLY if she was into Shu.

Before I continue, because I'm just now coming back to this while proofreading what I wrote here.. he technically would, but the circumstance that led up to it (Yui/MC stumbling upon some of his private documents, and then reading some of it out of an innocent curiosity, which he caught her doing) is something *I* wouldn't of done personally, which is why I often forget that very much happened, but yeah. 🥸 Since I tend to self/sona ship with the characters I like, I've yet to discover a scenario he would kill *me* for, outside of Shu, is what I'm trying to convey here.

Even though Reiji's deadly sin is Envy, it is only directed so intensely towards Shu—for a motif such as the seven deadly sins, that're usually seen more often if a character is meant to reflect one like he is, he doesn't care that much if Yui/MC chose literally anyone else.

ah, what else can I say.. the best way I could describe falling for Reiji is like taking a portal gun, with each portal then asking whether or not if he is warm-hearted deep down, or just cold to the core without Yui/MC.

and I guess I'd be alright with either answer.. uwu 🌸

[da-shrimping-station]

Arrhythmia

- in which "Solomon" is having such an unusual heartbeat and Sitri is at a loss...

735 words | no major trigger warnings

[ gn!reader, anxiety attacks, Sitri being delulu and calling reader Solomon, mildly suggestive (?), 0 proofreading, bare minimum editing ]

as usual, MINORS DNI OR I WILL TAKE YOUR KIDNEYS 🧡

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Sitri had followed them outside without even knowing. Had Solomon not turned around to address him, he wouldn't have noticed. Yet they agreed to let him tag along, wherever their destination may be. He didn't dare to ask, too preoccupied with something else.

Their heart, of course.

He'd noticed that over the past few days, it's been a bit…off? Sitri doesn't know how to describe it.

The pattern of their heartbeat had changed. It wasn't how it sounded when they were out of breath or needing essence. It wasn't even how it would usually be when they're in the midst of pleasure, with another person or otherwise.

No, no. This pattern was halting and stuttering. Skipping a beat to rise without reason. It was accompanied by shallow breathing and shaky exhales.

It made him worry. Curious. And aroused.

As much as he wants to take Solomon away to a quieter place to hear their heartbeat better, Sitri knows he shouldn't. Just because he's very intrigued by this, doesn’t mean he'll jump on them without regard for their personal reservations. He respects them after all.

They've made a full circuit around the block and Sitri was getting worried. Their heartbeat was becoming more erratic. He can see them slow down.

"Sol–?!"

Solomon tipped sideways, hand shooting out to grab hold of a wall to steady themself.

He was at their side in an instant, hands on their arms to help them upright.

"N-no. Let me…sit down…" They shook their head stubbornly, face pallid and brows furrowed.

It was only then did Sitri notice their ragged breathing. But he did as they requested, making sure to sit them down in a shaded area between two buildings.

They slumped gracelessly on the ground, head lolling forward.

"What's happening?!"

Solomon was still alive and breathing, unscathed and all. Yet…

“It's fine,” they gasped, failing to keep their voice steady. They leaned back against the pale brick wall. “I just–need a c-couple of…minutes-” As reassuring as they tried to be, their halting speech made Sitri frown.

Nothing looks okay. Nothing sounds okay. To Solomon's norm at least. For Sitri though…

He leaned closer, wanting to press his ear against their sternum. Maybe if he can hear their heart better, he'd know what to do next—

A palm struck his forehead and he stiffened. He had unknowingly leaned closer to Solomon, crowding their slumped body

“Back. Off.” Solomon's words were harsh, their face trying to keep a serious facade despite the obvious discomfort they're going through. “Don't touch.”

Sitri should touch! He definitely should, especially with how their heartbeat picked up so enticingly. He was, once again, entranced by the irregular rhythm. Even as Solomon curled up, putting their head between their knees and arms wrapped around their slightly trembling body…

His mouth felt dry. He knows his face was most likely a bright shade of red with how hot under the collar he felt. The tightness in his pants did help either…

No–! Solomon is clearly in distress, still curled up with their shoulders heaving and breaths audible in the empty alleyway. He can only hang back, on alert for any danger…

Thumpthumpthump—

Thump…

Thump thump—

Thump…

The heartbeat sounded like it was trying to right itself.

Sitri refocused on Solomon, finding them uncurled and leaning slightly to the right. They leaned their head back against the bricks once more, hand clutching their shirt right over their heart. He observes their breathing.

Inhale–

1…2…3…4…

Hold–

1…2…3…4…5…6…7…

Exhale—

1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…

Solomon repeated this over and over, their face easing as their heart rate slowly settled into a more normal pace. It still stuttered here and there, though not as unusual as before.

With one final loud exhale, Solomon looks back at him.

“Thanks for your help,” they deadpanned. They started to pick themself up from the ground.

“Apologies,” he replied sincerely. “This never happened before with you, Solomon. I wasn't sure how to assist.” Maybe it was time for a refresher course on practical first aid with the Paradise Lost doctors…

“Well, it wasn't an emergency but…” There was a look in their eyes that he couldn't quite place, paired with the furrowed brows and pressed lips. “Anyway, let's go back. Satan's blowing up my phone.”

Sitri trailed behind Solomon like a puppy, eyes and ears trained on them. He wonders when and how he can hear that kind of heartbeat again…

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

A/N:

guess who got a drink agaiiin lmaooo 🥴i honestly cannot post my writing unless my brain is mush enough not to overthink and be too conscious about my writing

anywayyy this drabble features the most delulu devil i know! SITRI

man legit gaslight gatekeep girlbosses himself neck deep in denial! wdym solomon is long gone and that's actually his descendant? you are objectively wrong!!!

on a more serious note, ik people w anxiety deal w the attacks in their own way and i drew inspiration from my own experience,,,,,,,in which i tough it out and pretend that i am a functional adult w 0 problems at all ha ha ha ha ha.....tho i do retreat to quiet spaces and do breathing exercises (if the situation allows it)

but yea Sitri is useless af (imo) when you're in a situation like that cuz man's sidetracked w your jank ass heartbeat to help properly

and i think it kinda turns him on so,,,,,

I hope you enjoyed my lil drabble! 🦐

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 41

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit around the patio table, a cushion beneath you as you stare dully across the yard. The shade of the umbrella falls short of your shoulder as the heat of the sun grows torturous, but you don't move. You like the pain.

Dottie's nails scrape against the box as she pulls out another sleeper. She trills as she waves it before her and tries to bring your attention to how cute the little cloud pattern is. You give a fleeting glance before leaning forward on your elbow to cup your chin.

Through the open sliding door, you can hear the subtly clinking in the kitchen. Andy's favour only underlines your futility further. You just feel useless. Your only purpose is to let this child bleed you dry.

"It's so nice of Andy to come by, isn't it?" Dottie turns to pull the stroller closer, checking in on the baby in the makeshift bassinet. "Why didn't you tell me about him?"

You tilt your head and leer from the corner of your eyes. You sit up and drag your arm off the table and sigh. You drop your chin and chew on the inside of your cheeks. You bite down as your anger surges to a hot flame.

"Why don't you tell me where your son is?" You snap through your teeth.

She clicks her tongue and keeps a hand on the stroller. As you glance at her, she has the grace to look guilty. Too bad she never passed that down to her deadbeat offspring. And now, there's another generation to carry this bullshit on.

"I don't know, hon. That's why," she says decisively. "If I knew, I would wring his neck--"

"But you don't talk about it. You won't acknowledge it. You won't admit that he is an asshole. That he used me for his fun and now he's tossed me out like a broken toy."

She sucks in air and frowns, her painted lips almost clownlike, "he's scared, that's all--"

"Don't make excuses for him. I don't want to hear that. Not from you or him, if he ever drags his sorry ass back," you flick your hand at her dismissively, "in fact, I don't want to hear anything else from you."

"Now, honey--"

"Don't," you warn as you raise a single finger, "I am doing what I have to. I feed the damn thing, I hold her even as she's squirming and wiggling like some slug. You can't expect anything more."

"You can't just do the bare minimum. Not forever. Children need love--"

"You give it to her. You want her so bad, take her. Once she's old enough, you can be her mother because I can't. I won't."

Dottie recoils and shakes her head. She turns her face away but she can't hide her revulsion. You feel the same. To hear all your thoughts out loud. You know they're wrong but you feel them nonetheless. The child is not precious, she is a burden you never wanted.

"You want to talk, fine, I'll tell you all about your son," you go on, "how he sabotaged me. I didn't want him or this creature latching onto me--"

"Enough," Dottie pinches her fingers in front of her mouth, "enough. I get it. I can't... I can't make him come back. Harlan will, though. I know he will."

"I don't fucking care," you drawl and flinch as the child begins to fuss.

You huff and roll your eyes. Your chest pulses, the fullness aching until you relent. You stand to take the child, noting how Dottie hesitates at the movement, as if she would stop you. Does she think you're a monster? That you would hurt a baby?

You sit back down and pull down your shirt, putting the baby to your tit, letting it suckle like a vampire. Your head spins and you close your eyes. You feel weak and empty and flat.

A savoury aroma tickles your nose and you hear the footfalls pad out from inside and onto the patio. You force your eyes open and watch Andy near the table with a plate in each hand. He sets down one before you and one in front of Dottie. You notice how he peeks for just a second at the baby and suddenly you're embarrassed. You don't want him to see you like this.

"Smells, delicious!" Dottie preens, "oh, is this gnocchi? I've never tried it but I've seen it on my cooking shows."

She picks up her fork and takes an emphatic whiff of the steam rising off the sauce. You cradle the baby, trying to block your chest as best you can and muster a smile.

"Thank you, Andy."

"Not at all, I'll just go grab my own," he gives a short nod and spins on his heel.

As he steps up into the house you see how he clenches and unclenches his hand. You don't think too much of the gesture, maybe just a tick. You reach over to the stroller and pull out the receiving blanket to cover your shoulders and chest, nestling the child beneath.

And returns as you awkwardly hold Luna with one arm and reach around the blanket with your other. You press the sprinkling of parmesan into the sauce and pierce a piece of gnocchi. You raise it and blow away the steam, tentatively tasting it.

"I hope it's as good as it looks," Andy remarks, "I found the recipe in one of L-- my wife's old books and thought I'd try it out. Not often I get guinea pigs to test it out on."

"Delicious," Dottie swallows and reaches for her glass of wine. "Your wife was a very lucky lady."

"I was the lucky one," he counters.

You grumble. And you? Chronically unlucky. Cursed to men who only care about their dicks, to live in the consequences of their narcissism.

You bite into the gnocchi and put your fork down. You bring your arm back under the blanket and focus on feeding the kid first. You can't do much with her latched on.

"So, how's it coming? Get a routine yet?" Andy prompts, "not that you ever really stick to one with young ones.

"Eh," you shrug, "i–she gets hungry, she eats, she sleeps."

"Adorable little thing," Dottie says, "peaceful."

"Oh? Wouldn't expect that. Well, from how much I know of Lloyd, it's definitely not from him."

"Ah, she's stoic like her mama," Dottie praises, "strong."

"Insatiable like her father," you sneer, "always wanting something."

Dottie reaches over to pat your arm, "you know how the early days are. No sleep, all nerves–"

"Not so fun when you're alone," you mutter under your breath and Dottie clears her throat to cover it.

"So, you know my son? How long have you been neighbours?" She redirects as you glower at the top of the blanket.

"Couple years. You know, we'd meet in passing, a good morning, well on my end," Andy laughs, "he's always in a hurry, it seems…" he looks at you as your eyes are drawn up by the subtle shift in his posture, "always somewhere else to be."

You hold his gaze for just a minute then rescind it, hanging your head as you feel a tight knot in your chest. The baby slips free and you feel the dribble as she babbles and slobbers all over you.

"Shit," you hiss and stand, turning your back as you uncover her and try to fix your hold on her.

She spits up creamy puke all over you and a ripple rolls over you, blazing and blurry. God! Can this thing not stop?!

You growl, fighting the urge to just shove her back in the carriage and stomp away. Your company keeps a sliver of sense in tact. You mop up the vomit with the blanket and sigh.

"I gotta go inside," you utter.

"I'll keep your food warm," Andy goes to stand as you move away from the table.

"It's fine," you snip as you rush past him "I'm not hungry."

[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 16 - Came Back Wrong

Wels had seemed… off the past few days. Wrong. His skin was a shade too pale, his movements precise and stern, a deep sense of anger seeming to linger in his eyes. Beef was getting worried. Had it been a side effect of the cloning machine? He didn't think anything like that had happened when he used it, he would have remembered something like that, right? No, the thing didn't even work, it was just a wooden box, that couldn't be it. Even if it wasn't, he still felt somewhat responsible, at a bare minimum he had to go check in on the guy. 

As Beef approached Wels’ base, a chill seeped into his bones. Had the roofs always been this shade of red? He could have sworn they were magenta before. It didn't matter, that wasn't why he was here, Beef needed to focus. 

“Wels! Wels! Are you around here?” Beef wandered around the area until a voice responded. 

“Over here.” It was low and almost sinister, annoyance seeping into the words. Still, against his better judgment, Beef followed it. 

The figure that stood before him was Wels, but it also wasn't. His armour was a darker grey, almost black. The way he stood was best described as eerie. 

Beef sucked in a breath. “Hey Wels! Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”

“Why?” The single word response was distorted and irritated. 

Beef shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “You know, we’re practically neighbors, just wanted to check in.” Hurriedly, he added, “and you've seemed a bit off since the whole cloning machine thing and I felt bad and I just…” He stopped, Wels’ piercing gaze taking the air from his lungs. 

Wels held eye contact. “Nothing is wrong. You can go back to your little sand castle now.” he waved his hand and began to walk away

Little sand castle! It was nowhere near little! How dare he! Beef tried to steady himself, something was wrong, Wels would never speak to him like that. “Now I know something’s up. You know you can tell me anything right? We’re friends.” 

Wels huffed and raised his voice. “Nothing is ‘up.’ Now leave, I’m busy.” 

Beef only sighed and turned to walk away, he had done what he could. As he left, he could have sworn he heard a panicked voice coming from beneath him.

It sounded kinda like Wels, but he had made it obvious he wanted nothing to do with Beef. 

He was probably just hearing things. 

[skellinore]

Info Page: Personas, Asks, Requests, Art Trades, and WIPs!

Hello! Hello! I'm an Indigenous/Native/Cree artist who very much enjoys making art for the fandoms I love!

[Last Updated: February 2nd]

Personas:

Skellinore! The face and soul of this blog!

She's closest to my personality and what I'd want to look like! A cool skeleton.

I used my usual art style to make this drawing, which is just simple shading on the edges of the lineart!

She's also an OC, but that version of her is vastly different from the persona version of her; in intellect, personality, and whatnot.

She was originally made to be an Underfell OC! But never got fully realized until my Amino days.

She's made to be paired up with Splendor.

River! My anti/opposite persona!

River, she's everything I hope not to be; full of hate, bitterness, and bad choices.

I guess she's the closest to what I look like? Besides her being more lean, but that's because she just wanders bar to bar and ends up in endless fights.

Her arm can change into various things, mainly used for combat, she however was not born with it. It's slowly eating away at her the more she uses it.

Her design was supposed to based off a Hunter from Left 4 Dead, but she kinda looks like Alex Mercer.

My other art style of more detailed shading and lighting you see will be made by her.

She's made to be paired up with Markus.

CE-BE3! A very busy and tired robotic bee!

My hard-working, focused, and perfectionist side of me, which usually means I become tired more.

This busy robotic bee is based off a carpenter bee! Which means she's a lonely bee who makes her home in wood.

She's the one who makes sure everything gets done on time and tries to make this blog look presentable.

Her art style is one without lineart! Which takes a bit longer than the other art styles.

She's made to be business partners/friends with Slender.

Mr. Nubbins, AKA: Sheriff Nubbins! My chaotic and weird side!

Don't be fooled by the name, Nubbins is a 100% a female, she just likes how Mr. Nubbins slides off the tongue.

Anything this cat says is random and most times, doesn't make sense. She's a little ball of chaotic energy.

She's not actually a sheriff, but don’t tell her that.

She's my simple and cute style? Or whatever my art needs to be.

Made to be the pet of Trender.

Asks: [OPEN]

Send in an ask about the fandoms you see me draw for!

Ask questions about my AUs!

Ask questions of the characters I draw!

Either of your asks/questions will be come attached with a drawing alongside the information, or just information and no drawing. Depending on my energy level.

As for NSFW asks, it'll be a 10/90 if I answer it or not, who knows, take a gamble.

Asking the characters directly is something you can do, but once again, it'll probably be a 20/80 if I answer that one.

Fandoms for Asks currently:

Creepypasta [No Humans AU]

Requests: [OPEN]

Requests are drawings only, there may be a chance I add fun facts to it.

Send in requests of characters you want to see me draw from the fandoms I'm in!

Fandoms for Requests currently:

Creepypasta [No Humans AU]

Creepypasta [Only "Him" AU]

Castle Cats

Art Trades: [OPEN]

Capacity: [0/3]

I'll work with anybody of any skill level, I'm just happy to draw something in exchange for yummy art of what I like.

The basics for this is that if you ask for two characters, then I'll ask you for two characters back and other things along those lines.

I'll also do another type of trade! This one if for writers! I'll draw you something if you write me something. >:3c

The bare minimum for this would be 3000 words. I don't mind if it's a couple words short of this minimum.

Just send a DM my way and we'll be in business. 😎👍

Works in Progress:

SCPs Redesigns [3/10]

Slender Brothers + Cabadath Icons [Sketching]

Castle Cats Fandom Challenge: Day Three [Sketching]

Final Words:

Anyways, that's about it! I'll be updating this regularly on new updates and what not! So feel free to check it out from time to time.

I also have to remind everyone that I'm a slow updating artist. I wish I was as fast as most of you, but then again. I'm a cool artist who knows how to take breaks and take care of themselves. 😎💅

Have a wonderful day/night! 💛💛💛

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Leona, Cater: Rewrite the Stars

I like that Leona’s Groovy is at night; the great kings of the past can watch over him and see how far he’s come ✨The hat shading his eyes in the initial art is also fitting; it really makes his eyes stand out!

Leona voice) Poor me, I need some good rest cuz I’ve been working so diligently as a student and dorm leader 🥺 Lyin’ ass…

P.S. brb gonna grip Cay-kun so hard for saying Leona is “acting like a cool leader” 😊 WDYM CATER??? ??? ??????? ? ?? 😊 YOU 'D BETTRr taKE YhAT BSACk RIgHT NOW MiSTEER 😊 last thing I need right now is a reminder that L*ona’s actually a good mentor OTL

A Boy in Bloom, and his Flowering Future.

“What do you want to do in the coming year?”

"I don't want to repeat a year. That's it."

"Eh." Cater blinked. "You wanna run that one by me again?"

"Clean your ears out and listen carefully next time," the birthday boy retorted. "I'm not going to repeat myself. If you didn't catch it the first time around, then you've only got yourself to blame."

"Nah, I did hear you, but... Well, I guess it's more like a 'Wow, I can't believe this!' moment, y'know?" A faint chuckle emanated from Cater. "After all, you're kiiinda infamous for doing just the opposite! Like, you've already been held back once, and you don't exactly have the best attendance record for lectures."

"An old lion can still learn new tricks," Leona simpered, his mouth twisting into something coy.

"You seem super motivated now, Leona-kun! Did something good happen recently to jump-start this?"

"Good?" A scoff, dryly amused. "That's a stretch. Lotsa stuff happened this year, but I'd hesitate to call any of it 'good'.

"There doesn't have to be some big, fancy world-changing reason for a change of heart. I'm just sick of stewing in the shadows and gazing out to a barren pride land. It's about time for the sun to dawn on a new era—and I plan to be there when that happens."

“Ahahah, well~ Graduating’s the bare minimum for us students. It sounds like you’ve got even bigger goals than that.”

“When you’re as noble of a soul as I am, you’ve naturally got the ambitions to match,” Leona purred sarcastically. His voice was languid, like a cat making lazy strides across the floorboards. “Can’t just be throwin’ in the towel the moment the going gets tough. That goes for Magift and in real life.”

“Hmm? That sounds totes different than the you I remember from the interdorm Magift tournament.” Cater’s mouth pulled into a smarmy grin. “I could’ve sworn you gave up and had a meltdown when your plan was foiled!”

He received a poisonous glare. “You just have to remind me, huh? … You know what? Fine, have your cake and eat it. I’ll own up to it. ‘Sides, it was a long time ago.”

“Right, you’ve had a rebranding and a personality glow-up since. All that’s missing is the formal apology video! It’s a necessity for celebs that get cancelled for their #wicked actions.”

Leona scowled deeply. “Can it, I’m NOT doing that. And who’s a ‘celeb that got cancelled for their #wicked actions’?!”

“Really? Awww, but I bet you’d get mad views on it!”

“Tch, it’s things like this that makes maintaining social grace a real drag,” Leona grumbled under his breath. What I’d give to vanish to a remote resort, far, far away from the idiots I’m surrounded with…

“Anyway, nothing gets done if all you do is whine and then quit. People who don’t try can never achieve anything. They’re already down and out from the get-go.

“Cowards who refuse to look at themselves in the mirror don’t have a place in tomorrow. They’re stuck in the past, clawing for some semblance of hope, however futile. That ain’t me, not ever again.”

“Sounds like you’ve def had this on your mind for a while! You’re acting like such a cool and self-assured leader~”

“Please. This is to be expected of every leader. Even your Red Young Master would know this much.”

Leona leaned his shoulder against the school building. Folding his arms, he lifted his head up. “They’d know it too.”

Cater followed his gaze, meeting a vast expanse of the night. The sky was painted a deep black-violet, speckled in glowing white flecks. Stars—so many of them.

“The great kings of the past,” Leona said, his words tainted with the taste of something bitter. “When we pass on, we become a part of nature: the grass and the dirt that feed the next generation, the stars in the sky that light the way in the dark. The things that keep the world turning.

“In the Circle of Life, we all have our roles to play.” A smirk steadily grew on his face. “I know what mine is, and I intend to act on it. The highest point in the sky may as well be mine.”

His declaration resounded in the silence of the campus. One wish, resolute, uttered only for him and Cater to hear. In the quiet that followed, the green of Leona’s eyes flickered not with vengeful fire, but with a flame more thoughtful and warm and…

… the slightest bit vulnerable. A softness Cater had never witnessed before.

Leona-kun has changed a lot. He’s starting to be a little more honest with himself too. wonder if I could ever meet him on that level.

The thought was quickly shoved away, shelved back in the coldest recesses of his mind before it could properly take hold. The space reserved for the darkest parts of him, where truth soured and masks were neatly displayed.

Familiarity. Safety. Comfort. Perhaps what Leona would have called cowardice.

Cater swallowed.

“… If you ask me, you already shine like the star of a great king,” he said cheerily. “Just check out your birthday get-up! You’ve got the drip and the skills for it!

“I’ve got the skills to be a ball of gas in the sky?” Leona grimaced.

“Hey, hey! Let’s not phrase it like that! It’s so not a nice image to think about. Instead, let’s call it… a ball of stardust!”

“Why stardust?”

“I read in a horoscope once that the reason we can do fortune telling with the constellations is cuz people are made of the same stuff as stars are,” Cater explained with a sure wink. “Stardust! Our essence is the same as the what’s in celestial bodies.

“Don’t you think that sounds so much more poetic? When you wish upon a star, it’s said your name wish will come true—but since people and stars are made of the same stuff… then we should be able to make our wishes come true using our own power ⭐️”

“‘Fraid I fail to see the point of your whole whimsical after-school special. It’s obvious that it’s in our hands to shape the future, balls of gas or stardust or no. The great kings of the past can watch it ‘n weep.”

“That’s the spirit!! You got this~” Cater flashed an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Go and get’m, Leona-kun!”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” Leona peeled himself away from the main school building, his broom ready.

The birthday boy plopped down on his magical tool, brazenly using it like a sofa. It floated seemingly on its own accord, effortlessly supporting his full weight. Controlled, obedient—like a waiting pet.

“Oh, wait!” Cater called out, suddenly producing his phone. “Is it okay if I grab some pics of you taking off for Magicam? I’ll just need your handle to send you the…”

Resting an arm on his knee, Leona brought his heel down and grinded it against the handle. A signal, a cue, for the broom to kick into high gear.

WHOOSH!!

A shower of golden sparks exploded from the bouquet, and he smoothly launched into the air, his hair and the brim of his hat flying behind him. The violent kickback slammed into Cater, sending him falling back, his phone clattering to the ground.

(“My phoooone!” he wailed.)

With the shadows out of the way, Leona could see the stars for what they really were. Tens of hundreds of them, sparkling clusters in the inky night.

So many wishes. So many kings. Many, many things. Everything, everywhere, all at once.

A world waiting to be rewritten, to tell of his accomplishments.

“One day… I’ll be among them. They’ll tell stories about me, the greatest ‘king’ of them all.” This truth, Leona spoke to the stars.

The future was littered with prizes, and he was to be the main addressee.

[ohwiseswami]

Let’s Talk Riize

TLDR at the bottom if you’re lazy.

So……..SM has something special there. After sitting down to seriously watch their performances and content, I think it is very clear that the members are trying to create as much of an artist-like atmosphere as they can without completely letting go of their idol identity. I don’t think I ever got this vibe from a kpop idol group so early on into their careers.

I want to caveat by saying that there’s nothing wrong with just being an idol group. I personally like some groups that have that vibe. But what makes Riize different in a sea of 4th/early 5th gen boy groups is that I’ve seen them refer to themselves as artists and discuss their passion for making art.

Between Youngwonhee (just learned this one!) all taking very seriously the songwriting, musicianship, and singing aspects of making art; and Shotaro being a trained dancer and enjoying that process; they round out Sungchan, Eunseok (and Seunghan’s) more classic idol-like nature to give this really interesting hybrid vibe.

And, again, I want to be clear to Briize that I know each Riize member has their own thing(s) that they’re great at. I’m just stating that the vibes are like 4/7 lean more into the artist vibe and 3/7 lean into the idol vibe (likely on purpose).

But do I have favorites? YES. Ripping the bandaid off now, as a singer and instrumentalist myself, I love those elements. And as someone with a very strong appreciation for people who can create something from nothing or create something from disparate parts, I love a good songwriter. Lastly, I love someone who is just passionate about what they do and who is grateful for every new experience (this one is not as straightforward—it’s Sungchan).

Beyond my personal affects though, I would love to see what Riize can do when SM is not steering everything. We already get shades of that in their content, but I want to see it more fully and infused with the music.

Now regarding their content, they’re not like balls to the wall ~chaotic like their neo predecessors or anything. And I’ve seen some sentiments that they give off an arrogant vibe. But even so, I feel like it’s only an issue when language barrier stuff happens (since it’s much harder to tell if they actually give offputting reactions or if they just can’t express themselves properly). Still, I don’t expect them to be gods of variety nor do I expect them to fake things just for show. But I at least would hope for a bare minimum of decorum (which they usually show!!).

On that same note, team chemistry is very important for artist groups to work. Idol groups are different because at that point your selling a fantasy anyway. But with artists, you’re really not fluffing anything up so you need to have a more genuine bond that shines through in your work. It’s waaaaaay too early on to tell with them where things lie and it probably won’t matter until the members start getting involved with songwriting, composing, and choreographing (if they ever do), but it’s something for Riize to focus on developing.

The last thing I want to say about Riize in this post is that Riize seem to both try and get away with things that other SM groups can’t/couldn’t at the same stage of their career. For example, at their recent fancon, I noticed Wonbin adding adlibs, Sohee breaking from the choreo, the members putting on a performance that (while clearly very practiced) also gave the performance a bit more personality beyond what we could see on Music Bank, etc. I don’t even think my top kpop group was doing that in Month 8. Hopefully they embrace this more free flowing style of performance going forward so we can see a little more of the members’ personal artistic expression beyond being the stereotypical perfect “idol singers”

TLDR: I was not a Riize believer until Impossible and after watching them perform in a more live setting than usual and seeing them behind the scenes, I GET it now

[ruruumin]

1 — SPARKLE.

₊˚ ᗢ synopsis; visiting the convenience store for some snacks wasn't uncommon for a food blogger, it was the new cashier that they hired that is driving you crazy!

⤷genres; modern college au, romance and comedy.

⤷masterlist; here.

It was morning. A bright, sunny one that included a bit of humidity. By Ayaka's standards, it would have been a great time to have class. You restrain a deep, obnoxious sigh from the pits of your stomach. There was nothing good about morning classes. Sure, you might have had a few in high school, however, in college it felt like you were being dragged to hell itself.

Had Yoimiya told you sooner about the class she was taking, and how sought-after it was, you might have first-passed it. Instead, you’re stuck with a random morning class, trying to fill in your requirements for financial aid. The class wouldn’t be so terrible had it just been in the afternoon. At the bare minimum, you wouldn’t have minded it if you had at least a friend in there. You would at least have someone keeping you awake. 

You’ve heard good reviews about the professor, and their scores didn’t seem awful. You were sure that they were a very nice person. They just didn’t have anything interesting to do in the morning so they wanted to come to campus early. You feel your eyebrow twitch in annoyance. You try to convince yourself that this ordeal isn’t downright horrible. There had to be some good out of it. 

You press your lips tightly together as you rummage through the store’s abundance of ramen. It might be early in the morning, but not too early to not have ramen. After a long day of working and stressing out about classes, you thought it might be a good idea to treat yourself. You can quickly eat and then head off to class. A perfect plan, you say to yourself. 

As you reached out for the last Shin ramen, a hand touches yours. You flinch and recoil in surprise, glancing up to see a blond man. You swallowed a thick lump at the base of your throat as you stared at him in awe. He looked roughly around your age, maybe a few months older, a little more mature and soft-eyed. His hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, reaching the ends of his exposed neck. 

Holy shit, you blinked, he’s pretty. Even though he was wearing the store’s signature dark green, almost olive-colored apron, he looked good. It contrasted the cute maple-leaf pin that was pinned on his breast pocket. Aside from his clothes, what stood out to you the most was his unique hair. Sure, you might have had your fair share of interesting boys with weird hair colors, like the short vocalist with aquamarine and ocean-blue hair, or the computer science major with teal highlights, but none looked quite as good as him. It was a pretty shade of blond with a crimson streak. How did he dye his hair so perfectly? You were starting to get jealous. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you.” He said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He stands up from his crouching position and you finally get a good view of him. He was taller than you by a few inches. Not by much but enough for you to imagine standing next to him. 

“I’m trying to restock the ramen. My apologies. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

You shake your head, “Of course not, I’m sorry you just caught me off guard.” You quickly reach out for the last pack of ramen and hold it close to your chest. “I didn’t mean to get in your way.” 

“No, it’s alright.” He goes back to his task, taking out a few more bags from a cardboard box on a stroller. He decides to end the conversation there. It was a good idea because if you were to stay any longer near him, your face might turn bright red. 

You turn away from the aisle, awkwardly walking away from him. You press the pack of ramen in front of your face, your cheeks growing hot as you glance back at him once in a while. He was still in the same position, stacking ramen at the back with a small smile on his face. He seemed content. You brush through your hair quickly, making sure to flatten out any fray strands that were sticking out. You hope that he didn’t watch any of your vlogs. If he did, that would be mortifying.

You were not the best looking in the morning, you had to admit. Your hair was messy in the wrong ways and it looked at times you didn’t comb your hair. It wasn’t your fault though. You had to rush to get here just to buy breakfast. You look down at your outfit. With a simple pair of sweats and an oversized hoodie, your backpack is slightly loose around your shoulders. If your hair didn’t look bad, your outfit certainly does. 

You lightly slap both sides of your cheeks, shaking your head. He shouldn’t be judging you. It’s an early morning and you had class. Yeah, no one cares about what you’re wearing, especially if it's an early class. If anything, you were dressed fairly nicely compared to other students who would show up with plaid pajama pants and a white tank top. You were most definitely better dressed than Childe, who once showed up to statistics class without a shirt because he came back from swim practice. The professor scolded him for his inappropriate behavior, though, that still went on with a few laughs and giggles. 

Closing your eyes, you groan. You hope that image gets erased in your mind. Out of all people you could have seen half-naked, it had to be the weird, popular kid that you know from high school. You would have been fine if it was anyone but a high school friend. 

You decide to buy a few other items. You heard from Yoimiya that there was a trend going around. Once you’ve finished at least half of your ramen, you would break up a riceball and add it in. It’s meant to soak up the extra soup and provide you with another meal. At first, you didn’t see the appeal because soggy seaweed had the worst texture imaginable. It was chewy and wet, hard to bite into, and at times felt too slimy. 

However, as you stare down at the arrangement of flavors, you’re starting to consider it. Regular tuna mayo with leftover Shin ramen sounded good right now. You could also settle on salmon as well. You let out a small hum. There were so many flavors to choose from. The hardest part about being a food blogger is figuring out what you want to eat. As well as the price. It was most definitely the price. 

Shrugging your shoulders you decide on your favorite flavor. If it didn’t taste good, you could always blame Yoimiya for such terrible ideas. You remember in the past, during a late-night stream, she requested that you try some of the hot sauces from the show: “Hot Ones.” A lot of other streamers were doing it and it would look nice if you hopped on the trend for a bit. Perhaps it was your naivety that left you almost comatose in bed the next morning. 

Straightening your back, you check your phone for the time. Twenty minutes before you needed to start walking. You had enough time to finish your food if you hurried. And by that, you started to drop your things in front of the cash register, fishing for your wallet in your bag. 

Too busy searching for the right amount of change, you failed to notice the pretty blond boy from earlier standing in front of you, ringing up your belongings. He gave you a kind smile, his eyes flickering to your student id which hangs from your backpack. The id holder itself was pretty simple, though if he squints harder he notices some sticker decorations surrounding your picture. How cute, he comments. He doesn’t say anything when he places a pair of chopsticks on top of your things. 

When you handed him the right amount of change, you finally notice his stare. His autumn eyes were staring at you with a look of fondness. And for a moment, you ask yourself if you’ve seen him before. You clear your throat when you notice that neither of you were talking. He was quiet and you weren’t sure if this was favorable, or completely awkward.

“Thank you,” You hurriedly bowed and left the store, completely forgetting about eating breakfast there. The thought of embarrassing yourself anymore to this cute boy was too much for you. You needed to escape before he starts to remember you. 

The blond man only sighs under his breath as he gives you a friendly wave. You walked out of the place with a pack of uncooked ramen, and one rice ball. He looks down at his watch, seeing the time, he decides that it’s time to clock out of his shift and leave for class.