#6 hours to draw this shit 😭

[romidoes]

‘thank you for letting me practice reanimation on you mick.’

‘yeah, no problem— are you sure this is how you’re supposed to do it?’

‘yes, that’s what it says on the book.’

‘and you’re going to do this shit on random ass dudes?’

‘if it’s needed to save their life, then yes.’

‘all its doing is giving me a boner.’

‘should i stop?’

‘that’s a stupid ass question, no.’

redraw of : ‘mouth to mouth’ , educational poster, 1911

[thedrotter]

not-yet-dead-person

silly comic of a conversation in-game i thought was too funny not to make something proper for instead of a doodle ww

(timelapse + wip images (thus silly process commentary in read more if you like artist commentary :3)

i think the sketch looks silly and goofy and funny so i find it important to share with you the mere presence of the faces i drew on it. i drew it on top of the boxes without staying inside its borders because i find my proportions can get wonky if i draw them cropped in a restricted space. and I feel trapped otherwise and i will draw BAD!!! give me spaceeeee to go wild!!!!

the head circles are there for emotional support

very low res speedpaint because truth is the canvas was much bigger than the space where my comic was placed. i didnt account when exporting my timelapse in 720px that that tiny space would look so pixelated ... but it's able to be percieved, so its okay.

(i will now comment on my process and it is not brief sorry)

usually i would try to clean up my sketches and figure out what goes on top before jumping into linework, but since there are multiple panels and drawings i chose to jump into inking right away for the sake of brevity. i just went in with a brush that uses pen pressure and drew what was needed. i added extra line thickness and contrast in areas around the face because it helps direct your eyes there more easily that way.

according to her equipment rei has a chain belt but i only remembered it existed once I was going to color, and i did not like that discovery... I chose to ignore it to maintain my peace. i already have the color palettes for these characters figured out, and i didnt really want to think about a new element at the moment www I tend to overthink those things a lot so i skipped it

the rest is rather straightforward! not that anything else wasn't, but in here i could turn my brain off and sing. linework and sketching require mumbling so i cannot turn my brain off. just block in the characters with a solid color so i can have a mask (something along those lines,) where the color can stay inside. then just color in !!!

Base colors just had slight cell shading on the skin, and for the hair i airbrush a bit of the skincolor in low opacity near the forehead... I'm not sure what it means, but i can look at the faces easier with it somehow. i like the gentle subtlety it adds even if you cant really tell. it makes things look nice.

background was just me blocking in the color of the wall and floor, shade the wall a bit, then slap a noise and free use wood texture on top. work smarter not harder ! yet it took a bit to make it look stylistically fitting with the characters, and even now i think bottom middle panel looks odd. whatever!!!

for the middle panel i thought itd be funny if the background was a solid silly and colorful one to contrast the next panel's sketchy black one. a contrast to how the word widow is seen. on that note my handwritting is not pointy. i gaslighted my hand into thinking that it was indeed pointy in that moment so i could write "not-yet dead person" in letters that didn't seem cute. my hand did not fall for it but it complied anyway

that's basically it! I'm not sure what else i could say that doesn't feel barebones because it really is that straightforward. if you're curious I used clip studio paint for this. only special brush used was for linework (a brush named Lemon Brush), the rest used were just the default. my computer gets the least credit. it was trying to convince me a 20mb file was going to nuke it all the time and hardly let me save multiple times so i do not appreciate it

[m0onjellies]

I have a week and a half of finals left and I am not making it through y’all 🙏

[tonytonychopprano]

much venting lately

[isaacathom]

actually uyeah im bored im gonna run it down. what specific Thing does naielle have with (pretty much) every member of her family that has her fucking wracke with guilt or smth

At a very basic level, a context - naielle comes from an elf napoleonic france, with some specific details that the usual max lifespan is closer to 500, and that the emperor has no heir and is like. 450. i wrote it down somewhere. doesn't matter. So naielle, being exiled from elf france, very early on made the assumption that she could Wait Out the collapse of it. That the emperor would die in, yknow, 50 years, the power vacuum would be contested by every general and cousin and random former nobleman, and the country would be ripped apart, nullifying her exile by technicality. this established,

Saroel - Naielle's grandmother, 495.

Naielle loves her grandmother. She's this wise and cunning lady, who survived the turmoil of Bonaparte's rise to power by making deals and using the family's noble fortune to buy favour. Her husband died in the post-rise period, and Saroel didn't. She bought the life of her and her children when her husband was accused of treason. She's clever.

Naielle has her engagement ring, a gold band designed to snugly fit under a wedding ring, a piece of jewellery older than the empire itself. Naielle used it as a blueprint to craft a pair to it, and matching wedding rings, with which to propose to her girlfriend Xistina.

If Naielle waits out the empire's demise, she'll never see her grandmother again. Never be able to tell her she was right when she told Naielle to be careful about her historical research, or show her the now complete wedding ring. She'll never get to hug her one last time and be enveloped in a stiff embrace that smells of old pines and old times, like the oils of the paintings and brass of the sculptures that make up the universities museums, of the motar that keeps its bricks together.

Laucian - Naielle's father, 333

Naielle is a daddy's girl. She's her father's son, without question or ambiguity. She's got his square chin, his broad nose, his golden eyes, his curly hair (albeit lighter than his - her mother got lucky with that). She's got his passion for history and all that came before, for the nebulous space of was and may have been.

For Naielle's 100th birthday, Laucian gave her a red ribbon. He's not from a noble background, rising from the peasantry with a father in the military and a mother a nursemaid. He has no heirlooms to grant. But the red ribbon, Naielle thinks, is just as meaningful as the engagement ring, because it's a connection to that paternal grandmother, Shana. She was a hard worker, stern with her charges and utterly doting on her own children, sneaking small things from the noble houses she served to give them. She wore her hair in intricate braids, which she taught Laucian and his brother how to do, and she tied them, always, with red ribbon. It was her favourite colour, she'd say.

Shana died when Laucian was only 24. A child, in elf terms. He's worn a red ribbon ever since, 300 years, for longer than Shana was even alive, in her memory. And he hands this down to his daughter, who takes after him so strongly, and in whose smile he can undoubtedly see his mother's.

Naielle adores her father. She fears, down to the bone, that she has disappointed him. That in her exile she has perverted the passion they share for history, turned it into a reminder of the crushing weight of the empire. That she's ruined something.

She still wears the ribbon in honour of a woman she never met. She never learnt her braids.

Oriphira - Naielle's mother, 321

She didn't inherit any particular gift from her mother - Saroel's engagement ring was a joint gift, a blessing for such an item to skip a generation to find itself on Naielle's finger.

They haven't always been close. Oriphira inherited her own mother's preservative streak, an understanding that the family exists at a knife edge between imperial eradication and flourishing, and a single wrong move could damn them. She grew up in that tumultuous era. She would have watched her father die, or march to die, dragged from their home by imperial troops. She would have seen the pathetic graves for him and his brother, her beloved uncle, and known they should not lie there. That a family mauseleum lay open and expecting, and would recieve naught. That they were disgraced. That it was only Saroel's cunning which saved the life of her and her younger sibling.

Oriphira has seen her family's birthright, such that nobility can claim it, ripped from their grasping hands. She's clawed for every inch back. She's fought for the university Saroel used to buy their freedom. She's fought for the healers and medical practicioners to return to her town in the post-revolutionary period, as she watched her own child die of a preventable childhood infection, watched her sibling die of a stomach left to fester and rot without aid. She's seen the gods abandon that town, and she's filled that void.

She's a tough woman, and she is tough to love. Naielle does all the same. She may not have understood it then, the depths of the sacrifices her mother had made for them all, the agony she must have gone through with every child thereafter. The ingrained fear of heights, inherited in most of her children, after another fell from the roof.

But Naielle gets it now. Now that she fights in a war in a different land for its very existence, she finds that common ground. The two fight a war for their continued existence.

And Naielle imperilled it, didn't she? By raising imperial ire, a century after they last turned their baleful gaze Odelia-ward. By reminding that families like theirs, descendant from noble excess, can still be a threat.

She doesn't know what lengths her mother went to in order to keep them all safe after she left. She supposes the military service of her siblings may have shielded the family. But she knows her mother calculated the loss, and weighs that debt on Naielle's soul.

She wishes she could tell her she gets it, or thinks she does. That she understands the responsibility her mother is unjustly laden with. The blood on both their hands.

Aedelie - Naielle's older sister, 201

Naielle and Aedelie have almost a century in age between them, and its a very different dynamic than to any of their other siblings. Aedelie has to carry that torch, borne by Saroel and Oriphira, of being the responsible one. Being measured, and careful, and keeping everyone safe.

And Naielle always felt very safe. Her older sister was gentle and kind, a bulwark against anything that might hurt her. No monster under the bed would dare lay a finger on her when they knew Aedelie was never far, and even when Aedelie enlisted in the army she left her strength with them.

Aedelie's married, you know. She married a human man around 5 years ago, a fellow soldier in her cavalry unit. They have a little elf daughter, cherubic and giggly, just 2 years old with a wide toothy grin. Or so Naielle's been told.

If she waits out the collapse, she might never even meet her brother-in-law, a kind and soft-spoken man with a reflexes of an acrobat and hair like beach sand. She might never meet the man who makes her stern sister smile softly, with eyes that sparkle. A man whose duty, such that it is, is to protect Aedelie's life with his own.

Naielle is terrified for them both. War wages, and the Empire swings the proverbial club high overhead and demands blood, and her sister and brother-in-law must provide. None of them might see the two of them again. Forget the mortality of a human, anyone is mortal in the line of fire. And Naielle happens to know of a weapon, currently travelling by sea towards that firing line, and she fears what will happen when it goes off.

Quenaris - Naielle's older twin brother, 122

What can you say about a twin that isn't obvious? Peas in a pod, identical up until their mid 30s when he shot up like a stalk and left her a few inches shorter. The two know each other better than anyone else, Naielle is certain. She knew his adult name long before he told anyone, and he hers. She is him, and he is her, and they're two halves of a great whole.

Quenaris knew something was wrong, didn't he? That Naielle was lying when she said she had everything under control. That Naielle was hiding something, sparking like a fire in a cave, desperately being smothered. He saw the glitter in her eyes and knew it wasn't emotion that shone through, even if he couldn't identify the source.

She told him everything was fine. She didn't apologise for lying when it became clear it wasn't. That the situation had spiralled out of her control, that her warlock pact - a grave illegality as it stood - had shown her things she shouldn't see, and sent a beacon to the empire to observe.

He knew she lied. And she couldn't apologise, because to stay and do so would have seen her treason identified and laid bare before the Empire's vast apparatus. It would see her killed. She had to flee.

It ate her alive, it truly did. She didn't know how much he knew, how much he held against her.

She was lucky enough to see him, for only a few minutes. To hold him tight, as though by a hug they might be one and whole, and to cry, and tell him she was sorry. That he accepted her hug, and shed tears of his own, is enough for her.

It would still hurt if she never saw him again. Less, maybe, now that she knows he misses her too. Or more, to have given him a glimmer of hope that things might be normal in the future. She's scared of facing his ghost centuries from now.

Mariela - Naielle's younger sister, 110

Where do you even start?

These sisters have never been close. Each claims the other is irresponsible, too easily distracted, too something. There's always something wrong. Naielle isn't patriotic enough, Mariela is too patriotic. Naielle is too wrapped up in her books and shit that happened centuries ago, and Mariela is too concerned with her magic and the things that will happened soon, months and years in the future.

They're similar, and very different.

Naielle had no particular feeling towards her sister when she was forced to flee. To never see her again would hurt, but not as much as with others, a feeling tempered by the knowledge that Mariela would have some snide remark or another on her return. She lied to Mariela, but Mariela wouldn't care, would she? Naielle can't fathom the idea that Mariela cared either way, beyond that Naielle had embarrassed them.

Then Naielle came back, briefly, briefly, just to marry her fiance, and got roped into capturing Mariela.

What's Mariela been doing? Well, she'd taken what remained of Naielle's notes, on old histories and the magic so thusly entwined, and turned it into a weapon. A different weapon entirely, one worse than most others, and which Mariela saw simply as a tool. Naielle was a fool, she said, to focus on the historical implications of her research, and not to use its practical benefits. Look what lies in our grasp - the power to unravel reality!

Naielle was furious. She took Mariela as a prisoner of war.

And then her patron took her as a warlock.

It was not willing - Mariela made no deal, was offered no bargain she could stomach. Her will was superseded, Naielle's consent to the idea assumed, and her body made to channel magic it rejected.

Naielle did this. She did not know it would happen, had not even considered the possibility, wanted none of it. Mariela will probably never believe her.

It doesn't matter what Naielle thinks of Mariela's original ideas, her plans to turn utter destruction into a military tactic. It doesn't matter the differences of their personalities, that the two don't get along. Naielle did this. She forced this on her sister, intentionally or not, and she intends to make it right.

She expects she'll never right her initial mistake, the pact that brought her into exile in the first place. She fears she'll not right this. But it's in her power to do so, and whether Mariela wants her there or not, Naielle will fix it. Naielle would betray almost anyone to fix what she's done, burn most any bridge, because it almost isn't about Mariela anymore. It's a proxy for every mistake she's ever made, every harm she's brought, a way to try and make up for the life she ruined for herself by ever doing this.

If all goes well, Mariela will go home. Naielle can only hope she understands how much that means.

Yivien - Naielle's younger brother, 104

Probably the person for whom Naielle has the least consideration, a fact that would invariably infuriate the poor boy. The two have somewhat less in common than Naielle to Mariela, but do have one key thing - their academic focus. While Naielle is a historian, Yivien is an architect, and spent much of his youth fighting for their father's attention, to little success. Naielle was his daughter, following in his footsteps - Yivien's achievements weren't as important.

If Naielle was honest, and looked critically at herself, she would concede that Yivien is the smarter sibling. His grades are better, his grasp of abstract fundamentals stronger, he's quicker on the draw. It isn't fair, she reckons, that she was given that attention. The boy earned it, or ought have done.

She would struggle to tell him that. She doesn't think its pride - she never said she was the smartest sibling. What she struggles with is the idea that she needs to correct it, when surely, that burden lies with her parents for not acknowledging him better when she was around. Did she hog their attention? She isn't sure.

But as days grow darker, and doom grows nearer, she wonders if she should have said it anyway. Care or not, guilty or otherwise, he deserved their attention, and it was denied him. And she's responsible, in some capacity. Shouldn't she have tried to fix it? To say she was sorry?

The longer it goes, the more she thinks maybe she means it sincerely this time.

Xistina - Naielle's wife, 135

God, what could she say to her that she hasn't said already? Her most dearly beloved, a part of her soul, the keeper of her heart in turmoil. They've known each other nearly a century, and Naielle can only hope for centuries more.

Xistina wasn't in the country when Naielle went into exile. She was on business, sailing the sea, plying wares and doing trade under the gleaming sun. She would not hear news for months, till she landed in a bustling port and spotted no beaming face amidst the crowd, no-one all but ready to leap aboard before a gangplank was ever lowered. Naielle didn't know what she'd heard. She wished, dearly, that Xistina could have heard it from her.

She doesn't know what Xistina knew. She doesn't know if her fiancee saw the stars in her eyes and saw the meaning behind them. She spent years in dread. At least her siblings, her family, heard of the matter directly, that she'd had a feeble chance to defend herself in the hours before she fled. Xistina knew naught, and could learn less, and Naielle could not reach out for fear of potential consequence. Her fiance could not be party to treason. Her distance would keep her safe.

Her fiancee knew more than she thought, had an ear to the ground and the sea, and loved her still. She wore Saroel's ring proudly as a token of their love, and kept it in care over the decades.

Xistina knows it all, now. Naielle travelled across the planes to see her, to know her truly, all secrets bared on both sides. Pirate and Warlock, Traitor and Traitor. Let the empire declare their treason in love if they wish, for she has it.

And it scares her to think she might let it go. That, having come so close, having even successfully married her after decades apart, that they might lose it all. And that it will be Naielle's fault in totality. Her fault for her treason, her fault for leaving for the distant lands, and her fault for not staying when she had the chance. Who better could have ferried a wanter criminal than a rebel corsair? Where else could Naielle find that kind of safety? And yet she left, for she felt a duty to a war that still wages, and she knows there's a chance she will never return. That she will have given her wife - her wife! - false hope of a future together, of merry centuries in a free Sylvian land, or aboard a ship in the glittering sky, where no mortal government dared tread.

She fears she's given her wife a lie, and did not know it when she spoke.

[dan-crimes]

My hands cannot draw fast enough to draw all the things I want to draw 😭😭😭

[githvyrik]

I wanna draw soooooo bad omg I am in hell

[kuromi-hoemie]

bleh meetings until 3 today 😵‍💫

[bayfuzzball7050]

@kakyoinmonth day 4!!! — Part 6 AU :33

There was a blackout sorry I didn’t post this shit earlier 😭😭 im gonna post the ova and ireneverse tomorrow cuz I ain’t gonna do that at this time it’s 10 pm in my country and I use like 4 hours to make one drawing

Him and jotaro have matching outfits (they got dressed in the dark and put eachother’s pants ☠️)

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 5: LIVE FOR A CENTURY, LEARN FOR A CENTURY

synopsis: you get hurt while chasing down another deviant. connor is introduced to your cat.

word count: 3.7k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: i literally got into the most minor car accident ever (like, not even a fender bender. no one got hurt) and i couldn't sleep because i felt so shitty so that's why i'm posting at this ungodly hour (read: 6:30 am) 😭😭

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The elevator shifts and jolts under your feet as it ascends. You catch yourself and splay a hand out on the wall to keep yourself from falling. 

“Fucking hate this,” you mumble. “Reminds me of the busted-up khrushchyovka I lived in just outside of St. Petersburg.”

“Was it in the ghetto?” Hank asks from the opposite side of the elevator.

“A slum, more like,” you say. “We don’t have ghettos. Not like here.”

You’re surprised Connor didn’t ask anything about the khrushchyovka. Instead, he’s just standing there, his eyes closed and idling.

The elevator dings, and you open the gate, letting you and Hank out. There isn’t a set of footsteps behind you as you walk. 

Hank stops in front of you, looking behind you. You follow Hank’s eyes. Connor’s still idling, his eyes still closed. 

“Hey, Connor!” Hank calls. “You run outta batteries or what?”

Connor’s eyes snap open, then he takes in his surroundings, realizing the elevator ride is over. “I’m sorry. I was making a report to CyberLife.”

“Huh,” Hank hums. Connor continues to idle. 

You smile. “Are you planning on staying in the elevator?”

“No!” He replies, almost indignant. “I’m coming.”

You laugh under your breath and turn to walk down the hall, not missing the look Hank gives you when he hears the emotion in Connor’s voice. 

Hank follows, looking at the chipped paint on the walls and the once-boarded-up windows. “What do we know about this guy?”

“Not much,” Connor says. “Just that a neighbor reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody’s supposed to be living here, but the neighbor said he saw a man hiding an LED under his cap.”

“Oh, Christ,” Hank groans. “If we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise, we’re gonna need more cops!”

You come to a stop outside of the door of the suspect’s apartment, double-checking the floor and apartment number. Hank stands beside you, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey, were you really making a report back there in the elevator?” Hank asks. “Just by closing your eyes?”

“Correct,” Connor says. 

“Shit…” Hank mumbles. “Wish I could do that.”

“You could, if you had augmentations,” you say as you look through the peephole. “Not my kind, though. Mine are relatively unintrusive. What I’m talking about is some extreme jack-jaw or port-wrist shit.”

“Whatever.” Hank huffs.

You pull away from the door and sigh. “The peephole’s blocked.”

Connor takes your place and knocks on the door. “Anybody home?”

No response.

He knocks harder, basically banging his fist against the wood. “Open up! Detroit Police!”

There’s sounds from inside. A banging, something falling, frantic footsteps.

Hank immediately takes a step back, drawing his gun. “Stay behind me.”

You backpedal, and Connor holds out an arm to gauge where you are. It brushes against your midsection, like he’s making sure you’re behind him and safe.

Hank hoists a leg and kicks the door down. He points his gun forward as he slowly moves inside, checking corners and doors. 

Connor follows him, and you trail after. Hank busts through the last door, causing a cascade of pigeons to fly out. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Hank shouts. 

You and Connor move after him, entering the apartment. The rank smell of uncleaned bird shit immediately assaults your senses, causing you to cough despite yourself.

“What in the…?” You look around the apartment. Precisely-drawn mazes cover the walls, and pigeons and their mess covers the floor. They hoo and purr amongst themselves, looking at you, Hank, and Connor like you were the ones who didn’t belong here.

“Looks like we came for nothin’,” Hank calls from the other room. “Our man’s gone.”

“Well, we came all this way,” you say. “Let’s at least have a look around.”

You step closer to the wall, looking up at the maze drawn on it. Your eyes trace it – it’s hexagonal, and doesn’t seem to have any exit.

“Any ideas?” Hank says. 

“No,” you say. “But he’s definitely an android. No human is this precise. There’s not even a wiggle in the lines or any stray marks.”

“I’ve found something,” Connor calls from the bathroom. 

You lean into the doorway. “What, did he leave an expensive shampoo or something? I’m running out.”

“No,” Connor says. He moves to the side, revealing the obsessive writing covering the wall. 

“rA9,” he continues. “Written 2471 times. It’s the same sign Ortiz’s android wrote on the shower wall. Why are they obsessed with this sign…?”

“Could be superstition,” you say. “Even if it seems a bit silly. My mother rejected my father’s proposal just because it was on the eighteenth of May – it’s simply bad luck to do any act of romance on the eighteenth of any month. She accepted the next day, just as the clock hit 12:01 AM.”

“Huh. That’s an odd thing to do.” Connor turns to the sink and picks something up. 

“It’s superstition. Sometimes it doesn’t make sense.” You shrug. “What’ve you got there?”

“An LED,” Connor says. “It was deactivated just hours ago.”

“So the suspect could’ve known we were coming,” you say. “Or knew he fucked up somehow.”

“Officer, you keep referring to androids with gendered pronouns,” Connor says. “You do know androids don’t have sexes, right?”

“I know.” You shrug. “It’s just hard to call something that walks, talks, acts like a human an it. It feels… dehumanizing. Even if they’re not human.”

You level with Connor’s almost-unblinking gaze. “I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not a sympathizer,” you lie.

You pull away from the doorway, instead looking across the apartment again. You join Hank in peering around, half-assedly investigating. A poster catches your eye – one for the United Farms of Detroit. It’s a union of some sort, you think. 

“You Soviets love your unions,” Hank says from somewhere behind you.

“After the Great Purge, we couldn’t take any chances.” You sigh, running a finger along the edge of the poster. “Stalin fucked up a lot of the USSR. But we bounced back. We always do.”

The poster flutters in the wake of your touch, and the corner curls in on itself. You gasp softly as a crack in the wall turns out to be a hole. 

You pull the poster off completely, revealing the hole in the wall in its entirety. A journal sits neatly, nestled right next to a small box of .357 Magnum bullets. You flick it open, and inside, is a myriad of jumbles and mirrors of the mazes drawn on the wall. 

“Found something?” Hank asks. 

“Bullets for a revolver,” you say. “And a journal, but… it’s encrypted.”

You feel a brush against your elbow – soft, but far too solid to be ignored. You gasp and turn, only to see Connor.

“Боже!” You put a hand on your chest. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I apologize, Officer,” Connor says. “May I see the journal?”

“I, uh… yeah,” you manage to squeak out. You’d take a step back, but your back is basically half a foot away from being flush against the wall.

Connor takes the journal from your hands, flicking through it just as you did. He shows no signs of moving, so you squeeze past him, a nervous hand on his upper arm. 

“Sorry,” you whisper as you move past. You can feel your face warm as your front brushes his side and internally curse yourself for being so easily affected. 

“You’re right,” Connor says. “It doesn’t match any codes I have in my database. This is a unique script.”

He tucks the journal in one of his inner jacket pockets and turns to investigate the apartment further. You watch as his eyes turn to the ceiling. 

“Is that a hole in the ceiling?” You ask. “This place really is falling apart.”

Suddenly, something drops from the hole and sends Connor crashing to the floor. It takes a second to register that it’s a person – or, android, rather. By that time, he’s already run out through the front door. 

Connor immediately books it after the suspect, disappearing around the corner. You immediately take after them despite being slow and human.

“He might have a gun!” You call after Connor.

“It does!” He calls back. 

Sure enough, you can see a revolver in the android’s hand. He points back and takes a blind potshot that misses both of you entirely. 

You count in your mind: five bullets left. 

You run across the roof, through greenhouses and over scaffolding. All the while, you count the gunshots: four – three – two. 

You come to a screeching halt on the edge of a roof, just watching in shock as Connor jumps from a moving train to another roof. “Твою ж мать!”

“That way!” Hank calls from behind you, out of breath and panting. “The right!”

You break for the scaffolding that connects the two buildings, trying to get ahead. You cut through a building, legs burning as you take the stairs. You burst through the roof exit, and –

Another body immediately collides into yours, and you close your arms around it on instinct. They throw their head back, hitting your nose with a sickening crack. You grunt and your eyes water, but you don’t let go. 

What does make you let go is the shocking, electric feeling of something happening to your leg. Your ears ring and you can’t hear your own scream as you collapse, cradling your calf. 

You can feel your lips forming curses, feel your vocal cords vibrate as you sputter and cry out. A hand comes to your back, warm and rough and one you recognize as Hank’s.

You can just barely hear him say “Hands off, hands off!” and pull your hands away from the entry wound. You can only faintly translate his words in your mind, but you know every word that leaves your lips is Russian. Thirium spills out and Hank desperately tries to keep it in. 

Through your blurred vision, you can see Connor turn the corner. You point after where the deviant went, sputtering “Одна пуля! У него только одна пуля!”

He nods and disappears after him in a blur of moving limbs and blue highlights. 

You try to adjust your position to watch him, but a jolt of pain runs up your leg and into your spine. “Блять – Hank!”

“It’s okay, I got you, kid.” He takes a handkerchief from the inside of his jacket, bunching up your pant leg and tying a makeshift tourniquet. 

Another gunshot rings out, and there’s the sound of a body falling to the ground. You grab Hank’s hand, stammering out “Connor! See Connor!”

He understands your kind-of-broken English and moves to the edge of the roof, looking over the edge. “It’s okay. The deviant killed itself, not Connor.”

You slump down, your back hitting the hard concrete. You sigh and close your eyes. “Слава богу.”

Hank kneels by your side and gently jostles your shoulder. “How come you never told me you had a prosthetic?”

You open your eyes and look up at him, slightly delirious from shock. “Ты ж ненавидишь андроидов. You hate androids.”

“Yeah, but I don’t hate you,” Hank says. He pats your hand, then stands. “C’mon. Let’s get you up and movin’.”

You sit up and let him move you, supporting you with an arm around your middle. “You’re real fuckin’ stupid sometimes, y’know that?”

“I know, Lieutenant.”

“Officer, please,” Connor says. “I insist that I at least be present while you repair yourself.”

You reach up into the cabinet and push jars of pickling mushrooms and cucumbers aside to find your spare parts. “Connor, I’ll be okay. I was just in shock earlier, and my nose has already been set.”

You pull your toolbox down and start to lay out what you need on the breakfast table. “Besides, I have a cat. She’s somewhere around the apartment. Don’t you like dogs?”

“I can tolerate cats,” Connor says. 

You lay down a towel on the table, then sit and hoist your calf onto the towel. “Well, she probably won’t tolerate you.”

Connor pulls up a chair next to you, eyeing the damage to your leg. He pulls off his blazer and drapes it on the back of the chair, then rolls up his sleeves. “At least let me supervise the repairs.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “Supervise all you want.”

You pick up a soldering iron and switch on the heating component. You gently pry a piece of metal away from your prosthetic, then cut it loose with the iron.

“Your hands are shaking,” Connor says. 

“No, they’re not,” you snap. Then, you pause and realize that he’s right. “I… okay. What do you want me to do about it?”

“Let me do the repairs.” He leans an elbow on the table and leans closer to you. “I’m an android, so you can trust me to be perfectly precise. If I mess up, I promise I’ll let you take over.”

You sigh and hand over the soldering iron. Connor takes it in one hand and steadies your leg with the other. You breathe out slowly, shakily at the touch. 

To his credit, his movements are smooth and precise. All of his concentration is focused on what he’s doing right now. 

After a few minutes, you quietly ask, “Why are you doing this?”

“It would be…” Connor pauses. “Detrimental if you weren’t able to accompany me and Hank on further cases. Less-than-ideal repairs could possibly cause worse damage than what was there initially.”

“Right,” you say softly. 

“May I ask you a question, Officer?” Connor asks, still concentrating. 

“Yeah,” you say. “What is it?”

“You acted like you were in… pain when your prosthetic got shot,” Connor says. “Why was that?”

“Phantom limb phenomenon,” you say. “Everything happened too quickly. My brain remembered what it should be feeling. So it just replayed the… the memory of…”

You look away, out the window. You swallow thickly, suppressing your words. Connor doesn’t need to know this. “Nevermind.”

“The memory of what, Officer?” Connor prompts. 

“Nothing,” you say. “It’s nothing.”

You can see Connor glance at you out of the corner of your eye. He then looks away, instead focusing on the repairs. 

Your eyes catch a flicker of movement in the hallway. It’s a small head and two pointed ears, peeking out of the doorway to your bedroom. Two green eyes, dilated in the low light, blink slowly at you. 

“Бронислава,” you say softly. Her ears perk up in response to hearing her name.

“Bronislava?” Connor parrots. 

You point down the hall. “My cat. She’s shy.”

Connor lifts the soldering iron and looks over his shoulder. As soon as Bronislava registers his eyes on her, she darts back into the room. 

“She’ll come around,” you say. “She was the same way with Hank.”

Connor turns back to your calf. He’s nearly done with the internal work. 

“How are you so good at that?” You ask. “Have you done this before?”

“No,” Connor says. “I just have an intricate knowledge of android parts and biocomponents.”

“That inspires confidence,” you mumble.

Connor huffs out a laugh. “I heard that.”

You lean back in your chair and adjust yourself, your knee knocking against Connor’s. “No, you didn’t.”

You smile to yourself as you replay the sound of Connor’s under-the-breath laugh in your mind. It was nice, even if it only lasted for a second. A weird feeling settles in your chest, like there’s something wrong with your diaphragm. 

“Are you okay, Officer?” Connor asks. “I detect an elevated heart rate and increased rate of breathing.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just excited to get my repairs done, is all. I’ve done this enough times to know you’re almost done with the internals.”

“Hm.” Connor hums, then continues his work. You take the opportunity to take in his bare arms – it’s a rare sight. There really isn’t anything out of the ordinary about his forearms, no scars or blemishes, but you still appreciate it. 

Connor breaks into your line of thought. “May I ask you another question?”

“Yeah?” You say.

“It’s about Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor says. “Why does he hate androids so much?”

You feel your stomach sink. You look away and sigh sharply. “I’m not at liberty to answer that question.”

Connor stays silent this time. You’re kind of thankful for that. 

Bronislava peeks her head out of the doorway again, her eyes on Connor. You smile to yourself as you hear the bell on her collar just barely jingle. “Don’t look now, but Бронислава is looking at you. She’s curious.”

“Why is she curious about me?” Connor asks. 

“I don’t bring a lot of people back to my apartment,” you say. “I try to keep my work life and private life as separate as possible.”

You lean down a little and tap at one of the legs of your chair, then snap your fingers and click your tongue. “Бронислава! Иди сюда, детка.”

She lets out a soft, sort-of meow and rubs her cheek against the doorway. You laugh and coo, snapping your fingers again. “Сюда, девочка!”

“Does she only respond to Russian?” Connor asks. 

“Mostly,” you say. “She just responds better than English. Maybe it’s the way my voice changes when I speak Russian.”

You glance over at Connor. “Do you… know Russian?”

“I have a built-in translator,” Connor says. “But I haven’t spoken Russian before.”

“Try,” you say. “Repeat after me: Бронислава! Сюда, девочка!”

“брани–бранислава,” he tries in a sing-song tone. “Сюда, девочка.”

No, he doesn’t roll his r’s or pronounce the words quite right, but it still sparks a bloom of warmth in your chest. You bite the inside of your lip to keep from smiling.

Bronislava peeks further out, her paws on the hardwood floor instead of the carpet of the bedroom she came from. Her bell sounds, soft and tinkling.

“She might like your voice,” you say. 

When you glance at Connor, he’s smiling. Then, you look down at your leg – he’s nearly done sealing the externals. The white plastic is slowly fading away, replaced by a wave of color matching your skin tone. 

“How much longer?” You ask.

“Twenty-seven seconds,” Connor responds.

You sit back and watch Bronislava tentatively sniff the air as Connor finishes up. Her whiskers twitch and her mouth opens as she takes in Connor’s new, intrusive smell.

Connor smoothes his hand over your leg. “I’m done.”

You shiver slightly at the contact and pull your leg away, instead drawing your knee to your chest and resting your foot on the chair. You take the towel and wipe your leg of spilled Thirium, then hand it to Connor so he can wipe his hands.

“Look at Бронислава,” you say softly. “But don’t make it obvious.”

Connor slowly cranes his neck, looking down the hallway out of the corner of his eye. His face lights up a little when Brotislava comes into his view.

“Ah,” he says. “I see her.”

As soon as Bronislava sees that Connor’s eyes are on her again, she retreats back to the safety of the bedroom. 

“Damn,” you huff. You stand, trying out Connor’s repair. You lean a little on it and put weight on it – it holds. 

You put a hand on Connor’s blazer. “Can I take this? To introduce her to your scent.”

“Go ahead,” Connor says.

You take his blazer and retreat to your bedroom. You find Bronislava under your bed, her eyes so dilated you can’t see her irises. 

“Эй, красотка,” you say softly. You snap your fingers with your free hand. “Это всего лишь я.”

She slowly creeps forward, sniffing the air. She smells the blazer in your hand, which is surprisingly soft despite its stiffness. (You’re tempted to mirror her and smell it, but you immediately mentally slap yourself and call yourself a creep, even though the thought didn’t actualize.)

“Видишь? Всё хорошо,” you say, still with that quiet, docile tone. “Это всего лишь Коннор.”

Bronislava slowly crawls out from underneath your bed, inching towards the exit to the hallway. You follow her, staying on her level.

“Connor!” You whisper-shout once you’re in the hallway, Bronislava by your side. “She’s coming towards you. But don’t look at her.”

“Okay, Officer,” Connor says. Even though he’s facing away from you, you can hear the smile in his voice. “What will she do?”

“She’ll probably sniff you,” you say, watching as she inches along, sticking close to the baseboards. “Don’t move a muscle once she does.”

Bronislava glances back at you. “Давай, детка!” You encourage. She turns around and looks at Connor’s back, then continues crawling forward.

“She’s approaching your six,” you say, your tone faux-serious. “Contact imminent.”

Connor laughs. “Acknowledged.”

Bronislava nervously sniffs at the legs of Connor’s chair, then moves on and sniffs at his ankles. 

“Her whiskers are tickling me,” Connor says. 

“Just don’t move!” You laugh.

Bronislava continues exploring, if with a bit of nervousness. She sniffs at the hem of Connor’s jeans, then bites at a loose string.

Then, Connor moves a fraction of an inch. It sets Bronislava off, and she dashes past you and back into the bedroom. 

You lean in the doorway, watching as she disappears under the bed again. “Ох, моя бедняжка… Всё в порядке.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “I was just trying to scan her…”

“It’s okay.” You stand, his blazer still in hand. “She usually just hides around new people. I’m proud of her. And she does seem to like you.”

“She likes me?” Connor says, a bit of excitement in his tone. 

“You sound like a teenager.” You laugh and stand up. You walk over to the table and drape Connor’s blazer over the back of his chair. “Thanks for letting me borrow that, by the way.”

“Of course,” Connor says. 

You move to the side and start to pack your spare parts away in your little toolbox, mentally noting the things you need to replace.

“One more thing,” Connor says. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a prosthetic?”

Your hands still. “It…” you sigh. “I don’t like talking about it. That’s it. It didn’t pertain to the investigation, and you didn’t ask about it, so I didn’t mention it.”

Connor’s LED flickers yellow, then returns to a calm blue. “Understood.”

[scarletsp1der]

I’m finally done.

I just went fuck it with this at the end. I didn’t want to keep on adding shit 😭

Graphite brush was my last hope guys bear with me.

Fuck the cape btw. Ts was hard

fyi this was supposed to be a silly 1hr drawing. It took me a month but 6 hours in total to finish.

canon!!

[greenerteacups]

my heart aches for one Theodore Nott after reading the latest update 😭 GTC, could you tell us more about your thoughts on him, his characterizations, how you manage to write him so poetically and beautifully, and (a shot in the dark, but i'll bite) the role he'll play in books 5, 6 and 7? congrats on another chapter GTC, i love you tons 🩷

Thank you so much, friend. I love talking about Theodore Nott. I'll gladly bite on that question.

To start off, Theodore's middle name might as well be "THE FOIL," because everything about him is tailor-made specifically to Say Things About Draco Malfoy. He practically hands Draco a card saying "I AM YOUR JUNGIAN SHADOW SELF, PLEASE HANDLE WITH CARE" upon introduction. They meet when they're both fresh off the train. (Hermione beats Theo to Draco by a matter of hours; there's a ton of ways this story spins differently if minor details about the first chapters were changed, and that's definitely one of them.) Then Theo and Draco ride in on the boats together. (Admittedly, I was not aiming for subtlety points with this intro. They are literally "in the same boat.") Immediately, Theo is throwing out narrative parallels like he's getting paid for it: they both have a dead parent. Both parents died under weird circumstances. Their fathers were both Death Eaters. Both of them are the sole heirs and only sons of great wizarding houses. Then they go into the Great Hall together, standing in line, but — and @piedrafundamental left a really banger analysis of the Sorting Hat scene in the comments on that chapter, but I'm going to crib just one line — crucially, "M comes before N." Draco's sorted before Theodore is, and he goes into Gryffindor. Immediately after that, Theodore's shunted into Slytherin, and their paths diverge. Call this the prologue of their relationship. They're not actually gonna get to know each other until Book 2 and Book 3, but this is the part where the narrative is basically jumping up and down and waving its arms at you, going "HEY! THIS GUY! IMPORTANT TO THE STORY! GET WORRIED ABOUT WHAT HE'S DOING, OKAY?"

Then we meet him again in Book 2, and just like Draco, a year at Hogwarts has changed him. He's a little more confident, a little more cocky, a little more comfortable, and — hey, look! He's got a weirdly intense friendship with a girl around his age, too! (Surprise, surprise, Draco is with Hermione when he meets Theo again, and who makes her debut in that moment but Pansy Parkinson?) And there's Daphne, the third leg of the Slytherin Trio, the kind of girl Draco probably would end up with in Slytherin — pretty, sociable, cunning, knows his family history (literally cites it to him in their first introduction, like c'mon), is the sister of his canonical wife, etc. etc., we got layers to this shit like lasagna but this post ain't about Daphne so we gotta move on — point being, either way he flips, Draco's going to be the fourth of a quartet. Which is the entree into the Slytherin politics storyline of Book 2, a.k.a. "the temptation of Draco Malfoy," where Theo is — I mean, to be honest, for once he's really not doing anything that sinister; from his perspective, he's kind of just putting his fucking back out trying to make a friend? He's drawing Draco in a regression towards prejudice and comfort, naturally, but that's not how he sees it. But there's a counterpoint between what Theo's offering and what waits for him in Gryffindor.

So that's the starting block of his character. The rest of the work is building a real person out of that; obviously, you can't just go "this is Foil Man, does whatever a Foil Can" and expect people to be interested. Part of what makes Theo interesting, to me, is that the traits he shares with Draco include a lot of what we tend to like about him — he's driven, intelligent, cunning, and brutal in the defense of those he loves — it's just that the people he loves, the people he surrounds himself with, are deeply prejudiced people committed to doing profoundly bad things. He's been trained from birth in the art of making bad people happy, and he's gotten good at it. And he's just enough of a coward (again, pot and kettle) that he can't imagine a world where that's not the case.

And it drives him fucking crazy that Draco won't admit that. Because I think Theo thinks if he can get Draco to admit they're similar people, it'll validate the choices he's made — like, yeah, he's fucked up horribly, but anyone would do the same, if they had to face what he has. Even Saint Draco. And of course, Draco is absolutely unwilling to go there with him, because:

(a) he very much does not want to believe that his years of grueling internal growth and struggle for betterment are just the product of some good luck with a hat; i.e., a suggestion that is not just insulting but terrifying because it suggests how very close he could be to regression at any time; but also:

(b) it is a fundamental tenet of Theo and Draco's dynamic that Draco does not like Theo as much as Theo likes him. Because where Theo sees his mirror in the light, Draco sees his mirror in the dark. And it's an increasingly ugly picture.

[jjungkookislife]

Sunday, Monday...

pairing: bartender!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fwb, f2l, coworkers au, smut [18+]

summary: what's that saying? don't fuck your coworker... unless he's Jeon Jungkook.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: alcohol use/mentions, mention of smoking (cigarettes), (exclusive) friends with benefits, sex at their workplace parking lot, reader calls jungkook a brat a few times, pet names (babe, baby, good girl), fingering (f. receiving), hair pulling, marking/biting, car sex, unprotected sex, spanking, a little degradation, creampie, morning sex, implied sex in public

a/n: I have been in a writing funk as of late, so i hope you enjoy this. i adore them both so much <3

date: July 29, 2023

Exhaustion lingered in your body as you pulled into the parking lot of your job, choosing the darkest corner with the burnt-out lightbulb hidden just out of view of the camera. You checked your appearance one last time as headlights nearly blinded you from the entrance of the lot.

You were early; the reason pulling up next to you as they parked next to your car. You shut yours off, taking your phone that no longer buzzed incessantly like it had just an hour before.

“Hey,” you grumbled as you climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door harder than necessary, ignoring the wince of your coworker and your new alarm clock, apparently. What a bastard! He knew you liked your pre-work nap, and yet he texted you over and over just to make sure you’d be coming tonight. As if you’d miss a night to make slamming tips with him at your side. Besides, your pre-work fuck was becoming a routine, a little energy boost to get you through the night when your Red Bull concoctions didn’t.

“That happy to see me, huh?” Jungkook grins anyway, used to your sour mood when he bombarded your phone with texts. Some border on sexual, some not.

[Kook from work] 6:55 pm

What are you wearing?

[Kook from work] 6:58 pm

So we can match not…well, I wanna know what I’m taking off too 🥴

[Kook from work] 7:08 pm

Do you want to do body shots off each other like last week? 🤤🤤🤤

[Kook from work] 7:10 pm

Replyyyyyyyyyyyyy 🥲

[Kook from work] 7:10 pm

I’m lonely 😞 

[Kook from work] 7:12 pm

Are you still sleeping?

[Kook from work] 7:21 pm

Wake upppppp

[Kook from work] 7:21 pm

WAKE UP 😭

[Kook from work] 7:22 pm

WAKE UP

[Kook from work] 7:22 pm

WAKE UPP

[Kook from work] 7:22 pm

WAKE UPPP

[Kook from work] 7:23 pm

WAKE UPPPP

[Kook from work] 7:23 pm

WAKE UPPPPP

[Kook from work] 7:24 pm

WAKE UPPPPPP

[You] 7:25 pm I’m up! I’m up! You annoying little brat

[Kook from work] 

Hi 😚

Jungkook doesn’t wait for a response as you set your phone in one of the cup holders, accidentally hitting the button to light up your screen. Jungkook pouts when he sees his name hasn’t changed on your phone.

“Still just ‘Kook from work’?” 

“Yup,” you sneer.

“Not even a ‘Jungkook from work who blows my back out’ or anything?” He questions with a smirk when you roll your eyes and playfully shove him.

“You’re so annoying,” you huff, leaning back in the seat to stare upwards. Jungkook's soft laughter fills the tinted SUV for a moment.  

When you first started working at the nightclub, you were inexperienced and overeager. The tips were good and the clientele was mostly regulars who enjoyed not having to pay an entrance fee. Your boss, the owner, Min Yoongi, took shit from no one and took your side for every bad customer interaction. He was sweet, friendly, and loved his whiskey neat. 

You got along well with the bouncers, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jimin, who took no shit from anybody and of course one of your closest friends, Hoseok, worked most nights at your side, either behind the bar or training the new barback, Taehyung. Jungkook had joined the team a few months ago, another friend of Hoseok and Yoongi’s. He was outgoing, overeager, and learned his shit pretty quickly. You requested being put on his shifts, his nights drawing large crowds and tips your way. Hoseok drew in huge crowds as well, until the clientele realized flirting with Yoongi’s husband was a bad idea. Yoongi would raise a brow, and the customers would falter, order an extra shot to down to get over the shock of his stare, and go on their way.

Hoseok both loved and hated it. Now, he works whenever he feels like it, along with a few other bartenders that were hired part-time to fill the gaps. 

“I think ‘Jungkook with the huge cock’ would also work wonders for my self-esteem,” Jungkook jokes, cackling when you reach out to shove his shoulder. After making contact, he laces his fingers with yours, pulling you closer to him. 

Thoughts whirl around in your head, most of them being ‘just friends’, but you both know at this point that’s another bullshit lie. You spent so much time ignoring your feelings for him but for now, hooking up before work seems to work for the two of you. Despite all your coworkers/friends insinuating otherwise. You thought you were being secretive hiding out in the darkest spot on the lot each night before your shift, but Yoongi was well aware of what went on in the shadows.

Unfortunately for him, he’d shown up to work early one day, needing a smoke before Hoseok turned up and scolded him. He’d been trying to quit again but working long nights during Spring Break was getting to him. He’d regretted the moment he spotted Jungkook’s SUV rocking beside your car. 

“You’re insufferable,” you groan when you slide closer to him. Jungkook lets his seat slide back, allowing you more room but you know you’ll end up lying on the folded back seats with the array of fluffy, fuzzy blankets and pillows set up for the occasion.

“You adore me,” he whispers in response, his hand gently caressing your cheek. Your eyes meet his, your body thrumming with excitement.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate in kissing you, his lips soft against yours until you’re resting your hands on his shoulder. Slowly, you climb into his lap, moaning his name in between kisses as his hands grip your hips. His large hands slide under your skirt, feeling the softness of your skin. He squeezes your ass firmly, groaning when you grind down against him. He’s got on a pair of sweatpants and a loose tee, waiting to turn into a demon once he hits the locker room on the upstairs floor, restricted to patrons but available for staff to shower and change after a shift.

Normally, you’d do the same but you needed to give Jungkook easy access, forgoing your undergarments and slipping on a shirt and skirt. You’d probably share a shower, and get ready while the club opened and Jungkook entertained whilst you did your hair and makeup. 

“I fucking love your ass, baby,” Jungkook groans as he squeezes once again. You giggle, kissing your way down his jaw to his neck. You're mindful of leaving marks on his beautiful skin, knowing they’d stop the tips, and that’s the last thing you want on a Sunday night. The crowd will be reduced exponentially, but his regulars always like to stop by, anyway

Your hands run over his chest, tugging his shirt from under you and slipping it over his head to discard on the passenger seat.

Jungkook's body always amazes you. You wonder if he’d let you oil him up someday and just feel every little bit of it. 

“Baby?” Jungkook whines when you stop kissing him, your fingertips brushing over his pebbled brown nipples. 

“Got distracted,” you answer honestly.

Jungkook chuckles, pecking you on the lips. 

“Don’t you always when my shirt comes off?” He giggles and you shush him, kissing him again as your hips roll against his. You know you have very little time. The start of your shift lingers over both your heads and your alarm is set for fifteen minutes before the start of your shift to give Jungkook time to get ready before you and have someone behind the bar to keep Yoongi’s wrath at bay.

Besides, you’d been waiting for this all day; already wet and ready whenever he was. 

Jungkook must note the change of urgency in your movements because his hands grip you harder, every touch is more intentional and each of your moans shoots straight to his cock. He was already at half-mast when he pulled into the parking lot and now, with your warm body on top of his, he didn’t need much to get him hard.

Your kisses were an aphrodisiac, your touch like fire. Jungkook’s head spins when you tongue the tattoo behind his ear, teeth gently nipping at his earlobe as his fingers tease between your thighs, drawn to the warmth in between.

“Please,” you beg, biting your lip as he teases you with his fingertips, cursing when he slips one finger inside you. 

“Jungkook,” you whine, head falling onto his shoulder. His breath flutters your hair as he chuckles, set on teasing you but another whine from you and a reminder of the time gets him going. He hopes tomorrow when you’re both off work, he can take his time with you but for now, he’ll settle for this.

With two fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit, he uses his free hand to tug at your shirt. Your nipples poke against the fabric and his mouth waters at the sight. He aches to wrap his lips around them and make you melt for him before he fucks you silly. Perhaps he should go easy on you, but you’re gripping his hair tightly, nearly riding his fingers and making a mess of his sweatpants. 

Jungkook resists the urge to just rip your shirt down the middle. The fabric would tear so easily from a few tugs, but your wrath after would be more than he could handle. Besides, you look really cute in your shirt.

With his inaction, you take charge and remove your shirt, tossing it to join his shirt in the empty seat.

Jungkook lifts your skirt to bunch at your hips as you greedily palm at his hard cock, throbbing in his gray sweatpants.

“Give it to me,” you groan when his lips kiss down your neck, his teeth sinking into the skin to get you to curse and moan his name. You’re lost in your lust, grinding against him and tugging at his pants until his cock slaps against his abs. He smirks at your eagerness, stroking himself as you beg him to fuck you. He listens to your whines and begs, knowing you’ll take action into your own hands and just sink yourself on him.

Just as expected, you take his cock in your hands, wishing you could suck him off, but time is ticking and you’re sure Yoongi had pulled in while you were taking your top off. It was only a matter of time before he came over to interrupt or your alarm went off. Either way, you had to get going.

“I hate rushing,” Jungkook huffs as you line his cock against your entrance, teasing him by rubbing the head against your wet cunt. Jungkook's head falls back into the seat, body nearly arching off completely when you do it again and again until you’re cursing and biting your lip as his dick slides inside you.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, pressing your lips to his to silence yourself as you take all of him. The stretch is delicious but still gives you pause. “So big.”

Jungkook feels pride in his chest, hiding the blush on his cheeks by kissing your neck and shoulder. His hands cup your breasts, fingers rolling your nipples as you set a slow pace. He wishes he had taken your skirt off but it’s cramped enough in the front seat and you feel so fucking good wrapped around him to even think about repositioning you.

With the slow roll of your hips, Jungkook curses. He takes your tit in his mouth to hide his face and how much you're affecting him. He’s gentle when he circles his tongue around your nipple but quickly tugs on it with his teeth just to get your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growls as you slide easily on his cock, your moans filling the space between you as he touches every bit of you that he can. He curses when you tighten around him, his hand smacking your ass in response. You giggle, repeating your action to get another spank and a fiery kiss that curls your toes.

Soon, Jungkook grows tired of the slow pace. Mindful of your head, he lifts his hips to meet yours. You dig your nails into his skin as you hold on tight, screaming his name as the windows fog. Jungkooks pace rattles your bones, his moans mixed with yours in his eagerness to cum.

“Fuck, Kook. Babe, please,” you feel his thumb rub rigid circles on your clit as he slams into you, rocking the vehicle. He groans, kissing you as your fingers grip his hair as tight as possible. Pleasure courses through you, your orgasm building until you’re finally screaming his name into his sweaty chest, begging for more.

“Nothing but a cock hungry slut, huh? Need my cock so bad you’re willing to get fucked before work just to feel my cum sliding down your thighs all night. Hmm, perhaps you can actually keep it inside tonight like a good girl?” Jungkook spurs on.

You nod, head empty but needing to be filled and orgasm. Your body trembles, lips pressed to his own as his tongue slides past the seam of your lips, his two lip rings cold to the touch.

“Jungkook!”

“That’s it, baby. Take my cock just like that. Fuck!” Jungkook’s head lolls back, stomach clenching and you’re right behind him as your orgasm hits, thighs shaking on either side of his hips as he continues to thrust into you, cursing your name when he finally cums. 

Jungkook smiles, his hands stroking your back as you slump against his chest. 

“Ugh, my thighs are burning,” You complain on his chest. His chest rumbles as he laughs, his hands adjusting your skirt as he holds you. He kisses the top of your head, his breath ruffling your hair as he continues to laugh. 

“I told you to join me at the gym,” he reminds you and you lift your head just enough to stick your tongue out at him. 

“Fuck off,” you grumble as you cuddle him for a few more minutes before you’re peeling yourself off his sweaty chest and groaning as you try to climb back into your own seat without getting cum on the fabric. 

Jungkook reaches behind him, grabs his duffel bag, and opens the side pocket. He hands you a pair of clean panties and you roll your eyes. 

“Just because I left them at your place doesn’t mean you have to bring them with you,” you mutter. 

Jungkook’s grin is wide as you put your underwear on and then your shirt. 

“But you’re glad you’re not dripping everywhere, huh?” 

“Shut up,” you huff as you hand him his shirt and he tugs his sweatpants back into place. 

“Come on, we need a shower and there’s a Red Bull calling your name,” Jungkook groans as he pops his neck and grabs his duffel bag. He arranges his seat back into place and climbs out of the SUV.

You wait for him to open your door, your legs are still shaky as you go to your car to grab your belongings. 

Jungkook waits for you, taking your small bag over his shoulder to join his own. Normally, he’d wrap his arm around your shoulder, allowing you to lead him to the back door, where your key unlocks the entrance to let you both in. 

However, tonight he’s feeling a little bold, and he laces his fingers with yours, ignoring the heat of your stare on the side of his face. His hair is ruffled and falls over his eyes to curtain himself out of your direct sight. He’s grateful when you don’t say anything, just give his hand a squeeze in assurance. 

The obnoxious chirping of birds wakes you up the next morning. You groan, covering your head with a pillow and throwing the covers over you for good measure. 

However, your eyes pop open when the scent of a familiar cologne hits your nostrils. Flashes of last night slam you in the face and you groan again as you realize you’ll have to pick your car up from work later. 

“Good morning,” Jungkook’s sleep-addled voice greets you. You turn to face him and groan, reaching out to cover his mouth before he can speak again. You feel his lips turn upward in a grin and you curse before pulling the pillow and covers off your face. 

“What time is it?” You mumble as you palm at the nightstand to find your phone. 

“6:34,” he answers you as the light from your phone makes you wince. You’d gotten home and showered a little over three hours ago. You were planning on sleeping in and going grocery shopping and now you were waking up in Jungkook’s bed again.

“Why are you up so damn early?” You huff. 

“I needed a snack and heard you tossing and turning. Did you miss me?” He wiggles his eyebrows and makes you laugh. 

“Not even a little bit,” you lie, but Jungkook can see the way you’re holding back a smile, so he kisses your cheek instead. 

“Always so mean in the mornings,” he whispers as he wraps his arm around your waist. 

“And you’re still in my bed, so,” you shrug as best as possible as you turn to press your back to his chest. Jungkook cuddles you, his head resting on your chest. 

“Technically, you’re in my bed,” he grins. 

“Brat,” you scoff. 

“You love it,” he hums as he kisses your shoulder. You don’t say anything else as he continues to kiss his way up to your neck, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into you until you’re moaning his name.

The first moan that escapes you, has you spreading your legs. 

Jungkook smirks. His fingers dance down the curve of your body. He pauses at your nipples to tease them with his featherlight touch, watching your eyes flutter shut and another moan escape your lips. 

When he presses against you, he’s already hard. The only thing separating you is his boxers. You stole one of his shirts to sleep in when you got to his place, too tired to throw anything else on. 

The shirt bunches at your ribs before he’s slowly lifting you to help you out of it. He watches as you tease your nipples, his hand going to stroke his cock over the cotton fabric of his boxers, before he’s kicking them off to get lost in the covers. 

“Please, Kook. I want to feel you,” you whisper as he presses himself against you. He lifts your leg over his own, lining his cock up at your entrance, unsurprised to find you dripping wet already. He bites back a groan, sinking into you in one thrust. Your eyes shut and you curse, the stretch just as delicious as the night before.  

Jungkook’s thrusts are slow, your hips meeting his as he mouths at your skin. Your soft moans are muffled by the pillow under your head when you turn. Jungkook frowns, making you look at him from over your shoulder. 

His eyes are dark and filled with lust, the twinkle long gone and you curse when he fucks into you deeper. 

“Focus on me, baby,” he demands as he grinds against you, his thumb rubbing your clit as his lips take a nipple into his mouth. You melt beneath him, gasping when he tugs at your nipple with his teeth.

“Fuck, just like that, Kook.”

Jungkook hums happily, grinning as he continues and you turn into a puddle. You ignore the way your heart skips a beat, adoration for him invading your mind. 

You know this whole friends-with-benefits would backfire for you. You could never keep it casual and maybe you knew that when you agreed and maybe you were willing to put your heart on the line for him because a part of you hoped he wanted more. 

Jungkook kisses you. “Stop thinking so much and take my fat cock, baby.”

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you moan when a sharp thrust makes your tits bounce and your thoughts are forgotten. 

Jungkook chuckles, kissing your cheek as he fucks into you nice and slow. He laces your fingers together, moaning softly into your neck, and he can’t help but think how intimate it feels to take you like this. There’s nothing better than having you in his arms, moaning his name as he holds you tight, refusing to let you go for even a second. He knew the moment he met you, that you’d be everything to him, but somehow things got lost in translation. Jungkook doesn’t let his thoughts consume him another second, though, focusing on your pleasure and his instead.

Before long, you’re both spent. Panting, you turn on your back as he sits up to face you. He’s smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tongues his lip piercings. 

“Babe?” He asks with a shy smile. 

“What?” You ask as you sit up with the covers over your chest.

“Check your phone,” he says simply, nervously playing with his lip ring. 

You groan and reach for your phone, deleting the notifications from the hours you were asleep or otherwise occupied. 

Once all your notifications from your social media are gone, you spot Jungkook’s text. Only this time you’ve changed his name and the message has you pausing. 

[Kookie 💜] 6:31 am

Will you go on a date with me?

“Jungkook,” you say his name quietly and he ignores the way his heart seems to clench.

“I’d love to!” You throw your phone onto the bed, forgotten until later when you change the sheets and the thump startles you. 

Your arms drape wound his bare chest and relief washes over him. He kisses your cheek, then your forehead. 

“Come on,” he says, patting the bed. “Let’s get some sleep and then we can go on our date.”

“I have no clothes here,” you remind him and he shakes his head. 

“You have that pink sundress and sandals here from that one time you came over and stole my clothes,” he states with a playful roll of his eyes. 

“A sundress?” You raise a brow. He nods over eagerly and you can already tell he’s got plans for you. Perhaps he’ll hike the dress over your ass in need of a quickie before your date.

Regardless, you’re very much on board for later, but for now, sleep is calling your name and so is Jungkook as you stare at his broad chest. 

“My eyes are up here,” he teases, yelping when you pinch his nipple in retaliation. 

“Get some sleep,” you poke his cheek, settling into bed with his arms around you and your head on his chest. 

Jungkook can’t help but think, this is the best Monday I’ve ever had. 

next >>

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[kiennilove]

ART TAG

thanks to @doshiart for tagging me! so excited <3

How did you start drawing? What year was it that you become more seriously and consciously interested in it?

i don’t really remember, but for some reason drawing was an activity that interested me the most?? i’m not counting playing with toys and imagining things, but it’s about creating something from scratch. one time i made paper dolls, wrote a short scenario (very poorly lol) and kinda made a theatrical play in my head with all of this??

spoiler: in 2021 i’ve made an actual play with my best friend, who’s also an artist, with great paper dolls and a great scenario! it was for a college exam, we got the highest score. :3

i started taking it all seriously in 2014, when i went to my first art school. it was small, literally one room, and there were lots of other classes in the same building, like singing, dancing (i did that too at some point), etc. then i moved to the bigger one, that was solely for arts, but i didn’t make it past the first year due to health reasons. so somewhere in the mid-10s.

When you felt the urge to share your art with other people? When did you start posting your drawings on social media?

when i saw other people around me doing it. it was 2014 when i first shared my art online (got a lot of hate because it looked bad lol), and then it was 2016 when i made my first tumblr acc and posted some anime art with some consistency. now i post here and on another platform, just duplicating the content lol

Your first/earliest drawing. What were your impressions of it back then and what are your feelings now?

i tried to find pictures of these first paper dolls but couldn’t, fuck, so here we have…

some OC i did in 2014, i don’t even remember the name anymore :/

i did this after i watched my first anime 😭😭😭 i made this picture back then too, at my iphone 4, don’t judge me

i was proud as fuck because look he has ✨cool hair✨ and it’s a ✨full body✨ but no hands ofc lol

i mean, it looked great for me back then, so i haven’t change my thoughts about it lol i also have no idea what i wrote in the upper corner, i used google translate 😭😭😭

Your first fanart ever

also couldn’t find it, it was jeff the killer fanart, also somewhere from 2014 😭 but! here i have my first digital fanart… 😭😭😭 i spend i think 6 hours to draw this, i didn’t know about layers or anything really so here it is lol

Your first gallavich fanart

holy shit, it’s from may 2022! old habits never die, 7x10 is always in my heart

When you had bad days and things didn't work out, what inspired you to keep trying?

nothing, actually. if i will try to find any inspiration, i will get angry and irritated as fuck because nothing’s working out SO i’ll relax and go play brawl stars 😎

Show your old piece that you strongly dislike and tell why.

this… spend too much time on it just to realize it wasn’t that good as i imagined, the dress look like it was made out of cardboard, i don’t know, it just… doesn’t work. i had worse, yeah, but i have a soft spot for them. this one should be somewhere from 2018

HONORABLE MENTIONS TO THIS PIECE OF SHIT. IT WAS FUCKING 2019, WHY THE FUCK DID I RANDOMLY START TO DRAW LIKE THIS??? just for comparison, picture underneath is from 2019 TOO.

Show your old piece that you very like and tell why. What's the difference with the previous?

let’s go with this, it was 2017 :3

soft, cute, an attempt to do a new art style. i don’t know, theis pictures seem cozy!

Show your old piece that you were very proud of back then.

ACE ATTORNEYYYY >:333

both are somewhere in 2020-2021

fuck, i love ace attorney

Do you do any practice sketches or warm-ups before you draw something big?

mmm not really, only a quick sketch with some guidelines so at the beginning my pictures look like this

(yes, this is ian filming mickey while mick is giving him a bj)

Sketch vs Final. Show your process.

damn should’ve kept mickey’s face lol

Your most recent drawing.

can’t show the most recent one, it’s for an event, but this one is the only finished one FOR NOW, but i also have this little piece here, idk if i will finish it (aaand i forgot mickey’s tattoos)

Give yourself some praise! Look at what improved in your art!

literally YOU GO GIRL!!! KEEP DRAWING NO MATTER WHAT!! i improved as fuck, went through a lot of shit and breakdowns but here i am, being confident and loved by other people and, most importantly, artist who have a much higher skill! i love that. i did great

Any advice you'd give to your earlier self?

just keep going. don’t be shy and don’t erase everything is one small thing is wrong. don’t start an arguments when somebody says “i’m better at art that you!!”. and, maybe, use a hard drive to save shit-

Set a goal for yourself for the coming year.

i want toooooo… i don’t know! i want to try line-less art style, get into more challenges, etc, everything i can :3 and maybe open commissions

aaand i’m tagging… come on, show us your secrets, don’t be shy 😈

@deathclassic @spookygingerr @gallapiech @heymrspatel

@deedala @burninface @vintagelacerosette

[delusional-mishaps]

well guys. since i missed epic's birthday (devastating) have some headcanons :)

he is one of those weaboos who learned japanese so he can watch anime "the authentic way" (his words)

so he's fluent in japanese 💀 he literally only learned it for anime but dude was DEDACTED

he's so cringe guys 😭 i can say that. he's my boyfriend i love him

he would adore those cute anime girl v-tubers. like not in a weird way but he'd watch a lot of them

HE PLAYS GENSHIN 💀 he'd probably main beidou or raiden shogun/ei.. maybe run a full electro team with miko and fischl too 😭 (fischl is his fave character he loves her backstory and her bird thing idk i dont use fischl 💀) he loves the electro characters for some reason idk

HE HAS THE WORST LUCK ON THIS GAME THO. bro has c6 diluc (me too ☹️) and all his artifacts SUCK ASS even tho he'll grind every day

he has to spend money on every banner because he always loses his 50/50 and only gets high pity

ok enough genshin headcanons he's cringe we know this

im here ranting about a game i hate because my dumb boyfriend plays it so much

he hangs out with cross a lot ofc BUT

whenever he hears the word cross used in any context he turns to cross like "CROSS????? BRUH THATS YOU!!" (i always make these jokes. im projecting)

cant believe jesus died on his best friend fr... LMAOOO

he speedruns minecraft. he's NOT GOOD AT IT. but he can do it

he's had his speedruns ruined by creepers like 7 times

one time he somehow got into the deep dark and got killed by the warden??? idk what bro was doing down there in a speedrun dawg 😭

sorry he's a gamer in my head but hes really bad at every game he plays (just like me fr)

he sleeps under like 6 different weighted blankets in the hopes that he wont thrash around when he sleeps but he's too strong and ends up tossing them all off his bed 😭

bro needs to be CRUSHED to fall asleep!! he literally cant fall asleep without the weight

not that he likes to sleep anyway because of the nightmares but whatever. hes gotta do it. unfortunately.

he fights in his dreams ofc thats like canon but bro is throwing punches in his sleep fr

if he gets a partner (me fr!!) they gotta sleep in a different ROOM 😭 he is taking NO CHANCES and tbh thats so fair i wouldnt wanna wake up being beaten up by my bf

he is so ipad baby-core <3 he'll just watch youtube on his ipad all day if u let him but he's an old man and needs his spectacles otherwise he's holding it at arm's length 💀

don't forget bro is literally a doctor?? he's SO smart but he uses his goofy persona as a cover up

im convinced like most of the people that know him actually dont know this. they all think hes dumb as bricks 💀

them he'll casually say smth super smart and everyone is like ???????? HELLO??? SINCE WHEN DID UR BRAIN WORK??

i love drawing epic with glasses guys he looks so cute. but he has old man reading glasses

this the typa shit he wears

AND HE FUCKING. anime glasses 😭

like yk how ppl in anime push glasses up

him fr

AUUGH WHY IS HE SO CRINGE I NEED TO CRUSH HIM

he actually needs his glasses all the time but he doesnt like to look like a NERDD so he doesnt wear them

he makes cross read everything for him

they go out to eat and gotta make him read the whole menu otherwise hes holding it 2cm from his face 💔

"whatd that sign say i cant read it"

"dude the letters are huge how cant you read it"

"oh lol i need my glasses my bad bruh"

"YOU ARE DRIVING A CAR RIGHT NOW????"

actually he cant legally drive. because thats funnier than if he could

id still be his passenger princess <3 i refuse to get my license

anyway guys isnt my boyfriend so silly

im so tiredni needto seelp goodnight smooork mimimumumu

its 3am i neednto get up in 5 hours naioiiooooooo

goodbye guys enhjoy my boyfrien mdgrf

[imjustchori]

I love and hate drawing sometimes.

the hours spent on this shit that's NOT FINISHED: 6:58, almost fucking 7 hours and not even partially shaded

my GOD I will NEVER finish this 😭