#hey just wondering but are you fucking kidding me

[dadsbongos]

dirty 30... or 40.

1.9 k words / warnings - (first time) anal, age gap/age diff kink, jimmy's your asshole ex, kinda rushed but like stfu

summary - it's curly's birthday! and a surprise guest (jimmy's pretty ex) gives him a surprise present!

“My dad died at forty, man,” the redhead in front of him mumbles. Plump lips stained red with wine and hair mussed in all the places she’s been wringing her fingers through it. Her eyes are a little drifty, empty behind the color and caked mascara, “But you’re in way better shape. So, you’re fine… I think. You don’t have cancer, right?”

Curly clears his throat, shakes his head to both refuse the accusation and try spotting any of his actual friends, “I don’t think I do.”

Jimmy is across the room, standing in the open patio door with his back to the room. An unlit cigarette bit between his molars and a black lighter in the hand he’s using to point out the glass frame. His cheeks are red, surely not from the single beer he’s had, and his face is pinched toward a scowl. He’s getting in a fight.

Perfect.

“Ah,” Curly beams down at the woman, a friend’s friend’s sister he thinks. Fresh out of a divorce. Pretty. One year older than him. Lovely, drunk, off putting, “My friend needs me. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Usually the last two are more his type, but tonight just isn’t his.

She nods and waves him off with the sweetest little, “happy birthday!” he’s heard all night.

Easily cutting across his tiled kitchen through the spread of his friends and family, Curly flocks where everyone else is already staring: troublemaker Jimmy raising his voice at an unseen woman in the backyard. Music filters in through the open doorway, not nearly loud enough to cover the murmuring of people wondering why the man was even invited. Which Curly supposes is fair -he tends to avoid bringing Jimmy to his formal birthday gatherings because everyone showing up is either from work or related to him.

But for some reason, the morning after Curly’s real birthday party with his friends Jimmy insisted upon making an appearance. Said he’d smoke the whole way through, but he’d stick it out.

Right as he’s brushing back stressed blonde waves and gearing up to drone out the classic hey what’s going on? he sees exactly what’s going on. From over Jimmy’s shoulder, he gets a view of the entire grassy block making up his backyard. Cousins and their older kids clog towards the pool, a few aunts lingering by his orange trees, but all the way to the right is his target. All the way to the right, at the very side of his house is a cracking wood gate door hung on rusty, squeaky hinges.

A hand is on that door, it trails around the edge and around to slide its metal bar lock into place before joining the other hand in cradling a yellow polka dot box. A purple glitter ribbon crinkles into the bust of your shirt, shiny flecks decorating your cleavage.

Once his eyes tread up your neck, he spots the beaten pout slithered over your face. Gaze honed on Jimmy -- which redirects his own attention toward Jimmy, the entire reason he’d toddled over this way.

“Get your hooker ass the fuck outta here!” Jimmy doesn’t give you the benefit of anyone’s doubt, either, he fishes you directly out of the crowd with the tip of his lighter. Silver glinting beneath the warm sun, “Bitch, if you- !”

“Don’t pretend we were strangers,” Curly steps past Jimmy, slightly jostling the man with his broader shoulders. Thick stature leaking out at his friend’s side and pouring onto the cement, he waves you over, “It’s been awhile! Glad you could find the place alright.”

Then Jimmy stabs an elbow into Curly’s side, hissing, “You fuckin’ invite this cunt?”

“No,” dismissively, Curly shrugs while watching you slink over. Heels stapling lime green astroturf into the ground as you do, “But what’s the hurt?”

“Bitch,” Jimmy scoffs, reaching behind the both of them to slam the glass door shut. Staunchly avoiding eye contact with you by craning his neck downward, cigarette drooping between his front teeth while he fiddles to light it.

“Good to see you again, Curly,” you all but purr, pushing the box in hand beneath your chest to give him a biiiig birthday hug, “I’m glad Jimmy hasn’t killed you yet.”

“Shoulda fried your ass,” is all the man says.

Curly laughs when he really shouldn’t and ticks his head towards the door, “Want to come inside?”

“How nice,” it’s clear you’re saying that loud enough for Jimmy to hear, “Of course, I do.”

To ease his friend even a little, Curly lingers at the glass door and quietly offers, “Jim’ wanna come inside?”

Jimmy shakes his head stiffly, sucking almost half the life from his cigarette in one breath.

“It’s been awhile, how’ve you been?” he guides you into the kitchen and pops the fridge. Snaking a hand deep into the back for one of those fruity seltzers he knows you drink (Jimmy hates them all and made you chug his entire beer in apology for buying them one night, Curly thinks that’s why he remembers this about you).

Your face, still round with unlived life and sweetness, brightens seeing the crisp white can in Curly’s hand, exchanging gift for gift as you answer, “Pretty good… Nothing crazy. How about you? What’s old age feel like?”

“Old age,” Curly rolls his eyes, twiddling the showy bow you tied, “Jimmy’s older than me, you know?”

“What do you think I called him?”

“‘Babe.’” jimmy hates pet names unless he’s the one giving them.

“You’re so cute,” you slide into his side, expertly dragging one tassel of ribbon to undo the knot. Skin flush against his, your warmth mingling until he can’t surely state where personal space ends and begins, “I meant that. Differently.”

Once the bow is done away, you lift the top of the box to expose a single piece of paper scrawled over with a pink glitter pen and heart stickers.

“I thought it’d be funnier this way, but uhh, happy birthday!” you have to double check Jimmy’s still outside before kissing Curly’s stubbled cheek. A dewy stain left behind, smelling of pure sugar, “You said you liked your ladies direct, right?”

‘ONE FREE COUPON FOR: BIRTHDAY SEX!’

Curly feels winded. Grasp on the box tightening. He blinks down at the scraplet before locking onto you.

Soft and sweet, despite it all. A reprieve from his own bullshit as much as an untouchable boundary. Maybe even more forbidden, actually.

Con: Jimmy had to buy your drinks for you when you two first got together, and that was only a couple years ago.

Con: You’re strangers outside of Jimmy.

Con: You’re Jimmy’s fucking ex.

Con: You’re almost half his age.

Con: You’re Jimmy’s ex.

Con: half his age

Con: jim’s ex

Con: age

Con: ex

pro: you’re absolutely throwing yourself at him.

“You think that’s a good idea?” Curly can’t really look you in the eye so he focuses on the patch of skin between your brow bones. Weirdly, that too is pretty to him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” you shrug, so disconcerted with taboos and trivialities just like his cousins’ kids, “We’re both single, right? Not like anybody’s getting their feelings hurt.”

“Jim’ would- !”

“Jim’ would kill me if I toasted you,” you’re not sure why they’re friends but you don’t have the energy to ask, especially if it means it’s about to lead you to the holy grail of men, “Forget about him for a second, it’s your birthday.”

Sexual liberty, anti-puritanism, pleasure principle and all that bullshit -- kids these days are all hopped on hormones and fight those causes daily just for the right to fuck as they please (jesus he should stop saying ‘kid’). Sometimes social impurities are set in place for a reason.

But this is your choice, isn’t it?

Besides, you dated Jimmy. How much worse could Curly be for you?

“Break up was pretty ugly,” Curly hisses like this hurts him, and for all you know it probably does. His knuckles are whitening as he holds the (practically empty) box, “He wouldn’t even tell me about it.”

���Do you actually give a shit? Or do you just want me to go home?” you take the box away and make to turn out the door.

Not even a second passes before Curly scrambles after you, after the box. One hand on the corner and one hand on your shoulder as he blushes and pants, “Well- I- well- you know?”

“No clue, Grant.”

You beam up at him, all teeth glowing beneath rosy lips.

“You’re terrible,” Curly steers you towards the stairs, shaking his head the entire time, “You’ll get me killed.”

“Relax, it’s your birthday -you can do whatever you want!”

Like having sex right upstairs from the party composed of all your family and work friends.

“How’re you doing…? Hah -shit- can I move?”

“Uhhh… go slow, please?” you bat lashes up at him, one cheek smushed against the pillow and voice so high and pathetic and pleading.

Curly nods, a loose coil of flaxen hair bouncing in front of his forehead, “Yeah, yeah, of course- of course,” he’s mumbling to himself, mostly, every working braincell dizzying out at the tightness of your ass around him. He slides out one squelching, lubed centimeter before sliding back in, “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

You squeal between pinched teeth, brows knitting up at Curly, “Careful!”

Sighing through his nose, Curly has to swallow down that entitled little ‘it’s my fucking birthday’ he wants to spit on your flaming cheek. Instead he just forces a ditzy, gold-hearted chuckle, “I didn’t believe you at first… about not letting Jimmy fuck you in the ass.”

Pouting, you reach up and claw the back of his neck to yank Curly’s lips against yours, “Don’t bring him up now!”

“But you really are tight,” he grunts, bruising your thigh in his hand -- taking out the urge to restlessly hump your ass in that vicious grip. The other hand slides between your molten thighs until he can swirl leisurely circles into your swollen clit.

A ragged mewl slithers through your throat right into Curly’s mouth as he repeats the tedious little pushes and pulls before he can glide smoothly into your ass. Pitchy whines wheeze after, hardly muffled by the man’s rosy lips. Shiny with mingling spit and swears. When his cock can finally urge past that cinching ring of muscle and you gasp, Curly can only quietly chuckle and nose at your cheek,

“What’s that, baby? What’re you whimpering ‘bout, huh?”

Letting your head hang back, nearly thunking against his darkwood headboard, you shudder and blubber out between ‘ah, huh, mm, uh’s, “So- full- Grant… so fuckin’ big…”

Some sick urge crawls over him before he can choke it down, "Bigger than him?"

You squeal, "Fuck, yes!"

Surging forward, Curly digs pearly canines into your exposed throat -- unsuccessfully attempting to mute his own moans into your skin. Only retreating far back enough to whisper into your hot ear, “Yeah? You like it?” your fucked out needy nod isn’t enough, he needs: “Say it, baby, tell me how much you love me in your ass.”

Fuck the party downstairs, if the music isn't loud enough they can just leave. And Jimmy could croak for throwing away a diamond slut like you.

“I love it!” you warble, breathe sharp, “So good, Grant- thank you!”

“‘Thank you,’” he laughs, sucking each bite in your neck until he’s sure it’ll be stained there tomorrow morning. Fingers dipping into your cunt as syrupy slick gushes out, middle and ring finger crooking toward the pouch of your stomach while his thumb continues to ply your bundle of nerves, “Cum for me, honey, c’mon, it’s my birthday.”

If he wasn’t digging you out with his cock then maybe you’d be able to cackle at how pathetically he whines.

And the best present of all is Jimmy’s controversially young ex letting him fuck her pretty little ass.

[tangerineastronaut]

Hi! I saw you take requests.

May I request something with GOT7 Jackson Wang and best friend!reader, in which the reader starts developing feelings for him and start thinking he’s the one for her? <3

Friends, Just for Now | Jackson Wang (Part 1)

The one where your best friend can't keep his secret anymore (and you're oblivious).

Pairing: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, BestFriend!Reader, idiots to lovers Requested: Yes w.c. 6.6k (oops) Warnings: Cheating (not between jackson and reader), lots of profanity, nicknames, namecalling, minor injury, reader wouldn't know love if it smacked her in the head, holy shit they're kind of annoying af A/N: this was so fun to write, love me a good idiots friends to lovers. I'm also cheesy af, feel free to call me out. Please excuse any errors there may be, I usually proofread after posting. ❣️The love I received on my yunho imagine has literally made me do happy dances, I haven't posted anything on tumblr in 8 years and you guys are just literally the best. I love you all so much! Requests: Open (link below)

Part 2 is on its way!

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

🎧 FRI(END)S by V

“Come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen. You never listen.”

Two things went through your mind, though you refused to lift your head from where it was tucked against your knees. 

One, you hated that nickname. Pie. He thought it was so cute, and it probably would’ve died off had you not reacted to it the way you did. One missed smear of cherry on your nose 3 years ago and suddenly you’ve been christened. It was his favorite story to tell. 

And two, Jackson Wang was going to get his shit rocked if he didn’t leave you alone. 

“Fuck off,” you say bitterly, pulling further into yourself.

He was right. He had warned you.

You’d hoped Leejin was different, that the rumors were just exaggerated. Surely he didn’t cheat on every girlfriend…right?

“Wrong,” Jackson had laughed. “He’s a fucking dog, y/n.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and then Jackson said three words to you that had kind of hurt. Not kind of. A lot. They’d hurt a lot. 

“You’re not special.”

Leejin was so nice, he was smart and funny and headed for a successful career with his family’s business (so what if his parents probably paid off the school to make sure those student conduct violations never stuck). You wanted to be special. Spent 4 months trying to be. It wasn't an eternity, but you tended to put your whole heart into everything, and it almost always ended up like this.

But Jackson’s words rang true, painfully so, when you received a text from an unknown number earlier today—screenshots of messages between Leejin and some girl, including explicit photos. The unnamed person had said nothing else; you wondered if it was the girl from the screenshots, but you didn’t reply. You simply texted Leejin to go fuck himself before blocking him on everything, running straight home to your apartment, praying that Jackson wasn’t there. He was, of course, as you split the rent. You hated the look on his face when you barged in, nose red and snotty from crying.

It wasn’t smug, it was just…"come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen." 

You heard him sigh now, no doubt running a hand through his hair. It was blonde; you’d made fun of him at the time he'd dyed it though begrudgingly had to admit it suited him. But he was going to be bald before he was 40 if he didn’t stop tugging at it when he was stressed.

“Hey. Hey, stop. I hate it when you cry, you know, makes my joints hurt or something,” he says, kneeling beside you.

The fuck…? What does that even—

But you were too upset to stop, so he muttered under his breath, poking at your head until you whipped it up to slap him away. He looked like such a boy, hugging his knees and giving you a pleading look. Fine. Bastard.

You sighed and uncurled yourself, your knees screaming from the pain of turning into a human rollie pollie for the last half hour. Jackson sighed as well, no doubt relieved that you weren’t ugly crying anymore. 

He waited until your sniffles were a few minutes apart before moving, sitting criss cross on the floor. His brown eyes were soft, a rarity, truly, though you knew he was already formulating ways to tease you about this when it was more irritating than painful. 

“Done?” he asks, more to comfort himself than you. You sniff and nod, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Well, his sleeve. He made a face, realizing that you were wearing one of his sweatshirts, but made the apparent decision to yell at you later. 

“Don’t be mean to me,” you mumble, resting your cheek on your knee. 

“When am I ever?”

“Jackson, I swear to fucking—”

“I didn’t say anything, pie.”

“If you don’t drop that god damned nickname, it was one time, one little bit of cherry filling, I don’t even like cherry pie, you’re so fucking annoying—”

It was his turn to interrupt, but he didn’t. He just watched you, an irritating twinkle of amusement in his eyes. You scoffed and tucked your face away again, wishing he’d stop looking at you like that. Or at all, really. If there was one thing you’d learned after being friends with him for so long…the asshat had some eyes on him. Had this way of using his gaze to set the mood, able to stop your arguments or rile you up with micro expressions like an olympic gold medalist of manipulation. 

“Want some ramen?” he asks, tilting his head as though speaking to a kicked dog. You crinkle your nose without looking at him. “Want some cake? Some candy?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” you grumble. 

“Want a bath?”

You sigh, refusing to humor him with an answer he already had. He snapped his fingers like he’d just solved the equation of the century, having the audacity to ruffle your hair as he stepped over you unnecessarily to get to the door. You could hear him down the hall, the sound of the bathroom cabinets opening and closing, the water running, hopefully set on hot like you liked. 

“You're out of bath bombs,” he called. You frown. 

“I’m not, they’re under the sink.”

“Why’d you move them? Next to your menstrual equipment, eww.”

That’s why. You felt sorry for whatever unfortunate woman Jackson decided to wife up—the man was addicted to hot baths and cotton candy bath bombs. You’d have to move them again though, now that he knew about your stash. Besides, you’d sent him to the shop more than a few times when you were cramping and out of pads (and chocolate); he would not be impeded by them.

Jackson was waiting for you by the time you dragged yourself to the small shared bathroom. He bowed dramatically, gesturing toward the tub which was steaming hot, as you liked—a meal’s gotta cook. 

You mumble a thank you as he walks past, though he pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed.

“Get naked, and give me my damn sweatshirt,” he says, pointing accusingly at you. You pout, immediately clutching your pearls.

“Is that why you never get laid? Jesus, would’ve thought you were smoother than that,” you huff. He impatiently tugs at your sleeve, rolling his eyes in that sassy way that always made you giggle and made him more irritated—a win win scenario. 

“It’s a $30 shirt, not a snot rag…pie.”

“You’re a snot rag,” you mumble. You turn your back to him, crossing your arms at the hem and tugging it over your head. You were still in a bra thankfully, though still covered your chest as you tossed the material at him. 

Jackson caught it smoothly, though he wasn’t even looking at the sweatshirt. You didn’t realize he was looking at you until you reached for the button of your jeans. His eyes weren’t lower than your lips, but he looked a little…off. You expected a joke about a food baby or maybe how pale you’ve gotten, but he says nothing. 

“Hello?” you say, shaking your head. “Is that all? Want my pants too? Gonna do my laundry for a change?”

Jackson blinks like his brain finally returned to his skull. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head and backing out of the doorway. Before he closed the door, however, his eyes leveled with yours, so intense it made your breath catch in your throat. Was he mad? Over a sweatshirt?

“Leejin is a fucking idiot,” he says before turning on his heel and heading down the hall. 

You stare at the spot where he stood, even after he’s gone. The hell was his problem now?

By the time you’ve finished your glorious bath, you waltz into the living room like a princess. Jackson looks up from his place on the sofa, deadpanning and tossing his phone on the coffee table as he takes in the freshly purloined hoodie you're sporting.

“Gonna lock my closet,” he says, shaking his head. You beam at him, cutely crinkling your nose as you pad to the kitchen. You tug open the fridge, thinking maybe you could cook something simple for the two of you. It was kind of late to make anything grand, but you wanted more than ramen. 

The empty shelves make your eye twitch. 

“Seriously?” you huff, gesturing around. “Would it kill you to get groceries once?”

“You always complain when I do,” Jackson shrugs, flicking through netflix with the remote. “Got the wrong brand, got too many, didn’t get enough—”

“I always text you a detailed list, but whatever,” you grumble, low enough that it doesn’t provoke a response. “Since you’re a big man baby incapable of buying groceries, you can buy us something at the convenience store.”

“I am perfectly capable, thank you,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Of what? Weaponized incompetence? I agree, get dressed,” you hum. 

Ten minutes later, you’re walking side by side down to the convenience store. The apartment’s location was perfect—five minutes from campus one way, five to a 24 hour convenience store another. Perfect because you both had a habit of wanting to come home when you were drunk after a party, starved and craving foods that you’d regret the next day. 

The doors chimed a welcome as they slid open, allowing you inside. You made a beeline for the sweets, Jackson went straight for the energy drinks. 

You perused the aisle for a few minutes, making your choice and going to find your roommate. You rounded the corner and froze. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to block someone in real life. So while you’d never see Leejin’s social media posts, it didn’t mean that you wouldn’t run into him on a saturday night at the convenience store near your apartment. 

You feel a mix of emotions—anger, shame, disbelief among them. You knew it wasn’t impossible, it wasn’t even unlikely, as this store was one of only a few. But it felt so damn unfair that he’d happen to be here, hours after you found out about what he’d done. 

“Is that all you’re getting?” Jackson snorts, frowning as he eyes your bag of chips. But he notices your stillness, following your gaze to see Leejin, casually chatting on the phone as he looks at the protein bars.

You expect him to snort, maybe make a comment just loud enough for the other to hear before pulling you away, but Jackson surges forward so quickly he nearly knocks you over. You grab his arm, both to steady him and stop him from…whatever the hell he’s doing. 

“Where are you going?” you whisper, tugging him back with as much strength as you could muster. 

“He broke your heart and I’m gonna break his fucking face.”

He moves again, this time dragging you along on the linoleum floor. Fortunately, Leejin is too preoccupied with his call to notice. The thought makes your stomach twist, briefly wondering who he’s talking to. 

“You’re gonna get us kicked out, what’s the matter with you?” you hiss, trying to shake sense into him. Jackson yanks his arm away from you, dropping the energy drinks on the nearest shelf before storming off. You stare after him, mouth agape in disbelief. 

You arrive home 15 minutes later, having hid near the bathrooms until Leejin had left. You’d bought (and paid for, irritatingly) your snacks and Jackson’s drinks, but when you shove into the apartment, it’s empty. Lights off, no sign of him. You worry for a few seconds—had he waited for you and bumped into Leejin instead? But you surely would’ve heard something outside. You opt to text him and choose to believe he’s being broody and walking through the streets like a sad music video.

> what the fuck? is your deal? Where are you??

You’re confused and groggy when someone taps at your cheek, not realizing you’d even fallen asleep on the couch. You rub at your eyes, squinting, processing the sight of Jackson standing over you, t-shirt stuck to his form, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks. 

You’ve had weird dreams about him before, ones that you’d rather never speak of again, and they usually start out like this. But this Jackson rolls his eyes in a way that sweet, sweet dream Jackson would never. 

“Get up, jesus. Your back is going to hurt,” he says. You slowly sit up, realizing he’s right. Apparently not only had you fallen asleep on the couch,  but you’d fallen asleep sitting up, sleeping in an unnatural slouched position. 

“Ow…”

“Told you.”

“No it’s…hey,” you snap, waking up a bit more now that you  remember that you’re actually pissed at him. “It’s your fucking fault, what happened to you? You just disappeared! I was worried!” 

You’re surprised to see Jackson bristle. He’s not shaken easily, least of all by you, but he glances to the side and tugs at his t-shirt, separating it from his damp skin. 

“Went to the gym. Figured I should cool off,” he says. You want to be pissed at him more, say something else, but your back hurts and you’re sleepy. Plus, you’re glad to see he’s alright. Mostly.

“Whatever,” you finally grumble, trying to stretch out your neck. “What time is it?”

“Dunno, around 2 a.m.,” he replies casually. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Great,” you huff. “You go shower. I’ll go roll over and die happy now that I know you’re alive.”

You stumble down the hall to your room, sighing at the sight of your unmade bed. What was the point if you were going to mess it up anyway? You hear Jackson follow shortly after, the bathroom door opening and closing. The shower starts, and you shuffle beneath the covers. 

You wake up not long after, whining in protest as you’re jostled. 

“It’s me,” Jackson says, rudely pushing you over. “Scoot.”

You wanted to shove him away, to point out that “scoot” should be said before you rob someone of their bed, but you can’t be bothered. Besides, once he settles next to you, you realize that he’s not wearing a shirt and he smells nice and clean. 

Sleepy, groggy, annoyed, relieved, you curl against him like a bunny seeking warmth. You feel him stiffen, though you think little of it. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, not sounding the least bit tired. You couldn’t say the same for yourself, unable to open your eyes as you reply. 

“Mm. ‘s warm down here. Night night.”

You hear him sigh, then shuffle, and then he’s rolled over to face you, offering a human-made cocoon that you happily burrow into. He’s soft and warm and smells like his manly body wash—and your shampoo, damn it. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says, soft enough to count but not enough for you to notice. 

Waking up tangled with Jackson was, unfortunately (?), not all that unusual. When you were upset, you found your way to his bed, and despite his protests you knew he didn't actually mind. It went both ways—you'll die before you admit that you like it, if only because he's a human heater.

You still feel groggy, squinting and fumbling around for your phone. Such a task is difficult when there's deadweight slung over your waist, but you manage, bringing the device to your face.

10:43 a.m.

Oh good. You slept 8 hours—and half the day away, to your brain at least. You toss your phone down, debating whether or not you should just go back to sleep. You choose instead to roll over, addressing the sleeping shirtless man keeping you pinned to your bed.

Your camera roll was filled with photos just like this, because Jackson slept like a baby. Literally. Hands curled into fists, face relaxed, head tilted to the side. His blonde hair is mussed from sleeping with it wet last night, and you dodn't hesitate to run your fingers through it for no reason at all. It was soft and surprisingly thick, but you weren't about to dial back on the baldness theory.

Jackson stirred, though didn't wake up, shifting to lie on his back. Freed from your restraints, you sat up and had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

Of course the curtains parted like that, of course he was sleeping like a prince now, sunlight arcing off of his jaw—it even highlighted his stubble in an annoyingly poetic way. What kind of gods were kind enough to give him of all people that face?

He really was kinda...pretty.

No, not kinda. Jackson Wang was beautiful. You were his best friend, but you weren't blind. Maybe you'd become a little numb to his charms, but you'd seen what he could do to people with just a look, even without malicious intent. He was charismatic on top of that, though you were the only one who got to see the side of him that wasn't.

The side that stole your shampoo and commandeered your bed, anyway.

So fine, you knew he was pretty. But he was kinda sorta extra pretty right now, and maybe you wanted to remember it later.

You shifted to grab your phone—a never-ending quest for material to bully each other over—but the movement apparently jostled him awake. You sheepishly smiled as he blinked a few times, using the heel of his palm to rub the blurriness away.

"Really?" he asked, voice rough, eyes leveling to the phone in your hand. "Fucking creep."

"You have like a thousand pictures of me sleeping," you point out, narrowing your eyes. Jackson nods, rolling over and hugging your waist, his head resting against your hip.

"That I do—you're cute when you drool all over yourself. I'm working on a collage."

"Asshole," you mutter, prying his arms off of you. You make an attempt to escape, but as expected, you're smoothly hauled back down.

"Where you going?"

"I need to pee, wanna come with?"

"It's early."

"It's almost 11."

"Yeah, early."

Jackson grunts before you can reply, practically placing you in a chokehold as he rolls over. You have no choice but to go with him, ending up flopped over his chest like a dead fish.

He says nothing for a moment, and you wonder if he's fallen back asleep. It's not difficult to squirm out of his grasp this time, though rather than allowing you to slide off, the apparently-awake-Jackson moves both hands to your hips.

Your stomach does that funny thing it sometimes does around him, like a little alarm that says 'hey! getting too close!' Listening to this alarm had prevented a lot of mistakes over the course of your friendship, mistakes like wanting to kiss him when you were tipsy, noticing the way he looked after a long workout, hair plastered to his forehead, the fuzziness you felt that time your heating pad broke, and his warm hands wound up on the lower half of your tummy to stave off the cramps.

Mistakes like that.

His eyes open again, and you do your best to look irritated.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says, suddenly unnaturally serious. "I was just trying to cool off, and my phone died, so I didn't see your text until after I got home."

You're not really sure how to respond—it was always strange when conversations got like this between you, regardless of the topic. It was so jarring, so far from the usual cracked out nonsense. You decided to nod, then shake your head, then nod again.

Jackson was a badass, most people knew as much. He was trained in martial arts and practically ate protein for every meal. But despite this, he wasn't typically an aggressive guy. You'd only ever seen him throw one punch—an ex of yours a couple years ago who threatened to post a nude photo of you. Needless to say, the guy deleted them, made difficult thanks to the blood smearing his screen as it dripped from his nose.

"It's fine, I get it," you say. "Just...why were you so mad at him? Did he do something to you?"

Jackson blinks up at you, shifting so that he's partially sitting up on his elbows.

"I told you, y/n," he says, shaking his head like you're an idiot. "He broke your heart, I was gonna break his face. You should've let me get one hit in at least."

"He didn't break my heart," you groan, rolling your eyes. "It wasn't that serious, you know that. We'd only been dating for 4 months."

"...I watched you cry for an hour because someone stepped on a worm—"

"—that's different. It's literally a living little creature, what if that's someone's girlfriend, hm? What if she asked her boyfriend 'would you still love me if I was a worm' and he said yes except now they can't live wormily ever after because she's smushed all because some horrible person can't be bothered to step aside for a worm?"

Jackson stared up at you, blinking slowly, looking 175% done with your shit.

"What the fuck is wormily ever after?"

You sigh, leaning forward until your head is on his bare shoulder. You have half a mind to bite him, though you resist. You will be civil—for now.

"I don't know," you mumble. "No early birds, no hot sidewalks?"

"I....you're so fucking weird."

"Lots of guys are dickheads, but you were ready to knock him out. Really, Jackson, was that all? Promise he didn't say something to you?" you ask, voice muffled against his warm skin. Just one lil munch. It'd be good payback for him scaring the hell out of you last night.

Jackson exhales, and there's suddenly a hand tugging at your tangled mess of bedhead until you're sitting up, looking down at him.

"I wanted to kick his ass for the same reason that I never bring anyone home," he says quietly. His eyes are serious, no sparkle of humor in them, and it makes your stomach twist. You didn't like it when Jackson got serious.

"What? Because of me?" you ask. "I don't care who you fuck as long as I don't have to cook them breakfast."

Mostly true—you were afraid of walking out of your bedroom one morning and running into a really pretty girl, someone with perfect grades and clear skin, who has the audacity to be beautiful and nice. Someone only Jackson deserves. But you leave that bit out and give him a half teasing smile.

Jackson doesn't return it. He grunts, moving his hand up to tug at his hair. You slip yours beneath his, mumbling for him to stop doing that.

"You really don't?" he finally asks, swallowing hard enough that you see his throat move.

"Don't what?"

"You don't care who I fuck?"

His question catches you off guard, though not as much as the fact that he still looks dead serious. This seems like something the two of you should be laughing over—not something to talk about whilst you're currently straddling your best friend in your bed, who happens to be naked from the waist up.

"I mean...no?" you say, shaking your head in confusion. "Should I?"

"I don't know, should you?"

Should you? What the hell was that supposed to mean? You didn't like riddles, and this felt like one. You'd tried to stay out of his business over the four years you've been friends, though come to think of it...you'd never met any of his girlfriends after the first six months. You'd assumed he was so busy with classes and his extracurriculars that there just wasn't much time for anything past shallow hookups.

But...you couldn't remember a single time that had occurred. He was home every night, never brought company over for that purpose.

"Jackson," you say quietly, palms resting on his chest. When the hell did he get so muscular? There was a noticable firmness beneath your fingers, and you briefly considered billing Leejin for your services in making sure he didn't get the shit beat out of him. "I feel like this is an inside joke and I'm out of the loop. You're upset? Why?"

"Why would I be?" he counters, irritatingly smooth. The hands on your hips squeeze once, like he's trying to talk to you in morse code. It's annoying.

"Quit," you mumble, biting your lower lip. "I'm trying. Stop being mean and just tell me."

He sighs, moving a hand to his face.

"If you don't already know, then it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Wh—"

You're cut off as he suddenly shifts from beneath you, leaving you tumbling to the sheets when he stands. Just like the last two times for some damn reason, he prepares to storm out of the room.

"Jackson, wait—shit."

You trip over the edge of your nightstand, catching yourself on your hands. Your lamp tumbles to the floor, thankfully not shattering on the carpet. Still, the ache brings tears to your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you sit down.

"How many times have I told you to push that against the wall!?" Jackson says, rushing over to you. You lean back against your bed, grimacing as you look at your knee. It's not the worst scrape you've ever gotten, but it is bleeding, and it burns.

"Hang on, pie." He leaves the room, and by the time he returns with the pack of bandaids and peroxide, you're covering your face with one hand and hugging your knee with the other.

"Hey, it's not so bad," he says, obviously in partial panic mode as he kneels in front of you and tugs at your ankle. He probably thought that's why you were in tears, but it was moreso the fact that he was being...just...weird, and you didn't like it.

You quietly sit there, hands over your eyes as he uses a cotton ball to dab at the blood. You don't even flinch, it doesn't burn—perks of having an MMA star for a roommate; he knew how to bandage a cut (a common occurence for your clumsy ass, unfortunately).

After a few minutes, he pats the side of your calf, and you finally uncover your eyes. There's a bandaid over the scrape now, and you let your knee fall to the side. Jackson is looking at you, and you nod.

"That's good, thanks," you mumble quietly.

"You sure?" he asks. You frown, nodding quickly. But his hand moves up to your cheek, cupping it as his thumb swipes below your eye.

Tears.

That alarm goes off inside of you, but Jackson doesn't move his hand, so you let it sit there and you feel your stomach tying itself into a knot. You're a little worried it's not gonna come undone.

"I wasn't crying because of that," you say, swallowing as you glance away shamefully. "I...I don't like this, Jackson. Feels weird. If I did something to make you mad, I wish you'd just tell me—"

"I'm not mad at you," he replies. You sniff, and finally his hand slips away, though only to rest on your uninjured knee. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something but won't let himself. Slap you, maybe, for never listening to him and always ending up hurt because of it. You would, if you were him.

"You keep running away from me," you point out, a little surge of anger from last night returning. "You keep acting like I'm supposed to know everything you're thinking, and I don't, because you won't tell me stuff. I tell you stuff, the least you could do is text me a grocery list of what the fuck is going on inside of your brain, so I'm not sitting here thinking I'm gonna lose my best friend and roommate over something I don't even know that I've done. I'm sorry we ran into Leejin, it's not like I knew he was gonna be there. I'm sorry for thinking I was special in the first place and ending up where you said I'd be."

Jackson sighs and tilts his head, and you hate yourself for crying more. It wasn't a big deal, things were a little crazy after yesterday. You didn't even love Leejin, it had just...hurt? Your pride? No one wants to know they're less than a second choice. But Jackson had acted like Leejin was out for his blood, and every time he runs away, it feels like he's escaping you.

"You're not gonna lose me," he finally says, glancing down at the floor. "I just...I've got a lot of shit to work through, you know? It's not...it's not your fault though."

"Like what?" you ask, worry lining your brow. "If you'd just—is it money? Because we can figure out rent—"

"It's not money," he interrupts. "I promise, it's nothing like that."

"Then what?" You huff, a little more irritated than concerned. "Parents? Grades? Girl trouble?"

"Yeah," he nods, licking his lips. "That last bit."

"Girl trouble?" you ask, somewhat surprised. For some reason, the fact that he hadn't told you about a girl bothered you more than the idea that there was one at all. You shared everything with him; if he'd kept her a secret, it had to have been a little more serious.

"Do I know her?" you ask tentatively. Please say no, I don't want to go through a list of the hottest girls I know.

"Yeah," he replies. Fuck.

"Oh. How long have you been dating?"

"We're not."

"Then...?"

"She's an idiot."

"It's a mystery as to why you're single, really," you say, rolling your eyes. "So she's an idiot because she won't date you? Sounds kind of shallow on your end."

"She's an idiot because she keeps dating jackasses who don't give a shit about her. I don't give a damn if she ever chooses me or not," he says plainly. You frown.

"Maybe she's insecure?"

"She is. Very."

"Huh. Is she pretty?"

"Beautiful."

"Oh. Hm."

Well what the fuck were you supposed to say to that? Congratulations? Sorrows, sorrows, prayers?

"Okay..." you say after a beat. You were not good with advice, especially when it came to love, obviously. He didn't say love though. Infatuation, maybe. Still, you were not an expert. "So if she keeps dating jackasses and won't date you, why do you bother? Why not just forget about her?"

Jackson's eye twitches. You don't notice.

"Hard to forget someone you see every day, pie," he says. You scoff.

"Okay, I'm calling bullshit. I'm literally the only person you see every day."

"Mhm."

"Then you're lying?" you ask. Jackson deadpans.

"Please, for the love of god, never reproduce."

"Rude," you mutter. "Fine, so I know her, she's insecure, pretty, dates assholes, you allegedly see her everyday?"

"All of the above," he says. You frown, lips pursing as you rack your brain for answers, going through the hot insecure girls you know like a filing cabinet.

Wait.

Your eyes widen. Jackson's do the same, and then he smiles, like he's proud of you.

"Oh my god, is it Kim Sujin?" You ask, covering your mouth. "The girl with the—"

"Jesus fucking christ, y/n," he groans, running a hand through his hair. "Are you...you're fucking with me? That's what this is. You're not this dumb, right? Please say no. I feel like I'm in middle school right now, holy shit."

You open your mouth to argue, to insist he was being unfair (you didn't even like puzzles!) but he suddenly leans forward, palms cupping both of your cheeks. He pulls you toward him, nose inches from yours. You've been this close to him before, but you're suddenly dizzy now, a little out of it as you wonder if this is really happening to you—or if this is another sweaty-jackson-standing-over-me dream. Jackson, who has freckles on the tip of his nose and won't stop looking at you like that, the knot pulling tighter and tighter.

"Stop thinking before you hurt yourself. 'm gonna kiss you now, is that okay?" he asks.

Is that oka—?

"Kiss?" you mumble, swallowed up by those god damn pretty brown eyes. Jackson nods, head tilted, primed to kiss the cluelessness out of you, apparently. "Y-yeah, that's fine."

"It's gonna be...it's gonna be a lot, okay? Like not just a peck. You're fine with that?"

"Yep," you nod.

Jackson nods back. And then he kisses you.

He doesn't release your face, squishing your body between himself and the bed behind you. His lips press to yours, insistent and warm, though you can tell he's being cautious—if you wanted to push him away, you could. But you did not want to do that.

Because Jackson Wang was kissing you, and he's a really good kisser.

You briefly forget that you have hands, so when you remember, you waste no time in using them. One cups his jaw, feeling the edge of it press into your palm. The other fists his blonde hair, tugging it gently.

Jackson groans into your mouth, and that alarm in your belly turns into a fucking war drum. You feel the knot tighten and snap, and suddenly you're pushing him back, scrambling into his lap.

You kind of want more, kind of want to put your tongue in his mouth because he's warm and tastes good and you can only imagine how much better it would be, but he beats you to it. His tongue swipes over your lower lip and you eagerly open for him. He breathes in as soon as you do, and it feels like he's stealing your soul. Fuck it? He can have it?

It's messy, a tad bit desperate, definitely not the poetic kiss of rom coms, but you don't give a shit. It feels good, feels warm and right, like you've been kissing him in your head every day for the past 4 years.

By the time you manage to separate, you're trembling an embarassing amount. You'd blame the buzz on coffee if you'd had any, but you just hide your flushed cheeks and rest your forehead against his shoulder. You can tell that for once, Jackson's brain seems to also have short circuited, as it takes him a minute before he finally wraps his arms around you. You can hear his breath—as shaky as yours, thank god.

"Was that okay? Was it weird? Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asks, tilting back on one palm to look at you, his other arm secured around your waist. You sit up, shamelessly biting your lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He mistakes this for discomfort, all but shoving you out of his lap, hands flying to his hair.

"Fuck, I...I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to. I wasn't gonna...I'm so fucking sorry y/n, if you want me to move out—"

"You're gonna go bald," you mumble, a little blitzed out as you rest on your hands.

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Stop freaking out, okay?" you offer, finally looking up at him. God he looks...scared. Hair messy, brown eyes wide. So unlike his usual cocky self that you're a little shaken, caught between wanting to protect him and wanting to kiss him again.

"I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?" he asks softly. That alarm is now everywhere, setting off in your chest at his concerned tone. You shake your head.

"No. I'm okay," you reassure him. "A little irritated."

Jackson's head snaps up, worry on his face. You feel guilty, so you quickly clarify.

"You said I'm not special," you say quietly, looking away. "If you were talking about me just now...why did you tell me that?"

He looks confused, like he can't remember (of all the things he's said to bully you—while you kept a detailed record). But he seems to finally recall the conversation, rubbing his forehead as his lips spread into a smile.

"What's funny?" you puff.

"I meant to him, pie. You're not special to him. Not that you weren't special at all, or to...to me," he explains, looking part amused and part shy. You soften a bit, unable to help but pout.

"Then you should say that!" you say, gesturing at nothing. "You can't just go around telling people they aren't special."

"I don't make you feel special?" he asks, dipping his head to meet your eyes.

Well, yes, but that's not the point. You choose not to reply.

Just like most things when it comes to you, however, he already knows the answer. He looks a little too proud of himself as he reaches for your wrist, pulling you back into him. You're not quite in his lap, but you lean heavily against his side, your chin resting against his chest.

"What if we mess it up?" you ask, looking up at him. He frowns, not understanding. "Us. What if...what if we mess us up?"

"I don't see how we would," he laughs. "We're practically married."

"Gross. We are not."

"We split the bills, pie."

"Most roommates do."

"We cook together."

"Most roommates do."

"My mother loves you."

"Your mother loves everyone."

"Not true. And my father loves you."

You pause, then squint.

"Your father has good taste," you say. Jackson rolls his eyes. He looks a little conflicted, like he can't decide what's too much, what's too soon.

"I do," he says quietly.

You hate that, for once in your life, you know exactly what he's saying without him saying it. And god damn it, you feel your eyes burning.

"Don't...ugh," you whine, looking away from him. But he's not having it, taking your chin and tilting your face up. You're faced with glassy eyes that make you want to die.

You hated it when he cried. Maybe you make his joints hurt or whatever, but you've only seen Jackson cry twice, once when his family dog died, and another when he was drunk and had convinced himself you weren't his friend anymore. Both times, you'd never felt so helpless. The way you feel now.

"Y/n, I—"

"Please don't," you breathe quickly, swallowing down your tears. You immediately panic at the look on his face, like you've slapped him. But you tuck your hair behind your ear and shake your head.

"No, I-I mean, I know you do, and I...I'm pretty sure I do too. I just...I can't say it now, alright?" you explain. "I'm sorry, I just—you know me better than anyone. I don't...don't wanna fuck it up, you know? I don't wanna lose you, I'm so bad, so stupid when it comes to this—"

"Hey, hey, shh..." Jackson says, gently shaking your chin. "I'm not upset, okay? Just relieved, a little scared. I don't want to fuck this up either, yeah? I want...I want what we are today and I want it tomorrow, even if that means we stay just like this."

His thumb brushes your lower lip. God, you want to kiss him again.

"No rush, pie, okay? I'll wait for you, even if..." he sucks in air and looks away, as though the idea hurts to even consider. "...even if it's never for us."

You want to kiss him again. Would that even be appropriate? After what you just said? After the emotions threatening to disrupt the foundation of your life for the past four years?

"Can...can I kiss you again?" he asks softly. You swallow and nod.

"Please."

[honeycrispappletree]

ivy // hajime iwaizumi ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ

masterlist

part 12: baby came home

by: the neighborhood

Everything already had a slight, blurry haze as yn walked into Smalls. She’d pre-gamed of course,and now the whole band was here, back at the place where it all started.

Back where oikawa had thrown up on the cute bartender. Classic.

She giggles as she overhears kageyama complaining—him and akaashi got dragged along. The hum of the bar, the chatter of her friends, and the sticky floors all ease the tension in her chest.

“LET'S GET TO IT, LADIES!” bokuto yells, charging for the bar. akaashi shakes his head but follows, turning to the group, “Cut him off after three.”

kuroo, who’s been waiting to say this all night, grins wide. “Let’s go talk to that bartender, huh, oikawa? You talked a big game on the way here.”

oikawas swallows nervously, backing away. “That was kinda a hypothetical thing, you know, I wasn’t really—”

“You’re doing it,” kuroo says with a grin, pulling him along toward the bar.

The group breaks off, leaving yn, iwaizumi and kageyama together.

“This group is just too predictable,” Iwaizumi chuckles, throwing an arm around YN and pulling her into the crowd. He glances over his shoulder at Kageyama, “Want a drink, Kags?”

“I’m gonna have the bartender make one for me and tell her all about Oikawa,” kageyama says with a mischievous grin before disappearing into the crowd, heading to the bar.

“That kid kind of scares me sometimes,” YN mutters, half-joking.

“He’s evil, I’m telling you,” Iwaizumi laughs.

“Let’s gooo sitttt, Hajiiiii!” yn slurs, tapping his arm. “We need to catch up.”

“We didn’t talk for, like, only a week,” he responds, pinching her shoulder playfully. She flinches.

“A lot can happen in a week.” She flashes him that warm smile he loves- the way her eyes crinkle and her head tilts just slightly, always to the left. It always makes his heart skip a beat.

iwaizumi rolls his eyes but smiles. “Yeah, yeah, you win.”

He pulls her toward a booth, squeezing her shoulder tighter. Neither of them can help but wonder if the bar's AC has suddenly broken.

An hour and seventeen minutes later, kuroo somehow manages to convince everyone to play pool. bokuto is swinging the cue stick around like a weapon while kageyama dodges it, trying not to get his nose broken. akaashi is furrowing his brows in irritation, explaining to oikawa that ‘game pigeon 8-ball’ is nothing like actual pool. This commotion continues as iwaizumis turn comes up. He squints at the ball, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He focuses, eyes narrowig as he lines up the shot.

He flicks his eyes toward yn for a split second before shooting the stick forward. He misses. Frustrated, he slams the cue stick against the felt.

“This game is fucking stupid, Kuroo,” he mutters, sliding to the other side of the table to make room for Kageyama.

yn laughs, her voice light. “You’d be beating everyone’s ass at 8-ball right now.”

“Yeah, because I cheat and use the screenshot ruler,” he teases, nudging her side.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” yn says, pushing herself off the pool table and heading across the bar to order a refill.

She leans against the counter, arms folded, watching the bartender juggle orders. A strange sense of deja vu washes over her—like she’s been in this exact moment before. But before she can place it, a familiar voice cuts through the noise and does it for her.

“Hey, YN.”

Her heart drops. She doesn’t need to turn around to know that pair of gray eyes is burning through her skull , but she does anyway.

“osamu,” she says, her voice faltering slightly as she forces a smile.

He cocks his head, his voice laced with bitterness, “Haven’t heard from you in a minute. Where ya been?”

yn forces herself to look him in the eye. Her green eyes clash with his dull gray ones, and she feels a chill run down her neck.

“Just been busy,” she says, fidgeting with her nails, dancing around the ghost between them.

He tilts his head up, scanning her, before glancing at her friends laughing at the pool table.

“Looks like you’ve rebuilt some bridges,” he scoffs, a slight edge to his tone.

yn inhales sharply, keeping her voice steady. “Yeah, the band’s important to me... so, this whole thing?” She shakes her head, “It’s just not gonna work out.”

osamu makes a ‘tch’ sound, narrowing his eyes. “They didn’t seem so important when you ditched them.”

yn mirrors his gaze, her voice cold. “Clouded judgment, I guess.” She’s playing with fire, but she can’t help but throw back her own flames.

osamu steps closer, and she feels her breath hitch. He smirks, leaning in. “You’re gonna regret that, you kn-”

Before he can say anything else, iwaizumis hand grips the back of his shirt, tugging him backward. yn takes a step back, her spine hitting the bar as she watches iwaizumi shove him—then punch him square in the fucking nose.

osamu collapses to the floor, and iwaizumis already on top of him, fist digging into his face. yn watches in a mixture of shock and panic as osamu claws at iwaizumi’s face, desperately trying to get in whatever damage he can. kageyama and bokuto are immediately on the scene, quickly pulling iwaizumi off, shouting at him to calm the hell down.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, ya damn psycho!” osamu spits, blood dripping from his nose, his face twisted in anger as he slowly gets up with help from a random witness.

iwaizumi swings an arm free, pointing at osamus chest. “Stay the fuck away from her, you hear me?”

iwaizumi doesn’t say another word before his friends start dragging him away, the crowd murmuring about calling the cops.

The cold night air hits the group as they spill out onto the street. They all stand there, panting from the chaos and adrenaline inside. iwaizumi wipes the blood from his knuckles onto his cargo pants, muttering curses under his breath.

It’s quiet. Nobody knows what to say-nobody except yn, that is.

She’s trying to stifle her laugh, but the noise still escapes out of her mouth, and the group looks over in shock.

“Are you fucking laughing?” iwaizumi scoffs, eyes wide as he winces at the slice on his cheek.

“I’m sorry, I really-“ yn laughs again, covering her mouth. “He just- he looked like he was about to cry- and your face was sooo fucking red-“

kuroo turns away, his head in his hands, trying not to lose it. But it’s already too late. bokuto and kageyama are giggling like mad, and oikawa and akaashi can’t stop chuckling either. The laughter suddenly becomes contagious, and nobody can seem to shut the fuck up.

iwaizumi shakes his head as everyone laughs around him, and he finally starts to crack too. His knuckles sting, his head’s throbbing, but he can’t help it.

They’re all leaning on each other, breathless from laughing so hard. He sighs in relief of the tense interaction and turns to yn. He pulls her in , his arm wrapping around her neck as he rests his chin on the top of her hair.

“You good?” he asks, smiling like he can’t believe this is even a real situation right now.

yn giggles lightly, her voice breathy. “Yeah, I’m alright. Are you?”

iwaizumi winces as his cheek throbs and blood smears on his hands, but as he looks around at his friends and at her, he feels better than he has in a long time.

“Never better.”

more!

while this fight broke out oikawa was at the bar finally rizzing up the bartender and he was like hahha oh shit bar fight and they were laughing and this face went dead and he went oh fuck thats iwaizumi and he ran over yelling CALL MEEE LATER

soulmates

iwaizumi w some bruises.... LAWWDDDD

yn has a horrible habit of laughing in serious situations

she doesnt get scared of anything but she was SWEATING at osamu

you know this whole ordeal is on the college barstool

naturally

bokuto didnt want to pull him off but kageyama was like r u fucking kidding me help me

taglist: @v1oletfury @solzscribblez@iluvmang @nitasplace @wave2mia @jadeoru @walllflowerrrsss @tespho @piapiaweee3 @illuzminate @kr1nqu @itsdragonius @soulfullystarry @diorzs @honeyfewr @akaashislove @phoenix-eclipses @nnnyxie @vivianne666 @gigiiiiislife @hqandjjklover @ji9starrr @blueballslock @makki0s @s6rine

a/n: ivy... almost completed.... why am i sad. THEYRE SOO IN LOVE OOOOOOOO KILL MEEEEEEEEEEEEE. i love violence. ok thats it bye

[nephilimeq]

If We Were A Movie

Prompt: Spiderman Kiss

@bucktommyfluffebruary

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62721625/chapters/160670875#workskin

Tommy balanced the leftover casserole in one hand as he made his way to the front door, the tray of cookies on top, his keys in his left, and was proud when he managed to make it through the door without dropping anything. Evan had left early that morning in a rush for his shift, and now it was just after one in the afternoon, and he had come home from his own shift about twenty minutes before—only to find that his boyfriend had been in such a rush that he had left behind the casserole and the cookies, which meant that Tommy was now on his way to save the day.

He silently congratulated himself for not spiling anything as he got right back into his truck, saying to himself, “Oh, you owe me big time, babe,” and then made his way over to the station house, which he now had been back to more than a few times, everyone greeting him with open arms.

As he pulled up, he heard Hen call out through his open window, “Hey! Look who’s here!”

Grinning, Tommy shook his head and retrieved the food from the passenger’s side and shouted back to her, “Yep, and I’m saving the day! I brought dinner and dessert!”

A general cheer went up and he laughed and quickly made his way into the station and up the stairs, dropping the casserole in the fridge and the cookies on the counter, exchanging some quick hellos with a few others on the shift that he knew from before…

…and then was suddenly swept into strong armed hug by Howie.

“Hey, man! Thanks for the food! Cap was about ready to tear Buck a new one,” he said as he pulled back, and Tommy nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Evan was in a bit of rush this morning and forgot to bring the leftover casserole—which, by the way, is amazing,” he said, extolling his boyfriend’s cooking, always willing to let people know that he loved his cooking. Hell, it was because of him that he had put on a couple of pounds. Though his boyfriend didn’t mind and actually seemed to be enjoying it if their most recent bedroom activities were anything to go by.

“I made the cookies.”

“You made the cookies?” his friend said, walking over and peeling the foil back to steal one. He took a bite, chewed, and his eyes went wide. “These are actually good! I’m impressed,” he said with his mouth full. “Looks like Buck can improve even your cooking skills…”

Tommy shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Cookies are baking, not cooking.”

“Then why are they called cookies?” Howie said, spraying a few crumbs in his direction and he gave his friend a look and quipped, “Because they come from the Dutch word ‘koekje’ which means ‘little cake’,” glad that he had watched that baking documentary that Evan had suggested, and felt smug when Howie rolled his eyes and walked away from him, ending their conversation.

He headed back down to the main bay, wondering where his boyfriend was, assuming that he was in the bunk room or out on an errand for Captain Nash.

Just as he was walking past one of the firetrucks, absently tracing his hand along the side, thinking of all the good times he’d had—

—his heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he heard a voice above him say, “Tommy! You’re here!” and he cursed and said, “Jesus fucking christ, kid, you tryin’ to give me a heart attack?” and then looked up to see Evan sitting on top of the rig with a cleaning rag in his hand and a bit of grease on his cheek.

God, he was beautiful.

Grinning from ear to ear, he moved closer to the edge and asked, “Did you bring by the food I forgot this morning?” and the airman nodded and answered, “Yeah, and not just the food you forgot, but I brought my cookies, too, and Howie seems to be a big fan,” and he gave his boyfriend a cocky grin of his own, pleased when he saw him roll his eyes, looking equal parts fond and annoyed as he threw a leg over one of the ladders and made his way closer to the edge of the top of the truck.

“Yeah, yeah. One batch of cookies and suddenly you think you’re a baker, is that it?” he teased, and Tommy smiled and shook his head and said, “No, nothing like that. Just proud that I was able to do it without you hovering over my shoulder…much like you’re doing now…”

His boyfriend smiled and then adjusted himself on the edge of the roof of the firetruck—

—and then Buck was dangling by his legs off the edge, head upside down, saying, “Kiss me like I’m Spiderman, babe…”

Tommy barked out a laugh.

“What? Evan…”

Evan reached out a hand and tried to grab at the airman’s shoulder, saying, “C’mon, ever since Eddie and Chris made me watch that movie years ago, I’ve always wanted to try this!”—and then they heard Captain Nash yell down at him, “Buck! What the hell are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself…again! Get down from there!”

“In a minute, Cap! Tryin’ to get a kiss, here!” he yelled back at him and Tommy felt his cheeks flush red as he ducked his head, putting a hand up to shield his face, feeling every pair of eyes in the station suddenly focused on them. He did his best to not react, but he had a hunch that Hen had a shit-eating grin and Howie was munching on another cookie, while Eddie was most likely shaking his head at the sight and calling his friend an idiot under his breath.

Evan then turned his attention back to Tommy and he said, “Please? You’re makin’ my leg ache a bit, here. Kiss me and that stops…”

“Really? You’re pulling that card?”

His boyfriend nodded, still hanging upside down…and then he gave him a look and said, “God, you’re ridiculous…you’re damn lucky I love you,” and took a couple steps forward and gently grabbed his face from either side, bracing his palms over his grease covered jawline, framing his ears, and then angled his lips down, catching his lower lip between both of his, noting how different it felt to their other kisses, the new orientation making his head swim for a moment.

The kiss was soft and sweet, and Tommy found himself smiling into it…

…especially when he felt Evan’s hands on his own head, his fingernails lightly scratching through the hair at the back of his neck, making him shiver.

The airman pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, “Does this make me MJ or Deadpool?”

He was thrilled when Evan suddenly broke into laughter, one hand going to his stomach as he tried to contain himself, and Tommy watched with barely restrained glee as he slowly crunched back up into position, the movement smooth and strong, reminding him just how damn strong his boyfriend was, and then Evan shook his head and said, “Definitely Deadpool with your sense of humor, babe! God, why…why do you do this every time?”

“Do what?” he said dryly, knowing exactly what his boyfriend meant, enjoying riling him up.

Evan waved his hands at him.

“You know…this! We’re having a moment together, something sweet or romantic, and then you come in with a comment and suddenly I’m the one laughing like an idiot and you’re the one smiling at me like you weren’t the one who just ruined the moment?”

Tommy’s smiled widened even further and he said, “Because I like making you laugh…and because you’re always doing the weirdest shit, Evan, and so I have to make the best of it. Like, seriously? A Spiderman kiss? That was your first thought?” He gestured to the truck. “Because I think you need to raise your standards, babe,” he added, tucking his hands into his pockets and giving Evan a look, trying to go for serious—but he knew that his smile ruined the effect, though he didn’t care.

Evan shook his head, a single curl escaping and curling near his ear as he replied, “I did raise my standards—and I got you as my boyfriend…”

At that, he felt his flush a second time in as many minutes and knew his cheeks were red.

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” Howie called out, and Tommy shot his eyes upwards and glared at his friend, who seemed completely unaffected.

Just as he was about to say something, however, Evan shouted up at him, “Yeah! And you did the same thing, Chimney! You raised your standards and got a Buckley for a wife! So what’s that say about you?” and Tomy snorted and did his best to contain his laughter as he heard Howie splutter as he tried to say something back, only to come up with, “Yeah, well, you’re a…standard,” and then he watched him walk away from the edge of the loft, only to be replaced by Hen.

“Okay, now that was painful to watch,” she said, leaning against the railing that Howie had just been leaning against. “Still, the kiss was cute. Was it everything you hoped for, Buckaroo?”

“Hell yeah,” he said vehemently as he wiped the grease off his hands with the rag from his pocket and Tommy was once more mesmerized by him.

Shaking his head, he reached up and gently batted at his knee and said, “I’ll see you when you get off shift, babe,” and Evan shot him a stunning grin (one that he would never get used to) and made his way back to his truck, listening to Hen and his boyfriend get into a conversation that had something to do with superheroes, and he shook his head and smiled.

Instead of heading straight back home, however, he went out and ran the errands that he had been putting off for the past few days, stocking up on groceries, as well as swinging by the hardware store to pick up a few things he had fallen short on, including drywall screws for the next project that he had on his mind, knowing it was better to have extras than to fall not have enough…and the entire time he was out, the airman found his thoughts constantly going back to their kiss.

They had kissed plenty of times before, but that one felt…different.

Tommy found himself smiling as he stood in the lightbulb aisle, staring at the specialty colored ones, wondering if Evan would like a stained glass one.

Shaking his head, he added it to the cart, checked out, and then headed home where he continued to work.

Food in the fridge, drywall screws in the garage—and then he did his workout, cleaned out the workout room (it had needed it for far too long), prepped his lunches for the week with the chicken parm that Evan had cooked up last night for him, and then finally put up the bookshelf that he had been meaning to put together ever since he had bought three weeks before for Evan to start keeping a bit of his library at his place. By the time it was over, the airman barely had enough to energy to drag his aching body to the shower and then change into sweatpants and a hoodie before going back downstairs to try and read for a while on the couch.

Popping his glasses on, Tommy blinked trying to keep his eyes open to read, the words on the page starting to wiggle in front of him…

…and then the next thing he knew he was blinking awake with Evan hovering over him, his glasses in his boyfriend’s hand.

He was upside down.

“Hey, babe,” Evan said softly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth—and Tommy reached up and held him there for a moment longer, memorizing the feel of his mouth in that position, the way his lips felt against his—so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time.

“Mmm,” he moaned into his mouth before gently letting him pull away. “I could get used to this…”

Evan’s brow furrowed.

“What? Upside down kisses?”

Tommy nodded.

“Yeah, it’s really nice,” he breathed out, still exhausted despite having apparently fallen asleep for several hours, long enough so that he hadn’t woken up until his boyfriend had come home after his twenty-four hour shift. “I get why you like it so much…”

Evan grinned and then leaned back down and gave him another kiss, letting it linger even longer than before…and then when he pulled back, he said with a wry tone, “Looks like we’ll have to do it more often, then,” and he smiled.

God, he loved his boyfriend.

[ammyamarant]

Kamen Rider Gavv ep 1 thoughts

Just going to watch one episode right now because I need to finish Kabuto and I need to Know what Kabuto has up its sleeve. But, the tl;dr of Gavv: Cute show, I can see how traumatized this poor kid will get by the end

Gavv ep 1

okay so I’m already reminded of W. Wonder if there will be a mentor figure that dies like Soukichi does in the first fucking five minutes of W

oh neat doors. I’ve seen Labyrinth too.

jfc how old is this kid he looks baby

yeet out of a plane and the tinkly “oh this is the world mom is from” music lmao

lbr considering the environment you just escaped from and the way you were happy to be freefalling because you were where your mom is from, I think needing some food is understating it.

"what do you have? Do you eat it?" has the same energy as my "what is gender? do you eat it?" joke

WHAT IS YOUR BODY MADE OF

Karakida I want your jacket. Give

Ah you have no communication skills. Understood

"This isn't a monster case" "So what is it?" "Woman fucking killed her own husband and shh keep your fucking voice down"

"today's harvest" and it looks like bloody organs. Hey I've seen 12 Hour Shift too.

oh you've never been allowed actual food have you

oh goddamn it I can hear Apollo aiming the dodgeball already

my dude. you got a tummy ache then gave birth to something. human women would kill for that to be their normal gestation cycle.

mm, cgi is kinda……………………

"hey now I've been fed actual food and have real energy I can make minions" yeah I mean that makes sense. People get all kinds of bodily processes back once they've been properly fed. Usually takes a while for their body to recover but hey you ain't human so I get it

this kid is so sweet and kind giving obvious main character (yeah I know it's shouma) a place to stay and some sweets to eat.

oh right the street drugs WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT HENTAI ASS THING

oh it's just a mouth. Wicked teeth.

Shouma is such a sweetheart

Also ye, I can see why Shouma is enchanted by sweets if his mom never let him have any of the family drugs.

excuse me I need to figure out a way to get into this world and beat down this addict before he hurts this kid

Shouma I would like a full rundown of what you can do because was that super speed and running perpendicular on a vertical surface? My dude? Answers?

Mm, sick monster design

Yeah, the monster and the kid both being like "hey what the fuck" to Shouma is fucking hilarious.

oh fucking ow

your mom turned into a bloody organ thing. Are we sure this isn't just a horror movie?

I feel like these minion things showing up saying "eat gummy!" shouldn't feel as threatening as they do.

OH GOD THE CRYING EYES. I'M HOWLING

"oh with the other one" lmao

I wonder what this show is like on edibles because the bright colours are fun and I had a blast watching Ex-Aid baked. Tho I'd consider that a little too on the nose considering the street drug metaphor of those dark candies

little dudes go somewhere safe that isn't under the fighting feet!

oh interesting so if he gets a lot of battle damage he can repair it by using another minion. Very neat. Wish more "battle damage" was repairable that easily. Looking at you, 3rd Birthday.

oh calling both of them monsters and Shouma just taking it is heartbreaking.

I'm definitely feeling the difference between Takaiwa and whoever the suit actor for Gavv is, but it's more "huh, that's a different way of doing the stunts" than anything bad. I do miss Takaiwa but that's mostly because he's a fucking legend. This guy's doing great, tho.

did… they repurpose the build driver for this?

takaiwa usually stood upright, even for meek characters like Ryotaro, while it seems like this guy's default stance is hunched over. iiiiiiiiiiiiiinteresting. Says a lot about Shouma in this form

okay I was about to say this Rider Kick is lame, but nah, it's pretty good.

Shouma you are sunshine and joy wrapped in ptsd. That's not even a joke I know you're fucking riddled with ptsd from just your memories of your mother alone

Shouma you are not Eiji stop being a hobo

Cute show.

[major-comet]

#wash sarge and donut would have beaten felix to death with hammers i tell you what

elaborating on my tag from the other day because i haven't been able to stop thinking about it (also i forgot about lopez he would also participate in the hammering). part of the reason I think felix was so successful at at least mostly tricking tucker/caboose/grif/simmons is because everyone on that team was suddenly thrust into a position of responsibility that's frankly pretty new for all of them, even grif who has technically led a squad before and tucker who did all that desert bullshit. so they were all pretty preoccupied with that, and didn't have the *time* to examine felix all that closely. it's so easy to take someone at face value when you meet them under extreme stress.

wash and sarge *are* leaders already, though. leading a squad of hopeless soldiers for the new republic is nothing new for them. (and I wonder how the team assignments would have been changed? would lopez have had a squad of his own, or would he and donut have been lumped together since donut can dubiously speak spanish - great opportunity for comedy, if you ask me. OR would sarge have assumed responsibility for what would have been grif and simmons' teams along with donut and lopez, with wash then taking what would have been tucker and caboose's teams. which could lead to parallels of when grif called matthews simmons, except it's sarge or wash calling one of their soliders by the name of one of the missing four. most emotionally impactful would probably be bitters or palomo respectively.)

wash and sarge are very different people, but i like to think that every now and then their leadership brains come together on the same wavelength, even if they get to that point in very different ways. wash and felix would fucking hate each other, and sarge inherently is wary of anyone not properly aligned with a team (because it keeps ending fucking horribly for them, damn freelancers)

we also know that donut and lopez love getting up to some fuckshit from time to time - i think it's part of the red team rulebook. lopez spent a solid season or so as an antagonist, he would be ecstatic at getting to actually do something about this annoying son of a bitch. team sanctioned violence. and donut has one of the highest on-screen kill counts of the reds and blues by that point, he would've had the hammer in his hands before sarge even thought of it. (also i think felix probably would have been like, extra mean to donut because he's an easy target? and i think sarge and lopez would have one of those like "hey you can't make fun of him like that, only we can do that" type of moments that would have prompted absolutely zero self-reflection about the way that they treat donut, as is standard with these sorts of moments.)

i can clearly see the reunion between the two groups. tucker's like "yeah so we've kind of just been hanging with locus. guys fuckin Scary but eh. scary is kind of just normal for us these days. speaking of scary - the doctor chick keeps trying to jump simmons and grif to study them - keeps calling them "medical miracles" or some shit. otherwise? not a lot. what have you guys been up to?" and wash is just like. "oh, not much." and donut interjects about how the four of them totally pounded a guy together and the others have to be like "WITH HAMMERS. WITH HAMMERS." locus might even be there for the reunion, since he wouldn't have had the heads up about the guys leaving the rebel base from felix - y'know, on account of the hammering. sarge would start monologuing about everything they'd been up to, and simmons would seethe with renewed jealousy towards lopez and donut, as he perceives them as sarge's favorites out of all his kids. all would be right in the world.

has anyone thought about what if Felix and locus swapped what parts of the reds and blues they dealt with, like what if locus took caboose tucker grif and simmons, what then

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

currently thinking about how many times we see Till at various ages just...casually injured. Just appearing with scratches and bruises and sometimes blood for No Discernible Reason (the reason is very discernible and it makes me cry)

[fear-no-mort]

thinkign about how alone and unloved morty was for all his life and rick was the first time anyobdy ever put such an amount of intense attention and dependency onto him . and rick had a whole new family and losing them made him stop seeing the value in other people as a whole and morty was the one and first thing that woke him up

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

one thing i really deeply wish is that i'd had access as a kid to the plural community and information that are more easily available today, instead of my first experience with plural community which both took it seriously and was nonjudgmental having been 10's era tul/pa.info lmao

[r7inyz]

could u try drawing reed n Julius from the breaking wheel ?(if ur fine with it)

THE BREAKING WHEEL.....😰😰YEAAAHHHHHH‼️

honestly i liked that story even though it made me fear for my life

(drew these today in school sorry if they aren't the best, BUT THANK YOUUUU FOR THE ASK)

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

wait a minute...

vsynths as they exist in my primary interpretations:

are not entirely human despite looking very similar to humans

well recognized for their unnatural hair + eye colors (& the occasional extra body horror)

possess increased endurance & strength compared to normal humans (particularly in surviving injuries/accidents that would be fatal to regular humans)

have a complicated relationship with humanity

some have the ability to change physical form (or aspects of it) entirely

exist in a "third space" somewhere between reality and fiction, shit happens to humams who stay in that space for too long

have questionable morality

are well-known for a particular ability (singing) and potential "magic" associated with said ability

possess other potential supernatural abilities & supernatural elements to their mere existence

public opinion on them drastically shifts now and then

have been known to lead humans to complete ruin, knowingly or unknowingly

can and will mess with humans, playing tricks/being a minor annoyance at best and killing people at worst

"rituals" can be conducted for them in attempts to "appease" them or prevent them from causing any harm/annoyance

on a technical lit analysis level, are representative of a [human] fear (that technology will "replace us")

ITS JUST THE FUCKING FAE ALL OVER AGAIN ARE YOU KIDDING ME THEYRE FAIRIES TOO IM NFBDBDNF FUCK THIS SHIT

[thingyanon]

Hm. Half brother based off of weird Al

[swagging-back-to]

it's my day fucking off dont bring your child over and expect me to interact with them and ALLOW THEM INTO MY ROOM. fuck all the way off.

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

canon divergent AU where OG! Bianca and Ailette's deathdates were later, so Cardinal Cartelyena only visits the Gilette Mansion and brings Ailette to the Vatican some time after the Day of Sacrifice, after the mess caused by the Toy Mansion is settled.

There's two ways this AU can go:

1. Ailette meets a heavily traumatised Tesilid who watched his roommate kill everyone else and then himself.

2. Ailette doesn't cross paths with Tesilid. When the 17th starts, they do not have the pre-established trust that they have in canon. Ailette is playing on ultra-hard mode, as if being in an SS-class world wasn't already hard enough. Tesilid also has no reason to pretend to be nicer than he actually feels like being, so their dynamic is also very different.

[faunandfloraas]

inadvertently stopped using my freckle fade cream without thinking.... right around the time i started making gifs of felix.... coincidence?

[koneko-chan]

TMAP 23 SPOILERS////

i've been saying for weeksss gwen and alice are the only people who can match each other's freak!!