#this hair is exactly what i pictured him having

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things : chapter thirteen

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks, fingering

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The sheer force he kisses you with aches. Shouta's lips are slick with your cum and his tongue tastes like you, musked and slightly salty in the way that almost makes you search for it, but you don't care. No, you revel in it. In the dark, you both grope and grind, his clothed knee sliding between your legs. You wonder if he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, but then you remember he already knows. It’s all his fault.

Your hands slide under his shirt. His body is soft in ways you like, in ways you don't recognize. Touya’s body was thin to the point of almost frailty, while Aizawa's feels perfect for grasping, for pulling towards you, perfect for pressing against. Sex is fun, you decide. Despite all the awkwardness and tension and overstimulating, sex is good. You get Nemuri's obsession with it, you understand why people crave it. It's so basic, so primitive; it tickles the back of your brainstem, a fundamental part of you that needed it most of all.

And yet. 

And yet you need more.

You can feel how used your body is, how puffy and fried your clit is from the attention, but it's barely done anything to quell the want that's been building inside you. How, after all of that, can you still feel so unsatisfied? So insatiable? What the fuck has this man done to you? What door has he unlocked inside your mind?

Together, you peel his shirt from his body. Skin to skin contact, your breasts against his chest: it all feels right. The animal part of your brain sparks up once again. It’s so basic of a need that it eats at you like hunger. Lust drives you, pushes you. You never feel old, but suddenly you feel young and excited. 

When your hands wander south, Shouta breaks away. 

“What do you think you're doing?”  You swear he's glowering at you through the dark; you can feel his breath huff, but it doesn't stop your fingers from slipping open the button of his pants. He smells like aftershave, but there’s still a patch of scruff on his jawline, presumably missed in the rush to see you. Blindly, you try to kiss at it.

“Touching you.” Why are you so giggly? So sweet?

Your fingers brush against the trail of hair between his stomach and the edge of his briefs. It's short, cropping as if he used to shave, but hasn't in a time. His body shudders at the touch, his hands pulsing tighter, tighter around your tits. Oh, that makes something burn hotter inside you, knowing how you have an equally big effect on him as he had on you.

 “Careful.”

“Or what?” Your voice is still quivering from cumming so hard, but you're gaining confidence.  “You afraid I'm going to make you cum?”

You force the fly open and work his pants down. He doesn't help you, his hands frozen in place as you wiggle. The effort steals a laugh from you, then he joins in, softly. It’s a surprisingly tender moment, but it doesn’t rob you of the tension. The want is building in your throat, threatening to choke you.

“I just don't think-” he whispers. Your thumbs are tucking under his waistband. His skin is warm and soft; you want to touch more of it.

“-I'll behave-”

With a press, you can feel his briefs inch down and the weight of his cock shift. It strikes you that you haven't touched it yet. No, you've only seen it in that picture, only felt it through cloth. Something inside you flutters at the thought of how thick he looked. Could you even take all of it? Truthfully, you doubt it; you’re not a virgin, but you aren’t exactly experienced either. Is it possible to be bad at sex? 

Just as you start to spiral, Aizawa catches you by the elbow. It’s almost impossible to worry with him and the way he touches, the focus he gives you. Even the way he grips your arm feel scandalous, charged with want and desire, like he's going to hold you like this forever, like he's going to live up to his promise and use you however he wants.

“-if you pull my cock out while I'm between your legs.” Aizawa swallows deep. “So, really think about-”

Clumsily, you crane up and catch him in a kiss, your lips blindly smooshing into his cheek.  It’s just enough to catch him off guard, to steal an extra moment before you reach down the front of his pants and wrap your hands around his member. God, it's thick. Almost grossly so. Can your body even take all of that?

“I thought you were gonna do whatever you wanted with me,” you mumble into his scruff. His cock is hot and slick with his own precum. When you run your fingers down the underside, Shouta practically chokes on his spit. That’s right; you’ve cum three times today, but he’s been practically untouched. He must be aching for it. 

With a shaky hand, you drag his cock down, through the wet of your pussy. The sensation sends a shock through both of you; at the same time, you both gasp and hiss, keening deeper against each other. Earlier, everything felt hot, soft and dripping like your core was nothing but melted metal, but now it’s purely electric. Every touch of skin trills through you like a shock, lights up your brain like sparks. Fuck-- this is fun. You’re having fun. 

“You said you wanted to go slow.” Aizawa’s voice is almost a plea-- a final warning. 

You slide your legs wider and Aizawa’s body shifts down, lining up against yours. You can feel him, pressed just hard enough against your cunt to nestle between your lips, barely an inch away from where you want him. The promise of stretch nearly takes your breath away. No-- he isn't where you want him: he's where you need him.

You swallow down your last bit of worry and let your head fall back on to the pillow. 

“Then fuck me slow.” 

It’s not unusual for Aizawa to curse, but the string of swears that escape his mouth sends a chill down your spine. It’s blurted, rushed, slurred; He’s never a chatty man, but now he rambles, mouth never stopping as his hips press forward.

“Needy thing, pretty thing, sweet thing.” The tip of his cock pops inside you without much resistance. You're too soaked for friction, almost too wet. The taste of him makes your toes curl, pussy clench- it's not enough, not enough, not enough-

Your partner hunches over, forehead clunking against yours with a pained groan. 

“How are you that fucking tight?” he gripes. “How are you so fucking perfect ?” 

“Shou-” you wiggle your hips and he groans again, deep and wild. “Fuck me, fuck me.”

“I will, I am--”

“Please!”

“I'm trying not to--”  He takes a shaky breath. His hands are clenched in the sheets, so hard you can feel his bicep flex against your side.  “Embarrass myself.”

A thrill runs down your spine. Your body suits him so well that he's already on the brink, already ready to cum. It makes your ego flare. He wants you. he wants you so badly. After making you cum so many times, the only thing you should want is petty revenge, but now, in this moment, you want him to feel good with you.

“I don't care,” you urge. Your hand sneaks down between your legs, working tiny circles around your abused clit. The sensation is electric, so much so that you swear you can see lightning behind your eyes. An orgasm might not even be possible at this point, but you can't help but try. “Just fuck me.”

Finally- thankfully, beautifully, finally- Aizawa sinks his whole cock into you. It's been a while since someone's been inside you, so the pressure feels good, but strange and unfamiliar. A sound must escape you: Aizawa suddenly stops, pulling back ever so slightly. 

"Are you okay-?"

“Keep going-” You urge as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Keep going.” 

Ever so obedient, Aizawa rolls his hips, harder this time. Your body makes lewd sounds with every stroke, the wet smack of your folds being spread audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. Your muscles give to his thickness and you can feel every stroke deepen until his hips are finally pressed against yours. The button of his pants digs into your ass, but the discomfort is almost pleasurable.

“Needed this, didn’t you?” he whispers. “Needed to be taken care of?”

Your voice is staccato with his thrusts. He’s not being rough, but you’re so sensitive that it feels like he is manhandling you, abusing your overly loved body- “Y-yeah.”

“Your boyfriend didn’t take care of you?”

If he had said that at any other time, you may have gotten upset, but you feel so open, so bare-

“No…” You flop back onto the mattress. You hadn’t realized how curled you had been against him, how hard your fingers had been digging into his skin. The relaxation changes to pleasure; it’s a sweet, liquid heat, rolling through you like melted molasses. “No, he never-- he couldn’t--”

“Poor thing-”  His teeth nip at the stop under your earlobe, catching skin with his canines. “So neglected-”

Oh, that cocktail of hormones in your brain has you stupid and emotional.  “Yeah.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he bites again and you know there’s going to be another bruise to explain away tomorrow. “I’ll spoil you.”

Aizawa hooks an arm under your leg and lifts it. The angle changes and his cock hits a previously untouched spot; your body kicks and twitches. It feels impossible, but you’re going to cum again, you’re going to cum before he does, and you’re going to revel in it.

“Touch-” Your voice is high with want. “Touch my tits?”

It’s barely a question, almost a demand, and Aizawa is more than eager to obey. His free hand finds the pebbled curve or your nipple and flicks his thumb over it, searching for a positive reaction. When he doesn’t get it, he changes his touch, waiting to your approval.

“Like that-” you finally confirm. His rutting gets harder, but not faster; it's slow grinds, taking advantage of every inch and then some. The coarse of his pubic hair is delightful friction against your clit; it nearly hurts with how good it feels.  “Just like that-”

“Good// girl, yes.” His tone is so desperate. “Tell me what you need.” 

Oh, you wish you could, but your voice is failing you right now. It's like every brain cell in your head is dedicated to lighting up with ecstasy, downing in him, him, him, him--

“I'll give it to you, give you everything you ever want-” Shouta whispers into the shell of your ear. He's being so steady, so patient; it's nothing like the other times you had sex. There's no rush, no urgency.  “I want you spoiled. I want you greedy. I want to ruin you for anyone else.” 

You can't cum again. Your body is too spent, too used, too-- too-- too--

Everything inside you goes rigid and you come undone once again. It's embarrassing and loud: both your mouth and your cunt. You're saying something, but you don't know what, if it's even words at all. The heat of pleasure is boiling your mind, your senses. 

You’re not a virgin. You haven't been for years, but suddenly you feel inexperienced, naive. Sex could feel like that? It could make you feel like this?

Shouta's hips press against yours and he groans, deep and unabashed. Warm fills you, accompanied by the twitch of his cock, and you realize he's cumming too, melting into you--

At the last moment, he catches you in an open mouthed kiss. It's messy, mostly tongue and spit, the kind you can't breathe through, but you find yourself pressing back, licking and sucking and nipping and drowning in it all, giving yourself to the moment--

“That was-”

You clumsily slap a hand upwards, tapping the side of his face. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you still can’t fully make out his silhouette. 

“Don't talk,” you mumble.  “I-- haa.” 

The roll of your hips just won't stop. The last flickers of your orgasm are still burning and you can't help but stroke them on. You swear there's literally sparks behind your eyes and no bones left in your body; you don't know how you're even moving. Against your will, your cunt twitches, pulling a pained groan from Shouta.

“Can I speak now?” he mumbles through your fingers. Your hand falls back to the bed. “You're going to have to give me a couple minutes before another round.”

The hard of his cock is already softening inside you.  God, the cloud of post-coitus bliss has you so soft you feel sappy; you never want him to pull out, never want to lose his body heat. If you could lift your arms again, you'd wrap them around him.

“My heart might stop if we go again,” you whine. That was the first bare cock you've ever taken. 

He chuckles and it hits you in the chest like a fucking bullet. Oh, this is bad. Pathetic. Lovely. You might cry or laugh or pass out.

 “Is that good?” he asks, tone evident that he knows it's very, very good.

“I think I came so hard I had a stroke.” That has to be the only reason you’re feeling so wobbly.

“The only stroke is you stroking my ego.” A pitiful noise escapes you as he rolls away, groaning as he gets to his feet. He sucks in air through his teeth, then releases it carefully.The room is suddenly unbearably cold; you shake and shiver, silently wishing he’d come back.  “Let's get you cleaned up. Light’s coming on.” 

 The sound of his hands fumbling on the side table is followed by the click of the lamp turning on. Warm light floods the room and you finally get a glimpse of him. His already loose curls are mussed, fallen in front of his flushed cheeks. His chest has a sprinkling of hair - trimmed, it seems - and a trail down from his belly button. He's already tucked his cock away into his briefs, but his pants are unzipped. His underwear is a light green; it makes you laugh a bit. At least both of you are fucked. 

Shouta takes his turn to observe you. You must look even worse: naked, hair a mess, legs spread and cum dripping down the track of your ass. 

“Shit-” Sleep nearly sideswipes you immediately, so hard you’re struggling to even care. “We made a mess.”

Aizawa regards you again, brow raised. “Mostly you.” 

Oh, you beg to differ. The mess he made inside you feels sloppy and slippery, leaking from much too deep inside you. It's the first bare cock you've ever taken, you realize. It felt dangerously good, with none of the friction or stink of the condom. Even the tickle of warmth inside you is surprisingly pleasant.

That's dangerous knowledge, especially with the consequences.

“You shouldn't have…”  you try to sit up a bit to be serious. “Inside me.”

Realization catches Aizawa's face. 

“I should have asked,” he says.   “I was… caught up.”

“It’s okay.” Especially because you liked it. You flop back down with a sigh. “I’ll get a Plan B in the morning.”

Aizawa  shifts his weight and hisses at the pressure. Before you can say anything he turns, headed towards the bathroom.

“I… I can’t get you pregnant.”  The faucet runs while he speaks. “I can buy it for you anyway, if you want to be extra safe.” 

“Oh,” you say, shifting uncomfortably. You believe him, of course; he's not a liar. Maybe about silly things, but not about this. “I didn’t know that.”

He turns the sink off and returns, washcloth in hand. 

“Of course you didn't.” Aizawa gestures for you to spread your legs. You hesitate, then remember exactly what you've been doing these past two days. He's eaten your cunt; you guess he can see it again. Resting against the edge of the bed, he runs the cloth against the mess inside of your thighs. It's hot, but not uncomfortably so. “Sterility doesn’t come up in conversation very often.”   

He runs the cloth into the crook between your leg and pussy. You would have thought the act demeaning, but it’s sweet.

“Vasectomy?” you ask. 

“Nature. Maybe the accident. Either way.” 

He shrugs it away, but there's an edge of something deeper in his voice. He tries to hide it, eyes focused down as he folds the towel over itself and then gingerly touches it to your outer lips.

“I shouldn’t have pried,” you mumble. 

“It’s not prying,” he says.  “I’d argue it’s very much your business right now.” 

The washcloth gets tossed into a corner. The thought of it mildewing there makes your stomach turn, but you're entirely too tired to consider picking it up yourself. Your partner knots his hair into a low hanging bun, just something to get the hair off of his nape. He hesitates at the edge of the bed, not entirely on or off, just hovering in the periphery. 

“Did you want kids?”  

Aizawa glances up, brows knotted together. This time, you really think you may have overstepped. 

“I didn’t mean with me!” you try to recover. Just… in general.”

You're ready for him to step away, but instead he sinks a bit closer to you in the bed, head lounged, lips pursed. 

“No, I don’t.” He heaves it like a confession.   “Considered it for a moment. But, I decided I’m not the paternal type.”

Shouta huffs so hard that his body puffs and deflates.

“Can barely handle those fucking interns.”

The laugh sneaks out of you. Aizawa watches you from his perch, eyes narrowed with amusement. The cool air starts biting at your skin; you scuttle under the covers, then pat the space beside you.

“You scare the shit out of them,” you say. 

“Good.” 

“You could be nicer.”

You pat the empty space again. This time, Shouta obliges. He settles under the covers, a healthy distance from you.  

“It's my job to be mean. We're making items that directly affect people's lives.” He shares your pillow, the special one you brought from home, the silk one that gives just right. “Have you ever been in a hospital bed?”

“No.”

“It's miserable. You don't get a lot of rest. Nurses come in every couple of hours to check on you-- nurses working twelve hour shifts with too many patients to handle.” His eyes are distant, even as he looks your way.  He's thinking about the accident. You want to ask questions about it, but instead you listen. “If we can design something to make that experience better, something to help patients and nurses, we should be serious about it. They should care.”

A moment passes. You try to imagine him younger, sadder. You try to imagine him in those beds-- then try to imagine him before. The silvered scar on his cheek: what would his face look without it?

“I know on the surface it sounds silly,” he continues, a bit more grave. “It's a bed. But if we can make monitoring tools for nurses easier, feed reports directly into the system. Heart rate, breaths per minute, blood pressure-- it takes a load off of their plates and lets them focus on patients who need it.”

His head rolls towards you and your noses are only inches from each other. It feels like you’ve been momentarily allowed into an inner sanctum, opened a door to a part of him you shouldn't be allowed to see. The long nights at the office make more sense now; you had always thought he was just a workaholic. 

“And these beds might be the last place someone lives before they die.”  Aizawa says. “They deserve comfort. Dignity.”

He tilts his head down to regard you, then starts a bit, bewildered. 

“Why are you giving me that look?” 

You bite down your own smile. 

“Just…” Your hand finds his chest. “Didn't realize you cared so much.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes as he places his own hand over yours. 

“Don't tell the interns,” he grumbles. “Don't want them to think I'm soft.”

The sleep that nips are your cerebellum is the cozy kind, the kind that eeks your eyes closed bit by bit. Aizawa places the towel on the ground and you watch him. His features are the same as they always are, but your brain has recontextualized it all; the silvered scar on his cheek, the flat of his nose… you smile.

“Do you have pictures?” you mumble. 

“Hm?”

“Of your cats.”

Aizawa looks back at you, surprised. Then, he melts a bit, pulling his phone from his pocket. He joins you back on the bed, over the covers, arm scooping behind your head almost protectively. The position is intimate; you make it more so by resting your head on his shoulder. It only takes a moment for him to pull up a photo of two cats, both lounging in a strand of sunshine, both tummy up and dead asleep.

“Sesame.” He points to the black cat in the picture, then the fluffy white and orange one. “Sushi.”

“They're cute.”

“They're good cats.” His voice rumbles in his chest, undertones you've never heard before. You cuddle in closer to listen better, close your eyes to really focus. “Sushi is older now, so she mostly sleeps. Sesame is two-- three, actually.”

You hum in acknowledgement. The thrum of his heart is slow and strong. 

“Been considering getting another. For when Sushi dies.” he tilts his head in thought. “I'm not ready to be a forty year old man with three cats.” 

You try to give him that look again, but your eyes just won't open. “And you said you aren’t paternal.”

There's a long stretch of quiet behind that. 

“Do you have pets?” His voice takes you out of your sleep, but not enough for you to fully rouse. 

“Are you falling asleep?” 

Again, there’s a long stretch of silence, only the rise and fall of your breaths and the hum of the air conditioner to fill the room. Right as you start to lose grip on the waking world, Shouta moves, pressing his lips right into the center of your forehead. 

 “Do you want children?” he asks into your skin, voice frailer than you ever thought possible.

[cameronsbabydoll]

Can you make a fic of dealer!Rafe and Cook!Reader (not this type of Kook)but a type of Cook that can make Rafe favorite drugs…reader is super smart like knows how to make anytype of drug but she needs a dealer to sell her product……..

chemical lust ۶ৎ

dealer!rafe cameron x cook!reader

warnings: drugs, illegal activity, all fictional

wc: 570 — a/n: this is such a cool concept bby!

the garage doesn’t look like much from the outside. that’s the point.

you don’t want it to.

the rusted tin roof, the faded “CLOSED” sign dangling crooked on the door, the smell of oil and burnt metal — it all does a good job of keeping people away. people, but not him.

you hear the car pull up. the engine’s too nice for this part of town. expensive. showy. loud in a way that makes your fingers itch for the silence of your lab.

then the door slams, just as arrogant as you pictured. he doesn’t knock. just walks in like he owns the place, like he owns you.

“you rafe?” you ask, not even looking up from your burner. you’re mid-pour, and your hands are steady, precise — unlike his loud, booted steps behind you.

“that depends,” he says, voice smooth and cocky. “you the chemist?”

you smirk, eyes still on the clear liquid shifting in the beaker. “didn’t expect your new plug to be a girl, did you?”

“i didn’t expect her to sound like she’s already sick of me.”

“i am,” you reply simply. “now shut up. this part’s delicate.”

it goes quiet. not silent — you still hear him moving behind you, taking in the setup, the gear, the controlled chaos you live in. most guys would’ve made a joke by now. not him. not yet.

when you finally turn around, you size him up. tall. tan. sunglasses pushed back into his hair. sharp jaw and even sharper eyes, the kind that watch everything. a guy used to getting his way.

“sit,” you say, motioning to the metal stool across the table.

he does, slowly, eyes scanning the space like he's still trying to figure you out. "so what is this, exactly? your little science project?"

you slide the sealed container across the table toward him. “this is your product. 98% purity. clean. stable. better than anything your little beach boys have touched.”

he opens it, lifts the container to his nose. his pupils dilate. his tongue runs across the edge of his teeth. “no way you made this here.”

“i made it in my head first,” you say. “then here. don’t underestimate me just because i don’t run around with a glock and a gold chain.”

he leans back, eyes locked on yours. “and what do you want from me?”

“i don’t sell. i cook. i need someone with connections, someone with muscle. you in? it’s 60/40, i cook, you move. don’t ask questions, and don’t fuck it up.”

there’s a beat of silence. you see the smirk before it fully forms.

“and if i want more than that?”

you raise a brow. “then you can take your dick and your attitude and find some other genius willing to make you millions.”

he laughs, low and warm, but there’s something hungry underneath it. you don’t like that. you don’t like him. but you need him. for now.

“so that’s how it is,” he says, drumming his fingers on the table. “no flirting. no touching. no fun?”

you lean in just slightly, voice cold. “you want a cook, not a girlfriend. and i want a dealer, not a babysitter. you don’t touch my setup, and you don’t touch me.”

that seems to amuse him more than it should. “sure, sweetheart,” he says, pushing the container back to you. “but let’s see how long that rule lasts.”

[literatooru]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

pairing: gn!reader x oikawa tōru

The first thing you hear when you walk into your shared apartment is the muffled voice of your boyfriend, and your first guess is that he’s on the phone with someone. You take your time to take your shoes off and place them neatly by the door, shrugging off your jacket and hanging it before taking a couple steps forward to walk further into the apartment. You hope your slowness will give him enough time to wrap things up with whoever’s on the other end, but if anything, he starts talking even more. Your brows pull together in a soft, confused frown as you tilt your head slightly.

“Hello,” he says. After giving a frustrated sigh, he clears his throat and tries again. “Hello. Love of my life, light of my eyes. I look at you and it feels like my heart is about to burst out of my chest, but not in a bad way. I like it.”

Taking a couple steps, you pad toward the bedroom and stand just far enough so that you won’t interrupt anything, then almost smack yourself on the forehead when you realize what’s going on. He’s talking to himself in the mirror. Again.

With pursed lips, you suppress a smile and swallow your laughter, extremely amused. Oikawa does give pretty entertaining speeches when he thinks no one’s watching and you feel like having a good laugh. After taking a single step closer, you come to the conclusion that he’s not actually in the bathroom, but in the bedroom.

“God, he’s such an idiot,” you whisper to yourself, pressing your forehead against the wall beside you. If you gave exactly three steps forward, you’d be standing right at the door. Right in front of him.

“You are literally the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid eyes on. And you absolutely own my heart,” he continues, and your eyebrows shoot up. You love how confident he usually is, but he’s never taken it this far. Is he professing his love to… himself? “Ah, no. Maybe that’s too much. Jesus, why is this so hard?”

You hear a loud smack and assume he’s just hit himself on the face, and your frown deepens, because he sounds pretty embarrassed and a little bit nervous, and that’s not usually him, even when he thinks he’s alone. However, curiosity gets the best of you and you don’t dare move an inch, holding your breath as you hear him curse quietly, and then some shuffling. He’s on the bed.

“I…” he pauses, groans, and there’s a soft thud on the mattress as though he’s just punched it. “I have no words. And I really can’t ruin this because it’s going to change the rest of my life, and you’re not making it any easier by giving me that stupidly cute look and I hate you, and I hate this, and—” There’s another thud, this time against the wall, and after a couple seconds, you can hear him jumping to his feet and running to fetch whatever it was he threw, muttering a low ‘sorry.’ He heaves an even more frustrated sigh, and you can almost picture him tugging on his hair as you shift your weight onto your other leg. And there’s yet another thud followed by a loud albeit muffled scream as though his face is buried in a pillow which makes your concern grow much bigger than your curiosity. “Why is this so damn hard?!” After taking a hesitant step forward, his voice makes you freeze on the spot once again. You didn’t think he’d have more to say, since apparently he’s finding it ‘too hard.’ You wonder what’s making him so frustrated, so you keep listening instead of revealing yourself. “The stupid site said to just ‘speak from the heart’, and how am I supposed to do that when I can’t even think straight when we’re in the same room? This is so stupid.”

There’s a longer pause, and you’re so confused that it’s painful. What on earth is he going on about? Whatever it is, it’s irritating him to the point of baldness (which is a shame, because your boyfriend has the most perfect hair you’ve ever seen so much so that it makes you a little jealous. It’s ridiculous).

“Okay, fine. Look. You sit there and listen. Although I guess it’s not like you have much of a choice, but whatever.” A short pause, another sigh, and he’s talking again. “The day we met is the most special day of my entire life,” he begins. Oikawa hesitates before saying the next words, although his tone is much softer, like he’s reminiscing of really good times. “You make me feel like I’m the luckiest guy in the world because I’m the only one that gets to experience all of your mornings, and all of your nights, and… just… being with you, I guess. And I want to keep experiencing you for the rest of my life. I can’t promise you to love you forever, because I’m a regular human being who will eventually die… and that sucks, because life’s good when I’m with you. It’s perfect. So… what I can, promise you is to love you for the rest of my life, however long that may be. Because I honestly can’t picture it without you in it.” After a beat of silence, he adds, although a little more quietly, “do you think it’d be too much to say something about my cause of death probably being a heart attack because it just beats so fast when we're together that it might... I don't know, overwork itself?”

Your heart does a summersault in your chest, and you cover your mouth with your hand to stop a scream from escaping. Is he doing what you think he’s doing?

“Nah, I think that might be too cheesy, don’t you? How about I just…?” There’s more rustling of fabric which allows you know he’s moving again, and you figure it’s probably just best to let him know you’re there. So you take the last two missing steps to reach the door, and stand right in front of him just as he says, “Y/N, will you marry me?” His eyes bug out comically when he sees you, and he drops the ring in his hand onto the bed. It’s an odd sight, Tōru, looking as pale as a sheet of paper, on one knee on the bed right in front of a plushie. “Shit!” he yells, hand darting to retrieve the ring and stammering wildly. “You weren’t supposed to find out,” he blurts out, tossing the plushie to the side. Oikawa blinks once, twice, then adds, “I mean, you were supposed to find out… eventually. I thought— you said you wouldn’t be back until ten.”

“It’s ten thirty,” you whisper.

His gaze shoots to the clock on the bedside table, and he can see that it is, in fact, half past ten. So you’re actually late. And there he is, ruining the most important moment of his life.

“I just… I was just—”

“Proposing to my plushie?” you offer with a feeble smile.

Oikawa gulps, glancing at the plushie and grabbing it to place it face down against the mattress. He doesn’t want such an innocent thing watching the train wreck happening in the room. After a moment, he places the ring right underneath it to keep it safe.

“Yeah.”

“And was the plushie supposed to be me?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, then shakes his head and says, “maybe…” he stammers for a second, halting suddenly when he notices the tears pooling in your eyes, and worry suddenly twists his features. “Are those sad tears or happy tears?”

“Did you really mean everything you said to the plushie?”

His mouth feels dry and his chest feels a little bit tight, so he only manages to nod. However, when he takes another look at you, he finds a little strength in himself, the kind only you seem to give him. There you are, with your hair made a mess, and the bags under your eyes, and wrinkly clothes, and his heart swells with so much love that he does feel like you might actually kill him one of these days because surely it can’t be healthy for his heart to beat so fast.

“Every single word. Actually, words honestly can’t explain what I feel and I just—” he gestures wildly, rubbing his face when he, once again, can’t express himself to the degree he needs to. Tōru swings his feet over the edge of the bed and walks toward you to cradle your face with gentle hands. His thumb swipes across your cheek softly to collect the solitary tear that’s managed to escape your eye, and there’s so much tenderness and love in that single action that you find yourself a little breathless. “How many ways are there to say that I want to spend the rest of my life with you?”

You let out a watery chuckle, placing your hands on top of his and leaning into his touch. He smells fresh, and his skin is warm against you — familiar and comforting. He smells, and feels like home. He is home.

“For the record, I didn’t think it was cheesy at all. I loved it,” you murmur, closing your eyes for a second to relish in the feeling of sharing this moment with him. He leans down to press his forehead against yours and takes a deep breath, wanting to fill himself of you. “And I also want to spend the rest of my life w—”

Your interrupted by his hand suddenly covering your mouth, and your eyes snap open to shoot him a bewildered look.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, holding one finger up to make sure you understand. When you don’t move a hair, he nods firmly and withdraws his hand, holding both of them up to make sure you stay in place. “Let me do it right.” He spins around and throws himself onto the bed, carefully placing the plushie aside to retrieve the ring. He has to be careful; it’s your favorite plushie, after all. Oikawa takes a good look at the jewelry in his hand, which glints softly under the fluorescent lights. Giving another decisive nod, he turns around and walks over to you once again, dropping on one knee right before you. You laugh, earning a cheeky smile from him as he takes your hand in his, holding the beautiful ring in the other. “Y/N. Love of my life, light of my eyes. Do you accept to spend the rest of your life listening to my awful karaoke and watching trashy t.v. with me so we can grow old and wrinkly together and have a small army of children with a couple dogs and maybe even a cat?”

You throw your head back with a hearty laugh and nod your head repeatedly, not even caring about the tears flowing down your face. They’re happy tears, after all.

“I do,” you say, never having felt surer of anything in your entire life.

“Perfect,” he whispers, sliding the ring onto your finger and pressing a soft kiss on top of your hand. It looks right at home, like it was always meant to be there. “I was actually planning to make dinner to go with this,” he says, tapping the ring lightly, “but I… lost track of time. Your plushie is an excellent listener, you know?” He smiles as he stands up.

“Oh, I know,” you say with a chuckle, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your forehead against his chest. Oikawa smiles brightly, enthusiastically returning the embrace and placing a sweet kiss on the crown of your head. “How about we just order something?”

“M’kay,” he mumbles, nuzzling his face against you. “But I am making dinner tomorrow.”

“All right, fiancé,” you hum, and you think you actually feel him shudder against you.

“Oh my God, say it again,” he breathes out, pulling back to look at you as you repeat it.

“Fi-an-cé,” you say, enunciating every syllable clearly.

“You know what,” he says, and you let out a shriek when he picks you up and walks further into the bedroom with you over his shoulder. “I think dinner can wait a little longer.”

[bbokicidal]

Ten More Minutes | [B.C.]

In which you disappear - And Chris can't bring himself to say goodbye.

Warnings: Angst - Mentions of the reader disappearing but no explanation as to why or how

Chris really didn't like this room; Yet he loved it more than he ever thought he would.

The dresser that was once a brand new pearly white now stained with the wear of time; Rust forming around the legs, the handles half broken off from being tugged on as the once-new drawers got stuck in their place. When you moved in with him, Chris insisted he'd buy you a new one or that you could take half of his closet. He was surprised how attached to this dresser you seemed but now he understands. It once held a jewelry box with pink roses painted over it; Delicate, dainty, filled with vintage rings and gold necklaces and earrings that were older than your parents. Polaroids of the two of you sat atop the dresser at some point; Pictures from each date when he would kiss your cheek or squish your face against his own. Pictures that were engraved with smiles and the warmth of a loving touch. Pictures that promised happiness. Pictures that swore upon the two of you a future together.

The desk that you would sit at during your final years in school; The desk you would cry over when your homework frustrated you so badly that you had to call your boyfriend and beg him to help you when he was no smarter than yourself in the field of subject. With cups of glitter pens, mechanical pencils, paperclips, and a few tools for school projects, and a small stack of containers holding hair accessories and products alike atop the old stained wood, the desk creaked heavy under the pressure of your body slumped over it asleep on long nights where you worked restlessly; Nights Chris would come to visit and carry you to your bed, worried you weren't taking care of yourself well enough. Though, he knew he, himself, wasn't much better.

The bed you would curl up in and lull to sleep every night. Soft, floral bed sheets and a pale mint comforter to keep you comfortable and warm paired with pillow cases of the same color; Chris knew each time he tucked you in that he wouldn't have to worry. You were safe, here. Safe from the cruelty of the world where you could hide under the blankets that promised shield and sanctuary; And where you could confide in him about anything. Your deepest conversations took place in this bed; The moment you had whispered what exactly it was that made you want to move out, the few seconds you uttered how much you craved to create your own future and thrive on your own accord, and the first time Chris had murmured against your lips how much he loved you. And how badly he wanted to help you break free.

"I miss you."

Chris' words fall into the silence around him; They melt into the carpet beneath where he sits against the bed, pooling around his body and spreading through every fiber of the flooring. He envisions his compassion flooding through the walls of your bedroom, seeping into the family pictures upon the walls and into the few polaroids that you adored so much you had strung them up on fairy lights. He sees them come to life before his very eyes because of the grief that echoes in his chest, the picture of you holding sparklers waving about; He can hear your laughter, see the smile on your face that made your cheeks dimple and your eyes glitter like a moonlit tide.

He knows that you're aware; He knows you feel the way he wishes you were here; And he knows that wherever you are, you miss him just as much as he misses you. Maybe you miss the scent of his cologne, even if it was too strong sometimes; Or perhaps you miss the strength of his hugs every time he held onto you, even if you had seen each other only moments prior.

His arms wind a little tighter around his knees, face pushing down into his jeans - and oh, how he wishes it were you. The smell of your perfume lingers on his clothing, the room holding onto your presence even if it had been so long since you had laid a hand upon the walls. You are embedded in this room and though you may not be sitting right beside him, you are still here.

Chris can't bring himself to change anything. He can't touch the cup of glitter pens on your desk, nor can he open your jewelry box to see what you had laid in it or taken before leaving the room for the last time. He can't press his fingers to the paper atop your dresser that details the congratulations of the school you'd been dreaming to get into and he can't bring himself to imagine how you would have reacted if you'd have read it.

Where were you?

Will you ever come back to him?

Chris' eyes squeeze shut tighter. Tears stain his cheeks as he lifts his head to look around the room one more time. He knows he should leave and never come back here. He needs to stop visiting. He needs to let you go.

But.. not right now. His arms tighten around his knees one more time, his head tucking back down as he breathes in deep. Your perfume lingers, swirls in his chest and soothes the ache that had formed long ago when you'd first disappeared.

He can't leave, yet. Not right now. He just needs a little more time with you before he says goodbye.

Just.. ten more minutes.

This is a short drabble so I'm not using my taglist.

[joshujin]

dude, nice try! [teaser]

joshua hong has had the immense privilege of living 30 whole years without ever feeling so much as an ounce of jealousy. that is, until you come prancing into his picture-perfect life on your dumb burner account with evidence that his long-time girlfriend is cheating on him… with your boyfriend.

as he gets tangled in your chaotic plan to get back at your adulterous partners, he begins to wonder if this growing discomfort in his chest was ever even heartbreak to begin with, or if it’s something entirely new to him—something that has the ability to eat him alive from the inside out.

♫ get him back! olivia rodrigo ⟡ hot girl bummer blackbear ⟡ lackin’ denise julia ⟡ is this love xg ⟡ why can’t i? liz phair pairing: joshua x fem!reader cw: strong language, mentions of/implied sexual activity tags: strangers to partners-in-crime to partners-PERIOD, joshua pov, pining, he fell first AND harder hehe, a few smau bits but mostly writing, no smut, inspired by get him back! by miss rodrigo, basically john tucker must die except joshua is sophia bush hehe iykyk a/n: this was a request for jealous!shua and i’m laughing bc i started responding to this anon and said i was going to just answer with bullet points bc if i didn’t, this would turn into a whole thing. and here we are anyway… with a whole thing lol. i know he doesn't seem super jealous here, but consider the joshua x jealous arc a slow burn haha. anyway, enjoy this teaser!

dividers by cafekitsune! cover by yours truly!

joshua's phone pings, and it’s one message from you, just a little over 24 hours since your last message went ignored.

he glances down and feels his stomach turn.

i have evidence.

an hour later, joshua and jeonghan are sprawled across the latter’s living room. when they’d seen your message, both of them had quickly and wordlessly vacated the cafe they were holed up in, gotten to jeonghan’s apartment frighteningly fast, and rifled through the series of messages you sent—all of them photos you took of your boyfriend’s phone screen.

at first, joshua was just annoyed at how hard snapchat made it to read messages; most of the ones sent by whoever your boyfriend was were deleted. he was ready to wave you off and call your “evidence” a reach. but then, he got to more damning photos—photos he was vexed jeonghan got to see too.

because they just proved his know-it-all best friend right. mina was a fucking snake.

he’s shocked at the lengths they went to to be able to communicate with each other without being caught.

but perhaps the most damning piece of evidence of them all comes last: a photo of a woman’s naked back as she laid on her side in a bed—that wasn’t joshua’s or mina’s—away from the camera. it could’ve been anyone. the small tattoo at the base of her neck told joshua exactly who it was.

“so what now?” jeonghan asks, both of them still starfished on the floor and staring at the ceiling after spending several minutes furiously swiping and cussing at his screen. “let’s fill all her shampoo bottles with hair remover,” he answers his own question before joshua can even open his mouth. “oh! or we can follow her around, inevitably find this dude, and kidnap him! i’m sure this y/n person will appreciate that too!”

joshua doesn’t bother entertaining his best friend with a proper response, choosing to ignore the suggestions altogether. his mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to find the point in his relationship mina might have started straying away. has it been happening the entire time? or did she recently decide joshua wasn’t fulfilling her needs to her liking?

“… his car and it’ll probably break down and explode at some point later that week?”

he frowns, realizing jeonghan has been suggesting ridiculous things they can do to mina and your boyfriend the entire time he was contemplating his relationship. it’s his first time getting cheated on, but he isn’t surprised at his best friend’s reaction to it. he’s more surprised when silence blankets over them for several long seconds before jeonghan asks:

“are you okay?” he sighs. “i know that’s a dumb question to ask. you’re obviously not going to be okay after finding out your girlfriend cheated on you.”

his frown deepens at that. it’s a fair statement. he always imagined this kind of thing would throw him into some kind of jealous rage—emotions he’s not really familiar with. rage like yours.

he wonders if he had been the one to find out about this, would he have had a meltdown the way you did? make a burner account and find you to tell you the way you did? try to find someone to commiserate with—even if it’s a stranger—the way you did?

no, probably not. he was telling the truth when he told you that all he would do is break up with mina.

and he’s incredibly confused to find that, contrary to what jeonghan is saying, he feels very okay with that. he can’t really imagine caring enough to do anything more, and he doesn’t know why. shouldn’t he care more?

if you and jeonghan were wrong about him loving mina the way he was so convinced you were, why didn’t he care more?

“joshua,” jeonghan reaches over and pokes his shoulder. “speak. you’re scaring me.”

he snorts. “i’m fine.”

“okay…” he responds slowly. “so still in shock?”

“no, i really think i’m fine,” joshua says, shaking his head at the ceiling. “i feel… normal. i guess just confused about when and why she decided to cheat.”

“you did nothing wrong. she’s just a conniving, slutty ingrate who doesn’t know that she’s throwing away the most decent man in the universe,” he assures him. “which brings me back to my initial question. what should we do now to punish said conniving, slutty ingrate?”

joshua sighs. “we’re not doing anything. i am breaking up with her as soon as she gets off work.”

jeonghan perks up, rolling over onto his stomach and crawling to him until his head appears in his line of vision. his best friend has a shit-eating smile on his face that makes him instinctively roll his eyes.

“can i be there?”

he knows he should say no. it’s an absurd request and it shouldn’t even take joshua more than a second to answer. but as he thinks about it, jeonghan continuing to smile at him like a little devil on his shoulder, he thinks it might be nice to have him there and shame mina for cheating in a way he knows he doesn’t really care to do himself.

he shrugs. “sure, why not?”

jeonghan squeals with delight, scrambling to get up. “come on, we have to make sure you look smoking hot so it hurts her twice as bad. you can borrow my leather pants.”

“leather?!” joshua repeats. “it’s the middle of summer!”

joshua texted mina to let her know he wanted to talk to her after work and he would be dropping by. she told him several times that tonight wasn’t a great time and insisted they wait until tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about her convenience, so here he is, with jeonghan practically vibrating with excitement at his side, standing outside her apartment building.

“i still think you should’ve worn the leather pants,” his best friend says, “but you look killer. she’s gonna shit herself.”

joshua recoils at the idea but thanks him anyway.

“ready?”

he sighs. “yeah, i guess. ready as i’ll—oof!”

he stumbles a few steps and right into jeonghan as someone violently shoves him, continuing to push and slap at both him and his best friend until they’re several steps away from the entrance to mina’s apartment.

“what the—”

“and what the hell are you doing here?!” a female voice shrieks.

he wants to yell at this stranger for putting her hands on him. he wants to tell her to have some manners and to get away from him. at the very least, he wants to glare at her until she shrivels up in shame and scurries away. but all ideas of even attempting to do any of that die as soon as he lays eyes on the stranger.

your instagram photos don’t really do you justice. your photos were well-taken and curated perfectly for your profile, but now that you were—for some weird reason—standing in front of joshua and jeonghan, he can confidently call your photos dirty liars. he can’t blame them, though. he has a feeling no camera in the world can capture how pretty you actually are in real life.

prettier than anyone i’ve ever dated, his intrusive thoughts remind him. prettier than mina.

“well?!” you screech when neither of them answer you, making them both flinch. you don’t notice your effect on them, though, because you’re busy frantically looking between them and the entrance of the building like you’re scared the three of you will be seen.

he knows jeonghan is thinking the same, exact thing he is because he is never rendered silent.

“i—uh,” joshua stammers for what he thinks might be the very first time in his life. “we…”

jeonghan glances at him, face twisted in amused confusion before he schools his expression and points his signature stunning smile at you. “you’re y/n! hi!”

“who the hell are you?” you turn back to them, cross your arms, and practically bark at him.

his best friend’s laugh is exaggerated and several decibels louder than it has any business being. it grates joshua’s nerves. he glares at him but jeonghan pays him no attention. “i like her,” he mutters to him before saying, “i’m jeonghan.”

“okay, jeonghan,” you spit his name like venom, obviously unimpressed, making him giggle.

joshua rolls his eyes at him and his increasing giddiness. his best friend doesn’t date often, but he shouldn’t be surprised that he enjoys this kind of vitriol. jeonghan is, at his core, attracted to the same chaos he himself is made of.

“what are you doing here?” you ask again, raising an eyebrow at joshua to make it clear you’re talking to him.

“i’m… here to break up,” he answers weakly. “with mina! i’m here to break up with… mina.”

he doesn’t know what’s come over him, but being confronted by you in person and unnervingly close in his vicinity has him forgetting how to properly communicate. the thought of blocking you was a lot easier when he had no idea if you were a real person. now, he feels like there’s no escaping you.

“what are you doing here?” jeonghan asks the question he forgets to return to you.

you ignore him, eyes staying trained on joshua as you speak, and something about you pretending like his best friend doesn’t exist forces him to fight down a smile.

“you’re not breaking up with her today,” you order him confidently, like you know saying it is enough for joshua to agree. if the way his palms start to sweat are any indication, you might be right. “she’s up there with siwoo.”

“who’s—”

“my boyfriend,” you answer before jeonghan can finish his question. “i followed him here when he told me he was getting drinks with coworkers.”

joshua’s stomach flips. he’s not really sure how anyone can even think about another person in your presence, let alone cheat on you. maybe your intensity scares siwoo, though. it definitely kind of scares him.

“you mean… they’re up there right now… and they’re probably…” jeonghan’s sentence trails off, but you’re you and you don’t shy away from finishing it.

“fucking?” you ask with a biting and sarcastic enthusiasm. “yeah, jeonghan! probably!”

joshua winces. your fury was already palpable via DMs, but it’s near suffocating in person. it grabs him by the neck and shoves his face back into the dilemma he was quietly contemplating back at jeonghan’s apartment: why isn’t he sharing the same anger? why isn't he doubled over, throwing up at the idea of mina having sex with someone up in her apartment at this very moment?

“are you hungry?” you ask joshua.

“what?” he asks dumbly.

“are. you. hungry?” you repeat, irritation laced in your voice.

“i am!” jeonghan announces.

you give him a blank stare before looking back at joshua. when he fails to say anything, you sigh, your temper appearing to deflate infinitesimally.

“they’re going to be a while,” you inform him like you’ve done this before. “there’s a fried chicken shop i like nearby.” okay, so you’ve definitely done this before. “we can eat and… talk, i guess.”

“we would love to talk. right, joshua?” jeonghan asks, pinching his side with more force than necessary. he fights to keep from jumping.

"sure," he finally agrees. "i could eat."

"thanks for ignoring me amidst my weekend-long menty b, by the way," you say sarcastically as you set down a pitcher of beer and three glasses next to the tray of friend chicken on the table.

"ment—?"

"mental breakdown," jeonghan whispers to him as he reaches to pluck a piece of fried chicken from the tray.

instead of depositing it on his own plate, he stretches across the table to put it on yours. joshua's eyes involuntarily narrow at the gesture. he doesn't realize he's glaring at his best friend until he speaks again.

"what?" he pouts at him but his eyes glint with mischief. "ladies first."

"thanks," you murmur, not-at-all sounding thankful. jeonghan snorts. "well? explain your rude behavior." he looks back over to you to find you sulking. you add more chicken to your plate even though you haven't touched the one jeonghan gave you.

"ah." joshua shakes his head. "i was just... not all the way convinced."

"and now?"

"now what?"

"i take it you're all the way convinced?" you clarify as you tear into your first piece of chicken like you haven't eaten in years. with a full mouth, you add: "i mean, i assume you are if you're here to break up with your girlfriend."

"uh... yeah..." he nods slowly, distracted.

joshua is often described by his friends as a gentleman—elegant even. with the exception of jeonghan and mingyu—the two people who know him best—he is always polite and accommodating. he's careful that his clothes are always pressed and lint-free. he always has good posture, and he does his best to remember his table etiquette, especially in the presence of elders. he tries to be buttoned up and put-together almost all of the time, sometimes even to his own detriment.

so staring at you, wiping soy garlic sauce off your mouth with the back of your hand and talking with your pieces of chewed up chicken tucked into one, puffy cheek, he should absolutely feel repulsed.

he frowns at you and knows it probably looks like he is repulsed by you. but really, he's just confused about why you look so endearing sitting there, eating like it pains you to while taking turns glaring at your drumstick and glaring at him and his best friend.

"hello?" you wave your saucy fingers in front of joshua's face. "is he always this... spacey?" you ask jeonghan without taking your eyes off him.

"i'm glad you asked! no," the man next to him answers—also through cheeks full of chicken. "i've actually never seen him this nerv—"

"sorry, what were you saying?" joshua interjects before everyone at this table, including him, has to face the fact that yes, he is very much nervous and he's unsure why.

you sigh as you wipe your fingers on a napkin. "what is it about me that men's eyes just begin to glaze over as soon as my mouth opens?" you complain, the signature rage joshua has come to expect from you in the one hour he's known you bubbling back to the surface.

his eyes widen in horror at the thought of you mistaking his fascination with disinterest. "oh! i didn't—no, i'm not—i—"

"what joshua is trying and failing miserably to say," jeonghan cuts in, sneaking him a look that screams get it together, "is that no one here is ignoring you. he's just... trying to process all of this. after all, you had all weekend to think about this, and he just realized you were telling the truth, what? two hours ago?"

you stare at jeonghan with the same unimpressed expression you’ve been forcing on him since you met him. after a moment, your gaze travels to joshua, and he gives you a meek smile. you finally hum in understanding.

“sorry, i know i’m projecting. i’m just all…” you wave your hand wildly near your temple to mimic a muddled brain. “siwoo has done a number on me.”

joshua finally gains enough composure to string a sentence together. “i’m sorry i ignored your messages… and blocked your burner account.” you cringe at that but nod an acceptance of his apology. “and i’m sorry i’m not fully present right now. jeonghan’s right.”

kind of. not really. he was processing your existence more than he was processing being cheated on, to be frank.

“i’m just… trying to understand what’s happening, i guess. for what it’s worth, i find it really unbelievable that anyone would ever cheat on you.”

he ignores the way jeonghan inhales deeply and slowly through his nose. only joshua would be able to tell it’s the equivalent of him scream-giggling and kicking his feet when he’s trying to be discreet.

your eyebrows rise like you’re shocked joshua is capable of more than grunts and one-word replies.

“ditto,” you say plainly. joshua can’t help the immediate laugh that escapes his mouth at that, and he’s pleased when you smile for the first time since you met. “mina seems dumb. and not just because she and siwoo are ruining my life. you’re very handsome. and if you blocking me on instagram so fast was any indication, you seem very loyal too.”

you say it easily, as if giving out compliments like that is no big deal to you. maybe it isn’t, but even if that’s true, he’s going to appreciate it nonetheless.

unfortunately, that appreciation manifests in a fierce blush joshua feels spreading across his face like wildfire, much to his mortification. he doesn’t remember the last time he blushed like a pathetic schoolboy with a crush. it was probably when he was an actual pathetic schoolboy with a crush.

he clears his throat, choosing to ignore the compliment. “yeah, i guess we have the same, bad taste in dummies.”

you suddenly groan, throw your head back, and blink rapidly at the ceiling like you're trying your best not to cry. both men glance at each other and fidget awkwardly at the abrupt change of mood, neither of them being great at handling a crying woman. joshua has little to no experience with it and jeonghan tends to fall back on ill-timed jokes during times of distress.

"i followed him here months ago," you tell them unprompted. “i followed him here so many times because he was always so fucking sketchy. but his lie always involved ‘one of the guys,’ so i just thought his friend lived in that building.”

“and you found out this weekend…?” jeonghan asks carefully. joshua rubs the back of his neck nervously.

you nod, squeezing your eyes shut briefly before bringing your line of sight back to them. your eyes are glassy but your efforts to keep from crying were mostly successful.

“he lent me his laptop because mine stopped working,” you explain, rolling your eyes like having a broken laptop on top of all this is almost enough to send you over the edge. “his texts are connected on there too. i was at a cafe with a friend, and one of those verification texts came through. i ignored it but a few seconds later, it messaged again and i saw that he’d replied on his phone.”

“he told her it was safe to text,” joshua says, remembering the photos you sent.

“yeah…” you breathe, hugging yourself tightly and rubbing your arms as you try to self-soothe. “and i just sat there in front of my friends, watching him make plans with her in real time… brainstorm the lies they agreed to tell us… and i just had to pretend to be normal or else i would’ve burned that cafe to the ground.”

jeonghan coughs as he chokes on his chicken a little. joshua pats him on the back absentmindedly, eyes never leaving you, even as his best friend stretches across him, still coughing, to pour everyone a glass of beer. you sniffle as you accept your glass with a small nod, your body visibly relaxing after the first sip. he tries not to gawk when you finish the entire glass in one go.

joshua thinks this is probably what someone in love should look like when their heart has been broken: drunk and sad. now that the initial shock of seeing you in person has worn off, he can see how tired you really look. there are dark, bruising circles under your eyes, visible even under your makeup, and your hair looks like it was haphazardly put up into a ponytail to avoid having to wash or brush it. your eyes are tinged pink, a little swollen, and dull, like you’ve been crying all weekend. you have been crying all weekend.

and joshua? he’s asking himself why he hasn’t felt the urge to cry at all yet because right now, he could be the poster child for soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend who is going to be okay has been okay, is okay, and will always be okay. aside from his irritation with mina and her insane audacity, today is like any other day.

he’s never had his heart broken before this, but maybe it’s just different for guys. he read somewhere that men’s emotional intelligence develops a lot slower than women’s; maybe he just hasn’t reached a level of maturity you have.

“anyway,” you say as you stifle a tiny burp that makes jeonghan giggle for the nth time tonight, “i’m going to ruin his life.”

okay, so maybe maturity is the wrong word.

“wh…” joshua glances at jeonghan for confirmation he heard correctly.

his best friend’s eyes are lit up with excitement as he leans forward with impossibly even more interest in what the pretty lady across the table has to say. joshua would slap him if they were alone. what for, he doesn’t know, but he would.

“sorry, what was that?” he asks, trying not to sound judgmental at the risk of setting your anger off again.

“she’s going to ruin his life,” jeonghan answers for you giddily. “what are you going to do? i told joshua he should fill mina’s shampoo bottle with hair remover.”

that earns the two men another smile from you, but this time joshua finds himself annoyed it was because of something jeonghan said.

“oh my god, that’s vile,” you say even though you’re grinning and obviously love the idea. “maybe i’ll add that as a little cherry on top for siwoo.”

“oh, he’ll be so ugly,” jeonghan claims like he’s already daydreaming about it.

“you don’t even know what he looks like,” joshua murmurs.

“i don’t need to,” he responds, smiling as he stares off into the distance. “a stupid motherfucker who can cheat on our lovely y/n here like that has to look like ass.”

you roll your eyes at the compliment but your cheeks turn a cute shade of pink anyway.

“well, making him bald will look like child’s play when i’m done with him,” you match jeonghan’s dreamy tone, and joshua feels a chill of fear from having the two of you at the same table crawl up his spine. why was he a magnet for agents of chaos?

“is that why you haven’t broken up?” he asks. “you’re scheming to ruin his life?”

you frown. “what makes you think we haven’t broken up?”

joshua shrugs. “maybe the fact that you followed him here and then shoved me and my best friend into next week to keep us from attracting any attention?”

jeonghan snickers and your cheeks turn a darker shade.

“ah, right.” you nod once. “sorry about that.” you don’t look sorry at all and joshua finds himself thinking it’s amusing. “i suppose that was a bit… rude.”

joshua hums like he’s contemplating your apology but he knows it’s clear he’s fighting a smile as he brings his beer to his lips.

you sigh. “anyway, yes. that’s why i’m still with him. he doesn’t even know i know. i’m trying to get my ducks in a row and figure out the most devastating way to leave him.”

jeonghan smirks. “my kind of girl.”

joshua’s foot finds his best friend’s and stomps on it as hard as he can without thinking twice about it. it almost shocks him—how much it felt like instinct—but after the day he’s had, he thinks he’s entitled to a bit of a tantrum. maybe this is how he is when his heart is broken. a little mean.

“ow, what the fu—”

“so what’s the plan?” joshua asks loudly when your eyes snap up to jeonghan mid-sip over the glass of your beer.

you lick your lips clean of foam before setting the glass down, and joshua forces himself to look away when he notices how plump and pink they are.

“well, to be honest… i haven’t been the smartest,” you admit, seeming timid for the first time since you barged into his DMs. it’s an odd look on you. “i—um. i kind of rely on him… financially.”

the explanation comes tumbling past your lips after that like you’re afraid the two of them are going to judge you if you allow even a second of silence to pass.

“i had a job! i had a great job! but siwoo’s a bit traditional, and he comes from a more conservative family that really buys into gender roles, and i mean, fuck that, right?”

you give them no chance to agree.

“i’m a feminist! i swear to god i’m a fucking feminist!” you’re practically shouting now and the two men are so stunned, they can’t bring themselves to notice or care that the other patrons of the restaurant are starting to look over. “but i was in love! and i thought i was going to marry this moron! so i convinced myself i wanted to stay home and i wanted to clean the house and take care of a man—”

you say the word with so much disgust, both joshua and jeonghan struggle to keep from laughing.

“—and he was so happy when i quit my job like he’s been asking me to, and i thought i was happy too, like, what woman doesn’t want to be taken care of by a rich man?!”

you pause to burp briefly but it still isn’t enough time for either of them to get a word in.

“though again, i was in love! i was looking at that shithead through rose-tinted glasses! he’s nothing but a spoiled mama’s boy with a rich family! that asshole doesn’t have to do anything for the wealth he has! so now it's, like, what woman wants to be fake-taken-care-of by a 30-something-year-old mama’s boy?!”

the words come with even more disgust than “man.”

“and he had the nerve to act like he was better than me because i had to make everything i had before i met him! like, dude. if your bank account is still connected to your fucking mom’s, lower your goddamn voice when speaking to me!”

his best friend’s mouth drops open in absolute joy-filled shock at your biting remark. he’s enjoying meeting someone as chaotic as he is too much.

“and what was it for?! empty promises that he would propose soon?! endless faked orgasms for a man who’s afraid to give a woman head?!”

jeonghan chokes again, this time on nothing. joshua has more decorum but he can’t help the way his face turns bright red.

“you’d swear i was harboring a monster down there the way he cringed at the mere mention of oral, like, what is he, 12?!”

joshua has to avert his eyes to the ceiling of the restaurant at the mention of your “monster,” and he can’t even get it together long enough to nudge jeonghan when he bursts into hysterical laughter. they might as well be nonexistent, though, because you keep barreling through your rant.

“i was on track to be a director before 30! i was a fucking star! and look what he made me!” you screech, words slurring.

it takes your slurred speech and yet another burp for joshua to realize with mild horror that the pitcher of beer is almost empty, and that he and jeonghan are still on their first glasses. he elbows his best friend, who’s still cackling, and motions at the pitcher. jeonghan sighs happily as the last of his laughter leaves him and mutters a quiet: holy shit, pretty aggretsuko can drink.

“he turned me into a housewife without even making me a wife! and let me remind you: I AM A FEMINIST!” you slam your palms against the table with each word to punctuate your point. joshua can see why you picked aggretsuko for your burner account. “i support a woman’s choice to be a housewife if that’s what she wants, but my dumb ass didn’t realize that this isn’t the life i wanted until this fucking weekend! god!” you groan miserably. “all of this heartache and for what?! he cheated on me and now i’m jobless and about to be homeless and completely broke, and i…”

you seem to abruptly run out of steam, slumping in your seat and looking at your near-empty glass of beer pitifully. joshua has the urge to round the table and give you a hug, but he stays put, trying to process the whiplash of witnessing what he imagines is a mini “menty b.”

you take a few breaths before quietly saying, “i can’t believe this is what being in love got me.”

something violently lurches inside joshua’s chest when you say that.

“i can’t believe something that’s supposed to be as beautiful as love blinded me so badly.” your voice cracks. your eyes well with tears and this time, you make no move to stop them as they begin to streak your face. “how the hell can love hurt this much?”

joshua’s mouth falls open to say something—anything. any kind of comfort or kindness or advice. but no sound escapes his lips as he watches your heart break into tiny, little pieces in front of him.

he’ll look back at this moment and realize this was the first time his heart learned something he, himself, didn't know yet: what he had with mina wasn’t love—that maybe, he had actually never even been in love before. there’s no world where mina would ever have the kind of effect siwoo has on you on him. there isn't anything mina can do that would make joshua scorn the concept of love because it's something he never even experienced with her.

but for now, all he can think is that, despite barely knowing you and despite being somewhat afraid of you, he has an insatiable want to fix this for you. he wants you to stop crying. he wants to see the rare smiles they were gifted tonight on your face once more. most of all, he wants to make the man who made you cry sorry for ever entering your life.

the words are out of his mouth before he can think twice about them.

“i’ll help you.” you immediately stop crying and look up at him with wide eyes. “i’ll help you ruin this idiot’s life. and when the two of us are through with him, he’ll be afraid to breathe within a 10-mile vicinity of you.”

[omaano]

SW Hades AU March-April Update

Some links and previous updates: May - June - July - August - September - October/November - December - January - February - everything else in this AU

I'm here with another two-month joint update because at the end of April I can hardly call it a March update, and truth be told I don't think I did much for this AU in the first month of spring anyway.

I started playing Hades 2 again, and made some progress with the Omega and Boba redraw of the Warsong update wallpaper :3 The more time that passes between posting and writing this the happier I am with this piece. Who could find all the gear that Omega wears from the Batch? 👀

Which cannot exactly be said about Sabine and Ezra as well, but I finally have something to show for them!!

Next up is Satine (now that I can show a small illustration in my skethcbook for her, it should go easy - I hope), and maybe Fennec or the Armorer. And lining Axe and laying down flat colors for him and Koska as well. I'm trying to get a drawing for all the missing characters and get them to the part where only detailed shading is missing. If my hand doesn't hurt too much at least ^^;

I'm also gearing up to drawing a new Ares!Boba too, but I'm still in denial about that ^^;

I did not have a particulrly good time with these drawings, I will be very honest upfront. I had to redraw Omega two times because I tried to line that piece in CSP and for some reason faces are just not happening for me there; It hadn't go well with Echo either months ago. I don't know what's up. The tilt of my tablet or that I don't have o zoom un until all I can see are pixels?? OTL

...and then the colours fought me something awful too. Between Boba and Omega they had red, yellow, green and blue covered, and all that with Boba's white flightsuit was not fun ^^; I don't know, I just cannot deal with that many colours - so figuring out what and how I should desaturate was quite an experiment in patience for me until they looked somewhat cohesive. Thankfully the added moonlight turned out to be distracting enough that I'm pretty much warming up to it all now.

I'm afraid I will have to use actual Multiply layers for the full shading.

And Sabine. Oh Sabine.

I've struggled here, big time, and I'm still deeply unhappy with her. I experimeted a lot in my sketchbook with her pose, but any time I thought I was finally on to something as soon as I went in to fix some minor anatomy issues digitally and add some details things just fell apart.

It was the tooka that messed everything up, I'm sure of it D: ^^; I wanted something to visually tie Sabine and Ezra together, and my decision fell on the little white tooka that was in Sabine's mural too at the end of Rebels. But now Sabine's shoulder had to stand in a way that the little critter can perch on and judge from...

Honest to god I almost cried with relief when I came across Eurydice in Asphodel when I switched back to playing Hades for a bit, and realized that she has the lean and attitude in her pose that I was looking for with Sabine. So it was either the coward's way out, or to throw the entire project out the window and become a hermit in the mountains or something.

You can see which option I picked XD

I am deeply, deeply fond of Ezra however Q^Q He was so cooperative after a few initial testing sketches, his hair is perfect, I didn't forget his scars, and I will find it in me to forgive his weird not-really-chainmail shirt, because that one I did to myself XD

I also finally got around to drawing a quick sketch for Fennec - for a hot minute I was very very tempted to pick for her a pose that's a lot closer to Widowmaker from Overwatch, but the vibes just didn't quite match. That was a very sad realization :'(

(Yes, I took the picture after Satine bled through the page in all her alcohol marker glory, yes, I regret it, and no, I cannot relably draw faces on paper. It is a real tragey. I'm in mourning.)

And just so that I cannot really sigh in relief, Leia is my next struggle. I still don't know how to make her work, and it's been months. Terrible. Horrible. Really really bad. Why am I even trying...TT^TT

So that's it for this month. It's both less and more than how it feels, and I'm also kinda losing a bit of steam - my mind is at re-drawing the entire background section for the House of Hades, so on the backburner i'm trying to cook up various background elements to fill the halls up with. Hades is such a beautifully designed game with such amazing shapes and colours, and Star Wars is such a different style especially when it comes to decorations... So there is a lot of cooking that will have to happen here. But I spent a not insignificant part of my last week (I'd been sick, I could get away with it) watching Drawfee speedpaints (they are so fun and so educational sometimes) and Jacob really popped off in one video creating a pixel art game of some sort? And ever since all I could think about is how and IF I could make my pocket Din move through my version of the Hades AU. Just a section of it. I'm itching to draw the backgrounds, but goddamn I am tired, so I just keep distracting myself from the important character art stuff with these daydreams X"D

I also very badly and incredibly distractingly want to re-draw Boba - I've drawn him so long ago, and it feels deeply unfair that I tried to puzzle out the style on him - and while Din got his upgrades bit by bit Boba just didn't. Also. Ares. Ares looks so good in his character art just sitting around like that - all casual-like - and Boba also has his trademark sprawl and... Look. I'm back to Boba being my most favourite clone, okay? I miss him. I miss drawing him. There.

Okay, rant over. Maybe this way I will be able to concentrate again XD Here's to hoping 🤞 I hope you guys are doing better with your creative projects! ❤️ See you all in May! Hopefully with something a bit more substantive and some proper links, not just wips like these ^^;

Taglist of anyone who wants to be pinged once a month for these updates <3 If you want to be added to the list send me a message, or just reply to this post (a 👀 would do, nothing fancy required ;))

@elwinged @yeehawgeek @velsayshi @lionsaint @hastalavistabyebye

If you want to be taken off the list just message me and I’ll take you off, no hard feelings :)

[rwshfordgirl]

Cruel Summer

"what doesn't kill me makes me want your more."

where she is dating her friend's cousin.

pairing kenan yildiz x reader!

a/n: i hope you like it :) those pictures of kenan are MY FAVORITES ONE

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬✮

Your friend's birthday party marked the beginning of another summer season. Everything was extremely planned by you and her, from the location to the guest list.

Alex managed to borrow her aunt's house on the Italian island of Sardinia for five days, five days with her other friends and with a very specific cousin of hers.

When you met Alex at a birthday party when you were 6, she wasn't alone. In fact, she was almost crying, upset with her cousins who were teasing her for falling off the toy. And it was there that your eyes first saw a six year old Kenan Yildiz, laughing at his cousin as if there was no tomorrow.

He always made you nervous, always, every time you met it was the same thing: your head would lower and your cheeks would quickly turn red, while Kenan tried to hide the fact that he found it too cute.

Every summer since the day you met Alex had Yildiz's presence, it was the only time of year you saw him and it was what made summer your favorite time of year.

But things really got more interesting last summer. On the Bosphorus River in the Turkish capital, Alex celebrated her 18th birthday with a boat ride. A fun night that ended with Kenan laughing at a bad joke you told and his arms wrapped around your waist.

The way he held you, the way he threw his head back laughing at you and the way he pulled you into his chest when he saw you shivering in the cold as the icy night wind hit the boat. You would definitely live this night forever and so would Kenan.

Since then, Kenan has only been seen by you during the summer, if he had to catch a plane to come visit you whenever he had some free time, he would definitely go without thinking twice. And on top of that, the video calls at the end of the day were constant.

But nobody knows. Nobody knows why on a holiday in the middle of last month, you decided to visit the city of Turin, alone. "You should meet Kenan there, he lives there. I'll talk to him." Alex said to you when you told her the news.

You tried to hide your smile, as if that wasn't exactly the reason you were going to Turin, "Seriously? Talk to him then."

But back in Sardinia, Kenan was already in the city with his other cousins while you were in the room getting ready to welcome them.

You weren't fast enough, as you finished combing your hair, strong arms wrapped around your waist and soft lips touched your neck. You felt Kenan smiling against your neck, "you smell so good."

You turned to face him, smiling like an idiot, "thanks babe! i was missing you." It was your turn to wrap your arms around Kenan's waist.

"I missed you too, like more than I thought I would." he rested his chin on your head.

"But you'll have to stay away from me, in public." Her words made him pout.

"I don't know if I'll make it, but I'll be close, very close. I'll be watching you."

"Like a maniac."

He laughed at this, "I'll watch you so the real manics don't come near you."

You nodded, amused by his words, "I see it then. Then I must say that I will also be keeping an eye on you as well."

He chuckled at you, loosening his hold on you just to look at you, "I won't mind."

"It's going to be hard to control myself from kissing you every time you do that.", you kissed him, "don't smile at me or anyone else."

He put his hand on his face, laughing at you, "that's good to know, I'll be smiling at you all summer."

"You're going to torture me and force me to kiss you in front of everyone."

"I hope that happens then."

[epickiya722]

hi kiya :3 sukuna for the ask game !!!

Favorite thing about them: My guy has style, that is also an unpopular opinion (as I don't see a lot of folks talk about that). He pulled up with them purple acrylics, tattoos and pink hair and I was sold! Okay, but for real, Sukuna is just so unapologetically ruthless and I admire that especially mirroring Yuji's personality (my other favorite).

Least favorite thing about them: Sukuna, my guy, why you gotta kill and eat people? Why you gotta mistreat my boy, Yuji and his co?

Favorite line: This one is unfair because he has a lot of lines I like. If I had to choose one... I'd go with his "Are you pitying me" line in 265.

brOTP: Don't care what anyone else, Uraume and Sukuna are a pair you just do not separate. Ride or die besties right there! And while they're not exactly friends, I really like Sukuna's relationship with Yuji. The animosity between them entertains me.

OTP: You know what, while there are some Sukuna ships that would make me go "hm, I like that", I'm coming to the realization that I really don't have a Sukuna ship that I really, really adore so much that I think about it all day? Like, I don't really have that One True Pairing for Sukuna.

nOTP: Kind of the same sentiment here as above. I don't really care enough, I guess? There are ships that I'm just not into, my own personal preferences.

Random Headcanon: Isn't into spicy food. I don't know, I look at Sukuna and while I know he definitely will eat seasoned food, I don't think he'll be hyped about spicy food.

Unpopular opinion: Well, other than the he has some style opinion... hm... you know what? I know folks like to say "oh, Gege is always glazing Sukuna" or whatever, but I don't blame him. Honestly, Sukuna does feel like a character Gege had fun writing in the sense of "I'm not afraid to make this character evil". Like, for all or at least most of the villains in JJK, I like that Gege wasn't afraid to make them well... evil. I doubt he really even tried to make them sympathetic, including Sukuna with his ending. Just trying to make the action of those character understood.

Song I associate with them: Would it be fair if I said Megan Thee Stallion's Otaku Hot Girl? Half joking! Ooh, one song that comes to mind is Rico Nasty's Check Me Out.

Favorite picture of them: Spoiler alert for anyone who hasn't read the manga!

There's a couple I like!

Send Me a Character...

[amirawrah]

⭐︎ Healing looks like this

with MICHAEL OLISE⭐︎

synopsis: After getting injured during a match, Michael Olise is grumpy, restless, and hates being babied—by everyone except you. You turn into his personal nurse, from snacks and Netflix to hair twists and painted nails. He’s sulking with the world but melts the second you walk in. Because if anyone’s gonna baby him, it’s gotta be you. @muglermami

It happened fast.

One bad tackle, a twist of the knee, and suddenly Michael was on the pitch, flat on his back, jaw clenched and pain written across his usually unreadable face. You were watching from home, phone already halfway to your ear before the medics even reached him.

The next few hours were a blur—MRIs, the club doctor saying something about a few weeks out, maybe more depending on how rehab went. Michael didn’t say much. He never really did. But you could see the frustration brewing beneath the surface.

He hated this. The attention, the fuss, the idea of being stuck in one place.

And he especially hated being babied.

Well… by everyone except you.

You showed up to his house that night, already knowing he’d refuse help if it came with pity. So you didn’t pity him.

You kissed his forehead, plopped a bag of snacks on the couch, and said, “Hi, I’m your nurse for the next two weeks. No refunds.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re injured,” you replied sweetly. “So shut up and eat these apple slices I cut into hearts.”

That earned you a tiny smile.

It became a routine.

You came by every day after work, sometimes before. He’d pretend he was fine, but the second he saw you, he visibly softened. His brows relaxed. His shoulders dropped. He’d never admit it out loud, but the sound of your keys jingling at the door? Comfort.

You set him up on the couch like a king. Blankets. Pillows. The remote always within reach. His favorite lemon-lime sports drink in the fridge. You’d scroll Netflix while he leaned back, leg elevated, head tipped toward you.

He’d grumble whenever anyone else checked on him. His teammates? “Too loud.” Physios? “Too nosy.” Nutritionist bringing food? “I said I didn’t want that.”

But when you walked in?

“Hey,” he’d mumble, voice low and warm.

“Hey, baby,” you’d smile back, setting down your tote bag. “Pain level?”

“Less when you’re here.”

You’d roll your eyes, even as you smiled.

One lazy afternoon, you sat on the floor between his legs, twisting his locs while a nature doc played quietly in the background. He was nearly asleep, head tilted, lips slightly parted.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured.

“What, twisting hair or tolerating your grumpiness?”

“Both.”

You smirked. “You like when I baby you. Just admit it.”

He scoffed. “I don’t.”

“You literally pouted when I was ten minutes late yesterday.”

“I didn’t pout.”

“You did. Even the doorman said so.”

Silence.

Then

“…Maybe.”

Later that week, you caught him staring at your nails—freshly painted burgundy.

“You want me to do yours?” you joked.

He shrugged. “Kinda bored, innit.”

And that’s how you ended up painting Michael Olise’s nails. He sat still, legs stretched out, a bowl of popcorn in his lap while you carefully brushed his nails.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said when you were done.

“Michael, you literally let me paint little stars on your ring fingers.”

“Still. Don’t.”

But he didn’t stop you when you took a picture of his hand next to yours. And when you posted it on your story—no tags, no faces, just the two sets of matching nails—he reshared it to his close friends.

The injury sucked. Rehab sucked. Not playing sucked.

But having you?

The late nights, the snacks, the hair-twisting, the quiet giggles, the way you kissed his temple after icing his knee, the way you always knew exactly what he needed before he even asked?

That made everything softer. Lighter.

Easier.

You weren’t just his nurse.

You were his peace.

One night, he pulled you into his chest while the credits of Shrek 2 rolled.

“You know I’d let you do this even if I wasn’t injured, right?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“This. All of it.” He kissed your hair. “I like being babied by you.”

You smiled into his hoodie.

“Good. ’Cause I’m never clocking out.”

And he held you tighter, thinking— Yeah. I hope you never do.

[anon-188]

E.T.A. (alt. version) ❤️‍🔥 (aj x f!reader)

summary: your week-long business trip was supposed to be a quick pause—not a trigger. but distance has a way of making desire burn hotter. and, for the record, AJ has always been a patient man—just not when it comes to you.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), slow burn, smut with plot, sexting, mentions of phone sex, unprotected sex, public sex (car), heavy grinding, explicit language, possessive behavior, hair pulling, praise, dirty talk, light roughness, soft dominance, emotional tension, mild exhibitionism (tinted windows), brief aftercare (barely. seriously, don’t blink or else you’ll miss it).

word count: just about 4k

note: this one is a little lengthy (just like AJ). (kidding!! kind of…) anyway! i hope you guys enjoy it ♡

fluff version 🤍

⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚⋆┊❤︎┊⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚⋆┊❤︎┊⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚

You were away on a business trip—a full week in New York. The kind of trip that made your schedule implode the second the call came in. Last minute. Barely a heads-up. One second you were making dinner for yourself on a quiet evening, the next you were tearing through your apartment like a storm, tossing heels into a carry-on and cursing yourself for not knowing where the hell your laptop charger had gone.

Between folding blouses and hunting down your toiletries, you grabbed your phone and called AJ. The moment he picked up, you launched into your explanation—half-breathless, half-apologetic. You told him about the meeting, the last-minute flight, how you wouldn’t even have time to see him before you left. “I’m sorry,” you said, genuinely. You meant it.

And he took it in stride. Of course he did.

“It’s fine,” he replied smoothly. “Work’s work. I get it.”

And that was that.

No fight. No frustration. Just acceptance. And sure, that was nice. It was mature. It made things easier. But still, something in you sank a little. You had hoped for a little pushback—just enough to prove he cared that you were going. Enough to say, I’ll miss you, without actually saying it.

But maybe you weren’t there yet. Maybe a few months wasn’t long enough for the “don’t go” stuff.  Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself.

Or at least… that’s what you thought.

Because by the end of your trip, it was like you were talking to a different man. Gone was the space, the careful distance. In its place were back-to-back texts, calls that started early and never seemed to stop, breathless voice notes, pictures that weren’t exactly safe for work. No matter where you were—client meeting, lunch, your hotel bed—his presence followed you, constant, like he couldn’t help himself. And maybe he couldn’t.

Even now, in the chaotic hum of the airport, he had you ducking into the nearest bathroom. Inside, the sound of suitcase wheels rolling over tile outside mixed with the buzz of your phone vibrating in your palm. The message had been his version of simple: “Just one more. Help me get through the next few hours.”

And so—you did.

You leaned against the stall door, the lock barely holding, your heart pounding like you were doing something criminal. Your fingers tugged your dress down—your office dress, sleek and still warm from a full day of work—just enough to reveal the lace edge of your bra, black and delicate against flushed skin. The lighting wasn't great, but you knew your angles. You tilted the camera just right, a hint of collarbone, a glimpse of cleavage, just enough of your expression to make his blood run hot. Your lips were parted slightly, eyes heavy. You snapped the photo. Sent it.

This will have to hold you over, you typed.

Then you yanked your dress back up, adjusted your bag, and hauled ass to your gate. By the time you boarded, your face was still flushed from more than just the rush of barely making your flight.

When you finally landed back in L.A., the familiar hum of the airport wrapped around you. As you passed the terminal doors, you turned your phone back on, ready to order an Uber like you did when you arrived a week ago. 

But before your thumb could even tap the app, your screen lit up with a flood of notifications—all from AJ.

“I’m already here.”

“No need for an Uber.”

“Terminal 4. Lower level. I’m by the black Benz. You’ll see me.”

You stared at the messages for a second, blinking against the brightness of the screen, trying to process the words like they were in another language.

Your heart thudded in your chest—not just from surprise but something deeper, sharper, hungrier. He was here. At the airport. Waiting for you. And suddenly, all those plans to keep your cool dissolved with every step you took in the direction he told you.

Sure, you were excited to see him. Obviously. But that didn’t undo the tension—the sharp, coiled heat that had wrapped around both of you over the past week like a fuse lit from both ends. You’d sent each other pictures—filthy ones, brazen, shameless, the kind you couldn’t believe came from you when you scrolled back in the quiet moments.

And AJ—God, he was worse. His photos had a weight to them. Like the one where you could see just the edge of a tattoo-covered forearm braced against a shower wall, water running down his chest, captioned with nothing but: “Thinking about your mouth.” Or the several other ones he sent: shots of his inked abdomen, the waistband of his sweats riding low, his hand wrapped around himself, veins and tensed muscles on full display.

Then there was the phone calls. Late at night, low and raspy and downright dirty, filled with everything he planned to do to you when you got back into the city. What he’d make you beg for. What he’d ruin for you. And even through all that, you knew—you felt it—there was still more he wasn’t saying yet. Still more waiting under the surface, ready to boil over the second you saw each other again.

So yeah, you were excited to see him.

But you also thought you’d have a breather—a buffer, at least a few hours—to decompress, to step off the plane and slip into your routine again. To pull yourself together. Recalibrate. Figure out what you wanted to say when you finally laid eyes on him.

Instead, you were walking straight into the fire.

You found him exactly where he said he would be—leaning against his car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd with a kind of casual impatience that didn't fool you for a second. His black shirt clung to him just right, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos peeking out beneath the fabric. He stood up straight as you approached, already moving, already reaching. No words at first—just a smooth, easy step forward, the weight of your carry-on plucked from your shoulder.

“I told you you didn’t have to come pick me up,” you said, already a little breathless, half-laughing, trying not to let your body give away too much. “I would’ve taken an Uber home.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and casual. “But I wanted to.”

He said it like it was no big deal, like he hadn’t completely overridden your plan, like he wasn’t currently radiating the kind of heat that had your skin prickling. Then he leaned in and kissed you—soft, gentle, lips just brushing against yours in a kiss that didn’t match anything he’d been saying to you over the phone this past week. Not when he’d described in slow, explicit detail how he planned to bend you over every surface in his apartment, fucking you until your voice broke, your legs shook, and you forgot every word that wasn’t his name.

And that thought cycled—burned—through your brain as he started the drive. The city blurred past as he pulled into traffic, the radio humming low, a beat too calm for what was crackling in the air between you. You tried to breathe through it, tried to act like being back in this car, next to him, wasn’t already dragging you straight back under.

He joked about making a pit stop at his place—since it was closer than yours—but there was nothing casual in the way he said it.

You could hear it in the grit of his tone, the way it dipped just slightly, dragging heat up your spine. And you could feel it in the way his hand slid across the center console, fingers curling around your thigh like he needed something to ground him. 

Conversation came in short bursts. You asked about his day. He asked about your flight. You both triedto sound normal. But every time you locked eyes, it was there again. That thing. That edge, that breathless, parted-mouth ache for what had been building between you both for days.

And you thanked god right then and there that he didn’t live far.

Because your body was already leaning into the tension, already burning. His touch. His voice. His scent filling the car.

You weren’t going to make it much longer.

But then—a brake light flashed. A full-body jolt forward.

The car slowed, then stopped.

Another brake light.

Another.

Then all at once, the freeway turned into a parking lot—cars lined up in an endless stretch of red glow, still and unmoving. A traffic jam. A bad one.

You stared out the windshield like it had betrayed you.

No.

Not now. Not this close.

AJ glanced over at you, jaw tight, voice low. “Check the GPS. What’s the ETA to my place?” 

You pulled up the app, barely needing to look before answering.

“Forty-six minutes,” you said, voice tight, careful.

“Fuck.”

The word came low, gritted out under his breath like it was for the traffic—gridlocked cars stacked in all directions, brake lights flickering—but you knew better. Because you were sitting there, hands twitching in your lap, thighs pressed together in quiet agony, thinking the exact same thing.

AJ had assured you the jam would pass. Told you the highway always looked worse before it cleared up. 

That had been twenty minutes ago.

Since then, you hadn’t moved so much as a car length.

You shifted in your seat first—just a slight adjustment, trying to relieve the mounting pressure between your legs. But it made his hand twitch where it rested high on your thigh, and then he shifted too. He spread his legs wider, leaned back like he was stretching, trying to shake the heat building in his own skin. 

The air changed with the movements. Conversation faltered. Then died completely. The only sound in the car was the low hum of music, the occasional idle roar of someone’s engine around you, and the tense, silent rhythm of restraint.

You cleared your throat, soft, barely more than a breath. And AJ… he reached up and unfastened the top button of his shirt.

You crossed your legs.

He reached overhead and opened the sunroof, muttering something about how the sun was making it hot.

The sun was already setting. So, that wasn’t true, and you both knew it.

It was fucking insufferable.

Everything. The traffic. The heat in your veins. The confinement of the car. The way his thumb traced soft circles near the crease of your thigh but never moved higher. Every breath was tighter than the last.

You gave up.

You turned to him, body twisted in your seat, pulse hammering in your throat, and for the first time in the last forty minutes, you locked eyes.

And the moment you did, everything snapped silent.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t need to.

“Come here,” AJ said, voice thick, rough around the edges, his seatbelt clicking undone as he leaned back slightly, giving you space—no, permission.

Your own buckle came off fast. Too fast. You moved without hesitation, climbing over the center console, dress hiking up your thighs as your knees pressed into the soft leather on either side of his lap. Your mouths crashed together—hard, fast, messy. There was no finesse, just pure, hungry need. His hands slid up the back of your dress, while yours tugged at his collar, his shirt, whatever you could grab. His fingers found your thighs again, squeezing, guiding your hips to move, grinding you down against him. The friction already made your breath catch.

You were grateful for the tinted windows, sure—but deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t have mattered. If the whole interstate had a front-row seat, it still wouldn’t have stopped either of you.

AJ’s mouth broke from yours only to lick, kiss, suck along the curve of your neck, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, biting just enough to make your hips twitch against him. You reached behind yourself, fingers fumbling at the zipper of your dress, pulling it down slowly, but your coordination was shot—and he noticed.

His hands replaced yours without a word, dragging the zipper down in one smooth motion. The fabric peeled away, and he wasted no time—pulling the dress down just far enough to expose your bra, then tugging at the straps until they slipped off your shoulders. His kisses followed, mouth trailing lower, tongue dipping against your collarbone as your chest heaved.

Your hips began moving again, instinctive and aching, grinding down against him with a slow pressure that pulled a growl from deep in his throat. His moans vibrated against your chest, rough and needy. His hands slid down, fingers splaying wide over your ass, gripping tight, pulling you closer until there was nothing but heat and tension and the solid press of him underneath you.

But even that wasn’t enough.

Your hands flew to his belt, clumsy with urgency. Metal clinked, leather slipped free, and the zipper followed with a sound that somehow made your skin heat even more. He didn’t stop you—in fact, he pushed your dress higher with his rough, greedy hands, bunching it around your waist. The moment you freed him with your hand wrapped around him, his breath caught. Hot and shallow against your collarbone.

You shifted, tugging your underwear to the side, completely bare and ready to take him in. You braced one hand on his shoulder, the other guiding him, your body already pulsing with anticipation. But just as you moved to sink down, his hands locked on your waist—tight, halting you in place.

You blinked, breathless, eyes snapping to his. He wasn’t frowning. He wasn’t serious.

No, it was that shit-eating smirk he loved to wear, the one that told you he was enjoying this too much, that he was about to make you work for it.

“What?” you asked, breath hitching, your hands braced on his chest.

“You seem awfully needy today,” he teased, his thumbs stroking lazy circles over your bare hips, like he wasn’t seconds away from being inside you.

You narrowed your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. “Yeah? And what does that make you?”

Then you shifted just enough to grind against the length of him, slow and shameless, dragging your soaked heat over his cock without giving him what you both wanted. His jaw clenched, a low sound punching out of him before he caught himself, and there it was again—that smirk, a little sloppier now, a little more strained.

“I just missed my girl,” he said.

It was quiet. Honest. Too honest.

You hummed, not trusting your voice, not trusting the way those words spread through your chest like warmth and fire all at once. You rolled your hips again, letting yourself slide over him, gasping softly as he twitched beneath you, but your mind wasn’t on the friction anymore. Not fully.

Because this was the first time he’d called you that. His girl. A label, spoken without hesitation, like it had always been true and just hadn’t made its way out until now. And you knew AJ—knew him well enough to know that he only ever let the truth slip out when he thought you were too far gone to notice. Too fucked out. Too horny. Too drunk on the feel of him to catch what he was really saying.

But you heard him. And it echoed louder than his moans ever could.

“Your girl, huh?” you teased, voice soft but sharp, your lips brushing over his without closing the space completely. His hands still gripped your hips, holding you steady, and you could feel the tension in him.

“Yeah. Mine.” he said without missing a beat, the words landing low, full of confidence, eyes locked onto yours like they didn’t have anywhere else in the world to look.

You felt your mouth curve in response, a slow smirk ghosting across your lips. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good.” he growled, and then his mouth was on yours—hard, demanding. He pushed your hips, guiding you, the grip on your waist tightening just enough to tell you he was done waiting. 

And so were you.

He positioned you just right, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, and finally he let your body give in. You sank down, slow, deliberate, the stretch hitting you instantly. The way he filled you, inch by inch, was dizzying—your breath catching, mouth parting against his as you gasped through it. Your nails dug into his shoulders, steadying yourself as your body adjusted, molded to him, tight and slick and aching.

AJ cursed under his breath, head falling back slightly, jaw clenched as he watched you take every inch of him. A low, barely contained groan rumbled from his chest, and his grip on your waist tightened like he could barely take it. Like he couldn’t stand the distance even with you wrapped around him.

The car rocked in a slow, relentless rhythm, the tension of traffic long forgotten, lost in the sheer filth of what you and AJ had turned his front seat into. The driver side window fogged over lightly, the sharp scent of sex mingling with sweat and cologne, thick in the air. Moans spilled freely—obscene and unfiltered, loud enough to bleed out through the open sunroof.

AJ sat low in the seat, one hand gripped tight to your hip, the other pressed to the small of your back, guiding your movements, urging you down harder, deeper. Your thighs burned, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with the way he filled you so deep, so perfectly. Each roll of your hips made his breath hitch, made him swear under it, made his hands get rougher, his control thinner.

For a brief moment—through the chaos—you opened your eyes, and so did he. They met. Locked.

And everything paused without actually stopping.

You stared at each other, both gasping, lips parted, mouths open but silent, too caught in the rhythm to speak, too full of heat and something else. Something that felt heavier than lust.

It was a challenge, or maybe a plea. You say it first. Tell me you missed me.

But neither of you said a word.

Instead, you just kept moving, kept rolling your hips with a drag that made his jaw clench and his head tip back. The air between your lips was damp, charged, thick with half-choked cries. The words sat on your tongue, swollen and urgent—you were so fucking close to saying it. I missed you. You needed to say it. Needed him to know it wasn’t just the sex driving you mad. But just as your lips parted—

His hand shot up, fist curling into your hair, tugging you down until your foreheads touched, sweat-slick skin pressed together. His other hand gripped your hip tight as his hips snapped up, thrusting deeper, harder, hitting that spot inside you that tore a moan from your throat so loud it echoed against the roof.

“Fuck, I missed you so much.”

His voice broke with it—rough, raw, tangled with a deep groan that nearly vibrated inside the car.

You tightened around him instantly, like your body was answering before your mouth could. Hands scrambled for something, anything—his shoulders, his neck, the headrest behind him. You gripped like your life depended on it, nails digging into skin and leather alike.

But you still managed it. Still forced the words out, even as your pulse roared in your ears and every nerve ending threatened to short-circuit.

“I missed you too—shit, AJ.” The words fell out broken, stuttering through a gasp that came from too deep to hide, and your eyes almost rolled back from the intensity building in your core.

His hands gripped you harder, grounding you to his lap, voice dark and urgent. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me see it.”

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command, and your body obeyed without hesitation.

You came—hard. Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking, core clenching around him as the pleasure ripped through you, loud and involuntary. His name tore from your throat, “AJ—fuck—AJ!” It echoed into the car, out the sunroof, spilling into the quiet air above the traffic, letting the entire stretch of the freeway know exactly who made you sound like that. 

You gave him exactly what he asked for—proof, plain and loud.

“That’s my girl.”

Your body was still twitching, still hypersensitive, but you didn’t stop. You rode the highs anyway—kept moving, even as your legs shook, your chest heaved, even as your head dropped forward against his. The ache was deep now, thick and delicious, but it wasn’t enough to pull you away. Not with his hands guiding your hips, pushing and pulling you in a rhythm he controlled, one you were far too ruined for to keep on your own. All you could do was moan, clench around him, let him use your body as his own breaking point approached.

And then it happened. One deep, sharp thrust—so deep you could feel it in your throat. His body jerked, once, twice—coming hard, thick and deep inside you. His moans were muffled by your skin, but you could feel the sound rumble against your neck, hot and raw and completely undone.

You both tried to catch your breath, gasping softly between sweaty movements and sloppy, lingering kisses that neither of you were quite ready to let go of. AJ's hands were still on you, his lips brushing over your jaw, your mouth, everywhere—like even now, post-release, he still couldn't get enough.

Then—a sharp honk.

The sudden blare jolted you both, and your head whipped around in slow, hazy realization. The traffic had started moving. Red brake lights flickered ahead in motion, a line of cars crawling forward now, the standstill officially over.

AJ burst into a low laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second before pulling back just enough to press a light, playful kiss to your mouth. It was a far cry from the hunger that had just filled the car, but it still made your stomach flip. He smiled, all smug and breathless, and you rolled your eyes through a grin as you climbed off his lap, legs shaky, core still pulsing.

You dropped into the passenger seat with a soft thud, adjusting your dress and smoothing your hair as AJ did the same beside you, shifting himself back into place, fixing his pants and shirt with one hand while the other casually slid to the wheel. Your body sank into the seat, ruined but satisfied. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he caught it, smirking again like he knew what you were thinking.

If this was what a week apart earned you, maybe it was worth it—maybe the waiting, the teasing, the unbearable build-up… maybe that made the payoff all the sweeter.

But then his hand slid back to your thigh, just like it had when the car ride started, fingers gripping, rubbing, possessive in a way that made your skin tighten all over again.

And in that moment, you knew—he probably wouldn’t let you, his girl, out of his sight for that long ever again.

⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚���┊❤︎┊⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚⋆┊❤︎┊⋆˚✿˖°⌒♡˚˖✿˚

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

tag list: @alealuvshayden @garretthedlundisbae @sythethecarrot

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[em-harlsnow]

hey!! i saw you take requests for tiktok trends

there was one some time ago, where people would put pictures, attached to sticks, into a cake. the pictures would have someone, who a person, who sticks it, they find hot (and maybe want to smash lol). which celebrities or characters would gallavich choose?

besides nick jonas xD

This one I really had to think about.

"Alright, put yours in." Mickey tells Ian, for once being the one to initiate the TikTok trend. He was getting tired of Ian making him do them all the time, so now it's Ian's turn to be forced to do something weird.

Ian sighs. "Okay."

He brings out a picture taped to a stick and stabs it into the cake. "Justin Timberlake." He announces, to which Mickey scowls.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" Mickey asks.

"Shut the fuck up, he was my first crush. Who've you got that's so much better?" Ian says.

"I got Marlon Brando." Mickey says, sticking his face into the cake.

"Who?" Ian asks, bending down to look at his picture. He frowns, annoyed, when he sees the muscled guy in the picture. "Who even is that? I recognise him."

Mickey looks disgusted. "He's in The Godfather, you freak. How d'you not know who he is?"

Rolling his eyes, Ian continues. "Fine. Well, I have George Clooney."

"Of course you fucking do. You always liked 'em wrinkled." Mickey mutters.

"Shut up, he's hot. He'll never age." Ian pouts, knocking his shoulder into Mickey. "Who d'you have next, Prince Harry? You got a ginger fetish." Ian says.

"Fuck no." Mickey scowls. "I got Bradley Cooper." He says, proudly stabbing him into the cake.

"Yeah, okay, that's acceptable." Ian agrees.

"Fuck d'you mean? 'Acceptable'." Mickey scoffs. "He's hot."

"I got Michael B. Jordan." Ian says, pulling out his photo.

Mickey rolls his eyes. "That's basic."

"Basic? Have you seen him?" Ian argues.

"No, he's not basic, I'm saying liking him is basic. Michael B. Jordan is every closeted lesbian's go-to celebrity crush so that no one figures out that they're gay." Mickey says.

Ian splutters comically, brain stuttering on how and why Mickey could even know that.

While Ian malfunctions, Mickey pulls out his next one. "Cal Kestis." He says, presenting the little cartoon and poking it into the cake.

"You can have video game characters?" Ian asks.

"Yep."

"He looks exactly like me, Mickey." Ian points out, staring at the little image of the guy's face.

"What? No he doesn't." Mickey frowns. "He's just ginger."

"I'm telling you, if I grew out my facial hair, I'd look just like him." Ian says, scrutinising the picture.

"You're thinking too highly of yourself." Mickey mutters.

"Excuse me? Are you saying you think a fucking digital guy is better looking than me, your husband?" Ian gapes, mouth falling open.

Mickey stares at him, then acquiesces, shaking his head. "No, fine. I'm not saying that."

"Good." Ian nods. "Can we eat the cake now? I don't see the point of the cake. We can just show each other the rest of them."

Mickey nods. "Yeah, this shit's making me hungry."

-> I hope this met expectations!

-> thanks for the ask, any other TikTok trends or prompts are very welcome.

[mymegrokosmos]

A little part 2 bc apparently y'all enjoy this one. It's short but maybe I'll make this a full wip when I finish First Snow.

Just some bsfs Kwan and Hao time with a little Jihoon sprinkled in.

You're nearly ready when your phone buzzes from the desk and Minghao pauses smoking out his eyeliner to toss it over. You almost miss but just manage to catch it, Seungkwan clicking his tongue as your movement disrupts his efforts to finish pinning the last of the little butterfly clips in your hair. You let him have free rein and he's taking full advantage of the carte blanche powers to style you exactly how he wants. You don’t mind, not really.

You hit answer without looking at the caller ID. You don’t need to check. Jihoon is the only person outside this room set to override do not disturb.

"What do you want?"

"What happened to hello? How are you Jihoon? How was your day?"

You sigh. "Hello Hoonie, what do you want?

You can picture the displeased expression you know he’s making at the nickname. He hates when you use it, or acts like he does at least. Jihoon isn't great at accepting affection but you know he secretly loves it.

"Just checking if you're coming to dinner tonight." Your brother sounds tired and you expect he's pulled an all nighter to finish up his latest project at work. Him and Seungcheol are always locked in their offices working crazy hours. Sometimes you think if it wasn't for Shua and Hannie they'd never leave the building.

"No, I'm going out with Hao and Kwannie tonight. Enjoy your peace and quiet."

He hums distractedly as you speak, probably multitasking listening to you and working. He'll be there until someone physically drags him away from the desk. You send off a quick text to Jisoo. He'll be happy for the excuse to bother your brother and Jihoon never has the heart to resist his friends. Shua has a way of charming everyone, your usually quiet stoic brother included.

"Don’t do anything I wouldn't do."

You snort and Seungkwan flicks your shoulder. You fix your posture.

"Hoon, the only reason you're less of a bad influence is that you don't drink. If you did you'd drag me into just as many parties and late night adventures. Soonyoung gets you into just as much trouble."

He can't argue that one and Kwan's laugh vibrates against your back as he finishes with your hair. "Just be careful okay?"

You smile softly. "I will. Tell Cheol I say hi."

Jihoon is a man of few words so you say your goodbyes and then Minghao is tugging at your wrist and dragging you over to the desk to paint your face. You close your eyes, tilt your head however he directs and let him. He's better with makeup than you've ever been. You asked him about it once and he just shrugged, saying the medium might be different but it still art. You've yet to see a canvas he can't work with. Sketching, painting, sewing, bonsai, dancing. If it requires patience and a certain level of fluidity Hao excels at it almost without trying. You used to be jealous of how quickly he picked up new skills but he's never been one to brag about it. You've come to be proud over the years instead. Always the first person to show off his work and make sure he gets all the credit.

"What did Woozi want?"

You angle your head the way his fingers gently guide and blink at Minghao. "He's going for dinner with Seungcheol. And probably Shua. I think they wrapped that last project today so they're celebrating."

He nods, not looking away from where he expertly paints highliter over your cheekbones and dots little flecks of glitter over top.

"Maybe we'll actually see them at game night next week then."

You hum softly and he moves to match the other side. "Is Jun joining us tonight?"

He shrugs. "Not sure. He said he wrapped shooting yesterday so I guess if he can catch an early enough flight. He hasn't texted so he's either asleep or he doesn't have service."

You pat his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You two still have hotpot night tomorrow. You know he wouldn't miss that."

He smiles at your reassurance. "I know."

He'll probably pout if Junhui misses tonight but you know those two are never happier than when they're bickering like an old married couple. You blow him a kiss, he rolls his eyes and you accept the lipstain he hands over.

"I love you too Myungho."

He sighs. "You're lucky you're a better roomate than Shua hyung."

"I know."

It is 1am and all I have left in my brain rn is le poisson steve and headache by jongup on repeat so here you go.

Reader x Bsf Kwannie and Roommate Hao. Potentially love interest Mingyu if y'all like it and want more of whatever this is.

"No."

Your best friend throws his hands up and sighs dramatically. "Why not?"

You toss a throw pillow at him. "In what world is the solution to my problem a one night stand with one of your friends?"

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. "I didn't say it was long term or that it was going to fix anything. I was just saying the sex would be good and no offence but you could blow off some steam."

You roll your eyes right back, arms crossing over your chest as you lean back in your chair. "Sometimes I'm rudely reminded that you are, above all, a man."

He opens his mouth to throw out another sassy retort when Minghao slides into the chair beside you, dropping a tray of drinks on the table and folding his legs up underneath him.

"What are you two arguing about now?"

You accept the caffeine, shaking your head as Seungkwan turns his wiles on your roommate. "Getting y/n laid."

Minghao sips his tea and studies you for a minute. "Short term solution for a long term problem."

Seungkwan snorts and you sigh. "Please stop treating me like your pet project."

Both men blink at you.

"Wild way to say thank you for being your personal stylists." Kwan's comment has no bite despite the side eye he gives you as he picks up his cup. Iced americano as usual. You scrunch your nose at him, still not a fan of the bitter drink he favours and he flips you the middle finger as he takes a long sip. Before you can poke at him and make things worse Hao slides calmly into the silence.

"We only meddle because we care about you."

You sigh because you know he’s right. Your friends may be a bit pushy and crude at times but their hearts are in the right place.

"I appreciate the thought but I don't think a one night stand is going to fix all my issues after this breakup."

Seungkwan shrugs. Minghao sips his tea.

"No you should probably start going to therapy again but it might not hurt either."

You sigh. "You just want an excuse to drag me to the club so you can style me like your own personal barbie doll and then abandon me to go do things I do not need to know about in the back rooms."

Hao's eyes widen to give you his best innocent look. "Me?"

You nod. "Yes you Myungho."

He scoffs. "If Jun didn't want me to use his office for hookups then he shouldn't have given me a key."

"Remind me never to go near that sofa or the desk or his chair or frankly anything in there ever again. How does Junhui put up with you?"

Minghao shrugs. "It gives him an excuse to spray the whole place down with rubbing alcohol and wipe every surface until it's spotless under a black light. I think he likes the challenge."

Seungkwan snorts. "There is something very wrong with both of you."

You blink at your best friend. "Kwannie, I think there are several somethings wrong with all of us."

He shrugs. "That's probably a fair assessment but I'm still mad at you so I'm electing to ignore any points you make today unless they're bad ones."

Minghao's head falls against your shoulder and you turn to find him making his best doe eyes at you. He has learned to use his cuteness like a weapon and you can only blame Jun for that. His best friend is nothing if not incredibly skilled in the art of subtle harmless manipulation using only the face he was born with and the acting skills he's spent his life developing. Unfortunately for all of you it's rubbed off on each of your friends in slightly different ways.

Minghao's tucked every sneaky little trick into into his book of tactics to use against you when you're being stubborn because yelling just makes you do the opposite and drag him into even more trouble. He's a quick study and a great student. When he cares to apply himself that is. He cares a great deal about subterfuge and the art of gaslighting everyone he has ever met for fun.

When you look to Seungkwan his eyes are pleading. It's not quite the same but the two of them know what they're doing. They even bring out the 'pretty please noona' card and damn them both you're sold immediately.

"Yah, okay. But you two are so coming with me to that cooking class on Saturday then."

"No can do y/n, I already have plans with Kyeom and Soonie hyungs." Seungkwan looks smug.

"At 10am on a Saturday morning?"

"Mhm," he nods. "We're going for a run. Training for that half marathon they agreed to when they lost the bet."

"What bet?"

"How long it would take you to dump that loser ex of yours."

"Boo Seungkwan, you bet on my relationship?"

"In my defense, I won."

You sigh. "I have so many questions but I'll ask Soonyoung another time."

"Why that jerk?"

"That jerk has been your best friend since kindergarten."

"Yes, and he's still an idiot. So, I repeat, why Soonyoung?"

"Because you are way too good at lying to me and evading the subject. Soonie is incredibly naïve and open to bribery."

Seungkwan sighs. Minghao laughs.

"She's got you there."

Before they can start bickering you step in again. "Hao, will you come to the class with me then?"

"Nope." He pops the p and offers no further explanation.

You blink at him. He blinks back. You shove his shoulder lightly, making sure it’s the good one before putting any pressure behind your movement.

"Why not?"

"I love you but I have a cute boy's dick to suck until he caves in like a capri sun."

You groan. "Forget I asked."

"Can't."

"Shan't."

"Won't."

"Don’t wanna."

Your friends continue to tease you until you lean forward and let your forehead thunk into the metal table. You sat outside the café just for this and the nice breeze. Both men grab one shoulder and haul you back upright before you can cause yourself any kind of permanent damage and scowl at you.

"Can we go get ready now or do I need to tell your brother we're going to be late?"

You consider going for it. Their grip tightens on each of your arms. You sigh.

"The first one of you to tell Jihoon anything is getting ex-communicated from my life effective immediately."

"You would never." Seungkwan looks offended by the sheer audacity of your ultimatum.

"If I let you do my hair and makeup tonight will you forget about bothering that loser?"

"I'll consider it."

"You can use glitter."

"Consider him forgotten."

[birdietrait]

cairo helsing

[carneliancorax]

The temptation to put them in a Venn diagram, or possibly a graph.

[I don't want to just steal someone's fanart so imagine here an image of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood]

[imerian]

Made this keychain while i was sad for Logan after the race. I'm so happy with the result and also i think doodles and references come out good ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

I put more pics under cut if you want to see!!!

There some photos without any drawings plus just doodles bc it's easy to miss something with how much I going on there 😭

Also i finally have plase to rumble about every little detail (tags)

[uhohdad]

titan headcannon? <3

⌜ KONIG X READER HUNGER GAMES AU ⌟