#i HATE using like... Solid inking brushes

[loves-n-kisses]

Because I liked a Hero - ProHero!Bakugou x ProHero!Reader

TW: Vandalism, Curse words/slurs (Slut, Whore, Gold digger, Homewrecker, etc.)

A story where Pro Hero Dynamight is in a fake relationship with Illusionist Pro Hero, Camie Utsushimi, but you're the one he really has feelings for. Things take a turn when the press catches bakugou and you kissing, and the media completely turns on you--in the worst way possible.

Inspired by "because i liked a boy" by Sabrina Carpenter <3

"I'm a home wrecker, I'm a slut

I got death threats filling up semi-trucks

Tell me who I am, guess I don't have a choice

All because I liked a boy"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city skyline glittered under the twilight, but for you, the world was a blur of adrenaline and light. As Luminara, a rising pro hero with the quirk Radiance—the ability to manipulate and weaponize light into blinding beams or solid constructs—you were used to the spotlight. But nothing prepared you for the chaos of falling for Katsuki Bakugou, the explosive Dynamight, whose temper was as volatile as his blasts.

You and Bakugou had been colleagues for years, both climbing the hero ranks with relentless determination. Your quirks complemented each other: his fiery explosions paired with your precise light constructs made you a formidable team. Late-night patrols turned into banter, then trust, and somewhere along the line, you caught yourself staring at his sharp crimson eyes a little too long.

But Bakugou was untouchable—or so the media thought. For months, he’d been in a high-profile “relationship” with Illusionist, the pro hero Camie Utsushimi, whose quirk let her create vivid mirages. The public ate it up: the bad-boy hero and the glamorous illusionist, a perfect tabloid romance. You knew it was fake, a PR stunt to boost their agencies’ visibility after a joint mission went viral. Bakugou grumbled about it constantly, but he played along, posing for photos with Camie’s arm looped through his.

You tried to ignore the pang in your chest every time you saw them together, but working with Bakugou made it impossible. He’d bark orders, then soften when it was just you two, his voice low as he asked, “You good, Sparkles?”—his nickname for you, mocking your glowing quirk. One night, after a grueling battle against a sludge villain, you collapsed beside him on a rooftop, catching your breath. The city hummed below, and he muttered, “You’re not half bad, you know.” 

Your heart raced, but you laughed it off. “High praise from the great Dynamight.”

He smirked, but his eyes lingered. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The tension grew over weeks—stolen glances, brushes of hands, late-night talks about everything but the fake romance plastered across headlines. You knew he felt it too, but neither of you dared cross that line. Until one mission changed everything.

A villain ambush left you and Bakugou pinned in an alley, your light shields barely holding against a tremor of projectiles. He shielded you from a blast, his body pressed close, and in the chaos, he growled, “I’m not losing you, idiot.” The words hit harder than any explosion. When the dust settled, you were both alive, panting, and too close. Without thinking, you kissed him, and to your shock, he kissed back, fierce and desperate.

It was a stolen moment—until a civilian’s phone flash caught you. The photo hit the internet within hours: Dynamight Kisses Luminara in Steamy Alley Smooch! The headlines screamed betrayal. Homewrecker! Luminara Steals Dynamight from Illusionist! Fan forums exploded, and your social media drowned in vitriol. “Slut,” “gold-digger,” “whore”—the words stung like venom. Physical letters arrived at your agency, some with death threats scrawled in red ink: “Stay away from him or you’ll regret it.”

You tried to stay strong, but the hate wore you down. Your apartment was vandalized—windows smashed, “HOMEWRECKER” spray-painted across your door. Stalkers lingered outside, snapping photos. You barely slept, jumping at every sound. Bakugou noticed, his jaw tight as he cornered you after a patrol. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You shrugged, voice hollow. “Didn’t want to bother you. You’ve got enough with the media circus.”

He grabbed your shoulders, eyes blazing. “Don’t be stupid. I—” He stopped, then softer, “I care about you, damn it.”

The confession cracked something in you. You admitted your feelings, the fear, the guilt. He pulled you close, promising, “I’ll fix this.”

The breaking point came during a live interview. The host, a smug woman with a shark’s smile, leaned forward. “Luminara, how does it feel to be seen as a homewrecker? Breaking up Japan’s favorite hero couple?”

You froze, the studio lights burning. The audience’s stares felt like knives. But you lifted your chin, voice steady. “I didn’t break anything. I fell for someone I work with, someone I respect. I’m not the villain here.”

The clip went viral, splitting the internet. Some praised your courage; others doubled down, calling you delusional. The threats escalated, and one night, a brick crashed through your window with a note: “You’ll pay for this.”

Bakugou had enough. He called Camie, and they devised a plan. At a press conference, the room buzzed with reporters, cameras flashing like a storm. You stood beside Bakugou, your heart pounding. He stepped to the mic, his presence commanding, voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Listen up, because I’m only saying this once,” Bakugou began, his crimson eyes scanning the crowd. “The relationship with Illusionist was never real. It was a publicity stunt cooked up by our agencies after that viral mission last year. You know the one—where we took down that giant mech villain in downtown Tokyo? The media went nuts, and our teams saw a chance to boost our rankings. They pushed us into this fake romance to keep the hype going—photo ops, staged dates, the whole damn circus. I went along with it because I thought it’d help my career, but it was a mistake. I never had feelings for Camie, and she knew it. The only person I’ve ever wanted is Luminara. She’s not a homewrecker—she’s the one who’s been caught in the crossfire of this mess. So if you’re sending her hate, you’re not just wrong, you’re pathetic.”

He stepped back, jaw tight, as Camie took the mic. Her usual carefree vibe was gone, replaced by a steely resolve. “Y’all got it twisted,” she said, her voice clear. “Like Katsuki said, this was all fake. Our agencies set it up after that mission because our quirks—my illusions and his explosions—made for a flashy combo that got tons of views. They thought a ‘power couple’ narrative would keep us trending, bring in sponsors, and raise our profiles. We signed contracts, had scripted appearances, even practiced how to look cozy for the cameras. But it was all an act. I never dated Katsuki, and I’m not heartbroken. Honestly, I’m pissed that Luminara’s getting trashed for this. She’s a badass hero who’s been saving lives while dealing with your garbage threats. Katsuki and I agreed to come clean because this has gone too far. The vandalism, the stalking—it’s not just unfair, it’s dangerous. So cut it out and let them be happy.”

The room erupted in questions, but Bakugou and Camie stood firm, their detailed accounts leaving no room for doubt. The truth hit the airwaves like a shockwave. Reporters scrambled to rewrite their stories, and social media shifted. Fans posted apologies, trending hashtags like #SorryLuminara and #TeamDynamara. Your agency bolstered security, and the police cracked down on the stalkers. The hate began to fade, drowned out by the next news cycle.

Weeks later, you and Bakugou sat on your balcony, the city quiet for once. He slung an arm around you, grumbling, “Tch, told you I’d fix it.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Yeah, you did.”

He tilted your chin up, kissing you softly, no cameras or chaos to ruin it. The world had tried to tear you apart, but you were still here, glowing brighter than ever—all because you liked a boy.

[holeforzenin]

Based on this! , AGE GAP (reader is in early 20s n Toji is in late 30s), fluff/comfort, he calls you “kid”. Not proofread

"Tojiii, guess what!!" you yelled excitedly as you energetically kicked off your shoes in the doorway and stepped inside. The white paper swayed in your hand as you let out a symphony of high-pitched giggles. You were so happy and eager to let Toji on the great news that you had accomplished today. You hurriedly ran through the halls but were obviously being super careful not to slip and fall on the marble tiles because of your socks because unfortunately you had to learn the hard way. You raced into the living room and there he was, sitting on the couch. A damp wrinkly towel in his hand that he’s using to clean the dried blood from his sharp sword. It was always so icky to you seeing him doing that because you hated bloody stuff like that so much!! It never failed to disgust you, that's why he always does it while you're not at home.

"What's up kid? Gimme a sec okay" he greeted you warmly, flashing a genuine smile before he swiftly stood up and placed his sword and towel on the nearby table then walked over to the sink to wash his hands. You hummed in approval and used the time to flatten and fix your hair because after all, you were literally running down the street in excitement so your hair was bound to be messed up.

He dried his hands with a clean rag before gracefully making his way back to where you were, standing by the couch. He effortlessly lifted you up with one hand and sat down and placed you firmly on his lap. The white paper immediately caught his attention as he carressed your side softly. “What's that you're holding baby?", his voice laced with curiosity as he tried to make out the words written on the sheet.

"That's what I wanted to show you silly!" You playfully giggled as you leaned towards his solid chest that you always felt so safe and comfortable buried in. His brows furrowed together as he hummed a low "Hm?".

"Remember that exam I told you I was nervous for??, I got an A!! You hear that?? A fucking A. I PASSED!!. You exclaimed enthusiastically as you quite literally shoved the entire paper in the older man’s face. The big, bold A in red ink came into clear view—Making him chuckle as he smirked at you before pulling the paper away and placing it next to him. A hand came up to ruffle your hair affectionately as you both laughed.

"See? I told you there was nothing to worry about baby. You're a smart girl, of course you'd pass. I'm proud of ya kid, keep it up” He uttered proudly. The sweet comfort in his voice had butterflies dancing in your tummy as your cheeks heated up from the heartfelt compliment. Of course, he notices and places a tender kiss on your forehead. He cupped your cheeks as the two of you locked eye contact. His thumb brushed against your skin, causing your face to melt into his warm touch. You placed a gentle kiss on the inside of his hand, making him blush faintly.

"Thank you Toji, I knew you'd be!” you muttered lowly but loud enough for him to hear. "Of course baby. You know I'll always be proud of ya, no matter what" he leans in, planting a quick kiss on your nose before patting your back.

"Alright enough of this, let's get you some food kid, I bet you're hungry. I made your favorite pasta for you" His heart swells up as he watches your eyes widen in joy.

"YOU MADE PASTA?? GET UP, WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR!!" You yelled excitedly before jumping up from his lap and running into the kitchen. Oh he loved you so much.

[maclediumzeyheri]

How I Draw: PART 1

Hello, this is Zeyheri. While I was happily drawing, I suddenly realized, "Oh no, the new school term is coming! Once I start going to school, it'll be hard to draw! And my promise to share how I draw will be delayed so much!!! (I'm doomed!)“

...So, even though I haven't finished my drawing yet, I thought I should at least upload a post to prevent my trust from shattering into pieces.

I’ve noticed that authors always include words of gratitude in their book prefaces (so I’ll imitate them!). I sincerely thank the two people who’ve helped me a lot in writing this post and who will continue to help with many questions in the future. I also love all the users who constantly take an interest in my drawings!

As you probably know, I’m not a professional illustrator. The only formal art training I’ve had was at an art academy in elementary school! So, it’s probably not a great idea to expect to learn much from my writing. However, anyone can enjoy drawing even without formal training. "The act of appreciating art" is an even more accessible field to enjoy. If you read this and felt intrigued or inspired to try something experimental, then that is exactly the purpose of this post, and I will be happy.

-

(1) Tools & Programs

I use three programs to draw: PaintTool SAI2 / Corel Paintshop Pro / Corel Painter. Oh, I almost forgot-The tools I use are the love-hate Surface Pro 8 and the Huion Kamvas Pro 16 (4k).

-Rough sketching, inking, base coloring, adding shadows, and initial corrections: PaintTool SAI2

-Adding paintbrush effects: Corel Painter

-Other corrections: Corel Paintshop Pro

(*If you're wondering why I don't use Clip Studio, it's because my beloved Surface laptop might die from it! "Then how do you use Corel Painter?" you ask? The moment I open Painter, lag starts, and the fan goes crazy. If you value your laptop's lifespan, take my advice and avoid it!)

In fact, about 70% of the process happens in SAI. So, in this post, you’ll only see me using PaintTool SAI2.

(2) Rough Sketch & Line Art

Rather than creating a detailed rough sketch, I prefer to draw lines while adding rough sketches when needed. The first image is proof of that! For me, the rough sketch stage is less of "the first step in drawing" and more of "getting the atmosphere right."

For the lines, I use the SAI pencil, adjusting the brush density to around 75-85. Other than that, it’s probably set to the default settings, at least as far as I remember. (It's Korean, but I believe you can understand what it means by location)

If you look at my line art, you might notice faint shadows sometimes. This isn’t because I adjust the brush density; I adjust the layer opacity instead.

(2-1) Drawing Hair

Now, one of you asked me a question: "How do you draw hair?" I’ve created a simple resource to explain!

As always, there are exceptions, but when I draw hair, I tend to make the shapes angular. This way, the hair looks solid, almost like stiff RNA strands.

After that, I add lines following the flow of the hair, giving it a fuller look. I usually add these lines when I’m refining the inking stage.

Sometimes, if I’m feeling it. I add thin strands of hair around the edges to give it a more "hair-like" appearance.

(2-2) Drawing Eyes & Coloring

There was also a question about how to draw eyes. I’m not the type to add sparkling glitter for a glamorous look, so my approach is very simple.

In the picture, I’ve divided it into several steps, but honestly, it’s a very quick process. Start by shaping a hexagon and keep adding multiply layers while coloring. The key point is in the 6th step, where you cover the entire eye with a light pink multiply layer. Doing this creates a much more eerie, painful, and melancholic look! (I was really excited when I first discovered this! Yay!)

(3) Coloring

Now it's time to add color. Typically, I would choose colors that fall within the left square area, but if a highly saturated color seems more fitting, I use colors from the right square area. If you ask me why I choose these colors, I'm not sure. I just feel like I like low chroma colors.

Be thorough in coloring, and once you're done, apply textures lightly to finish it off. (You’re asking what texture I use? Well, since I’m not a texture creator, I don’t think it’s appropriate to talk about it publicly. But if you send me a private message, I’ll answer you secretly. I think it was over $30.)

While coloring, using an Overlay layer to test can help when adjusting the color tone later on.

-

Thank you for reading. Please look forward to our next post as well! Feel free to let me know if there are any awkward expressions or anything you would like me to add to the content of this article!

[pluralthey]

As far as I remember, or like years ago, you’ve used sai right? Sai or sai2(man the brush engines better and Binary brushes feel smoother..) but I also saw you used procreate at some point for that one Jessie draw- which digital programs have you used that you enjoy the most for different things, or which kind of traditional medium for example also, is interesting and/or satisfying? Have been doing lots of ref and tutorial searching and looking at art inspiration for the direction I wanna take my stuff and I was curious about your preferred setup; I just like to hear people’s workflow and what they use to create what they do. I think it’s neat. Also if this is too long sorry 😅

I use sai 2. I switched to sai once oekaki became more and more inoperable. The binary style aspect ended up sticking. Oekaki has limited layer capabilities and this rewarded a simpler pixel style that was more easily edited. I still miss the ease of using pixelated screen tones in oekaki. There are other programs that can make them, but not how oekaki did. But I prefer sai 2 most now.

I use clip studio for larger scale images like print pages for its more versatile and expensive selection of brushes. It has unique settings that still allow me to turn these brushes into pixelated work without anti-aliasing artifacts. There is a setting for level of anti-aliasing, but this is often not enough for more complex brushes using spraying patterns. Using the "replace alpha" blending mode forces many brushes into a binary color mode because drawn on top of a solid color the brush's color can only be 100% opaque. The binary layer color mode also allows you to do this. Both of the latter options often only let you do this with black and white. I usually do this to be able to transfer it back to sai 2 where it's more comfortable to work in. I also use it for its ability to produce text in multiple sizes without anti-aliasing. Sai 2's text tool is fairly primitive.

I use Aseprite for animating. It is mostly for pixel art. It reminds me of an animation program I used to use a long time ago called easytoon due to its simplicity though...

For traditional I prefer paint pens (I mostly use poscas). Gel pens are okay but very small and cheaply made. I really wish someone would make paint pen versions of gel pens. I also had a big black and white plain ink and hatching phase a long time ago. Generally I gravitate towards opaque materials that make the process feel straightforward. The ability to "erase" or white out mistakes for correction is one of the most important qualities in a medium to me.

Less opaque, more time-consuming layered media yield more textured and nuanced results, but I hate few things as much as ruining a piece of art irrecoverably over a relatively small mistake be that accidentally pilling the paper or drawing a line wrong or splashing watercolor the wrong way. Mixed media was fun, but I just prefer having more purpose to what I'm doing. When I'm too preoccupied with the aesthetics I waste a ton of time on useless tweaking or experimenting that never goes anywhere.

[film-in-my-soul]

Can I request 'the "oh" moment' for IceMav? 💙

.⋆｡°✩ Ice figures it out.✩°｡⋆.

They don't see each other very often. They can't. Not while Ice is stationed halfway across the world from where Maverick is at any given month of the year. Still, they meet up when time allows. Ice likes to spend his shore leave on the West Coast, as far from his family home as he can get, and Maverick saves up leave requests to line up with him, not that they plan it, not out loud, at least.

They pretend it's some kind of serendipity, Ice showing up in town and then Maverick, the next day, showing up at his door with a smirk and a case of beer to split between baseball games and traded, secret intimacies for however long they can swing it.

For Ice, it's good, it's more than he'd ever thought he would have. A bed to lay his head on, a city that he can relearn when he sets his feet on solid ground, and a man who takes his face in his hands and kisses him like it's not a chore, like it couldn't get them court-martialed, or worse...

Ice doesn't think about it and tries not to hold onto it too hard. A part of him that remembers the sounds of bottles breaking and too much shouting, muttered words filled with so much ink-black venom it scares him. Being with Maverick scares him. And Ice knows, deep down, that he's not all that brave, that despite throwing himself into a cockpit and taking to the sky at speeds that'll probably kill him one day, when he's touching the earth, he's human. Maverick's not like that, and Ice doesn't know what to do with it.

He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel when Maverick knocks their shoulders together and holds the contact for two seconds longer than he needs to. He doesn't know the right script when Maverick's teasing words slip too far into an undoubtable flirt. More than that, Ice doesn't know how to ease the vice closing around his heart every time their fingers brush, their mouths meet, Maverick's eyes catch his from across the room, and pure sunlight pours from them when he smiles.

Ice hates that sometimes when he gets his new orders, when he's back on a boat and is sustaining himself with stolen phone calls and coded postcards, he can breathe again. Still, he doesn't stay away, doesn't want to, refuses to let those shadowy places inside him win. Because even if he can't be brave, Maverick's got plenty of that to spare.

Or at least stupidity disguised as bravery. Either way, Ice allows himself to cling to that, to use it for himself, to think about it like he doesn't let himself think about anything else.

And it's thinking about all of it, about Maverick, laying on his side in the bed that Ice only sees four times a year if he's lucky, snoring with fresh morning sunbeams striping his face in golden light, that Ice feels the hold on his heart loosen. It's tracing the contours of Maverick's peaceful expression with his eyes and then the barest touch of a fingertip, Maverick stirring only enough to shuffle further into Ice's chest that it hits.

And oh.

Oh.

It's this, isn't it? He thinks, mouth softening into an 'o.' It's the answer to the questions he can't stop himself from asking but has never wanted the answer to. Always so sure, he'd convince himself that the hand-me-down bravery wasn't enough, and he'd let it slip, let Maverick slip, right out of his fingers. But that's not it because it's here, in his bed, swelling like the curtains of his open windows do.

Love.

[rattsin]

So just a little check in. I won't... no this is for me I will ramble.

You know, or may not know, that I have been drawing my way through alanna: the first adventure book for a few years doing a couple of pieces each year. Originally that started in part as a way to practice my drawing but mostly really it was a way to try and trick myself into reading again. I still don't enjoy sitting still and reading for more than a short while but the drawing keeps coming along, slowly, but I can feel a difference in my confidence, especially with traditional mediums.

Anyway an unexpected consequence of doing these alanna drawings is I have solid punctuation marks all across the years now documenting how I'm progressing with my art most notably making a real effort to learn to make work traditionally.

You see I learnt to draw digitally first, sort of, i did go to art school but made some poor choices and didnt make the most out of it. So i leaent to draw digitally before i learnt to draw normally and i got okay at it and digital art is still fun, I still like my first alanna drawing and I think it is technically better than my last one I just did buuuut... i really like making traditional art.

I cannot straight up draw on paper as well as i can digitally becuase of course i cant. I dont have my much used warp tools and layers and shit; fixing every micro mistake, but god traditional art is so fun.

And I can see that enjoyment grow over the alanna drawings as I learn something new or push myself to draw something outside of what I feel I can because that's what the scene calls for.

Once I was very embarrassed to show what the first image actually looked like. It's my first traditional piece in my collection and one of my very first serious tries at traditional drawing maybe since even before uni and I really hated it. I'm showing how the sausage is made but I've put what the picture actually looks like next to what I've put together on the computer as the finished works and... God I remember being so down about the first one, I'd laboured over it as I always do, wanting to make something nice to do the story justice, and I just... could not match traditionally what I knew I could do digitally and that pissed me off so much ahaa I didn't even know where to begin polishing this turd I'd made so I just stripped all the colour out of it and called it finished so I could stop thinking about it.

I did kept practising though obviously and as I said I've got these paintings of alanna to demonstrate to myself how I'm growing.

This latest one one, now this is a sausage. So I can't draw straight down onto paper as well as I can digitally but I don't like to paint digitally but I want a nice drawing I can splash my watercolours onto what do I do? Well for a while on things I care about being finished nicely I've been drawing the big complex thing digitally, warping what ever the hell I want, as many layers as desired, flip flop that file until I get something mostly polished and then I can get my light box or my projector and trace the thing out and ink it or maybe use coloured pencils but right now I'm inking.

And that's what I did here, it's an A3 hot press most expensive bit of paper I've used since printing class and boy I was determined to do right by the materials.

Had so. Much. Fun. with my watercolours once I got there after the ink. This is probably my second most big complex watercolour ive tried and i loved painting it. Loved it. Made a huge mess of my carefully planned out line work. Ah well, no worries, I can just draw them again on the ipad i thought, too easy.

Yeah nah I hated that. Took the photo, popped it into procreate, got to drawing over the little washed out ink lines to sure everything up. Ugly, felt wrong, hated it, not doing that.

So I sat with it for a bit. I knew I did want to bring the lines back an not leave it washed out and I knew that meant going in with a pen or a brush or pencils but I really didn't want to fuck it after I'd been so happy with where I'd gotten with it. But I did go in, with a brush pen, and I did fuck it. I fucked it so bad, in so many places. I fucked vital bits of the drawing that i had done so prettily in the first pass. I fucked with bits I had already fucked with splashing paint water too enthusiastically and fucked it some more. And then, boy, then I tried to unfuck my fuck ups with gouache and fuck me that was the biggest fuckshit mistake. It was fucked. I had fucked up and fucked it. In my defence, I'd had a chest/sinus thing and covid for 6 weeks. But actually, i... did care i fucked it but it wasnt crippling, so i probably dont even care to have a defence, i didnt fuck up that badly, actually.

That's a really revolutionary thought for me.

So I took another photo of my fucked but now much better defined painting, slapped an orange filter over it, ironed out the gouache situation, pushed a couple of the faces around so they werent so soulless and called it finished because... it was. It was really a very easy thing to clean up, I had not fucked anything up beyond the scope of my ability to repair a little and the worst fucks well... I couldn't really see them for all the good I had done.

Rev-o-lutionary.

When I got out the first picture to have a look at tonight I was surprised by how neutral I was to see it. I had hated it but, by extension and more worryingly, i had felt resentment towards my own fumbling hands for this thing I thought was ugly being the limits of their ability to create.

I don't see what I was thinking in that picture now. It just is what it is. Something to practice my drawing and trick myself into reading. A punctuation mark showing my first steps into a new medium. Making it i should have just allowed it to be time spent recovering from what i remember being a pretty shit time, a respite. I didn't need to be so cruel to myself.

And, gladly, doing this latest picture I didn't feel any dissatisfaction with my hands. I made plenty of mistakes, pleeeeeenty. But i can see what ive done and how i might avoid shitting things in the future. That's enough. I did good things in the painting too

And it's time to sleep. I just was pondering over this. I don't reeeeally know what I've said but i felt it boiling in my chest, I mean outside of the infection that's mostly cleared, and I just felt like getting it out

Yep

[sdyuteiaok]

All right, first Texas phone bank is in the books. I gotta say, while they're positive and everything, it feels like they don't believe they can win...and I hate to say it, but I wasn't impressed by their general operation--the script was really poor, and the staff on the Zoom weren't terribly attentive in fielding questions promptly or thoroughly. I don't know. Something tells me I should find a different Texas group, but I also want to give them a chance since they seemed nice enough. I also got a wide variety of people, and a surprisingly high amount of young voters--at my previous group, we were specifically targeting young voters, and I feel like we mostly ended up talking to older voters, but here with this general-Texas group, it seems like a high density of young voters. So I don't know how that came about, but if they want to reach young voters, this Texas group seems to have the secret. Anyway, super tired--couldn't sleep, so I just brute forced it through the day...anyway, back to Arizona tomorrow. I'm down for Tuesdays in Texas, but--as another indication their operation's a little disheveled, they don't have any way to join their Friday dates, despite the staffer saying they were going to have Fridays available. Oh, and on the art front, since our Clippy from the February event are set to expire at the end of the month, I spent a pleasant evening going through all my bookmarked brushes and stuff, and got a nice haul, hitting my Clippy budget on the dot, while getting almost everything I really had my eye on. There are a couple brushes and things I didn't get, but I can always scoop them up later, presuming there's another event next year. And besides, in preparation for my comics that I've been writing, I prioritized black-and-white comics resources, as well as some sweet painting/coloring brushes. I believe I'm super solid on ink-style brushes at this point, just gotta get used to what I have, so I'm no longer prioritizing ink/pencil brushes much--they have to be really impressive to get a DL at this point, as I'm pretty content with the ones I have, and really enjoy using them anyway, even though I don't use them as often as I would like. But when I do use them, they are wonderful. And my painting flow is coming along great, I really feel like I'm getting that PS sense of where everything is so I can just flow along. Just loving CSP, what an excellent program.

[volskayadottxt]

things i learned from rare pair week

back when i hosted ramyatta week, drawing so much and so consistently for a few weeks helped me improve a lot. i feel like ive probably gotten the same thing from rare pair week. specifically...

-lineart is my fav part of the process, i like indicating heavy shadows with solid blocks of black or very dark brown.

-my fave types of brushes to ink with are fineliner mimics with a bit of dithering. while brushes with more pressure are nice, i think i honestly prefer just painting and carving into my lines. its why doing lineart properly takes me hours and hours but i really like the results...

-coloring is my least favorite part. but i hate how solid flat colors look. therefore... we have a problem.

-I NEED TO USE REFERENCES MORE like im just not good enough to build a pose from form construction alone! i wont be for ages so why am i trying this hard??

-i do not fucking like drawing people. like i just dont. idk what but the only pieces i had motivation on were the ones with an omnic involved. maybe thats why i quit a decade ago. but i cant force myself to draw humans if i dont like it, no matter how much i wanna draw zarya being sexy or mauga being beefy (still lesbian hes just super fun to draw in small bursts bc he is so Shaped)

i was not destined to be a beefy woman artist...

while i was working on my day 4 i actually was also rewatching tengen toppa gurren lagann with a friend and honesty... i might try to just steal whats going on in those eyecatches. the big, blocky shadows, the feathering at the shadow edges, and the pale and just slightly desaturated colors...

yeah... ive been thinking about these a lot. my brain was already primed to go in this direction since i started reading idw1 transformers. a lot of mtmte/ll is rendered this way regarding shadows and how they indicate form. actually, i think a lot of transformers art is.

yes these are from my cygate screenshots folder...

so anyways, the plan is to draw cosmic crisis ramyatta for a bit and finally dip my toes into transformers art. ill have my hands full with the shambali boys and the lost light crew so!!

if i draw any humans anytime soon it'll be venture. actually i do wanna draw them as simon from ttgl!!

[orokay]

it’s so interesting and neat to me seeing people send asks to me and other artists that reflect the sort of questions that i remember asking pretty much any artist i looked up to when i was first starting out as well. like, there are things that i thought that if I did the same as those artists that my art would be better that i realize now don’t really make a difference. we’re really all on different stages of the same journey and it’s so cool to recognize the things that you’ve done before and see where people are on their journey 

[dont-talk-back-to-heapass]

Captainsona Picrew Time!!!

Here is, as promised, the big post with the taglist and shit. I made it in the form of an FAQ because idk how to do this lol.

What is this project?

I'm making a picrew (an avatar maker on the Picrew website) for In Space With Markiplier captainsonas! If you don't know what that means, go watch ISWM, I am begging you, it is so good. Ahem. Anyway, it'll have a lot of customization, from canonical outfits to lots of facial expressions to realistic and rainbow skin colors. I will be posting updates on the project, and taking input and suggestions, during the long, long, process of making it. This post is general info and an FAQ for the project and the process.

When will this be done?

To be honest, I don't know. I have a lot of stuff going on, and while I am really passionate about this project, it takes many many hours to make even one part of a picrew.

As of making this post, I've spent around nine hours on just the drawing, not including uploading and figuring out the actual Picrew side of things, and I only have the ears and head uploaded, with the mouths almost done but not even colored.

So it will take a while. However, I do plan to post it as a WIP when I have enough of it done to be somewhat usable.

What's the taglist for? How do I add or remove myself?

The taglist is a list of people that want to be tagged when I post updates about the picrew. (You can also follow #captainsona picrew, if you want to see them but don't want to be tagged.) It'll be at the bottom of each post about the project, under the cut.

To add or remove yourself, just let me know via ask, dm, comment, or tag!

What program/brush are you using?

I use Krita, a free art program, on my Windows Surface 8 and a brush called "d) Ink-3 Gpen" (the yellow pen one that's in the favorites by default). It's a square-ish brush that doesn't change opacity, so it's good for the clean, solid lines I want in my picrew.

How do I make suggestions?

You can drop suggestions in my ask box, or message me directly! (If it's in the tags or comments of a post, it may get lost.) Feel free to just chat with me, too!

Why are you doing X that way? Don't you know there's a way more efficient/standard/easy way to do it?

Nope, I don't! This is my first time making a picrew, my first time making a taglist, and my first time making such a big project. If you have any suggestions on how I can do any of the above better or easier, please do let me know.

(taglist under the cut)

Taglist (hopefully up-to-date)

@intellexual-asexual (as promised) @goldglitch @zephyrus77 @technologyvoid @nicenice7 @kaar-ne @lostglassguitars @happistar @hink12 @captain-m-faye @weird-hellsite @dimnomss @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this @god-tier-bastard @bluewolfangel @themanbehindurfather @calvin-kingofwhatever @worldtravelerbuff @kai-justis @backtothefuturefan88 @fennfruners @catonfence @i-need-a-real-username @yourthoughtsjim @the-fat-raccoon @inesdsleep @the-actor-you-love-to-hate @weirdmixofweirdness @flerpdederp-likes @captain-heebie-jeebie @starry-nightengale @soap-stains @abyssal-zone-stares-back @talander2can @sleeping-void @immyowengod @drops-ofmadness @valis-geese @miss-antivinny @matter-of-the-universe @survive0000 @just-4nother-ghost @rustychips @cursednevermore @ashofacrow @niconooo @justablix @hink12 @voidling-games

[lubdubsworld]

GIFT .

Genre : Brother-in-law Jungkook x OC!

Warnings : Yandere Jungkook! Non Consent. Manipulative behaviour. Explicit Sexual Content, Violence, Murder

Author's Note : I love reading Yandere fics so I just wanted to write one!! Its very different from what I usually write... So proceed with caution.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time I met Jungkook , it was five years into my relationship with Namjoon.

Namjoon had told me all about his baby brother, a final year student in SNU. Jungkook majored in Business , training to take over the company business . Namjoon often mentioned that it was Jungkook's offer to switch majors that had helped him pursue his own dream of being a music producer.

So when he told me that Jungkook was on a break from university and his parents were looking forward to having a proper family dinner with all of us, I was excited to meet the boy , I'd heard so much about. Namjoon was endlessly fond of his little brother and I wanted him to like me just as much.

Namjoon and I had met seven years earlier in the University Library and had become fast friends. We were both quiet, intellectually driven individuals, preferring to spend our time in the library as opposed to partying with our friends. And yet, in a twist , against our family’s wishes, we had chosen not to pursue an academically driven career either. I’d always felt out of place in my own friend group, most of my friend from Journalism being extroverted and fun loving. Namjoon for his part had only two very close friends, Yoongi and Hoseok and preferred spending time by himself as well.

So it was only natural that we fell in with each other with ease. His beautiful dimpled smile tugged on my gut, even as his gentle nature and gorgeous mind made my heart pound. I fell in love with him, between the late night laughter in the library and the soft secrets whispered against my skin, in the privacy of his bed.

“Nervous?” His voice drew me to the present, fingers inking with mine as he lightly knocked his shoulders against mine, staring down at me with a dimpled smile. I shook my head quickly, squeezing his hand gently.

“Of course not. I just want him to like me.” I whispered and Namjoon chuckled.

“Jungkookie isn’t very expressive so don’t worry if he isn’t very vocal in his affections. He’s very shy with new people but I’m sure, he’ll love you.” Namjoon reached out and lightly, brushed the hair off my face before leaning down and giving me a quick kiss.

I gripped his waist, pressing in closer, lips parting instinctively  , eager to chase the taste of him. He groaned and gripped my elbow, pulling me around to press up against the tall , lean strength of his body and this was it, this endless need to touch him even after seven whole years of being together. I moaned when he bit down on my lips, my back arching a bit to press into him.

“Hyung?”

We parted, surprised and I felt my face flame, lips slicked wet and no doubt red from where Joon’s teeth had sunk in.

What a first impression.

“Ahh… Jungkook-ah… You came out?” Namjoon looked a little flustered, dimples peeking out in an abashed smile as he laughed embarrassedly I found myself smiling at Jungkook, who looked nothing like I’d imagined.

I’d been expecting someone cute and friendly.

Jungkook was dressed in all black, tall and intimidating. He was also almost surreally beautiful, gaze piercing and steady as he stared at me. I felt an instinctive urge to hide, not missing the way his gaze trailed up and down my body, lips parting gently to reveal a pair of bunny teeth that looked jarringly adorable on a face that was , quite simply put, arrestingly gorgeous.  

He hummed, still standing in the doorway, eyes trained on me and I swallowed when he smiled , wide and open. His tongue darted out, lightly licking his lower lip .

“Hi, Hana.” He said softly and I startled.

“Hana? I’m sure you mean noona…..” I laughed nervously and even Namjoon looked surprised and Jungkook merely smiled, shrugging.

“You don’t feel like a noona.” He said casually.

I merely stared at him, not sure what he meant. Namjoon laughed a little as well, moving over to lightly hug his brother.

“Yah! You’ve just met her. Isn’t it too soon to start being a brat?” He ruffled his hair playfully before turning to me.

“Come on, Hana. Come say hi to my parents.” Namjoon walked in and I rushed to follow him, pausing when I reached the doorway. I smiled at Jungkook, holding a hand out slowly.

“I’ve heard so much about you Jungkook, I hope we can be friends…” I said sincerely and he stared at my hand, not taking it. Instead he gave me another soft smile. Before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the back of my hand, making me jump .

“You don’t feel like a friend either.” He said with a shrug , before moving away, leaving me stunned on the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years later :

“Seven months? Namjoon we’re getting married in seven months! How am I supposed to plan a whole wedding , with you away from the country?” I asked desperately, watching as Namjoon sat with his head in his hands. He looked stricken, regretful and pained and I felt terrible for being unreasonable but it was impossible not to feel hurt.

“I know..  I know hana, I’m so fucking sorry. But this is such a huge opportunity and its not just me : Hoseok and Yoongi depend on me. I can’t screw things up for them too.” He whispered and I exhaled.

Namjoon had been offered a chance to produce for a very high end recording label based out of the US and they wanted him to stay there for a minimum of seven months. The offer had been a complete surprise, out of the blue and the timing couldn’t have been worse. I’d been accepted into an internship at a popular magazine and it would be impossible for me to go with him. And I was so desperate to go.

We’d never been apart for more than a few days, in the entirety of our relationship and the thought of not seeing him for months made me want to throw up.

“I’ve spoken to Jungkook. He’ll help you with all the things that have to be done. And I swear that I’ll be back at least a month before the date, alright? No matter what happens.” Namjoon said firmly. I swallowed, nodding nervously.

It was true that I didn’t like the idea of being away from Namjoon. But the thought of keeping him away from a dream that he had worked so hard for, was almost unfathomable.

Besides, Jungkook was reliable and sweet. The perfect gentleman. Especially now that he’d taken over as his father’s Executive Assistant, Jungkook was incredibly good at organizing and planning things out.

With his help, I could plan out our wedding to perfection.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next five months were spent in a haze of appointments and fittings and bookings. Jungkook had arranged for a shift in my internship hours, so he and I could spend a solid four hours every day, visiting different vendors, picking out the perfect floral arrangements, napkins, brocade and what not. And for once, I found myself completely enthralled by the idea of spending money of frivolously pretty things. Whether it was the florists or the patisserie, the dress fitting or the invitations, I felt my excitement bubbling over , amazed because marrying into Namjoon’s family meant an unlimited budget and for once, I didn’t mind being extravagant.

What was more, I didn’t miss Namjoon nearly as much as I thought I would. Because deep down , I knew that he wouldn’t have enjoyed this all that much. And I would have felt guilty , dragging him everywhere.

And Jungkook was the one to thank for all of it. He picked me up everyday for an early breakfast , followed by hours of combing the streets for ideas and appointments. He was funny and enthusiastic, eager to help me in every way and I was so grateful that I couldn’t thank him enough.

“I owe you so much, Kookie. You’ve been a life saver.” I groaned, collapsing on the couch and dropping my head back against the backrest. Jungkook chuckled, sitting down on one of the Turkish ottomans and lightly grabbing my ankle, pulling my foot onto his lap. I flushed a little, still not used to how touchy he was.

Jungkook liked wrapping his arms around my waist when we were out and about, fingers fluttering up my sides or brushing hair off my face with easy familiarity. I didn’t mind. He reminded me of my little brother back in Ilsan.

Most of the people we met assumed he was the groom and Jungkook told me it would be better to keep up the ruse because wedding planners were more comfortable when couples came together and I’d agreed, albeit a little reluctantly. I missed Namjoon and I wondered if he would mind. But when I mentioned it in passing to him during one of our daily video calls, he’d merely laughed it off.

“You’re so tense, Hana. You should relax. Everything is going to be okay.” Jungkook said softly, soft fingers digging into the curve of heel before brushing the arch of my foot. I smiled when he tugged my foot close, placing it down on the firmness of his thigh.

I gazed down at him, feeling uncomfortably nervous. This whole thing seemed oddly intimate somehow and I felt the first tendrils of guilt begin to curl around my gut. I swallowed, hating myself for tainting something that was no doubt innocent. I ought to be grateful that my future brother in law was this kind to me.

“I know. Thank you. I just miss him sometimes.” I said softly. The fingers stilled on my foot.

“Only sometimes?” He teased, eyes narrowed and tone just a little colder and I hesitated.

“I don’t miss him when you keep me company. You help me forget that I’m doing all of this by myself.” I said honestly. Jungkook inhaled sharply, his gaze flicking to mine, holding mine with an intensity that made me balk a little.

“You mean, that?” He asked quietly and I laughed at how serious he looked.

“Of course I do.  I was so sure this whole thing would be me being miserably lonely but you’ve kept me laughing and happy. I’m going to ask Namjoon to buy you something expensive and amazing when he comes back.”

“He already has something amazing. It’s the only thing I really want.” Jungkook said quietly, fingers stroking up, gently massaging my foot all the way up my calf. I groaned at how good it felt.

“Really what is it?” I asked curious.

Jungkook squeezed my knee before carefully placing my foot down , reaching for the other one.

“You’ll know soon, Hana.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True to his word, Namjoon called me exactly a month before our wedding date.

“Guess who’s leaving the God forsaken place this weekend?”

I felt warmth flood my insides, heart racing with pure joy, tears brimming over because I’d honestly resigned myself to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to make it back on time.

“Monday i, I’ll be there. Can’t wait to kiss you, my love.” He whispered and I nodded, laughing.

Finally, Everything would be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Namjoon’s flight was due to arrive late night ,somewhere between twelve and one in the morning. I’d taken a nap in the afternoon, so I could be up to welcome him back. Jungkook arrived at around seven with Takeout and flowers.

He didn’t ring the doorbell, letting himself in with the spare key I’d given him for emergencies. I found myself scrambling for my robe because I’d taken a nice long shower and slipped on a silk negligee, short and ending just over my knees . I could feel his eyes on me as I hastily tied the sash together, flustered. The robe wasn’t long either and I felt absolutely exposed, even worse than when he’d stepped into the dressing room during my fitting, offering to help me with the zipper.

“ Jungkook, what are you doing here?” I asked nervously and he shrugged, eyes still trailing over my legs, the skin bare. I felt his gaze like a caress and some instinct told me I was in danger. I shook my head to clear it. How ridiculous.

This was Jungkook. Sweet, wonderful Jungkookie. My best friend these past few months. There was no one else I could be safer with.

“I knew you’d be excited, what with hyung coming back and all. So, I thought I’d drop by and at least make sure you’re well fed.” He grinned, holding the tae out up. I smiled and nodded, moving to get plates and glasses from the kitchen.

I heard Jungkook moving around in the living room and when I went back in , I found that he had two glasses of wine ready on the table, an expensive bottle of merlot opened nearby. I smiled a bit, shaking my head.

“What are we celebrating?” I asked curiously and he shrugged.

“Namjoon hyung is coming back right? It means I’ll be getting my amazing gift tonight.” He said softly, picking his glass up and taking a sip and I rolled my eyes.

“You’re such a child. You can’t wait for a day to get your gift?”

Jungkook hummed. He looked ethereal in the dim golden light of the apartment. Like something out of a fairytale. All dark ebony hair and porcelain skin. I wondered, again….why he never dated. He was easily one of the most beautiful humans I’d ever seen in my life. And that voice.

The voice of an angel.

“I’ve been waiting for years, Hana. I’m sick and tired of waiting.” He said softly, voice low and eyes somehow dark and I tried to hold my smile.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it.” I grinned and he smiled, all teeth.

“Oh, I intend to. Thoroughly.”

I took my own glass and took a deep sip , before holding it against his.

“To no longer waiting and finally getting what we want.” I said cheerfully, thinking of the long months without Namjoon and the few hours till he would be back in my arms. Jungkook chuckled and clinked his glass against mine.

“To you, Hana.” He said simply and I blushed, surprised and flattered.

We ate the take out but just a few bites in, I felt my eyes getting heavy which was so unfair. It was barely eight. And I’d slept in the afternoon. What was wrong with me? I was supposed to be up till Namjoon came home.

“You alright, love?” Jungkook asked sweetly , getting out of his chair and making his way over when I almost knocked the glass of water over, fingers trembling. I pouted, even as his fingers curled over my shoulders, gripping lightly.

“Why am I so drowsy?” I whined in desperation and he leaned down, lightly resting his chin on my shoulder.

“You need to rest, hana. Come on, let’s get you to bed…. “

Eyes heavy and limbs turning to jelly, I could barely blink as he reached down and scooped me into his arms , carrying me into the bedroom. I felt his fingers tug on the sash of my robe, a protest building up at the action but he shushed me gently.

“I’m just helping you out of this, Hana. Rest now… Namjoon hyung will be here soon and we have a long night ahead of us, you and I.”

I could feel my mind churn at that, confusion warring with apprehension because why was Jungkook inserting himself in tonight? What did he have to do with Namjoon and I ?

Sleep beckoned and I found myself slipping into the darkness before I could fully ponder on his words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up sweaty and damp , body overheated and my head foggy. I made to move and felt my heart pound when I realized my hands were tied up to the headboard. I blinked, only to be met with darkness because there was something tied around my eye as well.

“Jungkook?!” I called out panicking and there was a low chuckle.

And then a very familiar scent.

Namjoon.

I sagged in relief.

“Joon…it’s you….” I breathed out . “ Come on, do we really have to do this right away? I wanna see you…” I whispered desperately.

Fingers brushed over my ankle and I jumped.

“Namjoon?” I whispered . The bed dipped next to me, and I felt the brush of his shirt against my bare arm. It was soft and silky , familiar because I’d bought it for him for his birthday and he’d sent me a pic of him wearing it, from the airport today.

“Okay… I’ll play.” I laughed softly. “ Just untie me… I wanna touch you..”

“Sshhh…..” A finger pressed against my lip and I startled. Throat dry, I gulped.

But I didn’t say anything, biting my lips nervously as I felt him climb over me, one knee on either side of mine, fingers curling on my thighs, lips pressing against my cheek. I sighed, relishing the soft press of his lips, up and down my neck, the damp wetness of his tongue as he licked the skin right after, teeth nipping gently and then with more force.

I trembled as soft fingers tugged on my negligee tugging the fabric up and away from my body, raising it up till it pooled near my chest. I felt the tug on my panties, yanking the fabric off and then the weight of him went away, a breathy exhale that sounded both calm and somehow desperate, his body moving down to lightly hold my knees, parting my legs.

I bent my knees, spreading my thighs the way he clearly wanted me to, hearing him groan in return. He used his thumbs to gently part the damp folds of my centre and I felt my entire body shudder at the press of his tongues against the most intimate parts of me.

Choking, I could only lay there and take it, his tongue licking the slick folds, over and over again with an almost curious insistence, like he was tasting me for the first time and I could feel his body trembling on the bed as he did. I felt his teeth tug on the hardened nub, bruising hard and yet somehow almost playful and cheeky and I found myself squirming in pleasure, wetness seeping out of me .

The tip of his finger found my slit, running up and done the length of it in a slow, gentle caress, gathering the moisture there and I trembled when he reached my clit, gently rubbing circles on the little bundle before moving back down to trace my entrance. I was so wet, getting wetter by the second and I’d never wanted to be fucked so bad.

“Please…..baby… I want you ….in me…” I choked out and he chuckled, a little mischievous and unlike him.

The finger dipped in, shallow and barely in and I whimpered in desperation.

“More.. Please…. I want more.. Want you… Its been so long…”

I felt him move back at that and then he was there, right between my legs. I felt the clink of metal as he unbuckled himself, the sound of his zipper and the rustle of fabric as he pushed his trousers off. I could feel the hard muscles of his thigh against the back of mine as he scooted closer, felt the brush of his hard length against my center, the head dipping in just lightly.

He pushed forward, driving in with so much force that my entire body shuddered in shock. And in just that second, I knew, with dawning horror…….

This was not Namjoon.

I screamed, so loud my own ears rang and  a palm pressed down into my mouth, forceful and unrelenting. And terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“Hana…” Jungkook’s voice near my ear made me choke on my tears, my mind splintering in shock and betrayal, body going rigid in terror as he pulled out , only to slide back in.

“Knew it would be worth it, keeping myself pure for you….” He crooned against my skin and I whimpered, wetness spilling over my eyelashes as I tried to squirm away, my mind body and soul only screaming for the man I loved.

“Don’t worry about anything ….Hyung’s in a better place now. “ Jungkook chuckled deeply and I felt my skin go ice cold at the implication. He moved his hand away and I coughed, choking.

“Jungkook….”

The blind fold came off and he kept pumping into me, hips moving erratically, no rhythm or grace and it was obvious he’d never done this before, obvious in the way he looked : blissed out and feral, eyes unfocused as he stared down at me. I felt him tremble and shake, before going still . I felt warm wetness flood my insides and bile rose, nausea making breathing difficult. He stayed on me and inside me, his body so large and immovable, heavy and suffocating over my own.

“what are you doing Jungkookie?” I sobbed out in disbelief and he glared at me.

“What does it fucking look like I’m doing? I’m taking what I fucking deserve….” He snarled. “ Two fucking years…. He doesn’t deserve you. Spends all his days and nights holed up in that studio of his with his friends….leaves you to fend for yourself. You deserve to be waited on, hand and foot… you deserve the world, hana…and he wouldn’t let you experience any of it. Fucking bastard….

“No… No.. God …no..” I choked out. It was the shirt.

He was wearing Namjoon’s shirt. And his cologne. The shirt I knew my boyfriend had been wearing today. How did he get it??

Jungkook brushed his fingers on my cheeks .

“What’s wrong baby? Are you worried about him? Wondering where he is…” He chuckled. “ I told you..he’s in a better place right now..”

“No… you’re lying..you wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t I? You know me that well , hana?” He teased.

No. No I didn’t I didn’t know him at all.

“How about this? If you marry me…. If you let me have this dream wedding with my dream girl…. “ He smirked,” If you let me love you the way you deserve , maybe I’ll take you to visit him…someday. ”

I closed my eyes.

I couldn’t process what I’d just heard… I didn’t know… if he was bluffing. What if he had actually killed-

I couldn’t believe that. I couldn’t. It would break me.

“Okay… Just…please don’t hurt him…” I whispered.

Jungkook smiled.

“Just relax Hana. Everything’s going to be okay.”

AUTHORS NOTE : THIS IS LITERALLY MY FIRST TIME WRITING SOMETHING LIKE THIS PURELY OUT OF IDLE CURIOSITY

~~~~~~~~~~~

[bwideau]

Painting Tutorial!

Hello and welcome to a kind-of tutorial for my colouring technique! I’d like to preface this by admitting that my art style is a mess of actual things I learned in art school mixed with ‘things that look good but idk why lol’ and some lazy shortcuts thrown in for good measure. If something doesn’t make sense it’s probably because it was never meant to, and I’m just winging most of this with no coherent plan. Cool? Cool.

Program used: Procreate (I use the same techniques in Photoshop, so they should work in programs like CSP, Krita and Sai)

Brushes: 

-Derwent for sketching (Procreate default) or your favourite sketching brush

-GvW Elder 2. 0 1 for shading (from Georg’s free ink set)

-Basic round brush

-Basic airbrush

Step 1: The sketch (Derwent Brush)

Today we’re painting my favourite murder boy, Loki! I won’t go into much detail about the sketch, because this is about colouring, not sketching. Make sure you have a solid sketch before starting on your colours. I know it gets frustrating to work on a sketch for so long, but anything you fix in this stage won’t need to be fixed later. 

Use references for anything you’re not 100% sure about, and flip your canvas often to make sure nothing’s wonky. Your brain gets used to staring at the drawing, so flipping it lets you see mistakes you might otherwise miss.

I like sketching in colour because black just feels daunting to me. We’re gonna change the colour later anyway, so just pick any favourite!

Step 2: Clipping Layer

This is one of the most important stages. All your colour layers for the character will be clipped to this one so you don’t have to worry about going outside the sketch. I usually have a single clipping layer for organic portraits, but my lined pieces will have a layer for each section. We’ll be painting over the sketch eventually, so go ahead and clip the sketch to the base layer as well. It��s also time to pick your base background colour. I decided to go in a completely different direction than the reference image, so I’ll mostly be making the colours up.

Step 3: Base Shading (Elder Brush)

I know this looks like a big jump, but bear with me! All I’ve done is add basic shadows to the form. I’ve picked a midtone for each section of colour, and added a basic shadow and light. 

Go ahead and start by locking your sketch layer and changing its colour. I’ve used dark reddish tones in the face, and left the rest blue. I like how the blue pops up here and there when I get to painting over the sketch.

To pick your light and shadow tones, look at the colours you’re using in the background. Something useful to remember is that warm lighting will cast cool shadows, and cool lighting will cast warm shadows. In this case, since the background has a cool tone, the shadows in the face will be warmer in comparison. 

Always remember that your character and your background exist in the same environment; the colour of the background will influence the character. Here, the light source has a pinkish tinge to reflect the character’s environment.

Look at your reference to see where light hits, and squint your eyes to determine the big geometric shapes of the light and shadows. At this stage, stick to three tones maximum: a base, a shadow, and a light.

Step 4: The Shit Stage

This is when the feeling of ‘oh no this looks like garbage and I hate myself’ will hit. Don’t let it fool you! Paintings look like trash before they get better. In the early stages, you’re just laying in the foundation for the details that will come in later. Just push through!

Here, I’ve started adding tones in-between the light and shadows to make the shapes blend into each other and look rounded and softer. This is all done on a layer over the sketch, still clipped to the base layer.

I pick my midtones by zooming in and colour-picking at the border between two shades I’ve already laid down.  It’s a little tricky since the brush I use doesn’t have an opacity setting, but I like the sharp chunky look it gives my pieces.

Remember: Skin is not one uniform colour, and light will peek through in some places. This is called sub-surface scattering, and it’s the key to beautiful, alive-looking skin. Light will scatter under the surface of the skin, and certain parts neighbouring the shadows will look more saturated because the blood vessels under the skin are illuminated. This piece doesn’t use bright sunlight, so it’s more subtle but still visible.

Notice the strip of warm saturation right before the shadow? It’s going to look orange under sunlight, but for Loki I’ve gone with a pink since the light is cool.

Step 5: Slightly Less Chunky

I like the chunky look in my paintings, but if everything is equally as sharp, nothing really stands out. A wise tip from one of my painting professors is to smooth out the shadows, but keep the lights sharp.

Use a mixture of more colour-picking and the blending tool to round out shapes. You can also use the airbrush if you’re more familiar with it. 

Be careful of overblending! Blending too much is a common mistake in digital art, and can make a face look flat and off-putting. Blend some areas, and colour-pick them before going back over them in with your solid brush. This will make your shadows look softer, but not too soft. 

Texture is extremely important and often forgotten. It gives your eye something to look at, even in a seemingly smooth space. Remember: Unlike in traditional art, digital media has no surface texture. 

A smooth gradient on a cotton canvas is never completely smooth, it will always have the canvas texture underneath it that keeps it from looking too unnatural. In digital, you’re working from nothing. When working digitally, any texture you want, you need to create yourself. This is why depending too much on the blending tool will make skin look unnatural; you need to compensate for the lack of interesting surface underneath.

Step 6: Lighting

Interesting lighting can go a long way to make your painting spectacular. Note that the light source was chosen in the third step; this step simply enhances what you’ve already done.

In this piece, I’ve picked a primary light source (where the majority of the light is coming from) and a secondary light source to keep things interesting. Since the background is cool-toned, I picked a warm orange for the main light source to contrast it. The secondary light source is a cool blue, so it doesn’t quite have as much contrast. I want the secondary light source to be noticeable, but I don’t want it to be fighting for dominance with the main light source.

I clip a colour dodge layer on top of the colour layers, and put another unclipped colour dodge layer over it. 

The clipped layer is the secondary light source, because I don’t want it to bleed into the background. Leaving the primary light source unclipped will give a glowy effect to the lighting, since the area around the character will also be affected. I use a large airbrush for this step.

If there are areas that need more contrast, you can deepen the shadows with a clipped multiply layer underneath both colour dodge layers.

Step 7: Details

This is the time to add little things like a more refined eye shine or little flyaway hairs. The eyes also looked a bit wonky to me, so I fixed them up. Not much else to say about this stage, just add little things that will tie the piece together.

Since the face is the focal point, it’s painted in more detail than the armour. If the piece was equally detailed everywhere, the viewer’s eye wouldn’t know where to look! You don’t have to slave away over details in areas where they won’t be noticed or would be distracting.

Step 8: Finishing Touches

This is the final step! Once the painting itself is done, I like to merge all my layers and apply a bit of noise to the whole image. I find it adds a bit of grain and texture that makes the piece even more cohesive. Don’t add too much though, or it will grey out your colours.

In certain pieces, I also add a slight chromatic aberration. I don’t add it to all my pieces, and I use it differently every time. Be careful though, it can become an eyesore if you overdo it! Keep it away from the focal point of the image (in this case, Loki’s eyes) or it can actually make the painting off-putting and difficult to look at.

Since my drawing program has a dark background, I like to export the image as a test and see if it still looks good in my photo gallery with a white interface. Sometimes things look really bright against a dark interface, but will look dull and too dark when put against white. If your piece needs adjusting, use the curves tool to adjust the contrast.

All that’s left to do is sign your artwork on a separate layer (so it can be moved or removed if need be), and voilà! A lovely portrait!

—

I hope you found this tutorial helpful! If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them in the notes or message me! If you’d like to chat about art, (or anything really) my ask box and messages are always open to new friends!

[whoacanada]

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

____________

____________

Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

____________

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

___________

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game —  he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

________

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively —  defensively —  as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily —  burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.  

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

__________

[sakiyo]

━ # ONE A.M EYELINER | suna rintaro

+ pairings: suna rintaro/reader

+ tags: best friends 2 lovers, suna being a pretty mf, mutual pining, uni!au.

+ warnings: none

+ word count: 2.2k

+ summary: suna rintaro has never let you do his eyeliner, simply because he’s afraid to let you get too close.

+ listening to: FLESH by miguel & A Warm Touch of Light by Isabella LeVan

+ note: nothing but me rambling on about how pretty suna’s eyes are and how they’re pretty enough to deserve a whole fic dedicated to them. dedicated to my dom @kiyoomae​ i hope you enjoy babe because i finished this shitty fic for you <3.

“i could get hypothermia if i go out there, you know.”

working with suna always ended up the same way, there was no doubt about it. by the time that the clock plastered on your wall hit twelve-forty five a.m, the project was finished, but completely half assed as a result of neither of you paying enough attention during lectures to actually know what to do. yet, somehow, the same desultory assignment would always receive an undeserving ‘A-plus’. mostly because your professor never cared to actually observe the material, as long as it was in, it was good enough for him. [but you would grade it a solid 64 percent]

there's one variable that’s different today; it’s raining. it’s one a.m and it’s raining, and suna decided that it would be a sublime idea to walk to your apartment today, of all days. [as much as you encourage him to do so, he still never checks the weather]. the disruption in your routine was anything but an easy adjustment. and as much as you wanted to kick him out, the rain was growing heavier and heavier and—

“okay fine! you can crash for the night!” 

he smiled, unaware of the fact that you would have said yes to him either way.

+++

you can’t help but notice that suna has pretty eyes.

honestly, you picked up on his bizarrely unique vulpine-like eyes years ago, when you had first met him. but now, as you sit on the couch that occupies the majority of your compact living room, you’re drawn back to them.

its an odd thought to think about your best friend at one in the morning. 

but...he’s admittedly pretty.

you think back to a random fact you learned in the biology course you took in your third year of highschool; you grow into your eyes. never in your life did you believe that such a miniscule piece of information would find its way back into your mind two years later, and because of suna no less.

it’s one a.m and your legs are situated in his lap, his fingers deftly toying with the tip of the anklet he bought you for your sixteenth birthday [he doesn’t believe that you still wear it, even after all the passed time], 

but you’re still fixated on his eyes.

if it was even possible, the creases accented them further, like each line was strategically placed to lure one’s undivided attention to them. it’s funny though, because suna was never fond of attention. [which was also why seven year old rin never took a liking to overly-exertive you.

you still share a laugh with him thinking back to your rock hard resolve as a child and his burning desire to stay away from you. 

it’s funny how easily time changes things.]

you almost feel like you’re dreaming as you watch his eyelids ghost over, his glassy skin reflecting the coral tint of the cheap ceiling light. but you’re not dreaming, he’s right there, in all his ignorant glory. suna doesn’t notice your residual gaze, he’s fixated on the ‘NBA playoffs highlights’ video streaming on his instagram feed. yet you feel creepy, overanalyzing him like this.

but you allow your mind to wander, just a bit.

“hey, rintaro?” you lightly dig your heel into his thigh. 

it’s merely a sporadic case of wishful thinking. you’ve known suna rintaro for many years, which was more than enough time to figure out his complex personality.

and if there’s one thing he never allowed you to do, it was his eyeliner.

six times. 

you had asked to apply the liquid to his eyes six times, and each time you had received the same answer. a simple no. he doesn’t say ‘no’ with malice, though. no...the last thing he would want is you thinking that he just hated you enough to constantly reject your proposals.

suna hums quietly, shifting to meet your gaze. “yeah?” 

he still thinks you haven’t caught on, but you picked up on his tendency to immediately drop his phone in a reflex to hearing your voice a while back— you like it.

“do you think,” you shift your legs from the comfort of his lap and move your body closer to him, “i could do your eyeliner?”

your question doesn’t register.

instead, suna’s hyper fixated on the inching proximity between you two— he doesn’t like it. it’s one a.m and you’re moving one couch cushion closer, your knee is brushing against his thigh, has your skin always been this cold? he can barely focus, but he still hears the droplets of rain assaulting the window and roofs, they’re getting louder and louder and—

“suna? did you hear me?” your voice is accompanied with slight confusion. 

you narrow your eyes as he blinks out of his trance. you’re not shocked though— his tendencies to space out were never limited to lectures alone. “wha?”

your shoulder rests against his, and he swears he feels his heart cease its rhythmic palpitations for a fraction of a second.

[no you idiot, that’s just your regular heartbeat.]

there’s apprehension in your voice, “can i...do your eyeliner…?” suna is a relatively simple man, the worst he can say is no, but you want a yes this time around. 

“i’ve already said—” 

suna’s breath hitches, as if his words are lodged at the back of his throat. your fingers grip onto the peak of his broad shoulders. [you’d rather die than admit it, but you always loved when he’d roll them back and inconspicuously stretch his neck]

suna stares at you squarely in the face. he can feel the outline of your fingernails lightly tacking into his skin. shit, he’s dreaming. his eyes shift around the room, it’s still one a.m, and he can’t get any words out of his mouth.

speak, speak, SPEAK—

you beat him to it.

“before you say no!” your voice rises as you try to appeal. “i’m letting you crash at my place for the night, i deserve a payment.” your words come out as more of a jumbled mess than a proper sentence. subconsciously, you take your bottom lip between your thumb and index fingers, biting it every now and then. suna lifts a brow at your familiar mannerisms— he likes to think he knows you better than anyone else, and he knows that you toy with your bottom lip before taking a test, receiving a report card, or going in for a job interview.

are you nervous?

he sighs.

“fine…” he whispers softly. suna doesn’t exactly know if he should regret agreeing to your question, but he doesn’t miss the way your eyes visibly light up when he does.

you look pretty. 

+++

he regrets it.

it’s one a.m and you’re situated on his lap, straddling him innocently as you dab the brush into the bottle of ebony ink. suna can’t help but feel like a putty in your hands, the same ones that gently grip his jaw to hold it in place. 

he’s still not sure how old he was when your touches started to feel like fire.

suna feels trapped, he IS trapped. between your legs, between your soft body and the tender cushion, between the thin line of friendship and-

he should stop.

[he still can’t believe he’s doing this]

“would you like thin, or thick eyeliner, rin?”

has his name always rolled off your tongue so effortlessly?

“thin, like yours.”

you hum with content, looking him over with a small smile etched onto your face. he doesn’t understand how you can keep eye contact with him so easily, especially while you’re moving closer and closer to his chest. 

he holds his breath as you exhale. he can still smell the lingering scent of peppermint from the gum you were chewing minutes before– usually he can’t stand it, but right now it feels like home. suna knows his eyes shouldn’t be trailing down to your cherry balm stained lips, and he knows that his chest shouldn’t swell at the sight of you wearing his old bleach stained t-shirt that stretched past your shorts.

suna knows that he’s not supposed to see his best friend in that light; so why is it all that he can think about?

“close your eyes for me please?”

he really doesn’t want to, afraid that if he opens them back up again, you’ll be gone and he’ll be in his bed [he still believes that he’s dreaming]. but he knows that he’d rather dance with the devil [the twins] than say no to you, so he complies.

you hum a light tune to yourself as you bring the fine-tipped brush to the edge of his eye. as the pen glides across his skin, suna can’t help but flinch at the intrusive feeling. instinctively, his hand darts up to hold your wrist, stopping you from drawing any further.

“that feels weird.” he can’t see, but he can feel the smile tugging at your lips.

“you’ll get used to it in a bit, rin.”

it’s weird, best friends don’t usually sit in each other’s lap with less than five inches of breathing room between each other. what if he were to do this with one of the twins–

that’s a disturbing thought. he immediately forgets about it. he shifts in discomfort mid-stroke, making your hand slip.

you groan in frustration; it’s at times like this that you can’t stand suna.

“stop moving! you made it smudge!” you lightly smack his chest [though, it’s just a pitiful excuse to touch him].

“sorry, sorry.” your giggles die down as you clean up the line, and suna quickly goes back to overthinking. 

tik

the rain is still pouring.

tok

he counts that you breathe twice every ten seconds.

tik

you’re getting closer to his chest. 

tok

he can still smell the leftover pizza on the coffee table from today’s takeout.

tik

the gel feels kind of nice now.

tok

its one a.m and suna’s falling in love with–

“earth to suna?” you huff as you lightly tap his shoulder, “don’t tell me that you’ve fallen asleep on me.” it’s quite funny to him when you say that; you’re actually what keeps him up at night.

you lean back as he opens his eyes, looking at the eyeliner from afar. you can’t help but get a bit jealous– even without trying, suna had always managed to look perfect. 

you’re so caught up that you don’t notice yourself starting to slip.

“watch out.” his hand slips around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

it’s one a.m and your hands are back on his shoulders. you know that your eyes shouldn’t be on his slightly chapped lips, and you know that you shouldn’t want to throw the hoodie adorning his body somewhere across the room. 

inhale

his hands are still around your waist.

exhale 

you watch as his tongue ghosts over his lips to wet them.

inhale 

you can smell the residual scent of the same cinnamon cologne you got him for a ‘secret santa’ event between your friend group.

exhale 

sometimes, you forget that you’re just friends.

inhale

has suna always been this attractive?

exhale 

the tipped over bottle of eyeliner is spilling onto your clothes.

inhale 

how would his lips feel against–

“wanna kiss you.” the hesitation in suna’s voice is clear. he knows better than anyone that best friends shouldn’t want to kiss each other. his heart is racing. when your eyes widen in surprise he wants nothing more than to push you off of him and leave without saying goodbye– but he’s already said it. 

“w-what?” you stutter out. you can’t help but wonder if you’re dreaming. you want to pinch yourself, but if it is a dream, the last thing you’d want is to wake up.

“i want to kiss you. will you let me?” he says, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

little does he know that you want more; to touch him, taste him, love him–

you take the easy way out instead, “yeah...alright.”

he moves a stray strand of hair away from your face, is he doing this right? You move in closer, eyes slowly fluttering shut, but suna’s gaze still lingers on you. he thinks you look even more beautiful than before [he didn’t think it was possible]. It’s one a.m and he’s about to kiss the person of his dreams. 

shit. he should close his eyes.

the journey seems like forever, but you both finally feel each other.

no, his lips don’t ghost over yours.

they press together, full of pent up passion. it’s hot, too hot for even best friends. 

can you even call each other that anymore?

not with the way his hands claw at the tip of your shirt in a futile attempt of pulling you closer to him, not with the way you gather tufts of his hair in your hands, and certainly not at the way you both feel at home like this. you both can taste every last inch of each other. 

he swears that he hates peppermint, but he’s drunk on the taste of it on your tongue. 

you’re meant to be nothing more than childhood best friends, but you want more and more and MORE.

this shouldn’t be happening, but he wants more and more and MORE–

you both break for air after an eternity, pulling away with heat-flushed faces, heaving chests, and swollen lips. he rests his forehead against yours, peppering ghost-kisses between breaths that tickle your skin. 

“i’m not supposed to love you, but i do.”

it’s two a.m, and two best friends are melting into each other. 

they’re unaware that the rain has stopped. 

[cjfritos]

In Dreams Begin (Jessa wedding story)

Obviously written by Cassandra Clare. I own no rights to this. This was included in first editions of The Lost Book of the White by her and Wesley Chu. It tells the story of Jem Carstairs and Tessa Gray’s wedding and explains why no one remembers it.

Unfortunately it does include some spoilers from LBW so if you have not read it yet, I don’t recommend reading it. Otherwise, enjoy :)

~~~

Magnus Bane was scheming.

         To an untrained observer, the High Warlock of Brooklyn wouldn’t look like he was doing much of anything at all. For one thing, he was wearing purple silk pajamas. For another thing, he was in bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows with a spell book open in his lap.

         Beside him, Alec Lightwood was stretched out on his side, deeply asleep. Earlier that day, Alec had taken their son, Max, to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. This had been at Magnus’s request—he wanted Max to have ample opportunity to tire himself out before bedtime. It worked almost too well. Max had made fast friends with a werewolf toddler named Eliza, and the two of them tore around the gardens blissfully for about three hours straight, Max crawling while Eliza ran, albeit unsteadily. Eliza’s mother had been quite surprised the first time Max levitated. Luckily, he was glamoured so only she and Alec noticed.

         Though not possessed of much vocabulary, Eliza clearly wanted Max to levitate her as well. Fortunately, Max did not yet have that sort of skill. Alec and Max returned home happy, covered in mud, and—best of all—exhausted. Magnus really wanted them all to sleep through the night.

         Magnus shifted position and peered across the room at the mantel clock atop the dresser, a hideous thing covered in putti that Ragnor had given him years ago. The room was lit only by a candle that burned with a blue flame on the table beside him, but he could make out the numbers. It was one forty-five a.m. Surely that was late enough. Surely even the Shadowhunters and Downworlders of the West Coast would be turning in. He’d given Catarina and Jem and Tessa a heads-up, after all, and as for the Blackthorns and Emma Carstairs, they were kids! And not even babies, with their bizarre and erratic relationship to sleep. Surely the would be asleep by now, worn out from running around on the beach or whatever it was that the residents of the Los Angeles Institute did all day. Yes, it was time.

         Snuggling a little farther under the blanket, Magnus looked fondly over at Alec’s sleeping form, his black hair like spilled ink across the ivory pillowcase. He closed his book and set it on the bedside table. He mentally reached within, feeling about for a particular pocket of magic folded away deep inside, a self-contained bubble. I had been two weeks since he’d been freed from the influence of the Svefnthorn, and while the markings on his skin had faded, his teeth had shrunk back to their normal size, and the overcharged magic of the artifact had left his system, this one reserve of magical energy had lingered.

         At first, Magnus had considered hanging on to it as a sort of insurance policy. A little extra magic went a long way, especially when the magic was this potent, and Magnus was quite certain that he and Alec and their friends would have plenty more dangers to face in the years to come. That was their job, after all. But clinging to the magic out of fear of imagined dangers didn’t feel good. It felt like letting demons have a small victory over him, playing right into their scaly, demonic hands. No, instead he had resolved to use the power in a decidedly un-demon-sanctioned manner—to create joy.

         Magnus shut his eyes. Oneiromancy, the study and practice of dream magic, had never been one of his specialties. But with the added kernel of power from the Sveftnthorn, he felt quite confident that he could pull of this one feat, even as complex as it was. The trickiest part, it seemed to him, was holding himself in that drowsy state between waking and sleeping, while maintaining enough awareness to cast the spell. He lay back against the pillows, letting his eyelids flutter shut for just a moment….

~~~

When Magnus opened his eyes again, he was standing in the middle of Blackfriars Bridge, the panorama of London spread out around him in all directions.

         He took a deep breath of river-tasting air. The sky was a dark violet, the sun only just beginning to rise. There was no traffic, which was a distinct advantage to throwing a party on a dream bridge rather than on the real thing. There was a warm breeze in the air, and the Thames danced beneath it, silvery in the dawn light. Had he ever noticed wind in a dream before? Magnus wasn’t sure. He admired the view from the bridge—it seemed just about right, though he hadn’t been here for a couple decades. Perhaps some ugly new construction had taken place since then, but who would fault him for omitting that?

         “Magnus!”

         He turned and saw two figures hurrying toward him. It was Tessa and Jem, both in what Magnus assumed was their pajamas. Tessa’s were gray with white rabbits on them. Jem’s were dark-green-and-navy-blue plaid. They were barefoot, but that wouldn’t matter on a dream bridge. He started to smile as they got closer and he could see that they were both giddy and laughing, a hint of disbelief on their faces.

         Tessa threw her arms around him, knocking him off-balance. He marveled at how solid and real she felt.

         “It’s working!” she said in wonder.

         “A magical discipline unexplored is always worth exploring,” Magnus said, stepping back. “I may be late to the game with oreiromancy, but I plan to make up for my tardiness all at once, right now. Is that what your planning to wear to your wedding?”

         “It’s not traditional, but neither was the yellow cotton shirt dress I wore for the courthouse wedding. And I do love bunnies,” said Tessa. “I’m all right with it if Jem is.”

         “I would marry you if you were wearing a barrel,” said Jem.

         “But why would I be wearing a barrel?” said Tessa.

         They were both grinning at each other stupidly. Magnus decided something needed to be done; he wasn’t sure how long his magic would hold out.

         “I won’t have it!” he said. “If I’m to throw you a dream wedding, you must be properly dressed for the occasion. It’s in my contract. I do hope you read the fine print.”

         He snapped his fingers, and Jem’s pajamas were replaced by an exquisitely cut black suit. Magnus aimed for something that suggested the style of the Shadowhunter gear Jem had worn long ago, in the first years he knew Tessa. Wedding runes were intricately embroidered on the lapels in gold thread. As Jem marveled at the excellent fit, Magnus turned his attention to Tessa.

         “I know,” he said, “a wedding dress is a highly personal choice. But as our other guests will be arriving momentarily, and time is of the essence, I’m going to take a stab at it.”

         “You have my express permission,” Tessa said.

         Magnus snapped his fingers again, and the Tessa was wearing a beautiful sleeveless gown of pale silver, with a full skirt that reminded Magnus of the first time he’d met her, at a vampire ball. A couple more flicks of his fingers, and her hair rearranged itself beautifully into an updo, with a few tendrils loose around her face. One more gesture, and Tessa’s familiar jade pendant appeared around her neck—as did the pearl bracelet she always wore, a gift from Will on their thirtieth anniversary.

         Tessa looked startled, reaching up to touch her hair, then brushing her hands over the gown. “How do I look?”

         Jem looked very young again as he gazed at her, his dark eyes full of emotion. “Ni hen piao liang,” he whispered. You are very beautiful.

         Magnus turned away to give them a moment—and felt familiar arms close around him.

         Alec kissed Magnus on his forehead—being slightly shorter than Magnus, he had to pull Magnus down a bit to do it, which Magnus didn’t mind at all—and muttered, “You’re a sentimental bastard, aren’t you?” in his ear.

         But he was grinning all over his face as he turned to greet Tessa and Jem, congratulating them. They both looked delighted to see him.

         “So let me get this straight,” Alec said. “You, me, Tessa, and Jem will all remember this with perfect recall. For the other guests, they’ll remember it at first, but then it will fade away, the way dreams do?”

         “That is correct. They won’t recall it the way we will, but their souls will be present, and glad for it. Well, mostly glad for it,” Magnus said.

         “What do you mean, ‘mostly’?” Jem said nervously.

         “I mean that I’m not sure how Church will feel about the whole thing.”

         “Church!” Alec and Jem exclaimed at the same time, and turned to see the grumpy Persian cat sauntering toward them down the center of the bridge.

         Tessa laughed. “Well, he does sleep twenty hours a day. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.”

         “I took the liberty of adding him to the guest list you gave me,” Magnus said. “I’m trying to get on his good side.”

         “Why?” Alec asked, incredulous. “He’s a cat.”

         “So he won’t hate me forever when I do this.” Magnus snapped his fingers, and a silver bow in the same fabric as Tessa’s dress appeared around Church’s neck. Church’s eyes widened for a moment. Then he sat down, and after a moment, became very focused on cleaning his front paw.

         “Now,” Magnus said, “I simply must get this bridge decorated.”

         “It’s decorated perfectly,” said a voice from behind him. Turning, he saw Clary, who was holding Max. Behind her was Jace, followed by Isabelle and Simon, who were leaning together, whispering conspiratorially. Jocelyn and Luke were there, looking slightly unkempt, and Magnus remembered that they were in the process of remodeling a barn at Luke’s farm so Jocelyn could expand her painting studio. Ragnor and Catarina had also appeared, as well as a whole gaggle of kids—the Blackthorn clan. Julian and Helen, Tiberius and Livia, Drusilla and Octavian. Emma Carstairs was with them, though she broke away from the group immediately, running to hug Clary. They were the same height now, Magnus noticed with amusement. Max had escaped from Clary and was riding on Alec’s shoulders now, babbling a story to Helen Blackthorn and her wife, Aline. They looked very amused, though it was unlikely they understood even a quarter of what he said.

         Maryse and Kadir were there too, already deep in conversation with Jocelyn and Luke. Kadir hadn’t been on the guest list Jem and Tessa had given Magnus, because they didn’t really know him, but Magnus had added him as Maryse’s plus-one. It never hurt to butter up your boyfriend’s mother, especially when she was willing to babysit for days at a time.

         A couple Silent Brothers had appeared—Enoch? Shadrach? Magnus was slightly embarrassed to admit that they all looked alike to him, now that Jem was no longer counted among their number as Brother Zachariah. Magnus hadn’t known if the Gregori would be able to attend, since they didn’t normally sleep. One of them—Enoch?—inclined his hooded head slightly at Magnus, acknowledging this mad thing he was doing as worthwhile. At least that was how Magnus chose to interpret the gesture.

         Octavian was climbing Jace like a jungle gym. Clary was talking with Julian and Emma, while Tiberius stood near his older brother, looking around at London with fierce curiosity in his gray eyes. Livia and Drusilla were perched on the railing of the bridge, Livia chatting animatedly with Simon and Isabelle, Drusilla looking around shyly. Catarina went to lean beside her, asking her a question. Magnus looked at the motley assortment of clothing on the assembled group. Mostly casual, though there were more pajamas as well. Magnus made two sweeping gestures, and all at once everyone was looking very sharp in formal attire. Even better, they barely seemed to notice the change. Magnus was impressed. Oneiromancy—who knew!

         A hand gripped his arm. It was Tessa, who looked close to tears. “Magnus. I can’t believe you’re doing this for us. I…” She trailed off, at a loss for words.

         Magnus regarded her fondle. “Tessa, most people’s idea of a dream wedding is not a literal dream wedding. But since yours is, I am happy to oblige. Shall we get this show on the road?”

         Jem and Tessa took their places on either side of Magnus, and the guests gathered around. The sun had climbed well above the horizon, casting rays of warm light between the long shadows of the wedding guests.

         “Dear friends,” Magnus said to Jem and Tessa, “we are honored to share this moment with you, and I am doubly honored to be given the chance to speak. Several hundred years ago I got very drunk and woke up as ordained minister. Today I have decided that doing so was a wise choice after all.”

         Jocelyn snorted, then looked embarrassed. Luke grinned at her.

         “Joking aside, it is impossible to stand here with you all and not feel that there is some greater plan at work, some greater force that has brought these two souls across more than a century to be joined as one.”

         Clary’s eyes were glistening. Jace reached into his pocket and offered her what looked like a handkerchief but was more likely a soft cloth for polishing blades. She gave a wry smile of recognition, and sniffled into it.

         “I debated which customs to follow in officiating this wedding,” Magnus went on. “Whether to conduct a Shadowhunter ceremony, or a warlock ceremony, or even a mundane ceremony, for many worlds have been united in the two of you. But none of these traditions seemed quite appropriate on their own. So I’ve attempted to tailor a ceremony that will honor your unique paths.”

         Magnus nodded to Jem, who reached into his pocket and produced a gold ring. Jem had requested a single word etched around the outside of it: Mizpah.

         “It has been said,” said Magnus, “that when two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze. Theresa Gray, are you at one with James Carstairs in your inmost heart?”

         Tessa’s eyes were wide, her face serious as she gazed at Jem. “I am,” she said, offering her hand to him. He slid the ring onto her finger.

         The Magnus nodded at Tessa, who produced another ring, this one from thin air. Magnus had to suppress the grin that threatened to break his calm officiant expression. It delighted him that Tessa was engaging in a small amount of oneiromancy herself, and Jem looked as pleased by it as Magnus felt. This ring was the exact match of the first, and he knew what it said as well: May the Angel watch between me and thee when we are absent from one another.

         “James Carstairs—Ke Jian Ming—are you at one with Theresa Gray in your inmost heart?”

         “I am,” Jem said, delight visible in his dark eyes. Tessa put the ring on him, and they stood for a moment, holding hands and smiling at each other like they couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

         “For I am persuaded,” said Magnus, and Jem and Tessa both looked up at him, recognizing a piece of the old Shadowhunter wedding ceremony, though he had altered the wording, “that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate these two.” He stretched out his arms. “Therefore I am overjoyed to declare this marriage consecrated, here in the presence of your friends and family. Tessa Gray and Jem Carstairs, you are married, and the world is better for it. You may kiss each other, not that you really need my permission.”

         The assembled crowd cheered as Jem and Tessa kissed, a kiss that had been long delayed. The kiss continued, and Magnus slowly backed away, joining the cheering audience. “Let’s give them a moment,” he said, and happy chatter swelled around him.

         Magnus noted that Alec was looking very foxy in his Armani suit, laughing with Maryse. Ragnor and Catarina were cackling over something, glad to be reunited now that Ragnor didn’t have to pretend to be dead—or at least, didn’t have to pretend with them. Clary had her arm draped over Emma’s shoulders, and Jace was arguing with Simon about how to properly tie a necktie. Tiberius and Drusilla were watching this argument as though it were a tennis match. Julian had lifted Octavian up so he could look down at the river flowing by beneath. Isabelle was joking with Livia, who was giving Max a piggyback ride. It was a miraculously good wedding.

         Here they were, his friends. They’d literally gone into Hell twice with him now. He found himself reflecting on how much had changed. At first his life had felt like Magnus against the world. Then for years and years it had been Magnus, Catarina, and Ragnor against the world. Now his community was a much larger group, one that had spread wide enough that instead of Magnus and his friends against the world, it felt like Magnus and his friends, a part of the world. Probably the best part of the world.

         It was a good feeling.

         “Look!” a girl’s voice cried. It was Drusilla, pointing up into the sky, eyes wide with wonder. There was a collective gasp as the crowd saw what she had spotted. Two figures flew overhead, riding a translucent white stallion with two gold hooves and two silver. One of them was a blond boy in ragged clothes, who looked down at the Blackthorns and waved. The figure in front of him was harder to make out—a gentry faerie in clothes just as ragged, only he was as translucent as the horse. The blond boy must be Mark Blackthorn, Magnus marveled. He’d “invited” the whole family, not knowing whether those who rode with the Wild Hunt could be summoned by dream magic. He had his answer, but it came with another mystery. Who was this companion, so close to Mark that they would appear together in a dream?

         The riders made a circle overhead, while the Blackthorns shouted and waved, and Mark waved back, smiling an odd smile down at them. Then they faded away into the morning air.

         Magnus saw with relief that Jace, Clary, Simon, Isabelle, and Alec had all move in around the Blackthorn kids, giving them an opportunity to talk about what they had just seen—their stolen brother, visiting so briefly.

         He glanced over and saw Tessa and Jem still standing by the railing. There was a shimmer beside them, at the edge of the bridge, and the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck rose.

         He knew Will Herondale had never haunted the moral world, because he had lived and died happily and had no unfinished business among the living. While Magnus didn’t subscribe to any specific set of beliefs about reincarnation or the afterlife, he had always had a strong sense that Will was waiting on the other bank of a dark river—be it Lethe, or some other border between the living and the dead. He was there among the green grass, the sky above as dark a blue as his eyes, waiting patiently for Jem and Tessa to join him, that he might lead them by the hand to whatever wonders lay beyond the veil.

         The philosophers of ancient Greece had believed dreams and sleep to be the twin of death: Morpheus and Hades, standing side by side. And here, in that space, Magnus would not have been surprised if Will stretched out his hand to those he had loved best in life—to Jem and Tessa.

         He was, after all, a Herondale, and very stubborn.

         Alec sidled up to Magnus, leaving the Blackthorns in the capable hands of his siblings and their partners. The kids seemed to have taken Mark’s appearance as a sort of wedding favor created especially for them.

         Alec twinned an arm around Magnus’s waist and pulled him close, kissing him on the temple. “It was very kind of you to use the last of your Svefnthorn magic on this,” he said.

         Magnus leaned into Alec. “Well, it wasn’t enough magic to send us to the moon, or get us into the front row at the Alexander McQueen runway. So I figured, next best thing.”

         Alec smiled at him pointedly. “Actually, I happen to know that you did it because you are an incredibly kind person, and that is one of the many things I love about you.”

         “Oh dear,” Magnus said, turning to face him. “You know all my secrets.”

         Then they were kissing, and kissing in a magical dream turned out to be just as perfect as kissing in the waking world.

[doublekrecs]

ethanol (k. tetsuro)

ethanol (k. tetsuro)

synopsis: your lab partner in chem is annoying.

word count: 4.2 k

college!au, barista!akaashi, e2l, mean!kuroo, meg thee stallion stan!atsumu fem!reader

warnings: a lil angsty, swearing, nsfw, smut, some semi x reader smut, fingering, oral, face sitting, drunk sex, drinking, mentions of weed, degradation, hate sex??, unprotected sex, overstimulation, a lil breathplay?

walking into a stem class, especially chemistry, you expected at least a few girls to be in there with a male majority. it’s not that you didn’t get along with boys, in fact, your best friends were men themselves. but being a girl in a science class meant constantly being talked down upon, sometimes sexualized by some weird ass incels.

so when you walked into your small class as the only girl who knew no one with nowhere to sit, you settled for the next best thing: sitting next to a guy who had seemingly okay vibes. and you spotted exactly that. you couldn’t deny that he was kind of hot, a little rugged looking with his messy rooster hair. though he was only sitting down, you were also able to tell he had some height on him.

you took your seat next to him and waited in silence for the professor to start the class. this class is only a semester long. this repeated in your head like a mantra. one semester. one semester. and it’s next to a seemingly normal hot guy. you could do this. as the professor got right into the topic, you got to work right away. notes were scribbled, important topics were highlighted, your focus completely spent on the class.

“god, your perfume reeks. what did you do? dump the whole bottle?”

you looked to your left. gears were turning in your head and you felt yourself tense at the sound of his first spoken words. are you fucking serious? yeah, you liked your vanilla scented perfume. bokuto did, too. hinata loved it. akaashi was indifferent, but he never said anything negative. one semester, you repeated to yourself. one semester.

“your hair looks like absolute shit, but you don’t see me complaining about it.”

and that was your first impression of kuroo tetsuro, your lab partner. a complete asshole.

-

“and he fucking asked me if i dumped a bottle of perfume on myself! i’m not going to survive this semester with this rooster bitch.”

you sighed loudly and turned to bokuto and hinata who listened intently. while you came down from your red, hot anger, the faces of these two angels helped you feel good again.

“i’m sorry, (y/n), but there’s this one guy in my math class you might get along with. he said he was taking the same chem class, so just tell me when you need help,” bokuto responded, putting his arm around you, “but for now, it’s dinner time.”

“from where?”

“osamu. hinata won a bet against atsumu and now we have free onigiris.”

hinata snickered in the kitchen while akaashi typed away on his laptop. your roommates really were the sweetest.

-

for the next two weeks, the class slowly started more and more labs. you and kuroo mostly stayed silent unless you needed to talk about what to do with various liquids or what solid formed from what. it was okay like this. he was tolerable, except when-

“you’re off by one mililliter.”

“what?”

“you heard me, you’re off by a milliliter.”

you turned to kuroo and your sight is met with his usual stoic expression, “does it even matter? this is a huge beaker and one milliliter is like nothing compared to the rest of the solution.”

“you want to get consistent results, don’t you? so stop being sloppy or else we’re both going to fail this class. you can’t treat this class like the way you treat your perfume.”

shock took over, then boiling anger.

“sloppy? you come here looking like a fucking rooster.”

“what do you mean?”

“have you brushed your fucking hair in the last 3 years? have you looked in the mirror?”

just one semester. one semester.

you calmly composed yourself, remembering that bokuto and hinata had planned a movie night. you can get through this stupid class period. -

“and he lost his shit over one fucking milliliter! can you believe it?”

akaashi listened as he poured the milk into your coffee. you always liked to visit the cafe during the slow hours to check up on your roomie. plus, the quiet atmosphere, the smell of pastries, and akaashi’s pretty face was the perfect setting for ranting about your stupid fucking lab partner.

“i don’t know, (y/n). he’s a bit of an asshole, but maybe he’s just meticulous. it could be a good thing, you know.”

“metic-a-what? i need you to translate your big boy vocabulary, kaash.”

“you know i hate that nickname.”

“yet you have no problem when bokuto calls you that. you’re warming up.” he sighed in response while you gave a toothy grin back up at him.

“you got me there. but what i’m trying to say is that he pays attention to small details. he looks at little intricacies, especially in your assignments.”

“intri-ca-what?”

-

the next month of chem went by fast. you and kuroo had little snarky remarks here and there, but nothing too bad. he was just less of an asshole for right now.

you sat in your usual spot with the same scent of vanilla lingering on you since the first day of school. the class period went by with the usual routine: notebook? check. pen? check. highlighters? check. asshole lab partner? check. until halfway through the lecture-

“shit.” the highlighter ink was running low, your notes were getting less and less vibrant. while you knew highlighting signified some kind of shallow understanding of the subject, color coding helped you organize your thoughts.

you made a note to yourself to buy a new pack the next day.

but then the next day came and there was already a new one at your desk. midliners, in fact, the ones with prettier colors. the ones that were slightly more expensive than your usual ones with a post it note that read your name on it. you had no problem with accepting this anonymous gift, picking it up with admiration shining in your eyes. now you can continue class with your usual routine: notebook? check. pen? check. highlighters? check. asshole lab partner? check.

-

“so no one was going to tell us that we were going to throw a party tonight?”

akaashi spoke sternly to the two children on the couch while you prepared some snacks. for a party. that you discovered was happening tonight. ten minutes ago.

“aghaaashi, we haven’t thrown one in awhile. plus, it’s been awhile since all of us drank together.” bokuto whined. hinata had his full puppy dog eyes on as if he was a little boy begging their dad for a puppy.

“fine. but if anyone throws up, you guys are the ones cleaning the bathroom.”

while akaashi turned around, the children celebrated by excitedly putting out their drinks. this was going to be a long night.

-

there’s some whores in this house. there’s some whores in this house. there’s some whores in this house.

dim lights? check. henny and sprite? check. meg thee stallion? check. the basic tools necessary for a fun night.

tsumu drunkenly held onto you as if you were some kind of pillar. who knew it only took a few shots for such a big man to lose his ability to walk straight?

“(y/n)!!! wap is playing!!!”

“i know, baby, it’s your song!!”

“i know damn well flattykawa isn’t stealing the fucking show!! hold my drink, babe.”

that’s when you kissed his cheek good luck and your buddy disappeared onto the dance floor. and your eyes were met with the sight of a pretty boy staring at you.

“kaashi, who’s that?” your roommate turned to you, the pretty boy, then back to you.

“semi eita. he was in one of my literature classes. he was also on the volleyball team at shiratorizawa in high school.”

“the one with big daddy ushiwaka?”

“yeah,” he grimaced, “he’s in a band now.”

“A BAND??”

“you know what? just remember to use protection-“

kaashi was interrupted by the sight of tsumu throwing it back to hinata. the tangerine haired child really was doing his best, but tsumu was a big man. although, he really did show oikawa up.

“shoyo is so small. is he going to be okay?”

“not my problem.”

your focus went back up to the blondish grey haired musician. ruffled hair, cuffed jeans, a loose shirt. semi eita. huh. you took your last sip and discarded the red solo cup. you took another peak at him. bedroom eyes.

“hey, (y/n), the guy in my math class just got here- oh.”

“i’m gonna have to meet him some other time, bokuto.”

kuroo poured himself another drink and immediately found bokuto full of energy and red faced from the alcohol. a hyena laugh filled the room at the sight of hinata and tsumu, until he scanned the rest of room and saw you. in the hallway. with some guy with grey hair. who you led to an empty room. his heart dropped a little, but he didn’t know why.

“hey, my roommate is kinda busy right now so i can’t really introduce you two,” bokuto apologized, “why do you look like that?”

“like what, owl head?”

“sad.” he spoke with concern.

“oh, i thought i saw this one girl from one of my classes. but it doesn’t matter. let’s go drink.”

-

not even ten minutes later, you were in your bedroom with the pretty grey haired musician, most of your clothes already on the floor. you straddled him and cupped his face as his lips met yours, then your neck, then your shoulder.

his fingers found their way into your panties, quickly finding your clit as he sucked the sweet spot on your neck.

“s-semi.” you whined, grinding on his hand.

“you wanna cum on my fingers first, babe?”

you nodded quickly, lips once again meeting his. he laid you down on your bed, head resting in the crook of your neck. you felt two fingers enter you as semi curled them, his thumb rubbing your clit. the pace was agonizingly slow, but the more vocal you were, the more he sped up.

“you’re so fucking wet, baby. you’re so fucking tight.” he mumbled in your ears.

his mouth made contact with your nipple, swirling his hot tongue over the hardened bud. his mouth continued to move south, eventually replacing his thumb. you felt his tongue circle your clit quickly as his fingers continued the assault on your g spot. you clenched around his fingers, letting out small whines as the coil in you began to tighten.

“i’m going to cum, semi.” you breathed out.

he let out a low groan of affirmation, “don’t hold back, then.” his fingers began to move faster, your g spot being hit even harder. his mouth was back on your clit, sucking the small nub harshly. your thighs began to shake as his fingers fucked you through your high.

he pulled his fingers and his mouth met yours once again, your teeth pulling on his bottom lip. his fingers were brought up to your lips and you sucked on them greedily. this was going to be one hell of a night.

-

the crackling sound of the oil filled your ears as akaashi cracked some eggs onto the pan. the smell of food and coffee drifted in the apartment. the morning after was always nice for you two since you guys rarely drank a ridiculous amount of alcohol. sure, you had to take out some trash and clean up here and there, but surprisingly, no one threw up last night.

“when do you think bokuto and hinata are going to wake up this time?” you asked sipping your coffee while akaashi added rice onto the pan.

“hinata’s awake, he just feels like shit. bokuto fell asleep in the bath tub, so you know the drill.”

you nodded, walking up to the fridge to make your classic hangover concoction. as if on cue, bokuto walked into the living room with his fingers pressed onto his temple and hair looking all sad.

“good morning, you baby.”

“you hooked up with semi, didn’t you?” bokuto responded with a smirk on his face.

“i did what?”

and that was the moment semi decided to emerge from your bedroom shamelessly. his hair was messy, his clothes were all disheveled, and the memories from last night hit you all at once. you didn’t even notice that he was sleeping next to you in your bed when you walked straight to the kitchen for breakfast.

“morning.” he smiled at you and gave you a peck on the cheek. bokuto snickered while akaashi was unphased by the interaction.

“morning.” you responded, your face getting hot as you recalled the events of last night. he was good. very good. you couldn’t deny the fact that he had some talented fingers. and a pretty good stroke game.

“you want any coffee?” akaashi offered, as semi headed towards the door.

“no, i’m good. i’m supposed to eat breakfast with wakatoshi.” he replied groggily. semi let out a yawn and bid bokuto and akaashi a farewell before he pulled you aside.

“thanks for last night. call me if you want to do it again some other time. or not.”

you nodded, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks as he left.

“(y/n), you fucking asshole!! you were supposed to get with the guy in my math class!! i knew him in high school he’s a big sweet nerd!” bokuto whined.

“yeah, yeah, i’ll meet him when there’s another party. me and semi were just a one time thing.” you brushed him off as you put all the ingredients in the blender for the hungover children.

-

“all of you are going to have to collaborate with your partner for this lab report.”

you threw your head back with a silent groan. this was going to be a long assignment. you looked to the asshole on your left. his face was expressionless as he looked back at you.

“i know you despise me, but we both want an A on this.”

you couldn’t disagree with him. he had become more tolerable the past few months, often lending you notes that you had missed with the addition of some snarky comment. plus, you often got good scores on your assignments, some of his insight being helpful. at this point, you had developed the habit of going to the cafe akaashi worked at after to rant. he would make you some coffee, lend you some advice, and calm you down as you ranted about your asshole lab partner. it was a whole routine.

“fine. the cafe after class. my friend works there and it isn’t too crowded.”

“okay.”

the rest of the class period went by in the blink of an eye and you finally found yourselves entering the small shop. the scent of coffee and pastries filled your nostrils and a sense of happiness and familiarity flowed through your veins.

“kuroo?” akaashi furrowed his eyebrows.

“kaaaashi!!” he responded excitedly, “i didn’t know you worked here.”

“well, i gotta make money somehow. plus, (y/n) here likes to snag some free coffee during my shifts.” akaashi narrowed his eyes at you.

“wait, you two know each other?” you asked. how did this asshole know your sweet, stoic roommate?

“our volleyball teams played a lot in high school. i used to practice with bokuto and akaashi. you’re their roommate?”

the barista nodded as he prepared your iced coffee, “i was just at your party a week ago. small world.”

kuroo looked at you and the puzzle pieces came together in his head. so this was the cute roommate bokuto boasted about. not bad.

“how do you two know each other?”

“he’s my lab partner.” you grumbled quietly.

“you wanna say that a little louder, sweetheart?”

you flinched at the nickname while kaashi tried his best to hide a smile. it was a small world indeed.

the next few hours were spent sitting across from kuroo, entering data, highlighting important results, interpreting the recorded numbers. it was plain busy work in a cafe, but it oddly felt warm. when it came to writing about applications, kuroo seemed a little better than just tolerable. you would have an idea and he wouldn’t shut it down. instead, he engaged in them and spoke with intent. you would make a small connection to an environmental solution and his face would light up and his eyes would widen in excitement. the input that followed was filled with insight and it almost felt like his heart would pour out. he really did live and breathe chemistry. it was nice to see someone just as passionate as you are.

the bell of the cafe rang signifying another customer. you instinctively looked up, your face immediately lighting up.

“tsum-tsum!!” you jumped excitedly, “i haven’t seen you since you threw back to hinata bokuto’s party!!”

“please do not remind me,” he said with a disappointed sigh, but quickly turned back to his trademark smirk, “but did i look better than flattykawa?” he asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“no.”

“wow, that was cold.”

while tsumu ordered his muffin, you let kuroo know that you were going to take a small ten minute break to catch up with tsumu to which he responded with a grumble.

you quickly got up and sat at another table with tsumu, quickly catching up about the past week and telling him all about kuroo.

“ooo (y/n), you wanna kiss him so bad? he probably wants it, too. i can feel his death glares.” tsumu said with a wide grin and raised eyebrows.

“what? no! that’s my asshole lab partner!” you whisper yelled back.

“whatever you say. the fact you two hate each other thickens the sexual tension, baby girl,” tsumu stood up and placed a kiss on your cheek, “remember to come to my volleyball game on friday, there’s gonna be a party at later that night. i’m sure bokuto told you already.”

you nodded and pulled him into a hug before he left.

“so miya atsumu, huh?” kuroo spoke up as you returned with your iced coffee.

“what about him?”

“you’re dating? i don’t see another reason to waste time that could be used on a project that’s worth a good chunk of our grade.” he replied snarkily.

“he’s a friend, i don’t see why you need to be a dick about me wanting to catch up with a friend.” your head hurt. fifteen minutes ago, he was sweet and insightful. but now, he was a cold asshole again. what the fuck was this guy’s problem?”

“well maybe you should stop slutting around with your ‘friends’ while we’re supposed to be working.” you scoffed. slutting around? is he fucking serious?

“i can’t believe i thought you were a sweet person for a few hours. i can’t stay here if i’m just going to get slut shamed for the rest of our work time. i’ll see you in class tomorrow, you fucking asshole.”

you got up and checked up on akaashi who was already clocking out. he was going to get an earful on the way home tonight.

-

“(y/n), you better not hook up with anyone tonight. you’re meeting my classmate tonight and i don’t want to have to tell him that you were ‘busy’ again.” bokuto pointed at you with a stern look on his face.

“yeah okay, ko.”

“good.”

you walked out to the living room with some light makeup and a skirt. hinata’s eyes lit up as he sped towards you. akaashi rolled his eyes while bo coughed.

“(y/n), you look so pretty!! when did you get that skirt? oh my!!” hinata poked and bombarded you with compliments and questions like the sweet child he is.

“(y/n), why are you wearing your horny stress outfit?” akaashi asked, glaring at the skirt.

“my what?”

“whenever you want to relieve some stress by hooking up with someone, you wear a skirt, dummy,” bo explained, “oh no. the victim better be my math buddy.”

you huffed. sure, they weren’t wrong, but still.

“is this about your lab partner?” akaashi questioned, pulling you aside from bokuto and shoyo.

“maybe,” you paused, “okay, yeah, but there’s been so much tension after that incident and i hate it. it’s stressing me out and the project is due in a few days. let me hook up with bo’s friend.”

“fine.”

-

dim lights? check. henny and sprite? check. meg thee stallion? check. the basic tools necessary for another fun night. now, you were just waiting for bo’s nerd friend to appear.

“tsum tsum!!” you yelled happily, immediately jumping into the arms of one of your best friends.

“i’m glad you made it, (y/n), i missed your ass,” he kissed your cheek, “so who’s the victim tonight?”

“bo’s friend if he’s into that. i’m supposed to be meeting him here.”

“ohhh, the nerdy one, right?”

you nodded while taking a sip of your drink. you already felt more relaxed from the environment of the party. plus, a faint scent of weed filled your nose. it was probably from suna.

“kuroo-san!!” bokuto called out. wait. did you hear him correctly?

“bokuto-san!!” oh, no.

“(y/n), come here! this is my friend from high school! the math one-”

you and kuroo stared at each other, his face expressionless, yours morphing into disbelief. everything bokuto said drowned in the background noise of the party. and suddenly, you connected the dots. oh shit.

“y-you!” you pointed at him, unable to form a full sentence.

“me?”

“yeah, you!”

bokuto paused and watched the scene happening in front of him, “you two know each other?”

“he’s my lab partner, you dumbass!” you yelled while bokuto’s hair spiked up in nervousness. he decided to slowly back away and find hinata before something happened to him.

you poured more henny into your red solo cup and prepared another drink for kuroo. yeah, he was an ass, but you might as well give him a chance to loosen up. maybe get an apology. you held out the cup to him and he muttered a small thank you.

“so,” he started, “our project is due in a few days.”

you sat down next to him while mindlessly playing with the ends of your skirt, “yeah, i guess.” you two sat in awkward silence for another minute.  

“look, asshole-”

“i was just about the apologize, but then you decided to bitch again-”

“you didn’t talk and i want to leave this situation immediately so i can go hook up with-”

“with semi? with atsumu? is that the reason you came?”

“you’ve been on my goddamn nerves lately, i think i’m allowed to sleep with whoever i want so that i can relieve some-”

you were cut off by a pair of soft lips on yours. maybe it was the alcohol, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. the taste of liquor and something sweet on his mouth was intoxicating and you wanted more of it. but you hated him. he was your asshole lab partner after all. but he was also an excellent kisser. kuroo pulled away quickly, but before he can say anything, you spoke.

“what the fuck was that, kuroo?”

“i don’t know, but do you want to do it again?”

“...yes.”

and so you both got up, drunkenly stumbling to a random room. you were immediately pushed onto a bed, kuroo sucking on the spot below your ear as he pinned your body down to the bed.

“you know, i fucking hate the smell of vanilla, but because of you, it’s become one of my favorite scents,” you blushed at the comment as he pulled down your underwear beneath your skirt, “lace, huh? were you planning to get laid?”

“you’ve been stressing me out, what do you fucking think?” you responded with an attitude.

he began rubbing your clit in small circles and you let out a small sigh of relief, “so, you’re a fucking brat, huh? is this how it’s going to go?”

“well, you’re a fucking asshole, so i don’t know how else you expected this to happen.” he pressed harder and quickened his pace as you mewled under him. he found the sweet spot on your neck and began to suck harshly. you felt two fingers enter you slowly while thumb continued the assault on your clit.

“f-faster, tetsuro,” you cried out as he sucked more hickies onto your neck. he curled his fingers and assaulted your g-spot harshly while you clenched on his fingers.

“you’re already close, i can tell,” and then he halted his movements, “but i don’t think you deserve to cum yet.” you whined.

and with that, he entered his fingers into your sensitive cunt once again, kissing his way down your body until he reached your clit which he greedily sucked. you let out small whimpers and moans and you swore you felt him smirk. then a sudden feeling of emptiness.

“fuck you!” you pushed kuroo off of you, getting on top and straddling his lap, “i’ll make myself cum.”

your lips met in a heated kiss and he groaned as you grinded on his clothed crotch, “you’re a fucking brat.”

“i don’t care. shut the fuck up and let me sit on your face.”

he brought your pussy up to his head and gripped your thighs ensuring that you would stay in place while you lifted up your skirt. you felt kitten licks on your clit which only made you go lower until you were able to feel more of his tongue. he licked a strip from your pussy back up to your nub, sucking it harshly. you let out another moan, gripping his hair which only egged him on. the wet muscle found its way into your pussy and fucked you deliciously.

“fuck, tetsu, i’m coming-”

with the sounds you made, your skirt, your tits, and the feeling of your pussy on his mouth, kuroo thought he was going to cream his pants. you shamelessly grinded on his face until the knot in your stomach became tighter and tighter until it eventually broke.

you removed yourself from his face and appreciated the image of your juices on his face, his thick lashes, and sharp cheekbones, until you snapped out of it and went to work on discarding his pants. slipping off his underwear, his cock sprang free. pre cum spilled from the pink tip. sucking a hickey on his inner thigh, you took his cock into your hand, slowly moving it up and down to agitate him as he thrusted into your fist. taking the tip in your mouth, you sucked gently until his hands found themselves tangling into your hair and pushed your head down until he hit the back of your throat.

“you look so good with your mouth stuffed full of my cock,” you sucked in your cheeks and he let out another groan, “who knew this was the way to get you to shut the fuck up.”

you could only moan at his response, sending vibrations down his dick. your head bobbed up and down until you pulled him out of your mouth. you smirked, drool and pre cum dripping down your chin, knowing you gave him a taste of his own medicine.

bringing up your lips to his ear, you spoke, “how does it feel now?”

he replied by pushing down onto the bed and pinning down your wrists. you could feel his tip rubbing your clit, “i was planning to cum in your pussy anyways, slut.”

you felt yourself get wetter at the sound of his voice until he swiftly pushed himself, instantly bottoming out. the stretch stung, but the mix of pleasure and pain had you wanting more. your skirt cinched around your waist, the sight making him even harder.

“fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he gave you another kiss before he pulled out all the way and snapped his hips back into you.

his mouth made it way onto your hardened nipple, swirling the bud with his tongue as he set a fast pace for his thrusts. you were vocal, whining every time he buried his cock inside of you. wanting you closer, kuroo harshly grabbed your ass and pulled your body into a new position that hit deeper into you.

“you’re a fucking slut, you know that?” his pace quickened. you were a babbling mess, your breasts bouncing and the knot in your stomach tightening. the sound of your moans and skin slapping against skin filled the room as you came closer to your high. his hand squeezed the sides of you neck firmly. the only thing you were able to feel was him.

“you think atsumu can fuck you like this?”

you were unable to respond coherently as he pounded harder into you, your legs wrapping his waist as you came again. he kept going.

“how about i make you cum again, brat?”

“i-i don’t think i can,” you whimpered.

“sure, you can,” he gripped your hips tighter, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. you felt completely spent, but he refused to quit. he brought his hand down to your clit, rubbing it harshly in fast circles and you felt your second high coming.

“f-fuck (y/n).” he let out a final groan as your pussy milked his cock while you saw stars.

kuroo laid on the bed while you two distanced yourselves. you didn’t know what to say, so you scanned your surroundings.

“shit.” you muttered. “what?”

“this is atsumu’s room.”

you both looked at each other for a few seconds before he let out a hyena laugh. you giggled along with him.

“how do you know?”

“i’ve been in here before. just didn’t quite register where we were. we could have fucked in a closet and i wouldn’t notice.” you answered in a light tone.

“so, you’ve been in atsumu’s room before?”

“i mean, yeah. to hang out and stuff,” you turned to him, “why do you care so much?”

“well i thought that reason was obvious considering we just had sex,” he grumbled, “now we’re three feet apart and everything feels awkward.”

“i mean i couldn’t tell if it was just sexual tension from hate or if you actually liked me. it’s kind of hard to tell considering other.. events?”

“well, i like you. i thought you were pretty ever since the first day i met you. i just didn’t know how to tell you so i insulted your perfume and gave you some highlighters,” he rubbed the back of neck, “sorry.” he added quietly.

“sorry,” he looked at you in shock, “for, uh, calling you an asshole, i guess.” you mumbled looking back at him.

“i’m also sorry for calling you a slut. i might have been a bit jealous when i saw you with atsumu. and semi that one night.” he awkwardly laughed and looked the opposite direction.

so he wasn’t good with his words. you scooted your body closer to him and wrapped your arms around him as you got into position to straddle his lap. your head rested on the crook of his neck and his breath hitched.

“don’t worry. you don’t have to say anything.” you kissed the spot below his ear and beamed at him when you pulled away. he swore his heart skipped a beat.

“why are you blushing?” you asked, smirking up at him.

“it’s the ethanol,” he said quickly attempting to hide his face by looking away, “you know how alcohol makes your face turn red and stuff.”

“is the alcohol also the only reason we just fucked?”

“n-no!”

“then do you want to go another round?” you asked innocently, grinding on him once again.

“ye-”

“(y/n)? what the fuck did you and rooster head do in my bed?”