#June is thirsty

[entomolog-t]

Some questions for/about your lovely characters:

Bram - 8 - Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Dawn - 15 - What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

June - 30 - What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

Aedes - 26 - Talent or effort?

Bram hates complex puzzles, with strategy games occasionally being an exception (except if he's losing) so he is not at all happy about his current "charades/signing" situation. He's liable to throw things💀

Dawn is very much "There's a time and place for everything" for the majority of things- minus TV. Girlie can't stand sitting down and wasting time on what she would consider "absolutely nothing." She's got far too many chores and far too little sleep to consider watching TV.

OOF- June would probably be a lot more hands on with Aedes, as long as he wasn't full on panicking. On a less intense scale, if she could get away with it she'd "accidentally" spill something on him. That white shirt is just begging to get wet- I don't make the rules 🤷‍♀️

This is actually a concept that gets explored in Bite Me coincidentally. Aedes is naturally very talented and at the current moment, does not inherently value effort. Not in the sense he thinks it's bad, but his life style doesn't really lead him to being able to explore his own talents, and dedication to a skill is a lot higher up in Maslov's hierchy of needs than where this man is dwelling, so it's just not really a concern for him.

[firefly-party]

Temporary support drummer!Steve :D pls full view!

close ups under cut! ↓

[king-lena]

BRUH THE WAY MY ROGER WATERS OBSESSION HAS MADE ME LOSE ALL CREDITABILITY WHEN IT COMES TO TASTE IN MY SISTER’S EYES IS FOREVER SENDING ME DKJDSKKDKD

i will simply be like oh yeah i don’t care about conventional beauty standards and she will be like yeah well obviously your fave is roger 😭😭😭 like anytime she brings up my love for him i know the man is about to catch a stray lmaooo like girl just let him live

[nashmusicguide]

TPAC announces 45th Anniversary Broadway season featuring six Nashville premieres and two-week engagements of HAMILTON and Disney’s BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

A storybook season awaits as the nonprofit Tennessee Performing Arts Center® announces its 2025-26 HCA Healthcare/TriStar Health Broadway at TPAC season, presented in partnership with Nissan and Farm Bureau Health Plans, as part of its 45th Anniversary. The upcoming season features six Nashville premieres, plus the return of a classic fairy tale and the revolutionary re-telling of American…

[ballsucker67]

:33 < cant fuck waluigi,, sorry!!

[ktownshizzle]

Pigments & Playlists | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Between makeup and music, you find the one person worth blurring the lines for. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: coworkers to lovers, idol au, older woman (by a few years), fluff, smut ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings:  Undercut Yoongi! Undercut! Him being such an attentive thoughtful king, nothing major i think this is a pretty light read, cursing, jk being the annoying younger brother type, lots of makeup brands and seventeen references, MC has thirsty thots for yoongi but who can blame her, part two is where we will have the action (trust) but savor the cuteness of part one for now ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 5.6k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: June 8, 2025 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello! I have been talking about this makeup noona fic for a while and it’s here. This is a two-shot (don’t y’all make me make it a series!) Thank you so much @tea4sykes for betareading.

Part Two | Yoongi Masterlist

You drag your Züca makeup trolley behind you, wheels gliding against the marble floors. Your phone is tucked between your ear and shoulder as you walk, eyes scanning for a sign, the one marking the next chapter of your career.

Wonwoo’s voice crackles in your ear.

“I’m gonna be fine… No, I’m not gonna have a new favorite… That’s impossible… Just focus on your training, okay?... Seriously? Bye, Wonwoo.”

You sigh, tap the end button, and slide your phone into your back pocket.

Ah, so this is what the 21st floor looks like.

The floor dedicated to the men who built the HYBE building from the ground up.

You laugh to yourself. Does this mean you made it, too? It kinda does, doesn’t it? 15 years doing makeup, five years with Seventeen. Specifically: Seungcheol’s unruly brows, Mingyu’s overzealous sweat glands, and Wonwoo’s refusal to exfoliate. You weren’t just part of the team—you were theirs. The noona they teased mercilessly, trusted absolutely, and sometimes trauma-bonded backstage while waiting for hair dryers to cool.

Now you’re here. Reassigned. Promoted, actually. You’re now the lead makeup artist of Bangtan Sonyeondan, with eight makeup artists and hair stylists in your team. The mission? Make BTS the prettiest fuckin’ boys in all of history. Maybe even prettier than Seventeen? Fat chance. You’re too biased with Sebong.

At the end of the hallway, you spot the door marked:   BTS.   Authorized Personnel Only.   No Cameras. 

And for you, there’s No Turning Back.

You take a breath. Pull your kit and push forward.

No one notices you at first. That’s fine. That’s how you like it. You don’t want to feel like the new kid, all awkward smiles and intros.

You set your kit down by the makeup mirrors and start laying out your brushes. Foundation. Concealer. Lip tints. Focus. Routine.

“Y/N-noona?”

Seokjin. The only one you’ve met before. He had a style consultation for his MV and you were basically asked to lead it as a sort of audition to this new role that you were considered for.

You spent hours scouring the internet for reference pics. But for you his visual was very straightforward. Matinee idol. Heart-achingly handsome, but still kinda attainable, if that even made sense. Full lips–you’re going to be playing this up as the focal point. Maybe dried fig or muted berry for pigment, just the lightest touch. He’s got thick, fluffy natural hair that you’ll need to tame with some lightweight products to push it back to a clean, slick leading man vibe.

“I don’t need botox anymore,” was what he famously said after an hour under your skillful hands. And the rest is history.

“Hello, Seokjin,” you nod.

“Have you met the rest of the members?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“It’s fine, they’re not important.”

“Yah!” Jimin shouts without looking, obviously eavesdropping. “Don’t talk shit about us, hyung. Hi, Y/N-noona.”

Jungkook glances up and strolls over, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Noona, I’m Jungkook. Wait—ohhhh. You’re Seventeen’s makeup noona?”

“You make it sound like I’m their property, but… yeah. Now yours, though.”

He giggles, bunny teeth on full display. “Mingyu’s like, in love with you.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. Probably. Maybe. You don’t know.

“I should text him,” Jungkook adds, already reaching for his phone, laughing.

Your cheeks go warm immediately. Good thing you already wore blush—at least it hides some of the embarrassment burning through you.

Before you can figure out how to respond, one of the senior hair stylists calls your name from the next room.

Saved by the bell.

You mutter a quick excuse and step away, heart doing something it definitely shouldn’t be doing around these fine men you didn’t expect to affect you this much.

You pull up the sleeves of your black blazer, checking your makeup station one last time. You just finished your pre-production meeting�� with your team, going through today’s run of show and the shoot concept one last time before it begins.

The pegs are taped up on one of the walls, one for each member. You’re confident you can pull this off–you cannot not. It’s your first damn day and you sure as hell want to prove your worth.

Thankfully, your team is not all new. Half of them have been with BTS for years, while the other half are just like you, reassigned, when a few of the long-standing makeup noonas stepped away—schedule conflicts, burnout, one just had a baby. So naturally, BTS’s glam rotation shifted. Jungkook, Jimin, and Yoongi needed new regular artists.

Your right hand woman and the most senior from the tenured makeup girls, Hyein suggested you take him. “He’s not high maintenance. Just likes it quick and consistent.” And since working on him might be quicker than the rest, you will always have time to do quick checks with your junior members.

That’s how you ended up with Yoongi.

And truthfully? You are kind of glad.

You’ve always thought his face was interesting. Not just in a “he photographs well” way. Because most of them do. But there’s something in his bone structure that keeps your eyes coming back. Sharp where you don’t expect. Soft in places that should be angular.

You spend some time studying his features through online references, as you have done with Jin, and as you always do with new artists you handle.

His eyes are slightly mismatched. One double lid, one monolid. Not obvious. It gives him this quiet asymmetry and you already plan to adjust his liner differently every time, because you want to work with it, not against it.

His skin is bright, borderline unfair. “Brighter than your future” as one Tiktok said. He has a few scattered freckles that only show up in certain light. 

Two scars on his forehead near his left brow and one just north of it, then there’s another tucked under his right eye. You don’t intend to cover them up unless he tells you to. If anything, you think this makes him look a little badass. Seems like that’s the persona he’s going for anyway.

His lips are a soft kind of full—not pouty, but plush. Tinted naturally pink like he’s always just bitten them. Shame how in older photos, his top lip shape seems to be blurred with concealer. None of that now that you’re in charge.

And then there’s his hair. Always changing. Sometimes blonde, once ginger, sometimes brown red, once, briefly, a mint shade that made him look like a faerie. Now it’s coal black, natural. Undercut.

The first time you meet Yoongi, he bows and says exactly four words. “Welcome to the team.”

Not the warmest of welcomes, but it’s fine. You think he doesn’t say them unkindly. Maybe he’s just one of those brooding, mysterious idols. Still waters run deep or whatever.

You nod back, introduce yourself.

He eases back into his chair and closes his eyes. For the entire time.

His skin is warm under your fingers. Breath even. Doesn’t flinch when you brush under his eyes, around his cherry nose. When you’re finished, you say so. He glances at his reflection once in the mirror, moves his face left then right, then at you.

“Thank you. I like it,” he says, then walks out.

Cool.

The second time, he beats you to the glam room. He’s in the chair already, in a fuzzy yellow cardigan, hair ruffled from outside. There’s a faint sheen of sweat still drying on his temple. He gives you a tiny nod when you enter.

“Hey. How’s it going?” Four words. Same as last time.

“I’m well,” you respond as you unzip your brush case and start setting up. 

Once you’re done, you pull out a portable bluetooth speaker from the bottom of your trunk. 

“Do you mind music?” you ask Yoongi, who’s busy with his phone.

He shakes his head. “Play what you want.”

You power up your speaker, scroll through your playlist, and hit shuffle to an old 2000s playlist–the music of your youth.

Midway through, you hear a faint sound. And as you push the silicone applicator to his lips, you feel the gentle vibration as he hums along to the second verse of “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls.

You don’t comment, but for some reason, this realization makes you happy. The chorus swells.

The next time you meet, he asks to pick the music. You don’t mind. In fact you’re curious what some acclaimed musical genius like him would listen to.

“Want my speaker?”

He shrugs.

You hand it over.

He scrolls for less than ten seconds before music clicks on.

Is that Ring Ding Ding?

You both pause. Look at each other. Then laugh.

“Respect,” you murmur, hiding your smile. 

“It’s a classic,” he says, solemn as a priest.

After that, you start talking. Just… little things. Safe things.

Mostly about music.

You find out he’s got strong opinions about snare sounds in 90s R&B. He then shifts the playlist to that.

He tells you about working with Tablo and and you don’t know how bright you’re lighting up until he teases you, “want me to get you an autograph or something?” You admit you’ve had a crush on him for years. “Like what do you mean he’s ivy league smart and hella goofy, too?”

Then, you tell him about your teenage boy band phase (it’s not just Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC, you were even into the more obscure ones from the UK). You also admit you mourned for Aaliyah and Left Eye.

He confesses he went through an intense BoA obsession and that he may still be in love with her—even tried to copy her hair for one of his concerts.

Things escalate when you both try to rap the second verse of “Nice & Slow.” You fumble spelling U-S-H-E-R five seconds in, and it all goes downhill from there.

“It’s the H!” he hoots. “He says it differently.” You realize he is right. Koreans have that extra syllable.

Somehow, between blending pigments and sharing playlists, something opens up between you.

It’s not fast. It’s not grand. But it’s happening.

One morning, your playlist shuffles itself into an old ache:  “Don’t Wanna Cry” by Seventeen. You freeze only for a second, at Wonwoo’s ulgo ship ji ana, but Yoongi notices.

You try to focus on the foundation you’re patting onto his cheek, but something twists in your chest.

“Missing your old team?” Yoongi asks.

“They’re my boys,” you say, kind of offhand. Kind of not.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you feel his eyes on you through the mirror. He doesn't look annoyed or anything. Just still. Like he’s filing the words somewhere he’ll come back to later and you’re not sure why that makes your throat feel tight.

He’s good at silence, Yoongi. Knows when not to push. But the space he leaves is always heavy. You don’t know what to do with it.

But Jungkook does.

The maknae is sitting in the next chair over, scrolling on his phone, waiting for his makeup artist. At the mention of Seventeen, he perks up instantly, like a dog hearing a treat bag.

“Tell me something Mingyu can do better than me,” he challenges.

You blink at him. “Excuse me?”

“Noona.” He throws in a dramatic sigh. “Be honest.”

You have no idea why Jungkook wants to make this a 1 v 1 showdown between him and Gyu, but you’ll play along. It’s cute.

You glance at Yoongi again. He’s looking down now, pretending he’s not listening as he scrolls his phone, but the corner of his mouth is doing that twitchy thing that says otherwise.

You smirk. “I mean… I liked both your Calvin Klein campaigns.”

Jungkook puts his phone down slowly, like he’s processing emotions. “He only got that gig after I enlisted.”

“He still looked good though,” you sing-song.

“I—wow.” He shakes his head. “You really gonna do me like this in front of hyung?”

You hold up a hand. “Didn’t say he was better.”

“But you implied it,” Jungkook fires back, boba eyes bulging out of its sockets. “What else?”

“I mean, Mingyu is pretty good in the kitchen.”

That does it.

“No way,” Jungkook says, leaning forward like he’s about to attack. “Now I have to invite you over. I’m making dinner. Full spread. Five courses. Hyung can come, too.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “Don’t drag me into your ego crisis.”

“I’m including you out of respect,” Jungkook grumbles. “And as the primary witness to this… whatever shit this is.”

You shrug. “A free meal’s a free meal.”

“I’m gonna blow your mind, noona.” He sinks back in his chair with a groan. “Fuckin’ Mingyu…”

You laugh, then glance at Yoongi again. He’s finally looking at you, quiet but engaged. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something just a little tighter around his eyes.

So, you’ve assimilated with the team well enough. Jin greets you with food. Tae compliments your hair quite frequently, offered to braid it once. Jimin tries to read your texts over your shoulder.

You laugh with them. You start to care for them. But you’ve become especially fond of Yoongi.

Maybe it’s the way he watches without crowding. Maybe it’s how he listens so carefully when you talk about songs you love. Maybe it’s the way he only speaks when he has something real to say.

Unlike the maknaes, you won’t see him bouncing off the walls. He doesn’t demand attention. But he holds it anyway.

And lately, you’ve started wondering what it would feel like to hold his.

You were about to grab coffee when some delivery guy arrives with a monstrous amount of packages. Laura Mercier. MAC. Make Up For Ever. Jung Saem Mool.

It’s a ridiculous haul—glass bottles clinking, compacts stacked like poker chips, a forest of lip tints and pencils all jammed into branded boxes. The Beauty Boondocks. Guess this is part of your life now and you’re loving it.

Working with the biggest group in the world means this. A constant courtship by brands desperate for one sliver of the BTS glow. One backstage photo of Taehyung swiping lip balm on, or Jungkook half-blurred with a concealer palette in the background, and that’s a million views and sold-out SKUs easy.

You’re on the floor of the glam room, crouched between piles of cardboard, trying to sort products by category and fighting the growing sense that you’ve just been buried alive by luxury capitalism.

Suddenly, Yoongi walks in, he pauses just beside the door.

“Wow,” he says. “This is what Jungkookie’s house looks like the day after he gets a free night.”

You look up, a brow arching. “Online shopping problem?”

“Massive,” he replies dryly, stepping over a few boxes. “Once he ordered five different bed mattresses.”

You’re a bit stunned. Partly because you did not expect anyone to show up, much less Yoongi. Secondly, Jungkook’s house must be huuuge?

“He does not have 5 bedrooms if that’s what you’re thinking. There was one in his living room for a while…”

Yoongi crouches beside one of the larger boxes, tilting his head to read the logo printed on the side.

“So what’s all this?”

“Makeup, hair products, tools, etcetera…” You gesture vaguely, hands full of crinkle paper and unopened mascara tubes. “Brand offerings. Welcome to the chaos. No thanks to you guys.”

He glances around, taking it in. “Why are you doing this alone?”

“Sera called in sick. Hyein’s sorting more stuff in another room. The rest are on a day off or are in Hobi’s LV shoot. Though honestly, nobody told me about this shipment.”

You expect him to leave it at that. But instead, he lowers himself to the floor, his long legs under him, and grabs a box cutter from a nearby table.

Wordlessly, he drags a new box closer, slices through the tape with smooth precision.

You blink. “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t look up. “Trying to be useful to my noona.”

Wait.

My noona. My noona?!

It’s playful. Casual. Probably harmless. But something about the way he says it—low and almost offhand, like it comes naturally—snags in your chest. You’re crazy for thinking that it actually means anything else, but you can’t help consider it.

You don’t answer right away. You just stare at him like he’s an illusion: pale hoodie sleeves shoved up to the elbows, veins flexing against cardboard, hair fluffy and soft, devoid of any product.

He glances at you sideways. Sees the look on your face. Smirks. “What?”

“I’m just not used to idols volunteering to help unpack foundation samples,” you say, lips twitching, as you hold up a few NARS bottles and place them on the table.

“That’s because your boys aren’t me.”

Woah. Shots fired at Seventeen and you’re too stunned to speak. Plus, the way his eyes flick back to yours as he says it—yeah, he knows exactly what he’s implying.

Your heart thuds once in response and it’s deafening.

You return to your pile, doing your best to focus. “Well. If you’re going to help, I hope you’re not colorblind.”

“Am I getting judged?”

“Harshly.”

He chuckles.

Not a minute later he is already complaining why there are 30 different shades of pink. 

It’s late.

Rehearsals ran over, and most of the team’s already scattered. The greenroom is dim, half the lights shut off, stage outfits draped over chairs. Someone left a half-eaten protein bar on the counter. (It was Jimin.) You’re too tired to throw it out.

Yoongi’s the last one to be touched up before a promo shoot he’s doing solo. Naturally, you’re also the last one still working. You let the rest of your team pack up after their member completes their segments.

Yoongi sits in the chair wordlessly. You flick on the ring light and squint at him.

“You look exhausted,” you murmur, brushing a warm palm across his cheek to feel the texture.

He shrugs. “You look worse.”

Wha—?

“Gee. Thanks.” You crack a smile. “Asshole.” You say with no real bite.

You work in silence for a minute. You spray a serum over his face, get it to calm and cool. His skin is a bit warm, a little flushed from movement. 

Looking away, you stifle a yawn, lift your glasses and rub at your eye with your knuckle.

“You sleep at all these days?” he asks suddenly.

Your fingers start massaging the serum near his cheek and decide to tease him a bit. “Don’t talk to me. You said I look like shit.”

He smirks, but his tone is soft. “That’s not what I said.”

“I get some in,” you say lightly. “Here and there.”

He hums. Doesn’t press. But something about his tone makes you keep going.

“I wake up a lot,” you admit. “Not always bad dreams. Just… waking. Like something kicks me from inside.”

“Been happening long?”

You shrug like it’s nothing. 

“A while,” you say. “Started around the time…” you pause, study him. His eyes are so kind, the kind you’ll want to spill all your secrets to. “My previous relationship ended.”

He looks at you in the mirror. You glance down, blending gently near the corner of his eye.

“It’s stupid,” you murmur. “It’s not like I miss him. I just… guess my body hasn’t caught up yet.”

Yoongi stays quiet for a few breaths. “It’s not stupid.”

Your throat pulls tight, but you smile like it doesn’t matter. “Anyway. It’ll pass.”

You expect him to nod. To change the subject. You don’t expect what he says next.

“Call me.”

Your hand stills from dipping the brush on the powder pot. “What?”

He tilts his face up just enough to meet your eyes.

“When it happens,” he says. “When you wake up and it’s three or four in the morning just… call.”

You blink. Why did this feel so intimate all of a sudden?

“I’m always up anyway,” he shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, and you remember to breathe.

You search his face, looking for a joke, a smirk, anything sleazy, even. There’s really none. Just sincerity. Like he knows what you’re going through and wants to share your load.

“Okay,” you say quietly, willing your heart to stop pounding so loud.

He holds his palm out. You’re dumbstruck for a second before he tsks and says, “phone.”

Days after, you find a curious box in your kit. Quietly tucked between your brushes.

It says: Tae Pyeong Hwan and when you input it on Naver, it’s apparently a viral anti-anxiety drink.

There wasn’t any note. No name. But you know it’s him. And you don’t know what to feel.

You take a sachet and gulp. Willing it to work before you see him again and your heart does that flip flop thing it keeps doing when he’s around.

The first time you entertain the idea that Yoongi might be interested in you, you actually laughed. It’s not even because he’s an idol, or a billionaire, or a god among men. 

You know you’re a solid 8, maybe even an 8.5 on a good hair day. You’re established enough to have your own house and car. You’ve got enough industry connections and some seed money if you decide to start your own thing. You got it goin’ awn, okay?

You’re a catch for any man, BTS member or not.

But a younger man? Really, Y/N?!

It’s not like you're breaking the law. He’s literally 32. He’s grown. (And shit, you know he’s grown after being in a backstage quick-change with him.)

Unfortunately, try as you might, the attraction has already rooted itself in your brain. 

Are you going to do anything about it? Jury’s still out. HYBE contracts have made it clear that there’ll be no inter-office dating, but does anybody really follow that shit?

Jeon Jungkook’s apartment is ridiculously nice. Like stylish-in-a-way-that-costs-a-fuckton-of-money nice. You barely have one shoe off when he’s already tugging you in with a giant bunny grin, sliding along his hardwood floors with his silly toe-socks.

“Place looks great,” you say.

“You should see the noraebang room.”

“The what now?”

There’s a woman sitting on the couch, sipping wine with her feet tucked under her. She looks up with a soft smile, and Jungkook lights up all over again.

He gestures proudly. “This is Haeun, my girlfriend.”

“Hello, unnie.” She stands to greet you, and you immediately like her. She’s model-pretty, but not in an intimidating way. Choreographer, he tells you, for a rookie girl group. You’ve never seen her around the office, then again it’s a huge building. Interesting, a case of inter-office dating under Bang Si-Hyuk’s nose.

You’re halfway through complimenting her earrings when the door bell sounds.

Yoongi walks in and you swear the temperature in the room changes.

He’s wearing a soft cashmere cardigan in a warm, oat beige. It’s a deeper neckline than what you’ve seen him wear before and, uh, it’s gotten really warm right now.

You feel blood rushing on your cheeks as you take the expanse of creamy skin on his chest. The rest of the look: Brown slacks, clean sneakers, hair barely styled but he looks stupidly good anyway. His lips, a soft sheen to it, looks like a freshly swiped balm.

You know Jungkook prepped food but this is the kind of full-course meal you like… 

Yoongi pushes his shoes to the side, handing the host a bottle of wine. “Sorry, traffic.”

Jungkook claps him on the back. “Nah you’re good, hyung. You made it just in time. Noona’s here.” 

Yoongi stumbles forward with a tight-lipped grin to Jungkook’s shit-eating one. Did Jungkook just push Yoongi towards you? 

“Heeyyy,” you nod, smiling tightly.

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, sits across you. “What time did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago.”

You glance to your side, and Haeun has vanished. You clear your throat, feeling 50 shades of awkward now that the object of your newest crush has arrived. You feel yourself blush as Yoongi unwittingly manspreads in front of you.

As you calculate ways you can potentially survive this night, Jungkook thankfully hollers from the other room, inviting the guests to settle in.

You sit at the dining table, Haeun beside Jungkook, Yoongi beside you. And it feels… a little like a double date. Is it? You don’t know. And you’re too afraid to ask. 

Yoongi pours you a glass of wine. 

The one he brought. 

The one you had mentioned once was your favorite.

Jungkook, dramatic as always, starts announcing each course like he’s hosting a cooking show.

Course one is an apple and walnut salad with this spicy-sweet sesame dressing. You take a bite and your eyes widen. “Okay, wait. This is actually good.”

Jungkook looks offended. “Rude?”

Course two is a creamy chestnut soup with bits of crispy pancetta. Haeun says she helped him chop things. You raise your glass to her.

Course three is grilled scallops with a yuzu butter glaze. Jungkook explains how long it took to get the sear right. You make appreciative noises, cos wow this shit’s actually fire. Yoongi hums in agreement.

When Jungkook and Haeun head to the kitchen to bring out the next course, Yoongi quietly plops another scallop on your plate.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

He starts drizzling it with sauce like a damn chef. 

“Serving you,” he says simply. “You seemed to like this one.”

“I did,” you say. “Shouldn’t I be doing that, though? I’m older.”

He looks at you then. Direct, but soft. Like he’s not even sure why you’re bringing up age right now, because it doesn’t matter. “I’m being a gentleman. Let me.”

You don’t know what to do with that. Where to look. How to sit still. All you can think is yeah, you’ll let him do anything to you at this point. And you’ll always say,

“Thank you.”

Course four is bulgogi tenderloin with a sweet garlicky glaze. Jungkook says the marinade was 30 hours minimum. Haeun nods like she’s heard that fact 20 times minimum. Okay, you kinda believe him because it was delectable.

Course five is a tangerine panna cotta. It wobbles beautifully. You groan after the first spoonful, and Yoongi actually reaches forward to pat his younger brother on the shoulder. It is that good.

“Okay. Fine,” you say, leaning back. “This wins.”

Jungkook beams. “Better than Mingyu?”

“Fuck Mingyu,” you lift your glass.  

“YES!!! Hear that, babe?” Jungkook yells in victory and actually picks Haeun up bridal style and spins her in a circle around the living room. She shrieks, laughing the whole time. 

You and Yoongi watch from the table, slightly tipsy and amused.

“They’re cute,” you murmur.

Yoongi smiles, eyes on them. “Yeah.”

“Seems that no one really follows that no dating rule in HYBE, no?”

“I do,” Yoongi notes with a shrug, and the high from the scrumptious dinner unceremoniously crashes. You’re suddenly uneasy, acidic.

“Ah,” you nod, picking up your wine glass and downing the last of it in one big gulp to push the lump in your throat. 

Play it cool. You’re a grown ass woman. Shit.

You excuse yourself, powder your nose, apply your jelly tint, and simultaneously, well, spiral. 

So Min Yoongi doesn’t shit where he eats. Okay. He apparently follows rules? Huh… Make it make sense, though? 

Why should you be so disappointed? Plenty of fish in the sea. Except when you’re pushing forty and you’re too damn tired to cast a net out.

You get back in the living room and have another round of drinks, except Yoongi who says he is driving. 

You guess it’s time to head home when you see Haeun stifle a yawn, but Jungkook convinces you to stay for a bit more, just enough for him to video call Mingyu and gloat. Between the boyish bickering and another glass of wine, you’re thankfully feeling a little floatier again.

Later, when you’re putting your shoes back on in the entryway, you glance over at Yoongi. He’s scrolling on his phone, one hand in his pocket.

Your phone pings. Kakao T. Your ride’s on the way.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say to Jungkook. 

He nods, placing an arm around Haeun. “Anytime, noona.”

Yoongi looks up. “You booked a ride?”

“Yeah. Should be here soon.”

He slips his phone into his jacket.

“Cancel it. I’ll drive you home.”

You blink. “What?”

“It’s late. Let me take you,” he says, tone slightly commanding.

You want to say ‘yes, sir’ out loud. But you keep it together. Barely. And then of course, you cancel the ride.

Yoongi leads you to the parking garage. At some point you think you feel his hand ghosting your lower back.

The drive is quiet. He picks a playlist you both have listened to before. It’s a vibe. Music playing low. City lights reflecting off the dashboard. Yoongi’s hand rests on the wheel, rings catching in the glow. 

He smells good. The veins in his hands are flexing.

You try not to stare. Or breathe weird. 

When he pulls up to your place, he shifts into park but doesn’t unbuckle yet. You unclick your seatbelt slowly.

“You looked beautiful tonight.”

Your breath catches. Full stop.

You turn to say something—thank you, or you too, or kiss me now—but words get stuck in your throat He just smiles softly.

“Good night,” he says.

“Good night,” you parrot before you step out.

The air hits you different. Your hands feel weird. You feel like a teenager after a first date she’s not sure was a date, but definitely made her feel some type of way.

That night, when you dream, it’s his eyes. And when you wake up? You’re not sure if you want to see him again or never see him again just to keep the dream intact.

The studio is chaos in the best way. BooSeokSoon are doing what they do best: being loud, dramatic, and infectious.

You’re standing off to the side watching Yoongi line up with them, the camera propped up and ready, his face unreadable as always, but there’s a looseness to his shoulders that tells you he’s in the mood to play. (And that he took a shot of something before he went in.)

You pull a balm from your pouch and swipe it gently onto his lips before he steps into frame.

“Cherry again?” he asks.

You nod. “Your fanbase will thank me.”

He smirks. “Noted.”

And then they start.

BSS hits every beat like their entire career depends on this one Tiktok challenge. And Yoongi? He’s keeping up. Relaxed, slightly silly, effortlessly cute.

You still don’t get Tiktok honestly.

When the music cuts, you clap before you even realize it.

They check playback, talking over each other. You wipe the sweat that has formed in Yoongi’s temple with a dab of tissue. But, as everyone focuses on the phone, Yoongi looks over at you.

“Which take was better?”

Caught off guard, you stammer, “the uh-i think the second.”

He hums, then he tells the girl he likes the second clip. BSS agrees.

You look at the boys as they chorus agreement, but when you glance back at Yoongi, he nods once, slow and soft. That grin of his (the real one, not the camera one) edges onto his face. It says, Go ahead. I know you miss them.

And you do. 

Before you know it, Seungkwan is already crashing into your side.

“Noonaaaa,” he sings, throwing his arm around you. “Still pretty..”

Seokmin grins, pulling you into a side-hug. “We were just talking about you yesterday.”

“Don’t do it again. I had an awful coughing fit yesterday. Should have known it was you morons.”

“You’re still superstitious.” Soonyoung shakes his head.

The exchange is quick, familiar, a little chaotic. Just like always. But it feels good, like slipping into a jacket you forgot used to fit perfectly. A few more jokes, a photo, and they’re off. There’s someone yelling about dinner, someone else remembering they have a shoot in twenty minutes. 

The social media crew also left, as well as the hair stylist who has another thing in ten. You stay behind, gathering your things. 

Yoongi’s still here, too. He’s at the far end, wiping sweat from the back of his neck with a towel. He grabs his water bottle, takes a long drink, then walks to the wall. You follow suit since everybody has filed out.

Click. He cut the lights.

The room drops into soft shadows, lit only by a few glow strips along the floor.

He’s by the door, tilts his head as he waits for you.

You stop just in front of him. 

“Didn’t say goodbye to your boys,” he says with a slight tease at the end.

You shrug, “They know I’ll see them again.”

He hums. “You look happy.”

“I am.”

You think that’s the end of it. Because why would you be having a whole conversation with the lights out?

He shifts his weight forward, closing the distance between you by a step. Close enough that you can see the sheen of sweat drying along his temple. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Close enough that if you breathed just a little deeper, you'd catch his scent.

Then he leans in. And before you know it, you taste the cherry balm you swiped on his lips minutes before.

The kiss is so soft, so sweet. Just as quickly as it started though, he pulls away. You feel his breathy sigh caress your cheek as he whispers your name and mumbles, “Let’s go out.” 

But before you can form any response, he opens the door.

And, in fact, goes out.

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?

Part Two >

A/N: Scream with meeeee! Idk. Isn’t it yoongi core to kiss, confess and yeet? I recently saw a video of when he met an american artist, he shook his hand, said i like you then looked awkwardly away. LMAO. 

Hope you had fun reading part 1! I’d appreciate feedback, like tell me any favorite scenes or what you wanna see more of.

Leave a note if you wanna be tagged on the next part :)

As always, thanks for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo

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[finn-hasnoclue]

another favorite clip from the start of pearly’s birthday repo stream with gem :)

[Pearl giggling, door closing alarm]

Gem: We did good!

Pearl: Yeah that was pretty easy.

Gem: Except for that drink that I drank.

Pearl: We ignore the drink. Yeah you’re just a little thirsty, it’s okay. You can be thirsty in June. Bloop.

Gem: Did she just tell me- give me permission to be gay?

Pearl, laughing: She got it.

[daryltwdixon]

all ive thought about all day is writing a horny little drabble for you all. have a great night x

|| smut MDNI 18+ ain’t nothin but porn ngl, ice play, f!receiving oral, kissing, breast play, afab!reader, handyman husband Joel being all competent and sexy ||

ps. I hate formatting on my phone sorry if shit looks weird

Summer arrived with an unforgiving heat, just in time for your air conditioning to give out on a sweltering June afternoon. Now, sprawled across the hardwood floor beneath both the ceiling fan and the cheap oscillating one in the corner, the air still felt thick, unmoving, like you were breathing through steam.

Joel came padding in to lie beside you, shirtless, his chest slick with sweat. He groaned as his knees popped on the way down.

“AC’s finally back up and workin’,” he sighed, setting down his glass of ice water with a satisfying clink.

“I don’t feel it,” you groaned.

“Gonna take a bit to kick on, baby,” he said, sounding just as drained as you felt.

You turned your head, offering a tired smile, your hand reaching over to rest on his hot, sweaty arm. “My handsome handyman. Can always count on you.”

He chuckled, the sound rough and rumbling, “Damn right.”

The floor creaked as he rolled over to face you, arm brushing yours, the sweat-slicked skin warm where it touched. You tilted your chin up at him just as he leaned in, his mouth catching yours in a kiss that was soft, unhurried—

And cold.

You gasped, hand catching his shoulder. “Jesus,” you whispered against his lips, pulling back just enough to blink at him. “Your mouth’s freezing.”

Joel gave a crooked grin, the corners of his lips still wet from the ice water. “I was thirsty,”

“Take another sip,”

His brows lifted, like he wanted to make sure he heard you right, but the glint in his eye said he liked the sound of it.

He reached blindly for his glass, ice clinking as he took a long sip, swirled it in his mouth. Then he leaned in again, slow and smiling, and this time when he kissed you—God. The contrast of cold mouth on your overheated skin made your stomach flip, your chest pressing up into him more. It was like jumping into a lake and sinking into the warmth all at once.

Joel groaned into the kiss, catching your bottom lip between his. “You like that, huh? Feel good?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured, chasing him when he pulled back.

“Well,” he said, voice a little rougher now, “maybe I could cool you off in another way.”

His hand hooked your sports bra, tugging the thin fabric down gently with his fingers. You sucked in a breath, but the heat that bloomed across your skin wasn’t from the summer air but from the look in his eyes.

"Oh, god." you whispered, anticipation making your blood go molten.

He popped a full ice cube into his cheek, then glanced up at you with that familiar, wicked glint before lowering his mouth to your chest. At first, it was just his lips and cool tongue, swirling, teasing, warming with each pass. But then he shifted the ice to the front of his mouth, and when it touched your nipple, you gasped loud and involuntary, a pulse thrumming between your legs at the sensation.

Your fingers threaded through his hair as he swirled the ice against you, the sensation an addictive shock of pleasure. You looked down just as he dragged the melting cube between the valley of your breasts, his mouth wrapped around the other, repeating the same delicious torment: ice cold, then warm, then cold again.

Goosebumps rippled across your skin. The contrast was maddening, every nerve ending alive and begging. You were gasping, mewling, legs shifting restlessly beneath him. It bordered on too much, nearly uncomfortable but it was so addicting you didn't bother to care.

Eventually, the ice melted, leaving your skin slick and tingling. Joel came back up, catching your mouth with his, your lips parting as you panted into him. You pulled him closer, breathless, clinging. He kissed you like he was starving—all tongue and teeth, the heat of him moving over you and pressing firm between your thighs.

His hands found the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down in one rough pull that had you gasping.

“Wait—are you about to—?”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, soft and quick, his voice thick with mischief. “Yeah, baby. Let me.” His hand slid slow along your thigh, coaxing you open. “You’re all hot and bothered, can hardly move in this heat. Least I can do is help you unwind. Help you cool off."

Joel shifted down your body, hands trailing as he went, grinning all the way down until he was kneeling between your thighs. In one smooth motion, he hooked your legs over his broad shoulders, settling in with a satisfied grunt. Your back pressed to the hardwood, warm and unforgiving against overheated skin, and now you were suddenly, undeniably naked and nothing between you but sweat and heat.

He reached back for the glass, plucked another ice cube from the water, and popped it into his mouth with deliberate slowness.

You could see the way his jaw moved as it melted, tongue working lazily, lips glistening. The smug bastard was enjoying himself.

And then he lowered his head. The first kiss to your inner thigh made you jump from the shock of cold and wet from his mouth, chased by the unbearable heat of his tongue. He mouthed at the soft skin there, taking his time, humming low in his throat like he had all day.

“You always feel so fuckin’ good,” he muttered against your skin, voice muffled and reverent. “So soft, baby. Or maybe it's just the heat makin’ me even more crazy for ya,”

You didn’t get the chance to answer, not when he licked a stripe through your folds, slow and deliberate. The cold from the ice lingered in his mouth, shocking your system in the best way. It had you gasping, hips trying to buck, thighs twitching over his shoulders. His hands gripped your hips hard, pinning you down.

Then he wrapped his lips around your clit and brought the ice cube directly to your most sensitive bundle. He switched between that and flicking his warm tongue against it, making your eyes roll back into your skull.

"Holy fuck—“ you moaned, back curving off the sweat slick hardwood. You cried out as he began working faster, and your fingers tangled in his hair, trying to pull him closer and push him away all at once.

The contrast was unbearable between the flicker of icy cold followed by the warmth of his breath. The hot drag of his tongue against overstimulated nerves had your thoughts lagging, only able to think about the rising swell of pressure in your belly. He’d retreat for a second, swirl the melting cube in his mouth, then press back in, letting it melt directly against you as he sucked and licked at your sensitive pussy.

The ice ran in little rivers at the corner of his mouth, mixing with your sticky arousal and sliding down your ass, your thighs, pooling beneath you as he worked you open with his mouth alone. You couldn't help the push and pull of your hips, the way they lifted and undulated against his face.

Joel lifted his head just long enough to grin, his chin shining with you. “You’re squirmin’, baby.”

“It's so—“ you choke on a moan as he flattened his tongue against you, "oh fuck, Joel,"

His smirk deepened as he dragged the final bit of ice down between your folds with the tip of his tongue, his hands tightening on your thighs just as your orgasm crested. It broke over you hard, your back arching off the floor, thighs trembling around his shoulders as you cried out.

He held you there, firm and steady, fingers gripping your skin while his eyes never left your face. He watched every twitch, every flicker of pleasure cross your face as your lips formed the perfect 'o' through it all.

You came down slow, panting, your body flushed and slick with sweat all over again. When you finally lifted yourself onto your elbows and looked at him, he was already moving up your body, kissing you deep and messy, tasting sweet and heady and salty. You welcomed it, sighing into his mouth.

He dropped down beside you with a groan, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

Without a word, you swung a leg over and straddled him, grinning as the surprise flickered across his face. You could feel him hard and ready beneath you, and you reached for the glass of ice water, grabbing a cube between your fingers.

“My turn,” you said, popping it into your mouth with a smile.

[deathofacupid]

you and gojo who both struggle to adult. it was similar to putting to ditzy toddlers alone in a room, and letting them go haywire. the only difference was, it wasn't toddlers.

"baby?" he'd call, more often than not. "there's nothing to eat."

"didn't we just hit the grocery store?" you groan, setting your phone aside.

he raises his eyebrows, "um... if 'just' was four weeks ago."

"...huh?" you ask, dumbly. "i thought we went, like, a couple days ago." he had to be kidding, right? you get up from the couch, and head into the kitchen.

bare. it was bare.

gojo clicks his tongue, "nope."

"then what did we have for breakfast?" you squint your eyes, trying to remember.

he shrugs, "i had breakfast at the school. wait. what did you have?"

"a super-duper healthy meal, actually. coffee and fruit gummies."

"that's not a meal! that's a snack. and not a very good one," he scolds.

"oops. well, it's not my fault! we didn't have anything to eat!"

"because we haven't gone in a month," he deadpans.

"are you sure it's been a month?"

"baby, do i need to get you, like, a physical calendar?"

you scoff, "no!"

"then what month is it?"

"june?"

"no. july."

"'s the same thing. both start with a 'j'," you mutter.

he rolls his eyes, suppressing a huge grin. "well, we don't have any soda," he informs you, swinging the fridge open, once more.

"soda? it's, like, 10 in the morning."

"i'm thirsty," he whines.

"then drink water. have you had water today?"

"pfft. yeah."

"you've been out training since 4am, and you haven't had water? 'toru!"

"oops," it's his turn to wince.

"am i gonna have to buy another bottle, just so you drink water?"

"oh! actually, there was this super cool-"

"we don't have any room in our cupboards!"

gojo sighs, "wanna hit the supermarket?"

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

THE ITCH- J. TODD

day twenty five of the june bug masterlist

pairing: boyfriend! jason x fem! reader

word count: 1k

summary: when you cant stop itching your bug bites, jason does the only thing left he can think of- tying you up.

warnings: this is all fluff but lots of sexual tension, innuendos and flirting, pet names etc

“You can't scratch bunny or it's just gonna get worse.” Jason scolded you as he sat you down on the bathroom vanity, frown etched on his face.

You didn't care. You had to itch.

You were completely swollen, covered from head to toe in bug bites. They coated your arms and legs, even places you don't even know where possible for them to reach.

You glared at him as he went over to the bathtub, turning the handles as water began to flow. Itching your arms again, nails scratching the skin until blood drew.

You didn't even know how this was fucking possible. You had practically smothered yourself in bug spray, inhaling it for this exact reason- you knew how bad of a reaction you got from those thirsty bloodsuckers.

“I have to itch.”

“If you keep itching I’ll have to tie your hands together.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips at the thought. “Sounds kinky.”

He rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair before adding the oatmeal bath treatment to the running water, an attempt to soothe your wounds. 

It was torture, really- being forced to sit and not scratch.

Which is exactly how you ended up in that oatmeal bath with your hands tied together by soft rope.

“I’m gonna kill you.” you grumbled, staring blankly ahead at the wall in front of you as Jason chuckled behind you, dragging a washcloth across your back.

“Kinda hard to do that when you’re tied up, isn’t it?”

“I’m creative, I can find a way. Or multiple. Say Jay, has anyone tried to drown you before?”

He rolled his eyes, scrubbing a bar of soap across your skin, attempting to soothe your bites. You hated that it felt good.

“I’m doing this for you, silly.” he stated, as if he was scolding a five year old for restrictions on the cookie jar.

You huffed. “I can wash myself.”

“I know you can sweetheart. And you can be as mad at me as you want, but you’ll be thanking me later when you aren’t scarred .”

Well, he did have a point there. Still, you tried to flick him with water, though it became difficult with your hands literally tied. When he was satisfied with your soak, he helped you out of the bathtub and began to rub you dry with a soft towel from the linen closet.

It smelt like him.

You tried not to stare at him too much as he knelt down, drying your legs and thighs.

You could get used to this sight more often.

You were the only person Jason Todd had ever knelt too. And you wanted to keep it that way.

“Are you sure this can’t be sexual?” you asked coyly, biting your lip as he looked up, a little gleam in his eye as he lifted your leg up to rest on him, planting a gentle kiss to the skin.

“When you’re not tempted to itch, I’m sure something could be arranged where you’re all tied up for me.” he murmured, his words making your breathing hitch.

“What if I want to scratch you instead?”

His eyebrow raised. “Might be difficult to do so if your body is tied.”

You swallowed. “M-my body?”

He smirked. “I have some tricks up my sleeve.”

Holy fuck he was so hot.

You were so lost in thought you didn’t even realize he had grabbed hydrocortisone and had started applying it to the welts. “Cmon my little prisoner let’s get you to bed.” he cooed, slipping your hand into his, tugging you over to your bedroom.

“How long am I your prisoner?” you asked meekly, clenching your thighs together. He shrugged, back turned to you as he searched for a clean set of pj shorts for you to wear. It appeared tonight there would be no top for you. Which was honestly a blessing in disguise, because of how hot and sticky it was.

“However long I want you to be.”

“So forever?” you asked, lifting your legs one at a time, leaning against him for balance as he slid the fabrics up your legs.

“Something along those lines.” he laughed.

“Ya know, if you’re my prisoner that means I can make you do whatever I want to do.”

You pursed your lips together. “Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“And then what would you have me do?”

The tickle of his breath had you jump as he slipped behind you, tucking your hair onto one shoulder- leaning down to whisper into the other.

“Oh I can think of a lot of things sweetheart. But that’s for another time. For now, you’re going to sleep.”

You grumbled incoherently, letting him guide you over to your bed, the cool, plush sheets feeling nice against your itching skin. “Do I have to sleep like this?” you whined, curling into his chest like a cat as you stretched, feeling the rope began to loosen.

He hadn't tugged it too tightly, an indicator that you could break free at any point. Still, you kept your hands loosely tied as you let him codle you, pulling you in closer as he teased you, planting a kiss on the top of your head as you started to doze off.

He murmured something like a sweet dreams prisoner as he stroked your arm, gently soothing the itch- letting you drift off to sleep.

[khaoray]

local island boy has absolutely ZERO filter and is insatiably thirsty

@asiandramanet june bingo: quote(s)

[batsybat91]

Hi! Love your writing. I was just wondering if u could write about the task force 141 boys taking care of a sick reader? I got sick thinks to a coworker. Its june and i am sicker than a dog according to my boyfriend.

Omg hello, I am also sick!! I think I also caught it at my job (unforgivable). Tbh, I was already going to write this to cope. Sorry that these are a little short! I kept falling asleep while I was writing them.

Johnny Soap MacTavish

"Hello, bonnie!" he shouts as he enters your home. "Where are ye, my precious angel?"

"Bedroom," you croak back. "Are you real this time?"

That's the question that sends alarm bells ringing in his head. He drops his shit by the door and rushes to your shared bedroom. There, under the covers and at least three other blankets, is the most pathetic sight he's ever seen. You have a bucket on the nightstand and a glass of water you haven't even sipped.

"Jaysus," he whispers, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. "You're burning up, lassie. That's got to be at least 40 degrees."

"I'm dying, Johnny. I have to be," you whimper, teeth chattering from your fever.

"Nae, ye ain't dyin'. Come on up," he murmurs, helping you sit up in bed. "We're going to take a nice lukewarm shower and break that fever, okay?"

Johnny gently scoops you up out of bed, undressing you and himself. You step into his arms, bones aching and weak. You can barely stand up in your sad state. Your boyfriend helps you into the shower, and you immediately yelp. "Johnny!"

"Aye, I know it probably feels freezing to ye," he murmurs, holding you against his chest - not much warmer than the shower. You clutch him like you're surviving the freezing waters of the Titanic crash.

"Johnny, I am going to-to-to die," you stammer. "Make it warm, please, I am begging."

"No, I can't," he murmurs against your wet hair. "When we get out, I will make you apple cider. And I'll lie in bed with ye until you can keep food down. I'll make chicken broth with ginger for you. And buy you cold fizzy drinks to help your throat."

When the torturous shower finally ends, he helps you get redressed in warm pajamas and tucks you into bed. Your fever is down by a little, which relieves him beyond belief. He refills your water cup with ice-cold water and brings it to you. "So thirsty," you shiver.

"Good girl," he murmurs. "We'll get ya feelin' better in no time."

Simon Ghost Riley

He has stayed home with you for two days now. Simon has never seen anyone so sick before. Your ears are hurting so bad that you've attempted to put ice packs over them to cool down. You're coughing and sneezing up a storm. A pile of tissues has collected on the nightstand, next to a wide array of cold medicines.

"Hey, baby," he whispers. "Medicine time."

You glare at him. "I hate it," you say between rattling breaths.

"But it'll make you feel better, luv," he replies, holding up a spoonful of suspicious-looking purple syrup. "Please? Open for me?"

You give him a look but open your mouth anyway. You barely manage to swallow the cough syrup without choking or gagging. "My eyes feel like they're on fire," you mumble.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "I wish I could take away your pain."

"Just lie down next to me. That's all I need," you whisper. "Just you, Si."

He does as you ask, crawling into bed next to you. He won't ever admit this to the boys at work, but Simon curls up against your side and puts his head on your stomach. He stays there despite how hot your skin is.snd how fast your heart is beating. "You better feel better soon," he grumbles. "I miss my girl."

"I'm trying," you rasp. "I'm trying."

Captain John Price

He wakes up in the middle of the night to you rushing out of the bed. He hears the frantic sound of the toilet seat being lifted, followed immediately by vomiting. His heart sinks to his stomach, and he chases after you.

You - poor creature - are knelt in front of the toilet and expelling everything in your stomach. John holds your hair back with one hand, soothingly rubbing your back with the other.

When finally, all you have left are dry heaves, you collapse on the bathroom tile. "Sorry, John," you say, still shaking from the sheer force of your stomach ache.

He sits next to you, wincing a little when his skin touches cold tile floor. "Why are you sorry, sweetheart?"

"Because I'm gross and horrible," you whine, looking at him with a pathetic kicked puppy look.

"None of that, now," he scolds, bringing your head to rest on his shoulder. "I gotta take care of my woman. And don't you ever think anything different."

You nod solemnly. After a few moments of silence, you whisper, "I would rather break both my legs than ever have a stomach ache again."

That makes him chuckle. "It'll be over soon. I'll make you plain rice and buy you ginger ale. Does that sound good, luv?"

You nod again. "The best man ever to man," you declare, still clutching your stomach. "I love you, John."

"I love you, too," he whispers. "More than anything."

Kyle Gaz Garrick

Kyle finishes setting up the humidifier in your shared bedroom, putting it beside your bed and turning it to face you. You've been having such bad dry coughing fits that you occasionally gag in between coughs. It breaks his heart a little more each time.

"Um, do you want to watch a movie? Or do you want me to grab you something to eat?" Kyle offers sheepishly.

"Yes, my servant," you say, as sarcastically as you can manage. "Go forth and bring me a root beer to soothe my throat."

"Yes, my lady," he says with a dramatic bow. Moments later, he returns with a cold glass of root beer and a striped straw. "Is there anything else I may get Her Majesty?"

"Just you," you whisper, patting the bed beside you. "We can watch Disney cartoons until I fall asleep."

"That sounds good, love." He kisses your forehead. Kyle wiggles his way into the bed beside you, holding your shaking hand underneath the covers. As he pulls up your favorite movie, you rest your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you..." you rasp. "For taking such good care of me."

"Anything for you," he replies with another kiss to your head.

[h3nderyss]

magazine - mark lee

pairing: idol!mark lee x fem!reader . . . masterlist genre: fluff word count: 774 a/n: recently got the mark cosmopolitan magazine.. i KNOW it's a june issue and it's literally november, but i'm still thirsty. sue me.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"i'm home!" mark's voice echoed throughout the hallway, the familiar voice making your expression soften into an automatic smile.

the day had been slow; off work, catching up on a show you occasionally rewatched, and anticipating mark's return from his long days of work.

being an idol meant his schedule was FULL. barely any time for anything, especially for mark, the most hard-working and committed man you'd ever met. nobody could ever compare to him, how he perfectly balances life, work, and relationships. most importantly; you.

he'd recently had a photoshoot. for what? well, you didn't know. he demanded he'd keep it a secret, although a hint had been it was for a famous magazine brand. of course, this meant waiting weeks upon weeks for the issue to release. especially when your boyfriend was on the cover, it felt like months of waiting.

you sprung off the couch and rushed over to mark who took off his shoes and set them aside, as a second after, bringing him into a loving long-awaited hug which you both had been dying for the entire day.

"what's that?" you looked at this plastic bag he was holding, inside of it was a suspiciously tall thin book that you took a glance of.

mark moved the bag behind his back, out of view. "a surprise." he smirked at you and gave you a peck on the lips. "i want you to be prepared."

it only etched more confusion on your face as you slightly tilted your head. "why? is it just a book?" the thought of the magazine photoshoot mark had weeks ago hadn't even crossed your mind.

his eyes darted up as if he was thinking, "hm, i guess you could say that.." he nodded and looked back at you as he was joking around. he made you chuckle, and he moved the bag back in between you two, looking into it.

"a magazine? a-" your eyes immediately widened, mouth agape.

"oh my god." you spoke in light speed, digging the book out of the bag and into your arms. "mark..?!" your voice had been quiet and breathless. he really did have *this* much impact on you, even if it was a single photo. "c..cosmopolitan..?"

"i only managed to get this second version. the other two they couldn't give me." he gestured at the magazine and you immediately went and sat on the table to prepare yourself to skip through the pages and only focus on your ravishing boyfriend.

mark followed suit and sat next to you, the whole time smiling like an idiot. you were smiling too; blushing and biting your bottom lip as you stared at the gorgeous man on the cover of this magazine.

"how are you real," you said in almost a whisper. mark had not taken his eyes off of you. he loved seeing your reaction to everything, and he adored you so much it had been unhealthy.

mark moved a piece of hair that fell on your face looking down at the magazine, he wanted to see your face as he melted upon seeing you freak out over the man on paper. him.

you flipped through the pages, taking a minute to actually take in the photos of mark. "this pose.. mark this pose is.. that shirt on you.." mumbles came out of your mouth as you glanced at the real mark next to you.

"how are you you?" you looked at him infatuated.

"how am i, me?" he chuckled at you with a smile and briefly looking at the photo of him in front of you.

you nodded. "how did i manage to snag you?" suddenly a joking mood filled the air.

"i don't know but, i'd prefer you over anybody else."

as if you hadn't already been fiercely blushing from looking at mark in photoshoot in the magazine, he never failed to make you flustered.

"stop it!" you giggled and turned your attention back to the magazine, flipping through the same pages over again.

"close that book now and focus on the real mark! i'm right in front of you.." mark starts to whine, his real self not getting attention, just the reflection in the magazine.

"it's your fault for getting me this! i'm gonna frame all of these pictures now."

"babyyy.." his whiny tone and his hand starting to intertwine with yours was just enough to make your give in.

"markieee..." you reciprocated his whiny tone and gazed into his eyes. "i can't believe you're mine."

"you better start believing soon because, i'm not going anywhere anytime soon." mark smiles and pulls you into a loving passionate kiss.

[ashlovesfood]

Bruce Wayne - BATMAN♡

RESTAURANT ,WHIPPED,THIRSTY,CANDY,MOVIE,THREESOME,OVULATION ,APRIL,VACATION,FULL NELSON,50 SHADES GREY,FF2,BW DRABBLE 1,BW DRABBLE 2,BW LINKS,FLUFF,COWBOY,NAUGHTY BUNNY,ANGST,BUNNY X WOLF,GOTHAMITE WEDDING,PARTY 4 U,GIRL DAD,PREGNANCY , AFTERCARE

Clark Kent - SUPERMAN♡

THREESOME,VACATION,CK DRABBLE 1,CK LINKS

More to be added! ☜-(ΘLΘ)-☞ Last Updated : June 25, 2025

[a-fanfic-reader]

Why is Pearl the one giving Gem permission to be gay?

context:

Pearl: "You can be thirsty in June."

Gem: "Did she just give me permission to be gay?"

Pearl: "You got it."

[textless]

Have I mentioned that all the creatures are very thirsty? I don't like mice in the house but this little guy is in the yard. So carry on, pal, and let's hope for a good monsoon.

Cochise County, Arizona, June 2025.