#draw sneaker on ipad

[choutac]

Draw Sneakers with the "Fast & Dirty" Technique!

I drew Sneakers with the "Fast & Dirty technique" on my iPad! Have you heard of it? It's a technique that most beginners don't know because they think they should sketch nicely and neatly to succeed.

How to Draw Sneakers with the “Fast & Dirty Technique”! (7min14) 00:25 Draw with a thick nib01:12 Start drawing with the “Shoe Last” 01:39 Add simple color blocking 01:47 Select a dark grey 02:57 Fail? Draw a new sketch! 04:58 Imagine your design on a store shelve 05:50 Draw Fast & Dirty! I love trying new sketching appsand testing them like a geek. 💻 Today,I use the app “Morpholio Trace” for…

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#creative phase #Design sketching #draw shoe on morpholio #draw sneaker on ipad #draw sneakers #fast and dirty technique #how to draw #how to draw shoes #how to draw sneakers #how to sketch #morpholio trace #online sneaker course #rough sketching #sketching technique

[designed-bars]

#art #digital art #digitial illustration #drawing #digital drawing #illustration #ipad #procreate #design #texture #steampunk #shoes #sneaker

[rhodesrider]

Special Princess

Mafia!Roman R. x Little!Black!Fem! Reader

Warning: mentions of violence, mentions of weapons, age regression, affirmations, praise

Minors! DNI! 18+

~

In the car, Y/N was criss cross on the seat watching different gameplays on her iPad while teething on her toy silent in the back, Roman was humming the bluey theme song while driving which gave some looks from solo and jimmy. Worried about him keeping his reputation up for a while now they wondered that if it’s mostly Y/Ns fault. I mean Roman is suppose to be this big bad mob boss, controlling the territory and keeping things under control with an iron fist. Instead, he balances work with his girlfriend who acts like a child. She doesn’t dress like the other women Roman has messed with, when they would wear night dresses and show as much skin as they want, Y/N just wears hoodies or overalls. Long sleeve shirts or short sleeve but overalls and sneakers not heels. It worried them that Y/N was probably a bad influence on Roman their boss.

“Hey Ro, when we get back to the house can we talk in private?” Solo asked as he was in the back with jimmy nodding at him planning the convo in their head. “Hm? Sure man. Oh do me a favor and tap Y/N when I pull over?” He nodded and looked at her examining her again. A child. A child in a grown woman’s body. He never understood it and nether has jimmy. But they don’t question it because it’s their bosses girl. After they pulled over to the stop they were doing the drop off, solo did as told getting Y/Ns attention making her jump some looking around. She took off her headphones taking in her surroundings looking directly at Roman as he opened the door. “Sweetie I’ll be back with the boys ok?” He asked in a calm sweet tone as solo and jimmy got out, “Stay here with mr.heymen.” He ordered and she nodded getting a kiss on her forehead. She waved at Paul sweetly and he waved back watching them go in the building. She started looking around every inch of the buildings and corners of the area and went back on her tablet drawing a picture for Roman. Sending it straight to him.

“Hey boss man you know we never question you…” Jimmy started getting a bit impatient needing to know why this girl is with them. “Sounds like you are about to question me thou.” He looked at jimmy slightly. Jimmy just shut it down and looked around the warehouse building. “Why they wanted to meet us here?” “I am not sure but keep ya eyes peeled.” They nodded. Roman looked at him phone seeing the photo Y/N drew and texted her “Thank you princess.” Soon hearing the other doors open the meeting is starting. Showing to the meeting was mister Ziggler and his bodyguards, simple transaction. Roman smirked seeing the briefcases behind him as well. “Mister Reigns, how are we today?” Dolph asked. “Good, I’m glad we were able to get some more supply. Especially from a trusted source.” Roman smiled. “Likewise, so ready for the wire transfer?” Dolph asked quick being money hungry but Roman looked at him not born yesterday. “Go on and put some product on the table, solo examine it.” Dolph smirked. “You don’t trust me big man-“ “I don’t bring snipers to my transfers. Especially ones that are ready at the mark.” He smiled as Dolph was starting to turn pale. Jimmy and Solo were confused, they couldn’t see out the window but were looking around outside not seeing a set up anywhere. “You got paranoid last time we met Roman-“ “Not the slightest.” He smirked. “Now let’s check that material.”

After the transaction, they walked out the building untouched. Jimmy and solo still had the guns out. “Put them away, she doesn’t like seeing that mess sometimes.” He warned them and they nodded following orders. They filled the back with the briefcases and Roman checked on Y/N seeing her in the same spot watching bluey sucking on her thumb some. “Hey we talked about that pretty girl, where is it?” She shrugged her shoulders. Roman went in her bag and pulled out a box with a fresh pacifier. He slowly removed her thumb making her pout but gave her the paci as she was calm again. “That’s my girl.” She giggled from the kisses he gave all over her face and went to the front to drive. The boys got back in looking at Y/N again getting a weird feeling now but let it go till they got to the house.

Later that night, the boys sat in the office to finally talk to Roman about this. “So y’all wanted to talk?” They look to the side seeing Y/N in a giant pink play tent in her own little world watching tv and coloring. “Well it’s about…um…it’s about her.” Jimmy said finally pointing at the tent. Roman looked to the side where the tent was then at the boys, “About her? How do? Also she had a name. Don’t be afraid to say it.” Roman said looking through his phone some. “Look we know Y/N is yo girl and we respect her but-“ “But?” Roman asked surprised that solo was questioning him as well. “-why doesn’t she act normal?” By the time this was asked, Y/Ns headphones were off and she listened in. A bit hurt by their questions making her think she did something wrong. “Well y’all she’s been through a lot, she does this to cope, this is her therapy. I will admit that I was a bit worried about it as well, but I support her no matter what.” Jimmy nodded his head in understanding. Solo was still a bit worried. “What about your image sir?” “My image is fine. She doesn’t affect my imagine.” Roman said paying full attention now. “For all know she’s more help then you both ever was.” He was starting to get mad with all the questions. Y/N didn’t like the look on their faces, so she sighed getting out the tent and going over. “Baby we talking go back to your tent.” Roman asked low but still a bit pissed which scared her some but stood her ground. “I’m sorry that I’m hurt your image, I can just stop if you want. To help a bit better…” Roman’s look softened and he sighed, “Baby you’re always big help.” Jimmy and solo looked at each other, how and she’s always in the car? “Remember that nice picture you gave me?” She nodded and went to get her book she drew in showing the picture. Solo looked at it and recognized it some. “Those buildings…” “Yea there were people looking at birds up top so I drew them too!” She giggled. It hit Jimmy and solo so fast looking at the photo again seeing the truck parked and the other building they were in to do the transaction.

“That’s how you knew.” They both said in unison.

Roman knew about the snipers because of the drawing she drew, matter of fact she always draws something and shows Roman when he’s in meetings and other functions. She’s technically doing a perimeter check. “Yep my little artist helps me like that.” “And other ways…” she mumbled. “Oh right, we didn’t see anyone when we were escorting you out back to the car-“ Jimmy stopped and looked at Y/N who was smirking some evilly. “Ain’t no way.” “I was trying to find a bathroom.” She smiled. What really happened was she went in the building and handled the snipers so they wouldn’t be ready to shoot. Solo remembered Dolph trying to contact the snipers but no answer came their way of course. “So you just lil miss killer?” “You worry about yourself next time please.” She hissed. Her eyes from a lightly playful brown to a dark evil black made it clear that what her lifestyle was is her choice. Roman choose right, he smirked and was honestly proud. But what he noticed was she was out of her headspace. “Go take it up to the bedroom princess, we can watch a movie tonight if you want.” She nodded trying to calm from her sudden anger and walked away going to the master bedroom. “Wow…” Jimmy said never seeing that outta her. “Did you know Paul?!” They turned to him while he was in the corner the whole time. “I had no idea.” He smiled and went back on his phone. The brothers looked a bit dumbfounded and Roman just sighed. “I appreciate yall worrying about me and my image because my image is y’all image, but I assure you as yall saw. We will be fine.” They both nodded and left the room leaving Roman in a smirk. “I know what I’m doing.”

Roman got into the bedroom seeing that the anger got Y/N tuckered out. She was sleep hugging a pillow and the tv was on My little pony. Roman got ready for bed and as soon as Y/N could smell his body spray she cuddled up on him smiling. He smiled as well and kissed her forehead. “I love you so much baby girl, I’m sorry they questioned you. Never change ok?” She nodded half sleep and Roman turned off the lamp light drifting to sleep.

#wwe imagine #wwe one shot #wwe smackdown #wwe raw #age regression #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns imagines #roman reigns fanfic #wwe roman reigns #age regression caregiver

[aburruso-capstone-uhwoacm]

Progress Report #2

Quite a lot has happened since the last update, some good, some bad...

First of all, there’s the pre-production phase.  Last time, I mentioned that I had to do the color schemes for Sasha and the obstacles.  To be honest, that was much harder than I anticipated.  The first issue was that I switched to digital for the color scheme.  I am still not good at drawing on an iPad, so it took a while to finish the drawing.  Then, there was actually figuring out Sasha’s colors.  I had decided early on that her main color would be green.  Beyond that, though, everything was difficult.  I experimented with a lot of different colors schemes, but they were not working.  At one point, I figured out one reason why I was having trouble: Sasha’s boots were messing with the balance of colors.  So, I redesigned her to have longer pants and sneakers instead.  Not only did this make her palette work better, but I feel that this makes Sasha look more like a vigilante teenager (versus the boots, which I now think made her look more like a professional soldier).  The palette on the far right (not the transparent one :P) is the one I decided to stick with for the time being, though for reasons I’ll explain soon, I may change it again…

I also did the color schemes for the firewalls and servers, which was much easier.  Then, I worked on the UI.  This is where I encountered yet another issue with the color scheme.  I originally wanted the floor of the play area to be a light color with dark grid lines.  However, I found that the opposite (dark with light grid lines) works better.  The only problem is that now, the servers, firewalls, and even Sasha don’t stand out enough against the floor.  This is clear when you look at the grayscale version of the UI: Sasha and the obstacles are already dark, so they almost blend in with the floor.  Since I already decided that the floor needs to be dark, the only solution will be to change the color schemes of Sasha and the obstacles… hopefully, I can find some time to do this.

Okay, but enough of the bad news.  Let’s get to the good news.  Save for adding the concept art, I finished the game design document (or at least the first draft… I’ll explain pretty soon).  I also got started on the first build of the game!  I have included a video showcasing what I have so far:

That being said, I am not completely finished with this build yet.  As you can see in the video, Sasha (the blue square) moves and shoots at the same time.  However, I want to make it where she will only shoot once she has finished moving.  I think I will be able to figure this out rather easily, though.

Of course, making this build didn’t come with its challenges.  The first obstacle involved following a tutorial I probably didn’t need to follow; although it was useful for creating the grid, I realized that it also involved a movement system that my game would not use.  Once I realized this, I decided to stop following it. 

A bigger issue involved Sasha’s movement.  I encountered so many bugs when trying to program it, such as:

Sasha not being perfectly aligned to the grid when she stopped moving

Sasha shaking uncontrollably whenever she stopped moving (and even when I just booted up the game)

Sasha not even moving at all

Sasha respawning at the wrong area when she ran into an obstacle (she is supposed to respawn at her last position)

Fortunately, I was able to solve all of these issues.  Right now, besides making Sasha shoot after she finishes moving, my biggest issue involves the respawn mechanic.  I originally had it where Sasha immediately respawns.  However, my plan was for her to have a short “hurt” animation beforehand.  The only problem is that Sasha seems to get stuck inside the obstacle.  This means that the collision code keeps triggering, meaning that Sasha will never get a chance to respawn.  I think I can find a way around this, but it may involve changing the animation I had planned.

Speaking of changing plans, I have decided to remove the eviction bot from the game.  Considering all the trouble I’ve been having with the code so far, I do not feel too confident that I can properly implement this feature.  The main reason I had the eviction bot was to force the player to keep moving across the grid; now, I’m thinking that I can do this just by placing the servers and firewalls in a certain way so that the player cannot shoot all of the former down from a single position.  I’ll have to update the game design document to reflect this.

That’s everything that has happened up to this point.  In the next few weeks, I’ll finish the build and redo the color schemes (I’m also thinking of changing Sasha’s hair style… we’ll see…).  Then, it will be time for some playtesting.  Let’s see how things go from here…

#gamedev #gamemaker #video games #cm491 #capstone

[fff777]

Watched Key's episode of I Live Alone featuring Renjun :P I couldn't find one video of the whole episode so I don't know if these videos make up the entirety of the episode. (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Baby photos of Kibum hiking with his parents :3

Kibum trying on a hundred beanies.

So Renjun is an avid mountain man. Nature boy indeed.

Renjun hiking with Junhui

Kibum came armed with so much equipment and meanwhile Renjun's just in a light jacket and sneakers.

Them seeing the guy with the walking poles and jeans and being like that dude's definitely knows what he's doing XD

The hosts were saying that Kibum was getting too excited by everything at the beginning of the trip and that he would tire easily lol.

Doing old people stretches to Renjun's calming voice lmfao.

I think the stamina for hiking mountains is very different from regular cardio though. There's the fact that you're constantly going up, so thighs are probably burning, but the air would also be thinner as you go up the mountain too. So makes sense that Renjun said to watch your breathing.

Kibum: I get tired when I walk to the second floor Big same

Renjun found a bigass branch (?) for Kibum to use as a walking stick XD

Renjun's enjoying the scenery and Kibum's just fighting for his life XD

Oh man the padded vest KILLED Kibum ToT He must have been so overheated.

When Kibum asked Renjun to sing a song, I recognized the song he sang as the song that Exo performed on Immortal Song XD

FLYING SQUIRREL RENJUN that's so cute :P He's wearing baggy clothing too so he kind of completes the look.

Kibum is realizing that he's so tired because he carried so much stuff TAT

Kibum seeing this stairway and going yeah that's fucked up

Renjun must have thighs of steel lol.

The map as a handkerchief is really helpful eh? Multi-use.

Renjun having to boost Kibum from behind ToT He was saying that it's harder if you go more slowly. I can kind of see where he's coming from.

Renjun dashing up the stairs on twos :P

Remember that there is also the camera operator who is hiking along with them XD

It is indeed very pretty though, I wish I lived in a place with mountains sometimes. Instead the place I live is flatter than a pancake ToT

Looks like the crew also has a drone camera filming them.

Kibum running after Renjun like a grandparent XD because his running was shaking the bridge.

The hosts commenting on how Renjun isn't even sweating XD

They bumped into the mountain expert who was already on his way down XD And Kibum was like "...but you're in jeans ToT"

Oh my god that's so scary ToT

Kibum fighting for his life on this stairs XD He was like "omg Renjun just leave me and go on without me I don't think I can make it"

Kibum being dragged along by Renjun lmao

They made it!!!!

OMG Kibum was carrying soooo much in his bag. He had a wholeass PICNIC MAT, he had all kinds of food ToT No wonder he was so tired.

Renjun doesn't want to eat any of the food XD Immediately after I've done something super strenuous, I don't really have an appetite, so it might be the same with him.

Renjun brought his iPad to draw XD Their priorities are so hilarious.

Lmao Kibum just having a wholeass feast.

Kibum feeling maternal to Renjun? XD

ToT Renjun's picture, so misunderstood lmao

Meanwhile Kibum pressing leaves :P

Glad there seems to be a fence around them because I'd be so paranoid about falling off lol.

We didn't see any of the trip down by foot. I kind of wanted to see how much easier of a time they'd having going down. They just walked down to the cable car station and took the cable car back down.

Kibum got through three levels of taekwondo

Renjun surfs in the summer and snowboards (?) in the winter. He's the kind of extrovert who always has to keep busy with activities!!

Omg Renjun goes camping too. Though I think what is referred to as camping might be glamping lol.

Renjun trying to think of hobbies for Kibum and suggesting magic, archery XD

This was so fun!! It made me jealous that there aren't mountains in my part of the world :< I think it'd be a nice low cost way to get some exercise and enjoy scenery lol.

#screencaps & commentaries #i live alone #kvariety #shine #kim kibum #nct #nct dream #huang renjun #key & renjun

[taylormcnally89]

autodesk rendering

Since its introduction AutoCAD has end up being the industry standard for computer aided design. Often seen as somewhat of a black art CAD can seem like like a time consuming exercise but there are ways supplementations yourself more productive. Below are seven ways to make your AutoCAD sessions much more enjoyable. Try the subsequent two floor plan free applicaion. They are online software, meaning walk to install anything. The ground plans made with the software also could be easily distributed to other females. Although there are other freeware both online and offline, associated with beat others in calibre. Ac1st15.dll is an engaged Link Library file that is owned with the AutoCAD package. The file is pertaining to AutoCAD, AutoCAD LT, KeyPLANTING, and KETSCAPE, and is supplied by autodesk Inc. Split your training into separate drawings. Really should project contains multiple disciplines then these types of struggle function on sneakers project immediately as other technicians. You need to split your drawings up and then patch them together posted. This is easier computer system sounds and it really methods that real team can work on one project. Simply xref each part onto a new drawing in the end. Download ac1st15.dll file via internet: In case you are sure the actual way the issue is brought on by a missing DLL document, just obtain ac1st15.dll from the web. Then locate autodesk Activation Key Free on the inside folder C:\Windows\System32. Now, calling it step as much as a one bedroom apartment, the range of rents is in fact the same in principle as for a studio. On the other instrument hand, associated with for a two bedroom apartment takes rather big jump. Those will cost you anywhere between a low of $1,275 to some high of $2,700 every month. And finally, a three bedroom can run as high as $3,250 a four week period. Ac1st15.dll error message appears due into a corrupt or damaged DLL document. If you have a newly installed enter in your pc, the primary DLL document may be overwritten with one more edition for the file. And will you un-install certain programs inside your computer, the file end up being the erased unexpectedly. Let it be known how the iPad is loaded with lots of oppositions. Apple is truly the trailblazer and sets activity is for other solutions. Usually yet to be seen if other products will make access to downloadable apps so easy and available. That is what extends the iPad so appealing and just plain old cool. In all of the cases, an individual might be choosing between wireless carriers and GUIs or Graphical User Interfaces run on various operating systems like: Apple's iOS, Google's Android, Palms WebOS, Research In Motion's BlackBerry OS, Archos 5 (on Android, Linux and Windows 7) and Microsoft's Windows 7 OS. In case you aren't from a hurry to jump into any one of these gadgets, it end up being better to wait and understand how things shape up. But for all those die-hard Apple users, waiting isn't an option.

#AUTODESK

[melbemol-art]

A collection of black & white shoes 👟

#Shoe #Shoes #Sneakers #Boots #Sandals #black and white #art #drawing #made with wacom #illustration #fanart #illo #digital art #clip studio paint #mobile studio pro #Practice #Sketch #Ipad pro

[555komodo]

#huf #smoke weed #huf socks #weed #vintage #nike sb #the weeknd #nike shoes #nike sneakers #skateboarding #tattoos #tattoo #tattoo drawing #tattoo day #ipad mini #partynextdoor #drake #ovosound #skaterboy #backwoods #chris brown #girls who smoke #gucci mane #nav #skatelife #im cryin #i wanna cry #supreme #bad bunny #drake and future

[xcuseme420]

https://www.redbubble.com/de/people/xcuseme/

#illustrators on tumblr #painting #shoes #airforce #airforce1 #Nike #sneaker #illustration #drawing #ipad #Apple #redbubble #pink #girly #Jeans #Fashion #porcreate #Pastel #Art

[choutac]

How I Draw Unlimited Sneakers (with Morpholio Trace | iPad)

How I Draw Unlimited Sneakers (with Morpholio Trace | iPad)

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[lucki--clover]

#illustration #illustrator #fashionillustration #drawing #photooftheday #design #graphic design #art #illustrations #popart #ipad #painting #sneakers

[samuelmbenjamin]

Some original character work 🤙 . . . . . . . . . . . #drawing #illustration #character #skull #cigarette #art #artstuff #ipad #procreate #hoodie #sneakers #dadhat #digitalart #artist #instaart #horror #smoke #yourmom https://www.instagram.com/p/CIY0AjeDO2U/?igshid=xmk3ffk2tvhd

#drawing #illustration #character #skull #cigarette #art #artstuff #ipad #procreate #hoodie #sneakers #dadhat #digitalart #artist #instaart #horror #smoke #yourmom

[magicall33f]

Everybody loves a good pair of kicks! 👟

#magicall33f #Kicks #drawing #illustration #ipad pro #procreate #shoes #sneakers #sansals #pastel #pink #green #yellow

[newtonsheffield]

As per usual Molly your work is amazing!! I loved thank you next!! Idk if it’s been requested but I’m missing jealous Anthony and would love to see him in this one!! You truly are the best!!

Ahhh in celebration of the peak of jealous Anthony I think I'll ever write (Offside horny clown Anthony) let's see a little bit of jealous Anthony here.

Dating Kate Sharma was truly the best thing Anthony had ever done in his entire life. She was smart and witty, and she smelled like flowers, and she kissed his forehead, and left him little caricatures that she's drawn in watercolour of the two of them sticky taped to the screen of his iPad, so that when he took it out at meetings he saw her handwriting

Have a great day! Love, Kate xx

A little cartoon of them, her on his shoulders, Newton twining between his legs bringing a smile to his face, tears pricking at his eyes.

"Everything alright?"

Anthony cleared his throat, still staring down at his screen, ignoring the man he was meeting with. "Yes, of course, I just- I've started seeing someone. And she- she's an illustrator and- she just keeps surprising me, is all."

He'd carefully tugged the drawing free, taping it to the inside of his case.

"Congratulations. Is it serious?" General curiosity, Anthony could tell.

"I think she's going to be my fucking wife one day."

It was truly, the best. Right down to the way her Mother had smiled at him, that very first morning when she'd happened upon them in her own kitchen, smiling a little bemusedly at her daughter rifling through the fridge in Anthony's shirt, Daphne's jeans, and her own stilettos, a clear sign she hadn;t been home in days.

"What's this, katie?"

"It's an Anthony. Say hello, Anthony."

Anthony had darted forward, his cheeks burning, Yes as you can see I've been debauching your daughter this weekend. "Mrs Sharma it's so lovely to meet you."

She'd looked curiously at him as she'd taken his hand, shaking it gently, "And an Anthony is what, darling?"

Kate had finally emerged, an apple in her teeth, and a bottle of chocolate milk in her hand, something so adorable in it, that her mother would keep chocolate milk here for her. "My boyfriend? You said you wanted him to come."

The word burned in his chest, as Mary Sharma let out a sharp gasp, tugging him against her chest in a warm motherly hug, whispering so low he didn't think Kate could hear, "I have lots of questions for you."

"I'd love to answer them."

It was amazing. Except sometimes it was fucking frustrating. And not just because they were both so stubborn they could argue until they were both bright red and screaming at one another. No, it was frustrating because Kate didn't see the effect she had on other people. Didn't see it at all.

Didn't see the way people gravitated towards her. She thought she was perfectly averagely pretty. Pretty in a benign way. As though men (and women) didn't turn their heads when she walked past, something smug and satisfied in Anthony's chest when he saw their faces fall, looking at the way she was touching him, always, her hand in his, her chin on his shoulder, lips on his cheek, her hand in his hair. And she never even noticed. Didn't see the way men moved close to her, brushed past her, how they smiled and flirted and made Anthony's blood fucking boil even in the stupidest of ways.

He was watching her right now, for example, as he stood outside the coffee shop with Newton, his little star wars harness on, nosing around at the tree while Kate was inside, her shorts and sneakers, and the crop of her shirt distracting him more than a little through the window, miles and miles of soft skin on display, her hair in beautiful, wild disarray, burning in his chest. His fingers twitching to sprint back home with her little dog slung over his shoulder to rifle through his sock drawer for the ring that had been in his sock drawer ever since she moved into the house he'd bought with the rest of their lives in mind, shove it on her finger and scream, Aha! She's mine! Mine forever!

And then he saw it. The man behind the counter's eyes lit up as Kate stepped forward, one of her earphone still in place, the other in his own ear because she said she liked when they listened to music together, he didn't even know what song was playing, something about Taylor Swift burying her friend's husband, he didn't care. He never did, always let her choose whatever she wanted to listen to as they strolled around London with her dog. While she complained that the vibe needed to be right. What he cared about was the way this arsehole was ogling the love of his life like she was a piece of meat.

Leaning over the counter as he took her order, his eyes raking over her as she gestured to something in the pastry cabinet. Something hot and angry welling in his chest as Kate smiled that beautiful smile, handing over his card, before she stepped away, still chatting idly with the man as he stepped back to make their order.

"Newton if I let you loose would you attack that barista for me?"

Newton's tongue lolled happily as a woman walking past cooed at him.

Anthony sighed, "I didn't think so. I'm getting your mother an Alsatian to fend off dicks, leering at her legs."

Not wanting to think about the fact that less than a year ago he'd been a dick leering at Kate's legs on his phone screen as he'd fucked into his hand.

He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the way people stared at her, touched her, tried to worm their way close to her. He hated every second of it. Every- she was smiling at the man now, as he leered back at her, the lech. Ugh, they were absolutely never coming back here ever-

"There you go, honey." She was back, stepping in the circle of his arms her lips brushing his cheek just as the song changed in both their earbuds, a slow ballad, something from the 80's, Journey maybe. He couldn't breathe, didn't care, as he leaned down, his thumb brushing the spot on her hip where is fingerprint was on her forever, heart hammering in his chest as he brought their lips together a little indecently for a Sunday morning on a street corner in Notting Hill, her tongue slipping over his, tasting like the sip of... cranberry iced tea she must have taken as she walked out, mingled with his iced coffee, so she'd taken that too, and he really didn't care about anything but her, nothing but being Kate's forever.

"I love you."

"Love you too." She hummed as she kissed the tip of his nose, a slightly smug feeling in his chest as he saw the barista sigh through the window. "Cutie."

She was the only person in the entire world who thought of him that way. The only person who thought he was sweet and gentle and kind, and he loved it.

Loved looking at her crouch in front of Newton, placing the cup of water in front of him, chuckling as he put his paws on her knee to drink it.

And it was then that something caught his attention. black sharpie marked on the side of her cup, numbers, and a name.

"Dev is trying to get your attention." He hated that he sounded so petulant, so small, as Kate hummed absentmindedly, grinning up at him.

"Who's Dev?"

Anthony nodded at the cup she'd left in his hand, "The Barista I assume."

Kate peered up at it, her eyes widening in surprise before she slid her sunglasses (Probably so she could actually see. he knew she didn't have her contacts in today) on with a sigh, standing. "Well, I feel really bad now, he must have meant it for the girl behind me, and now I've got it."

Anthony let out a guffaw of disbelief, shaking his head as he took the cup, staring down at it mournfully, "Kate, babe, I think he-"

But then he looked at her, slowly nudging her arm around his waist, her hand darting up to straighten his sunglasses for him, hand neatening his hair. And he didn't care, he really didn't, just wanted to be loved by her forever.

"You're beautiful."

Her nose wrinkled up at him as she smiled, her lips brushing his, "Everyone thinks you're so grumpy but you're just a sweet little bean."

Anthony growled playfully in his ear, "I'm not that sweet."

"You're pretty sweet, I like that you don't think you are though." her fingers were twisting in his shirt, the final refrains of the song blasting in both their ears and it just came out.

"Marry me then."

Kate stumbled backwards in surprise, her mouth falling open, because they joked about it all the time, but never so bluntly.

"Anthony are you serious?"

His chest was burning, "I'm deadly serious, Kate. I don't have the ring on me, but it's at home, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, just like this, just us, and whatever kind of dog you convince me to get next."

"It'll be a corgi. We're just corgi people."

Anthony rolled his eyes, tugging on her waist until they were chest to chest, their noses nearly brushing. "Is that a yes?"

Something was building slowly between them, her nose wrinkling up at him, "Of course it's a yes."

Anthony let out an excited roar, brushing her lips against his desperately before he stooped sweeping her up onto his shoulders her delighted laughter drowning out the new song, a stupid happy fucking Ariana grande song was starting the rest of his life for him.

A woman was standing a little way down the path, staring curiously at them, and Anthony couldn't help himself, as they walked past, Newton trotting along beside them, Kate holding his drink down so he could drink from it.

"She's my fiancée. We're getting married."

"Congratulations."

and when it settled in his chest Anthony was fairly certain being married to kate sharma was going to be just as great as dating her

#that really took an unexpected turn #even to me #I was writing it and went oh #okay #thank u next #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly's asks and answers

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.�� You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

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[oshicakes]

bringing their kids to work

characters. iwaizumi hajime, kuroo tetsurou, kita shinsuke

genre. fluffffff

other: sugawara, oikawa and akaashi, osamu, asahi and tendou

Iwaizumi Hajime

he have to go to the emergency meeting of the japan volleyball team today.

iwaizumu doesn't have the heart interrupt your peaceful sleep and he also doesn't want to just leave his daughter alone.

"dada, where going?" his daughter innocently asked while he helped her putting her shoes.

"we're going to see your uncles. but you have to behave okay?" he held his daughter's face and kissed her forehead.

so he decided to take his daughter with him. they just left a note on the top of your phone so you can spot it easily.

"d/n-chan!" as soon as she stepped on the gym, everyone flocked to his daughter.

they'd show off and compete to get his daughter's attention and sweet giggles.

they would even compete who's her favorite uncle among the japan volleyball team. which to their dismay, she always answer uncle oikawa.

but nevertheless everyone on the team loves her. she got her uncles wrapped around her finger.

althroughout the discussion, she was well behave waiting for his papa, swaying his legs front to back and sang in a whisper her favorite nursery rhymes. and when iwaizumi will look at her, she'd wave her hands and smile at him.

after the meeting was done, she bid goodbye to her uncles and promise to see them again soon. she even gave them flying kisses.

he received a message from you. 'what do you want for dinner?' it says.

"d/n, what do you want for dinner?"

"donut!"

"that's not a proper meal, d/n." she pouted at his answer. he placed her at her car seat, buckle her up and made sure she is safe.

"okay, okay. we'll buy donut for dessert then we'll eat what will be cooked for us, is that clear?"

"aye, aye!" she salute on him and then giggled.

before starting the car, he replied to you. 'anything will do. we'll just buy donuts for dessert'.

'okiedokie! be safe. love you both!'

Kuroo Tetsurou

you had to go to osaka to visit one of the branch of your business.

that makes kuroo and his three year old son alone for just two days.

he decided to take his son to his work instead of leaving him to his parents.

he made him wear something similar with his, a white shirt, coat and slack paired with white sneakers.

"promise me that you will behave in my office and in exchange i will buy you the toy you wanted. alright?"

his son beemed in delight and nodded enthusiastically.

"you're really my son." he proudly said as he scan his son's body and face.

everyone was charmed to his son. saying how cute he is, how they wish if they will have a child they're cute as him, how he resemble his dad so much and etc.

even the big bosses gave him candies and chocolates which he politely accepted.

his son is well behave in his office.

he's just drawing and writing on the coffee table in his office or watching cartoons on ipad while eating the snacks he packed for him.

"papa." his son said while he tugs his coat.

when kuroo looked down he saw his son's sleepy eyes he was scratching them with a pout on his lips, indicating that he's sleepy.

he carried him. he rubs his back and swayed a little to make him fall asleep. minutes later, he could feel the heavy breath of his son.

he seats on his swivel chair carefully and slowly so he won't wake up his son.

a soft knock caught his attention. his subordinate who knocked opened the door. "sir-"

he motioned him to lower his voice and just place the film he needed to sign on his table.

he checked his son if he wake up. he sighed in relief when he's still sound a sleep.

the sun's already setting when they went off the office and head towards the mall to eat and buy the toy he wanted.

Kita Shinsuke

his son loves going to the farm with his daddy, that's why both of you decided to take him there once or twice a week.

he's very much excited whenever its time of the week to go to the farm.

you finished dressing up your son with his little uniform when going out to the field. he then instantly run to his papa. "let's go, papa!"

"alright!" he took his son's hand then both bid goodbye to you.

with the pet dog, his son would run around the field. he would catch some insects and show it to kita with a big smile on his face.

he's a curious boy, he would ask him about a lot of things about farming and plants and other things that will caught his attention.

his son would help him plant or harvest the rice when it's time. which makes kita really happy. although it's not that perfect but he doesn't mind.

by lunch, you would bring food to them and they'll rest a bit in a hut that kita build.

by afternoon you all went home. they visited the mini garden at home where kita planted some vegetables and fruits.

"papa, look! the strawberries are red in here. can we get it?" he pointed at the strawberries.

"sure. i'll just get the basket. wait for me."

minutes later, kita came back with a basket. they harvest the ripe strawberries and put them on the sink in the kitchen.

"that's a lot. let's give uncle aran some strawberries tomorrow."

kita patted his son's head and smiled at him. "okay, let's go to uncle's house. then the leftovers we can make them into strawberry cake."

"yes! with lots and lots of cream!"

"okay, boys. it's time to shower." you announced to them.

they both kissed you before your son run to the bathroom while kita tailed him. you could here their voices, giggles and laughs from the bathroom.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi headcanons #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo headcanons #kita shinsuke x reader #kita x reader #kita headcanons