#I need to sit and think about it for a bit I think

[myownwholewildworld]

gif by @\pedrospascaled

“for emergencies only” — an oldman!joel miller drabble

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel has a lil' accident, but you know exactly how to help. or joel cums in his boxers a bit too early and you feed him a blue pill for endurance. a/n: uhm... yeah, hi? i promise you this fic wrote itself, i almost had nothing to do with it. i am so fucking feral over this man, can't flush him out of my system. lord have mercy... 🙇‍♀️ tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp. filthy smut. joel cums in his boxers like the old man he is. mortified!joel but you make him feel good i promise <3 use of viagra. kneading the bulge, kissing the bulge, worshipping the bulge. pussy eating. face/nose riding. squirting. fingering. your slick is his hair gel (scent marking? idk). blowjob. you go cowgirl on him because the poor man can't do extraneous exercise, protect his bones. unprotected piv. creampie. age gap, no age gap, your choice. petnames. no description of reader other than afab. w/c: ~4.2k

Joel let go of a big sigh, knees cracking as he sat down on the couch. Even taking a shower was damn exhausting at his age—he preferred it when you scrubbed his back in the bath, massaged his biceps and forearms, gently squeezed his dick while the movement created rippling waves in the water.

He’d only managed to comb through his dry, silvery curls, to throw a worn shirt and some loose boxers on, before he needed to take a break. He was getting too old to go on long, extenuating patrols. Perhaps Joel should take up Tommy’s offer and solely focus on managing the construction in Jackson. He’d have more time with you that way too.

His mind was drifting away, thinking about all the things he would do to you in his free time, when his most delicious desire materialised in front of him. His precious little thing—you.

“Why are you so lonely over here, handsome?” you teased, lips curling into a sinful smile.

You lost no time, sitting beside him, snuggling up to his side. Joel’s arm draped around your shoulders instinctively, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your collarbone.

“I dunno, someone didn’t want to join me in the shower…” he pouted slightly, a laugh tearing up your throat as you poked his ribs with one finger.

“I told you to wait for me, but you’re a grumpy old man who has no patience,” you reproached jokingly.

His eyes rolled back in exasperation, but you were right. He’d just wanted to hop in the shower as soon as he got home, ready to dust off the fatigue of the day.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, shrugging.

His hand slowly moved away from your collarbone up to your neck. Carefully, his fingers dug around your throat, just enough for you to look up at him and gape for air—the sweet pressure on your trachea making you gasp like a little fish out of the water.

“Give your old man a kiss, will ya?” he husked, bowing down his head.

You reached up to him, mouth agape, almost touching his lips. You froze there, your sight simmering with need, awaiting his permission… and when his eyes flicked with lust, you closed the distance and pressed your lips on his.

The kiss quickly became sloppy, your spit coating the stubble around his mouth. Muted, needy moans bubbled up your windpipe—an irresistible call of nature, silently begging him to give you what you wanted, what you needed.

How could he resist you? Joel simply couldn’t, especially when your hand landed on his knee and the making out session came to an end, the tip of your nose tracing his jawline before you pressed a kiss to his beating jugular and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your palm squeezed the back of his hairy knee, slowly sliding it up his thigh whilst he manspread on the couch. His brown eyes tracked your every move, his legs’ muscles tensing as you playfully approached his groin. A pull in his soft tummy made him flinch when you reached the dip between his crotch and thigh, his cock hardening at the seductive tease.

A throaty moan rumbled through his chest when you tightly gripped the flesh of his inner thigh, thumb lazily stroking the outline of his shaft over the boxers.

“You’re a bit starved for touch today, aren’tcha?” you nudged him, lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

His cock twitched.

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped back, nerves on edge.

You simply giggled, shaking your head as your hand finally cupped his growing bulge. Gently kneaded him, massaging his aching balls over the fabric. Joel could feel the warmth of your touch seeping through the boxers, compelling him to grow bigger, harder, thicker.

Your palm rubbed against the covered length of him, then dropped to his sacks again—and, irremediably, his hips bucked up, bare heels dug in the wooden floor. He thoroughly enjoyed it when you cupped his balls like that—lovingly, languidly, exquisitely, taking the weight off him so he could find some bliss.

Seeing you so locked in on his pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips… It just added to your appeal, another reason to love you. Because he did—fuck, yes he did, with all his fucking heart.

Suddenly, you squeezed his balls a bit too harsh, holding your grip as if your life depended on him, kissing his jawline. The unexpected squash on his testicles forced a moan out of him—and something else.

A firing pulse took a hold of him, surging down from his spine directly into his balls, and inevitably his cock throbbed with releasing strength. Joel couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He first felt the sticky warmth soaking his boxers, and his eyes quickly shot down to his lap.

There was a wet, growing spot on his underwear. He’d fucking cummed in his boxers like an inexperienced teenager—or the old man he was, despite how adamant he was to deny it—and he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

Embarrassed wouldn’t even start to cover it. Joel was fucking mortified.

His mouth ran dry, heartrate throbbing in his eardrums like a shameful cacophony. This had never occurred before—cumming way too early in his loose boxers, the proof right there for you to see, staining the grey fabric. It happened so fast, so intensely, Joel hadn’t had the time to rein in his own orgasm.

His face flushed with abasement; the tips of his ears hot as embers. Unwrapping his arm from around your shoulders, Joel leaned back, his head slacking back and resting on top of the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his free hand tight in a fist, before a trembling sigh escaped his lips.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to look at you.

“Oh, it’s okay, baby,” you replied reassuringly, your tone too sweet for the circumstances you both were in. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, forcing his hand out of his face. “This just proves how much you love me, so much you can’t even resist me. It’s hot.”

Joel finally had the courage to look you in the eye, a cocked brow showing his disbelief.

“Hot? You think it’s hot I just came in my boxers with a lil’ tugging?” he repeated out loud, unable to believe what you just had said. “I’m not even hard, sweetheart. It’s… humiliating.”

You nodded to his question, your top teeth sinking in your plump bottom lip. Your eyes locked in on his as your hand travelled down his frame, your thumb stroking the obvious wet spot in his underwear.

“Mhm,” you cooed with a playful grin. “Very hot, not humiliating. And I can fix that. Fix him so we can have a good cuddle.”

“I don’t think I can…” you silenced him with a kiss before you got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

A minute later you were back, towering above him with a sinful little smirk, one hand hidden behind your back.

“Open your mouth,” you requested.

“Huh?”

“Just open it for me, please?” you dragged the last word, blinking rather exaggeratedly.

Joel huffed his disagreement, but ended up obeying. His tongue slid out, patiently waiting for whatever you had in mind. With a flourish, you opened your fist to reveal a blue pill. His eyes lighted up in understanding—he thought he had run out of viagra.

“I always keep a secret stock,” you confessed, reading his mind. ��For emergencies only.”

Slowly, you set the pill down on his tongue, your thumb caressing the tip of his wet muscle before you retreated to let him close his mouth. Before Joel could swallow, you bowed down to kiss him, your tongue pushing the pill down his throat with a little needy moan.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, the pill secure in his belly now. It was just a matter of time, but meanwhile…

“Let me make it up to you, sweetheart,” he growled, the taste of your sweet cunt haunting him. “You deserve to be eaten out—so thoughtful of your old man. It’s what you enjoy most, right? Having your swollen pussy drooling all over my face, leaking into my mouth…”

His words had an immediate effect on you. Joel knew exactly how to get you off—not that you needed any more encouragement. Your clit was already palpitating, your hole gushing for his attention. The promise of a good pussy eating was everything you’d hoped for after feeding him that viagra pill.

You straightened your back, ready to get started, and Joel slithered off the couch until he was sat on the floor, his achy back leaned against the bottom part of the sofa. He sat back a little, his head resting on the edge of the couch while your pants and underwear dropped to the floor.

“Someone’s eager,” he taunted when you kicked off your clothing to one side.

“Oh, that’s an understatement,” you exhaled sharply.

Joel curled one long, thick finger at you to invite you to sit on his face, and that was exactly what you did.

You knelt on the sofa, his head right between your thighs, and you anchored your hands to the back of the furniture. His warm breath fanned your pussy, a shiver running up your spine. His broad, calloused hands ran up the back of your legs, coaxing your ass cheeks apart so your slit would crack open for him.

“My sweet girl… You’re already so wet,” he tutted at you, pecking your perineum, the tip of his aquiline nose tickling your entrance. “You really like your old man, don’tcha?”

You were about to answer when Joel lapped your entire seam in one smooth motion before his mouth latched onto your pulsing clit. You sobbed audibly, head lolled back, fingers curling tightly around the cushion of the backrest. Only managing a hushed “mhm,” Joel suckled on your throbbing nub again, pulling the hood back with his tongue.

A myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids when Joel gently nibbled at your bud, his middle finger sliding in your tight hole to rub that precise spot inside your cunt. He ate you out diligently—sucked, licked, bit, flicked your clit… rinse and repeat. Your pussy fluttered around his finger, your moans louder than they should have been considering the thin walls of the house. Sensing your desperation, Joel’s finger slipped out with a pop, to quickly fill your drooling entrance with his tongue.

It was too much—deliciously so. When you thought you’d had the best head ever, Joel always outdid himself. His wet muscle thrusted in and your pussy reciprocated with stuttering squeezes on his tongue. He didn’t falter, not even for a breather—as if he was trying to pull something out of your cunt.

“Jo-Joel…” you mewled, half whimper, half prayer.

You were so drenched, you could feel a flood forming in your womb—a heap of your arousal waiting to drip into his mouth. A tight coil low in your belly with a strangling force, so intense your shut eyes were tearing up, the drops of your silent cries sliding off your temples. Joel didn’t leave a spot unattended, worshipping your puffy pussy lips, your gushing hole, your thudding clit with his tongue and teeth.

Unable to rein in your own lust anymore, you dropped one hand and fisted his hair, forcing him to stay put, still between your trembling thighs. Your body was asking to take control, to let go of the tethers of decency—not that you had much left anyway.

“Wanna ride my face, hm?” Joel muttered with a shaky laugh.

“Mhmmm,” you moaned, shaking your head yes, your bottom lip twitching.

“Go on, baby, use me,” and then he rolled your bundle of nerves between his teeth.

That was the last straw—his words, your undoing. So you did exactly that. Still anchoring his head to the couch, you rocked your hips on his face, just once. His nose traced the entirety of your slit, catching on your clit, and you whined. A second later you were completely sat on his face, almost smothering him, while you rode not only his face, but specifically his nose.

Looking down, you saw his forehead reappear when your hips moved back. Every time you glided over him, the coil tightened and the flood dropped further down in your uterus. Stilling, you circled your waist on his mouth, and then resumed the riding.

It happened too quickly. Suddenly, the dam in your pussy just gave way, and you squirted all over his face while the most wanton moan tore up your throat, your vocal chords feeling raw from so much screaming. The biggest wave—no, tsunami—of your life washed over you, your thighs quivering like crazy while you locked them shut around his head.

Joel eagerly drank everything you offered him, groaning below you like a thirsty man who had not tasted water in days. For a long minute you couldn’t control the spasms of your cunt, dripping onto his nose, mouth and chin, your slick running down his neck and wetting the neck of his shirt.

Heaving, all your muscles finally relaxed, and you dropped to one side to release Joel from the imprisonment of your thighs. A side glance at Joel told you that he was licking off your juices from anywhere his tongue could reach, and that vision made you whimper again.

“I… Uh…” you mumbled, incapable of finding the words to describe what had just happened. “That was… the best head you’ve ever given me, you handsome old man.”

“You mean the best head you’ve ever had, full stop. Right?” he joked while he planted his hands on the edge of the couch to push himself up and sit besides you, his knees loudly cracking.

You laughed, nodding vehemently as you curled up to his side. His face was still wet from your cum, so you swept off some of it for him, kissing it away. The curls freely hanging over his forehead were damp with your slick too, and just that sight made your clit throb again. Raking your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, you combed it back with the product of your arousal.

“You don’t need hair gel if you’ve got me,” you said with a smile, and Joel tsked before letting go of a hearty chuckle.

“My personal hairdresser,” Joel quipped.

His laugh died in his mouth when your taunting hand flew to his bulge again. This time, he was extremely hard. Balls loaded and heavy, cock drumming.

“How’s my toy doing? Ready?” It was a rhetoric question, you could feel how ready he was.

“All… yours,” his words hitched, eyes darkening with a burning desire.

Without wasting another second, you knelt before him on the floor, his thighs spread open to house your frame. You couldn’t resist to lean forward and kiss the wet spot on his underwear, stealing a quick taste. Licking off the stain, you gazed up at him.

Joel was watching your every move with predatory attention, his tight fists resting to either side of him. Trying to convey calmness, but you could feel the eagerness simmering under the surface.

You buried your face in his bulge again, rubbing him over the fabric with your mouth, lips and cheeks. Kneaded him with worshipping heed, pulling the textile between your teeth, drunk with the crispy, sticky sound the wet boxers made when they unglued from his damp cock. Feeling his heartbeat, you inhaled keenly—his scent swarming your senses.

You could spend hours like this, with your face tucked away in his groin, feeling the length of him hardening against your cheek. But you were anxious to shove him down your throat.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his old man’s loose boxers, and Joel lifted his hips off the pillows just enough for you to pull them down his legs, tangled around his ankles. His dick sprung free, swaying in front of you like a tasty lollypop. Cockhead flushed and painfully red, the vein on his underside visibly pulsing, his heavy, full balls tightened up into the base of his dick. And then the cum he’d been so embarrassed about, topping his mushroom head and sliding off his shaft.

It really was a beautiful sight. You pushed his girthy length against his soft tummy and lapped at his balls first, to then find your way up his shaft until your lips sealed shut around his angry cockhead, cleaning off all his nutty spent.

Joel groaned above you, shifting his position ever so slightly, and was gentle enough to caress your cheek with his thumb before he gave you a soft smack.

“Careful not to choke, sweetheart. Take it easy,” he growled, words dying off when you pushed him down your mouth, the hoarse curls at the base tingling your nose. “Easy does it.”

With your mouth full, you gave free rein to your instincts. Took him out completely, a bridge of saliva linking your lips to the tip of his cock, and then shoved him down your throat again. You gagged and whimpered at the same time, precum and spit overflowing from the corners of your mouth. How the end of him hit your uvula, breaching past it… it was the most elated you had ever felt.

Your pace quickly picked up, and soon enough you were bobbing your head on his lap to the point that tomorrow you’d have a stiff neck. But it would be completely worth it. Sucking him off, your tongue swirled around his leaky cockhead to then nip at it. Closing your mouth, you slid his tip over your clenched teeth and lips, making a mess of your face.

“Eaaaasy… Fuck, stop,” Joel tugged at your hair.

You had been so lost in the moment, you looked up at him bewildered. You didn’t want to stop, you could never have enough of him. But realisation quickly hit. His balls were twitching against your chin, a sign that Joel was about to lose it.

“I could have my dick in your mouth all day and night, sweetheart, but I need your pussy now,” he husked, half plea, half threat.

Joel relaxed against the couch when you got up to your feet and straddled him, your knees sunk in the pillows to either side of his legs. Reaching behind you, you grabbed at his throbbing cock, gliding it over your entire slit until it hitched in your entrance.

Biting your lip down to stop a slutty moan from coming out, you locked eyes with him. Watching his façade tumble down every time you descended on his lap was one of the most beautiful sights. So slowly you impaled yourself, taking in how Joel’s face loosened up, his hands firm on your hips—how the crows’ feet kissing the corners of his chocolate eyes would smooth out, how his cheeks would flush, how his nose would do a cute little scrunch, or how his lips would part, letting out a heavy sigh.

Joel tried to fuck up into you when you lifted your hips and you tutted at him, pinning him down so he wouldn’t move.

“Nuh-uh. I’m doing all the work tonight, baby. You just lean back and relax, let me fuck you,” you warned him, an edge to your tone advising him to refrain from complaining.

He’d been on patrol out all day—you knew how tired he was, how his old man’s bones would crack with the gentlest of moves.

“But—”

“No, no buts. If you stay still and behave, I’ll let you come inside. Be good for me, please,” you cooed, your mouth moving against his with every suggestive word.

Joel finally grunted in agreement, and the smile on your face couldn’t be wider—even your cheeks hurt. Despite how badly you wanted to say “good boy,” you didn’t press your luck. Joel was quite dominant, but you enjoyed these subtle shifts in your relationship when he was very tired. So tired you could boss him around with no reprimands.

Once he had settled down, you began riding him, his reassuring hands kneading your hips for encouragement. At first it was slow-paced, his cock lazily swallowed by your labia only half-way through. With every pump, you let him slide a little bit deeper, sweet desperation building up behind his adoring eyes.

And after a few minutes, you were bouncing up and down on his throbbing shaft with heavy, quick dives. You laced your hands behind his neck for support, your forehead resting on his, your sweats mixing. Every time he exhaled, you inhaled his needy groans, high with the passion burning between you two.

His cock filled you up to the brim, especially when he was fully seated in your crying cunt. His tip would kiss your cervix, sending firing signals up your spine, numbing your mind. He was so girthy, your inner walls parted like the Red Sea to greet him, to house him. Every time he pulsed inside, your pussy squeezed him hard—as if they were talking to each other. Joel was the perfect fit to you, in every fucking sense.

His cockhead dragged along your anterior wall, putting pressure on the exact spot that always had you gushing. You were so close to nirvana, you could almost touch the sky with your fingertips. Understanding how close you were—probably because your pussy was uncontrollably fluttering around him—Joel took it upon himself to tip you over the cliff of your pleasure. One of his hands flew to your clit, pressing tight circles on your nub as you, quite literally, jumped on him like a demon possessed—and your whole brain short-circuited right there and then.

“Come for you old man, sweetheart. Squirt all over my cock, drench my lap. Wanna feel her sing around me, milk me fucking dry until my balls are completely empty,” Joel husked against your lips, his thumb quicker on your clit now, pushing back the hood to expose your bundle of nerves to his incessant touch even more. “Can you do that for me, hm?”

You did exactly that the moment Joel stopped petting your clit and, instead, he gently tapped at it with four fingers, the squelching sound driving you crazy. The clapping of skin on skin driving you wild. You finally came, screaming at the top of your lungs, while your hips stuttered above him. Incapable of maintaining any pace now, you sat on his lap—his thudding cock buried down to the hilt in your quivering pussy, the best orgasm of your life hitting you at once.

Your entire body was quaking, your pussy flitting arrhythmically as the last squirts left your insides. Joel was throbbing inside you, grown to a point you thought he might explode. And with the last bit of energy, you clamped down on him as strongly as you could, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart,” Joel moaned loudly, head tilting back against the couch.

He pulsed one last time, and then finally filled you up. His cum flooded your pussy with long, thick ropes—so much that it was soon gushing out, mixed with your own arousal. It was warm and comforting, knowing that his seed was safe in your cunt. You squeezed once more to completely drain his balls, and he gifted you with some more drops.

You hummed in approval, so satisfied you almost felt sleepy. Joel smacked your right buttock and then hugged you around the waist, feeling your weight on him like a blanket. Neither of you moved, his cock still snug inside your pussy, your breathings loud and heavy.

“We still have a couple of hours before they serve dinner in the community hall. Can’t go anywhere in this… state,” Joel snickered, kissing your cheek.

“Gonna have to take care of this for you, ain’t I?” you whispered, batting your eyelashes at him before you grinded your hips on his lap. Your clit twitched in response, overstimulated. “I need a minute though, I feel like my whole nervous system is on fire right now.”

“Take as long as you need, sweetheart. I could be here all day right until the last minute,” he muttered, his hands gliding over the sweaty skin on your back.

“You’ll need to at least take a shower before we leave. I made a mess of your hair,” you laughed, nudging the vein on his neck with the tip of your nose.

“No, I like this hair gel better. I ain’t washing my hair.”

Your eyes shot up to him. The mere idea of him leaving the house with your slick dampening his hair, him being in public bathed in your pussy scent… while talking to others, fully claiming him as yours… Right then, you brain chemistry was changed forever.

Your clit throbbed, and you purposefully clutched around his still hard shaft.

“I’m ready again.”

[bloomiize]

perv/gooner!jake is gross and he's gotten even worse

READ PART ONE HERE (not needed but it adds context)

perv!jake finally asks for your instagram when you're paired up for a project. It’s not like he doesn’t already know it by heart. Not like he hasn’t jerked off to every single one of your posts. Not like he wasn’t drooling over that innocent little selfie you posted last night. He just wants you to know he exists now. And you happily exchange Instagrams with him like it’s nothing.

perv!jake tells his roommate everything. He asks for advice on how to get closer to you, more specifically, how he could get his dick wet.

"She sounds hot. If you ever wanna recreate that hentai scene, let me know." Jake and his roommate have always joked around about sex, but this time it felt real. Too real. His dick is already begging to be touched at the thought of fucking you, he doesn't mind if he isn't the only one.

perv!jake made an effort to get to know you. Your favourite colour, the way you like your coffee, the songs you hum when you're zoning out. He also knows how you always tug your skirt down when you think it’s ridden up too high, not high enough in his opinion. How you're so naive to just bend over without thinking, right in front of him. He knows you prefer lacy panties over thongs, soft and girly, the kind he imagines peeling off you with his teeth. He’s memorized you. Every inch. Every habit. Every sound you make.

perv!jake likes how close you two are now. You always invite him over to study, to work on the project like good classmates. And yeah, maybe he’s looked through your drawers when you’re in the kitchen. Maybe he’s taken a not-so-innocent glance at your laundry basket, eyes locked on the crumpled pair of panties sitting right on top.

He’s thought about it.

Pocketing a bra, a pair of panties, hell—even a sock. Just something. Anything that smells like you. Feels like you. Something he can wrap around his fist while he jerks off to the thought of your soft little voice saying his name.

It’s disgusting. He knows that. Still doesn’t stop him.

perv!jake can never make it halfway through the door without his dick twitching. Can you really blame him, though? You’re always wearing a tiny tank top, no bra, and he can see everything. Your shorts, if you can even call them that, barely cover your ass, riding up with every step you take. Jake nearly cums in his pants right then and there.

perv!jake helps you solve a complicated problem, and you light up like he’s the smartest boy in the world. As a sign of your appreciation, you hug him, tight, soft, your tits pressing right up against his chest like it's nothing.

And he moans.

Quiet. Slips out before he can even think. You don’t seem to notice. You just keep smiling, thanking him like you can't feel something hard pressed against you. His dick’s already leaking, he can feel it.

He clears his throat, cheeks red. “I- uh, I’m not really feeling the best. I think I’m gonna head out early.”

You pout, sweet and worried, and offer to get him some water, maybe let him lie down, hoping he'll stay a bit longer. But he’s already opening the door.

Because he needs to get home. Now. He’s seconds from cumming in his pants, and he knows once he’s alone he’s gonna jerk it to the feeling of your tits against him—again and again until he’s lightheaded and shaking.

gooner!jake cant stop thinking about you, or more specifically, your tits. Its hard not to when they're so perfect. Soft, warm, and pushed against him when you hugged. He swears you did it on purpose, not that he minds. He can't stop fucking the panties he took from your apartment a few days ago when you had him over, surely you didn't notice they went missing. They're dirty and sticky from his fluids but he can't stop, he wont stop. Jake's not proud of it but this is the closest he's getting to fucking your perfect pussy.

gooner!jake got a call from you in the middle of edging himself for the third time tonight.

"Hey! Did you make it home okay? You left in a hurry and you said you weren't feeling well..." Your voice rings through his head. He's gripping his dick tighter now, still moving his hand up and down. He can't just cum immediently to the sound of your voice, that would be so embarrassing. He has to last longer for you.

"Y-yeah I made it home fine. T-thanks" Jake's holding back moans. It's disgusting how even when he's on the phone he won't stop. He cock is throbbing in agony, he's been edging himself non stop and he so desperately wants to cum, to feel you, to fill you up.

"You don't sound sound okay Jakey, you should've just stayed. I would've taken care of you." You say it so innocently that Jake loses it. He lets out a groan and thrusts his hips violently into his hand. Jake knows your panties are ruined by him but it doesn't stop him from shoving it into his mouth, pretending he's tasting your sweet cunt against his dirty tongue

How could you just say that so casually? Calling him Jakey? Saying you would've taken care of him?

You have no idea what you do to him.

"f-f-fuck y/n. I want you so fucking b-bad." It slips out of Jake's mouth before he realizes it.

"Walking around with those t-tiny shorts. I should've just be-bent you over." His brain is practically gone at this point, all he cares about is cumming. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head while his hand moves furiously. He's moaning loudly enough that you could hear him through the phone. He doesn't care anymore; he wants to be gross for you, if you'd let him.

"I'm go-gonna cum, fu-fuck!" His hips sputtered into his fist and thick, hot ropes of cum sprayed all over his phone. He's oversentive from edging himself nonstop, brain completely empty and dick still hard.

gooner!jake realizes that you were still on the phone, you didn't hang up. Before he can apologize, your small voice comes out,

a whimper.

Are you... are you touching yourself to him right now?

from bloomiize: tysm for reading the first part!! I honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to ask for a part 2, let alone enjoy my writing 😭 I was super nervous posting >< but your support means everything!! lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist for part 3 !!

taglist (OMG I HAVE A TAGLIST?!?! if you commented on part 1 I tagged you, lmk if you wanna be removed! ^^)

@femmefqtqle @seobinghard @maysshade @dark-moon-light02 @jjongsies @nikismyprincesses @iaaespa @heeseungsbm @shy9-29

[ceesimz]

roses

you want to make your first sant jordi together perfect for her.

“Ale?” You called out, hearing a hum from the vague direction of the lounge. 

You'd just arrived at her place, reluctantly waking up in separate apartments on a free Sunday in early April since Alexia had a family thing the night before, and you spent the evening at Ingrid’s with a few friends. Individually, both of you had a good time, but it wasn’t without a grumble from you at having to walk up alone. You slept better with Alexia beside you, somehow she helped with your sleeping problems better than anything else you had tried. Whether that be because she’s a naturally calm person and that seeps into you, putting you at ease, or having her there worked as a distraction since you always fall asleep drowning in each other’s arms or with her fingertips running up and down your back soothingly.

The night before, however, you didn’t sleep too well. Your mind wouldn’t shut off at all. But, it allowed you to do some thinking. And the next morning, you walked into her apartment with a plan of action.

She was, what would seem uncharacteristic to others but not to you at all, sprawled out on her sofa, all long limbs in an oversized navy Nike tracksuit. The girl was like a sloth sometimes, a description of her she didn’t appreciate, yet one you loved to tease her with. As you rounded the corner from the hallway, she dropped her phone against her chest and glanced up at you with a warm smile. The sight of her so happy to see you never got old.

“Bon dia.” She uttered with a content sigh, moving an arm behind her head as she watched you take off your jacket and slide your shoes off. Then, you headed over to her, and her smile got wider as she braced herself for you to lay on top of her. You didn’t, to her disappointment. You sat by her feet, a determined look on her face. “What’s up with you?”

“I need you to tell me everything I need to know about Sant Jordi.”

Well, that, the brunette wasn’t expecting.

“Why?” She asked curiously, sitting up a little to lean back on her hands, her eyebrows pressed down into a confused scowl. All she wanted was a hug, but here she was having to give a history lesson.

“Because you said it’s your favourite holiday. So I need you to tell me all about it, so that I can make plans for us.”

Your words offered her a hug instead; her heart fluttered in her chest at the demand from you. It was incredibly sentimental to her, so much so she felt her cheeks heat up the tiniest bit.

“You want to make plans for it?” Alexia wondered, eyebrows now raised with a hopeful smile on her face that she tried to disguise.

“Of course I do. It’s your favourite.” You repeated, replying to her question like the answer was obvious. Because of course you wanted to make her favourite day of the year live up to her standards, and more.

“Okay.” Alexia blinked as she looked at the seriousness on your face, trying to process what was happening. There were butterflies in her stomach, like she was a teenager after their first kiss. But no, it was just you, and your limitless thoughtfulness and compassion. It only made her love you more, made her more excited for the holiday to come, because it was her first with you and that was good enough for her without all the added extras you seemed set on adding. “Well, what do you want to know?” 

You pulled your phone out, opened up your notes, pressing on the already half-written page from your impromptu research the night before, and looked back up at her.

“Everything, Alexia.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at your response. Not at your dedication, because she found that outrageously endearing, but at how deadset on this you were. How deadset you were on making her feel loved, and that was something she treasured more than you could ever know.

“Only if you actually give me a hug first. Maybe a kiss too for extra motivation if I have to tell you everything.”

You rolled your eyes at her, though fell for it regardless. You dropped your phone and watched as she shuffled closer, visible excitement on her face as if she hadn’t kissed you a hundred times before. She sat up properly and held your face with her hands on the side of your head, leaning in so fast you almost clashed heads, but that was the last thing on your mind the moment her lips landed on yours. They were soft, like always, soft and familiar, and the way they moved against yours had you wondering why on earth you’d delayed the moment when you arrived. 

Until your thoughts trailed off from her and back to the task at hand.

“So,” You started as you pulled away from her mouth with a wet smack. Your phone was back in your hand and you were straight back to business before she’d even registered that you had broken it off. “Tell me about it.”

Her hands were still cradling your face, eyes on yours as she caught her breath back. You looked down at her, eyebrow raised as you waited for her to compose herself again. After she inhaled another deep breath, she searched your eyes to check for any ounce of doubt or sarcasm as she took a moment to realise… just how much it meant to her that you were offering this.

“You’re really serious about this?” She murmured a moment later, a sheepish expression on her face. 

“Yes. I am. It’s our first together, I want to get it right.” You admitted quietly, a slightly embarrassed red tinge to your cheeks as she beamed at you, her thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. She leaned in again, a gentler kiss this time, one that conveyed her adoration rather than any other meaning.

“That means so much to me.” She whispered against your lips when she pulled away. A soft smile formed on your face at her words, because they alone were worth it and you hadn’t even done anything yet. That was exactly why you were doing it.

“Can only do it if you tell me.” You teased, turning your head to kiss her palm.

Alexia chuckled gently, shifting to sit back against the sofa and wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into her a little. You turned slightly so that your back was to her shoulder and her hand slipped down to your chest, your own reaching up to link with hers and resting there. With a warmth in her chest, finally having you where she wanted you and a topic at hand where its future with you both excited her immeasurably, she was wholly content.

“I don’t even know where to start with it.” 

How could she explain it to you? The day spoke for itself. She hadn’t ever explained it to anyone before because it’d always just been there in her life, woven into April and she’d never known anything different. Now though, she had you, who hadn’t even heard of it until one movie night early on in your friendship where she rambled about it for twenty minutes straight when you asked if she liked Valentine’s Day. She had scoffed, to your confusion, before giving a hundred-and-one reasons why Sant Jordi was far superior due to the deep-rooted culture and everything else about it that fascinated her still, even after thirty years of it. Maybe you would have better knowledge of it, had you actually paid attention to what she was saying rather than how she looked. 

It wasn’t a holiday, exactly, more like the heartbeat of her city. A day where love drifted in the wind, swirling in the air, like oxygen, which it almost was. Nobody could survive without love and that’s what the day was about, always had been, since that time with the dragon and the rose that sprouted after. Since then, no matter what a person was going through, a simple rose was enough to put a smile on anyone’s face. Because a Sant Jordi rose wasn’t simple, it was more than just a tradition. It was love with roots, dating back centuries and sure to last for yet more to come. Giving a rose to you and receiving one from you on this day, to Alexia, meant that you had both chosen to love each other and wanted to tell so in the language of the place that meant everything to her. As she was explaining, she felt herself become giddy with excitement. It was hard to put it into words when all that was on her mind was you and roses and books and dragons and-

“You’re trailing off, Ale. Stay on topic.”

Right.

The brunette wholeheartedly believed there was never a more beautiful day in Barcelona than on Sant Jordi. There was a particular way the city softened then. Streets transformed from fast-moving busyness to slow streams of people stopping in their step, not out of obligation but from wonder. From actually pausing their life, taking a breath, and appreciating things they missed in daily life. Love, community, humanity. Something shifted in everybody during the holiday. Strangers smiled easily, weightless from their usual burdens, desperate to share the serenity they felt with others. Vendors with hundreds of the most gorgeous roses you could find handed them out willingly to everyone with the same care reserved for their loved ones, because that’s just what the day made you do. It was good, whilst also unfairly rare to have a reason to give beauty just for the sake of it. 

Deep down, maybe that’s why most people loved it. It was an excuse to share the pure sides of humankind in a world that lacked it so much.

And the way people showed these things was with the roses, yes, but books too. Alexia recalled her mother saying something to her when she was younger, where she had asked why it was books and roses, and her answer was ‘one for the mind, one for the heart.’ That memory came racing back to her, bringing a reminiscing smile to her face, before echoing it to you too. There was the legend of the knight and the dragon, of blood turned into rose, of course, but there was the celebration of two authors too, Cervantes and Shakespeare. So while the rose speaks of love, the book speaks of connection. To give one is just as precious as receiving one. It’s a gift of thought and attention, where someone has listened to another and decided on something that will resonate with them, whether it’s a topic about what they long for, what they fear, what they want to learn, or what they treasure. It’s sacred, in a way that’s different to the rose, but just as meaningful. 

The day was solely dedicated to care, to language, culture, and love. All the things that were most important to Alexia. She thought about it often in the weeks leading up to it, and apparently so did you. That gave her even more reasons, added to the already infinite list, of why you were her person.

“Wow.” You breathed out in awe when she finished, thumbs paused over your phone screen because you hadn’t quite expected her to go so in depth. She opened up to you about it, completely and honestly. You might be the worst person ever if you didn’t make it the best day of her life. 

“Yeah.” Alexia hummed, her ramble having caught herself off guard. But, sharing her adoration for the day with someone new, where she had to explain all the reasons she enjoyed it which she hadn’t really done out-loud before, simply reignited her love for it and made it stronger. “Was that… too much at once?”

You put your phone down, it being the last thing on your mind then, then turned around to face her. The midfielder seemed a bit shy, embarrassed even, and you had to change that.

“No. Never too much. You explained it a million times better than I thought you would. Thank you for sharing all that with me.” You told her, eyes wide and sincere as she met your gaze. She let out a small relieved sigh, before her lips widened into an admiring smile. 

“I can’t wait to spend it with you.” You gave a cheesy grin at her adorable comment, then got straight down to business.

“Who do you want to spend the day with?” You questioned, waiting for her answer expectantly as she frowned at you.

“You, obviously.” The midfielder answered.

“Okay, but I mean, don’t you want to see your family too? Some friends maybe? You don’t want to have lunch with Alba and your mother, dinner with your close friends, that kind of thing?” 

“No. Just you.” 

Oh. That took you by surprise a bit. You were flattered by her, and you couldn’t exactly hide it either with the way you blushed a moment or two after she spoke. She noticed and smirked at you, proud of her charm.

“Well, I still think we should visit Alba and Eli anyway, give them some roses.” You compromised, feeling a tad guilty for snatching your girlfriend away from her family.

“Sure.” Alexia shrugged. “As long as I get the whole day with you.”

“You will.” You mumbled under her piercing attention, her eyes unmoving from your face. “And where do you want to go together? What would you like us to do?”

It was then that she looked away. How could she say what she wanted to say without extinguishing your excitement?

“Let me take the lead on that. I know you want to surprise me, and you still can, but I want to show you to some of my favourite places, okay? I know all the good spots and I want to show you why I love them. I'd really like to share them with you.” You seemed to deflate at that, her wishes going against the rough plan you had for how this conversation would go, as well as Sant Jordi itself.

“But I want to surprise you, Ale.” You said dejectedly, which only made her smile. She leaned forward and kissed your cheek, hoping to cheer you up back into your good mood.

“I know, and I’ll let you. But I want to give you a good day too. Let me organise where we go, what we see, and you can do anything else you would like. Fifty-fifty.” She suggested, watching your reaction as you took a minute to think. After a moment or two, your eyes narrowed skeptically at her.

“Sixty-forty.” You bartered, which she laughed at. Nevertheless, she agreed.

“Fine.” 

Once that had been decided, she wrapped her arms back around you and pulled you into her. She nestled her head into your neck and dotted kisses up and down it, before settling comfortably on the couch with you in her hold as she smiled into your skin, with daydreams of the two of you on Sant Jordi clouding her mind.

—

Then the day arrived, finally. It felt like you’d waited an age for it. 

You were up as the sun rose, Alexia still away with the fairies in bed, and moving around the apartment as you checked your preparations for the millionth time. There was email after email on your phone, confirming your various orders of roses and their deliveries. Yellow ones for Ingrid, since she was your best friend and it felt wrong not to acknowledge how much you loved her on a day like today. Then some more for Jana and Aitana, who had helped you in planning and with where to get the best roses one could find in Barcelona, as well as their meaning. You felt endlessly grateful for everyone in your life, you’d give roses to them all if you could. 

However, your main focus was the sleeping form in your bedroom, whom you were about to make breakfast in bed for. On the menu for her, a smoked salmon omlette with traditional Catalan toasted bread, and a coffee. Simple, but her favourite for a day-off. Except it was her favourite when… she made it. It wasn’t exactly your specialty, but you were going to give it a try, considering you wanted to surprise her. 

And it worked, it didn’t come out half bad, and just as you’d served it up onto a breakfast tray for her with a coffee from the ridiculously fancy espresso machine she didn’t need (and took you months to learn just how to turn it on), the door rang with the most important delivery for the day. Her roses. Perfect timing for you to pick one out, wrap a Senyera ribbon around it, and put it on the tray with her breakfast. 

She was still out for the count when you walked back in, on her side with an arm outstretched where you would lay, something that brought a smile to your face as you put the tray on her bedside table. You sat on the edge of the bed and gently nudged her shoulder, causing her to stir.

“Bon dia, Ale.” You whispered, hearing her usual grumble at being woken up before she naturally woke up. “Wake up, you’ve slept long enough.”

“Wow.” She huffed groggily, rolling onto her back and rubbing her face tiredly. As she did so, you leaned over and grabbed the rose, presenting it to her as she opened her eyes. Her grumpy expression faded instantly, replaced by one of shy gratitude as she reached out to take it. “Thank you, amor.” 

“Feliç Sant Jordi.” 

Sitting up properly, Alexia met you halfway as you leaned in with a hand on her thigh to steady yourself. A kiss full of tenderness, brimming excitement for the day ahead, was the best way to start her day. Even better? It was followed by breakfast cooked with care and a coffee brewed to perfection (you couldn’t take credit for that, it was the machine) that hit the spot for her. It was only early morning, and it was already her favourite one she’d celebrated so far.

“Happy first Sant Jordi.” Alexia grinned sleepily, gazing at you with an admiration like it was your first day on earth. “You did a good job with the rose, it’s beautiful.”

“I had some help.” You admitted sheepishly, to which she shrugged it off. 

“Don’t care. Still your brain behind it.” She murmured, leaning back in again to steal another kiss from you. “I love you. Love everything about you. Happier than ever with you.”

“Shut up, eat your food.” You blushed, cheeks burning as she smirked at you before reaching for her coffee. “I love you too.”

“I can’t wait for you to see the city later.” Her eyes had a look of childlike wonder in them as she thought of what waited for you both outside the walls of your apartment. Before that, she had some bigger priorities she needed to deal with. She swallowed her mouthful of coffee before addressing you with a desperate question. “Did you leave time fo-”

“Yes, I left time for us to spend in bed after breakfast. Hurry up and eat, then we’ll have longer.” 

The girl was nothing without lazy mornings in bed, wrapped up in each other. Neither were you.

—

A couple hours later, after time together in the peace of the bedroom and a quick trip to her mother’s, the pair of you were wandering the streets, hand in hand and taking in the relaxed nature of everyone that you passed. There was this mutual contentment which possessed each person that celebrated the holiday, something that you loved being around. You hadn’t even made it to the main parts Alexia wanted to take you to.

She looked different. More relaxed than you’d seen her. She was calm, fully in the moment, everything loud in her life far away from her mind. Not a second went by without a smile on her face, whether it be one that stretched across her cheeks or one that was simply an upwards quirk of her lip. You adored seeing her so happy, seeing how much she loved the day.

At first, the city didn’t seem too different. There were red petals scattered every few steps on the tiled ground, some fresh and some bruised, and there was something poetic about that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The sun had decided to come out too, only adding to the atmosphere around. But apart from that, everything seemed normal. Just the early stirrings of Barna waking up.

Until you got closer and closer to the very heart of the city, where you turned one corner, and the streets became something else entirely. It was a slow unravelling of everything the day embodied; each person had a rose and a wheat sprig with an unbridled smile on their face, there was stall after stall as you stepped foot onto Passeig de Gràcia, tin buckets filled with bouquet after bouquet of flowers, wooden tables creaking under the weight of the countless books stacked on them. It was unlike anything you had ever seen.

Barcelona truly did look like something out of a fairytale, just like your girlfriend had rambled about.

“This is the best place to be.” Alexia murmured into your ear as you paused to take in everything that was happening ahead of you.

And like every time she’d declared something before, she really wasn’t wrong.

Despite the crowds, you didn’t feel overwhelmed, because every single individual was sharing the same passion, celebrating the same traditions, holding their love to a higher importance. It was addictive, you wished everyday was like it. You would be more than happy, consider yourself lucky even, to live in this city for the rest of your life.

You moved slowly through the street, another ripple in the current of people fascinated like you were. The scent of roses was strong, how could it not be with how many hundreds there were in every square meter, with the metallic echo of scissors cutting stems each time a fresh flower was bought for someone that was treasured by their company. Honestly, that might have been your favourite thing about it, like Alexia had said; the love was so easily shared, each person so deeply valued, it didn’t matter that you were all strangers because it didn’t feel like it there. With the contagion of love in the area, you felt bonded to everyone that passed by you. It was a weird phenomenon to feel such a way, but you didn’t question it. No one questioned it. That’s just what Sant Jordi was, that was its pride.

Alexia had given you a rose after breakfast, having hid a bouquet for you out on her balcony. Even if you had expected it, it still did something to your heart as she handed it over to you. However, neither of you had exchanged books yet. You had a plan you kept to yourself, and so did Alexia. Yours was the first that came to fruition. 

One of her favourite authors had a stall that day where they were selling a new book Alexia had spoken about a number of times in the last few weeks. You had to, shamelessly, stalk her Amazon account to make sure she hadn’t pre-ordered it for herself. Fortunately, she didn’t, and the days since it was released ticked by without it suddenly making an appearance in her travel bag or on her coffee table. So when you saw the stall in question, the book standing out to you instantly on the table, you stopped the pair of you in place and turned to her with a beaming grin.

“Stay here.” You told her randomly, before rounding the corner and disappearing from her view. 

She frowned, a little suspicious, but did as you said regardless. As she waited, she saw a stall for fresh churros with chocolate off in the distance, mouth already watering as she thought of them. Anyway, just as you’d demanded, she stayed where she was until you came back, twiddling with the rose she’d tucked into the pocket of her jacket over her chest whilst she took in the surroundings. All that crossed her mind was that this truly felt like home. It grounded her, a reminder of where she came from and what she was representing on the global stage that football was. And she was proud to do that, indescribably so.

“Close your eyes, hold your hands out.” You appeared in front of her again, hands behind your back as you waited for her to follow through on your instructions. Once she had done as you said, you placed the book into her hands, the seller having even gone one step further and tying a red ribbon around the item too. “Open.”

The brunette looked down at the gift and let out a tiny gasp, glancing back up at you in slight disbelief. There was something about not only being heard and seen by people in her life, but having someone actually do something with all they learnt that landed inside her with a quiet kind of significance. 

“Mi amor.” She exhaled a shaky breath, a downturned smile on her face at the surprise. “Thank you. This is… thank you. You’re amazing.”

She drew you in for a tight embrace, there, in the middle of the avenue, where you couldn’t fend off the pleased grin that grew as a result of her reaction. Maybe she had wanted to buy it for herself which, to some, might have made it less of a surprise, but not to her. Things like this struck a chord within her, triggered that sentimental part of her that couldn’t ever really get over the fact people adore her so much they’d do something this thoughtful. 

“I had to muddle through the limited Catalan I know to get it but… luckily I know how to say that I need a gift for my hot g-” 

“Alright, you ruined it.” Alexia tutted, cutting you off with her words and a kiss that silenced your teasing pretty quickly. “You keep beating me to things, I need to step up my game.”

“God, you really have to turn everything into a competition.” You scoffed, to which she grinned and took hold of your hand again to start leading you both down the avenue.

“Of course. And I’m going to win myself back a goal by buying you the best churros you can find, right now.” 

Suddenly, the most sickeningly sweet scent you’d ever experienced invaded your senses and you had to hold in a groan at the deliciousness of it as she slotted you both into the queue. Churros had fastly become one of your favourite treats, but not something you indulged in often since, obviously, you were a footballer and they weren’t exactly the most nutritious things in the world. When else was a better time to share some with your girlfriend than on Sant Jordi? 

“You’re saying churros are better than your book?” You feigned a dejected expression and tone, feeling a tiny bit guilty at the panic on her face, but not when she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and grazed her lips against your temple.

“Never.” She reassured you, rolling her eyes when she heard you giggle. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Very lucky, it turned out, because she wasn’t lying when she said they were the best churros. For a little while longer, you walked along the avenue, your hand on her upper arm which held the cardboard tray, each of you picking from it every so often and laughing when some of the chocolate dripped down Alexia’s chin. You swiped it away with your thumb before letting her lick it off, not even ashamed about being that couple in public. You were in your own bubble, basking in the company and the devotion that thrived between you. It was quickly turning out to be one of your favourite days with her, maybe even ever in your life.

Shortly before you left Passeig de Gràcia, Alexia brought you to the place everybody wanted to see on Sant Jordi – Casa Batlló. It was front and center of the holiday, the photo that marked every headline in the news, and rightly so. Beautiful didn’t begin to cover it. 

“Worth letting me plan the day, no?” Alexia joked quietly, standing behind you as you gazed up at the building. Her hands were low on your waist, thumbs stroking up and down. As the day ticked by, it got seemingly harder and harder for her to control her devotion, it was just overflowing from her.

“This place is amazing.” You stated in awe; the longer you looked at it, the more details you spotted. From that building alone, with so much history embedded into its architecture, was enough reason to love Sant Jordi. “I never knew all this about Barcelona and Catalunya when I joined.”

“Now you have me to show you. Every year, for the rest of our lives.” She spoke soothingly, the words meant for you and you only. This woman.

“Somebody is really in their feels today, huh.” 

You were joking about it, but the whole day it’d set you alight. Never had being in a relationship felt so right to you. You were certain that you hadn’t known love before her, and she was really taking advantage of the holiday to show exactly how she felt towards you. God only knows you were feeling the same about her.

“What better day to do it? I love you. Let me love on you.” She replied, raw, vulnerable, honest. Her openness was one of the things you adored most about her, she never shied away from saying exactly what was on her mind. 

“Never said you couldn’t.” 

With her hands that sat on your hips, she span you around to face her, drawing you in closer just a bit. Her gaze was intense, communicating things that you didn’t want to share with anyone else, wanting to keep it between the two of you. 

“Your book.” She said out of nowhere, dragging you out of your thoughts and back to the present. One hand slipped away, reaching behind her back and presenting a small book, small enough to fit in her jeans pocket. You scanned over it, not quite sure what it was. “It’s a poetry book in Catalan. A lot of my favourites, some that are really important to me. Some that I’ve shared with you before and some that I haven’t yet because they feel too special to speak aloud, too sacred to translate. I wanted you to read it because it’s everything I’ve never said. But it’s always been for you, about you. And, I don’t know, maybe you’ll read the things in there and… think of me.” 

You didn’t answer, not right away. You stared at her, then the book, and back to her. The object turned from something light, like a feather in your hands, to something heavy with a pulse. This was the closest she could get to giving you her heart.

No part of you could quite comprehend how esteemed and dear this gift was. Whether the crowds were dying down or you were just honed in on the book and your girlfriend, but it was like the world around you knew not to intrude on such a moment. Nothing ceased to exist outside this pocket of time where you stood, with the woman you love, in the city that raised her, and a piece of her soul in your possession. 

One deep breath, then two, before you blinked and a tear fell. You didn’t wipe it away. She did.

“I don’t know what to say, Ale.” You whispered as if afraid that a decibel higher would steal the memory away from you. “This is everything to me.”

You couldn’t believe she had chosen you to share this part of her with. 

“You’re everything to me. That’s what I wanted to show you.” Came her response, in a soft, dulcet tone. Her knuckle wiped away another tear. “Don’t cry outside of Casa Batlló, that is so guiri of you.” 

Her humour broke through your astonishment and caused you to burst out into tearful laughter, the brunette joining you instantly. You tucked the book against your chest, coincidentally right over your heart without even thinking, before rushing forward to get a hug from her. She accepted it immediately, leaning her forehead against your temple, her heart rate higher than ever from the nerves she felt at giving you her book. In that silence, punctuated periodically by your sniffles of disbelief, she held you. Like she always did. 

—

It was a miracle that the pair of you made it to the dinner you’d booked later that evening. You with your emotions and Alexia with her lack of restraint at keeping her hands to herself. 

You did make it, though, of which you were glad for. Not only because you were hungry after a day of walking and a few too many tears, but also because the restaurant you’d booked a table at was difficult enough to find a reservation for, nevermind on Sant Jordi too. It was one of Alexia’s favourites and yours too, a surefire way to cap off the day successfully. 

Neither of you could stand being away from each other for a second; had anyone been with you for the duration of the day, it would have been sickening for them to see. But you just didn’t care. You sat in the same side of the booth at dinner, either with hands linked, a hand on the other’s thigh, or knees touching as you used your cutlery, like a couple that hadn’t seen in each other a year, not one that had spent the last twelve hours constantly in each other’s company. Dinner was perfect, the company even better, and the aftermath back at home just to top it all off.

Together, you ended the night with a bath. A cliche, rom-com type setting, with low light and candles and glasses of champagne seated next to each other on the ledge of it. You had your back against her chest, her legs caging yours, with her arm around your waist. In her hand, the book you’d given her. In yours, the poems in her mother tongue you were slowly making your way through with a little help here and there. 

You wanted the day to last forever. 

Instead, midnight was drawing near, the water was cooling, and yawns kept sounding from the pair of you as you read your books. Eventually, you heard the gentle sound of Alexia closing her book echo through the bathroom, before she carefully dropped it to the tiled floor. Both her arms came to wrap around your torso then, her head ducking down to scatter kisses across your shoulder, back, neck, any bit of skin she could comfortably reach. Then, in a low, coarse, tired voice-

“Best Sant Jordi ever.” 

[rafesangelita]

hii!! i was thinking of bsf!jj but a bit pervy?? like for example he always warns reader to wear tops that are less revealing and don't have her tits all out, but when she does wear tops like that— he uses her as some sort of prize at random stores for free shit, being the little innocent thing reader is, jj coaches reader what to do n how to do it!!!

warnings: dark themes (you’ve been warned!!), manipulation, coercion, playful banter

a/n: okay i can’t believe i let this req sit for so long.. some more pervybsf!jj requests would be amazing and immensely appreciated!!

jj never failed to make you cross your arms over your chest, an inkling of insecurity gnawing at your heart strings as he lectured you about wearing anything that showed too much skin.. especially your tits. he’d pull you aside from the rest of the group, caging you between his arms as he leaned down and spoke roughly in your ear. “what did i tell you about wearing shit like this? you have everyone looking at you and thinking of god knows what.” despite him making a pout form on your lips, the harshness of his words was softened by the slow strokes of his fingertips against your cheek.

“i just thought it was pretty—” you gazed up at him with teary eyes, “it is. it’s sooo pretty, but i don’t think everyone needs to see you in it,” he traced the neckline of your top, a shiver running down your spine as he skimmed the soft flesh of your breasts, “unless you could get me something out of it..” your face twisted into one of confusion as jj was hit with an epiphany, an evil grin spreading across his lips at the thought. from that day forward, jj made you wear a cardigan with all of your cute tops, only allowing you to take it off once you two walked inside a store or restaurant establishment.

“remember to do what i told you, alright? you’re gonna go in, lean over the counter, talk up the guy at the front and pretend you forgot your money, yeah?” you nodded, repeating jj’s instructions to yourself as you also tried to remember his food order. “and don’t forget to bite your lip a little bit like we practiced, okay? don’t overthink it too much, you’re already the prettiest thing in this joint, just let your face and your tits do all the talking.” jj was quick to push you inside, a small gasp leaving your lips as you nearly lost your footing on the uneven floor tile of the old diner.

jj paced back and forth outside, occasionally glancing through the window to make sure everything was going as planned. in no time, he was smiling to himself as you walked out with two bags in your arms, your face heated with embarrassment as you sipped on a strawberry milkshake. “that’s my fucking girl, look at all of this!” he helped you out and took the bags full of food, quickly unwrapping a burger and taking a bite. “eugh— what the fuck.. y/n, i said no tomatoes!” he cursed under his breath, picking it out and throwing it over his shoulder.

“i couldn’t remember! i had a lot going on in my head, okay?!” jj waved you off, pressing a kiss to your temple before stealing a sip from your shake. “s’fine..” he winked, “this is dinner.” slipping on the spare t-shirt jj had hanging from around his neck, you two walked into the chateau, announcing for everyone to come and eat. john b, along with pope, cleo, and kie all looked at each other suspiciously, their gazes flickering between you and jj. “okay.. i know for a fact that y/n didn’t pay for all of this, and you have ten bucks in your pocket on a good day, so how did y’all—” jj laughed nervously, cutting pope off, “are you hungry or not?”

[calla-lily-flower]

I'm not usually one to make a callout blog, but I don't think it's right to be silent any longer. I'd also like to say that I have no problem with tracing so long as it's transformative enough that no one can tell it's traced.

However, this artist is steadily gaining popularity in the Bloodweave fandom and the more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I get with the fact that this artist is popular. Why? Because they're tracing stock images and still frames from films, and instead of acknowledging this, they're passing off this work as their own original ideas. I know the correct thing to do would be to notify this artist before I go public with this information, but based on my interactions with this artist, along seeing other people's interactions with this artist, I do not think this is appropriate. This artist has a lot of friends who are also quite popular in the Bloodweave community, which is why I'm doing this on a burner account and not my actual account.

A few words of advice: to the artist's friends, if you dismiss this as drama, I will assume that you have not read this piece in full. I would like to restate I do not take this post lightly. If this was a one time thing, I would ignore it. However, this is not a one time thing, and you are tarnishing your own work by hanging around this artist. To the artist: you cannot delete your work to hide, as I have already saved the pieces to the Internet Archive. The internet is forever, my love. To both the artist and their friends: my understanding is that there are tensions between you and some other members of the Bloodweave community. I am not associated or affiliated with those members. I am a third party who became concerned once I saw this first picture, and things escalated from there. Similar to the drama comment above, if you associate this with the people you have friction with, I'll assume you haven't read the post.

Without further ado, here we go.

The artist I'm referring to is calolily. I hate that I have to make this post, because I was a fan of their work for a long time. However, in March, calolily posted this image:

As a certified horse girl, this image threw me off. For those of you who don't get what I'm saying, the issue is with the bit: the metal thing that goes in a horse's mouth. On a horse, it goes in towards the middle of their mouth, behind their incisors (which are the teeth you can see when a horse opens their mouth) into their interdental space, which is basically a long stretch of gum that's in front of the horse's molars. A good fitting bit should not be uncomfortable for a horse. However, this is where calolily has it positioned:

Right in front of the horse's incisors. Ignoring that there's no way the bit would stay in the horse's mouth at that point, if the bit was there, that would be a very unhappy horse. That bottom part is where some (not all, as most reins should sit at the bit) reins would sit.

Despite that, I didn't think the image was traced at first. I know bridles can be hard to draw, so I ignored it. That is, until I was looking for references images for my own piece of cowboy artwork, and found this:

You don't see the similarities? That's all right, I'll help you:

Now I'll admit, at first I didn't get too freaked out by this. Horses are a bitch to draw, so I'm not going to blame someone if they need help getting them done. Was I a little annoyed that calolily didn't say that they traced? Sure, but I thought it was a one-off.

That is, until I saw this:

The left image is calolily's drawing of Gale from their professor AU. The right image is a still from the movie "We Don't Live Here Anymore." Once again, I'm providing a side by side alongside an overlay.

(I am so bad at overlays, but I hope you see the point I'm trying to make.)

It's one thing to copy a picture from a stock artist. It's a little scummy, yes. It's definitely copyright infringement, but people turn a blind eye to it if you're a hobbyist. Copying a still from a movie without crediting it? Only making light changes, like swapping out the watch for a wedding ring and adding a periodic table to the background? Not okay. That's someone else's art you're taking away from them.

But it's whatever, right? It's not like calolily's making money off this, right?

Right???

The left image is a print from calolily's Inprnt page. There's a sale on right now, so you can purchase prints range from $6 (regular $8) to $78.75 (regular $105). The right image is a bondage ad.

I'm not going to point out the similarities on this one. I'm sure you can see how the arms and hands are positioned in the same way, how the only change is making the picture more "Gale" like. I've never purchased calolily's work, but if I was interested in purchasing a commission from them, I'd be worried. Would I get an original piece or would I get a traced bondage ad? Who knows.

Maybe this is a recent development though. Maybe calolily got inundated with requests and, not wanting to let their fans down, decided to take some shortcuts to keep their fans happy.

Ha.

On April 19th, calolily posted an "art improvement" post. Perhaps the improved post was traced, but surely the before was--oh, it was traced too? Alright then. The worst part is that this tracing was not from a movie or one of those giant stock image sites or even an ad. This one was from an independent stock photographer named Rob Lang, and as far as I can tell, he hasn't been licensed out to another stock site. He's freelance.

Unless this drawing was made in the past week, I'm going to assume that tracing has been a long time thing with calolily.

I don't get it. If they'd hidden some of the minor details like the shirt folds and the finger positions, I don't think anyone would've noticed. Hell, I didn't notice until I realized there was something wrong with that horse drawing. And I have zero doubt there's more. What's the old saying? Once is a mistake, twice is a habit? Seems like calolily's been on this habit for a while then.

I know some of you are going to brush this off as this not mattering because it's just stock images or that everyone traces, but the thing is, do you trace as noticeably as this? I don't think you do. And these are all someone's hard work they're passing off as their own, even the bondage ad, even the stock images, and I don't think that's right.

Where do we go from here? I have answers for two different groups of people.

For calolily's friends: Don't defend them. All of you are artists yourselves and surely none of you would do anything this blatant. If you still want to associate with calolily, then hold them accountable. Make sure they don't do this again. If you want to stop associating with them, then explain why. Don't be unnecessarily cruel, but be honest. If you were duped alongside the rest of us, post screenshots and get captures of any images you suspect are traced (because I know there are more) before calolily deletes them.

For calolily: Don't delete. Like I said, the internet is forever. Don't lie either. I know your favorite excuse is that you were an animator so you can draw from reference really fast, but does that explain the same shirt folds? The same finger positions? It doesn't. Instead, I recommend you come clean about all the pictures you traced and provide either links or pictures of them. Apologize to your fans. Apologize to the people you've hurt, because you've hurt a lot of them. Strive to do better.

Don't be a James Somerton.

And know this: if you try and hide this, know that it'll keep coming back. I think it'd be better to come clean now, don't you?

[comicaurora]

sorry if this is out of left field but you seem to have a lot of good insights on emotions and self awareness so i thought you might be a good person to ask. do you know if theres any good way to deal with jealousy? like, the genuine "other people having/getting certain things makes me want to explode" kind of jealousy that sits in your brain making you feel guilty. (feel free to delete this ask if ur not cool with it btw, i know this is a weird thing to ask a stranger on the internet)

Oogh, that's a tough one.

I think jealousy is a bit of a weird little funhouse mirror. In my experience, while it feels like it's about the lives and achievements of others, it's structurally based on you comparing yourself to them, or rather using them as a metric to judge yourself by. It circles back around to a matter of self esteem. The person you're feeling jealous of isn't the target of the feeling - you are.

Jealousy can feel very poisonous, because it can make you feel extremely negatively towards innocent people, making you feel like a bad person for feeling that way. But it's totally normal to feel negatively towards people who don't deserve any actual negativity - feelings and moods are shaped by a huge number of internal factors, and as long as you don't take them out on the people themselves, you feeling some kinda way doesn't in any way make you a bad person. It just means you're in distress, and it would benefit you to figure out how to mitigate that distress. I don't trust how I feel about slow walkers and loud chewers after a long and overstimulating day, and the Bite Risk feeling I experience when those situations overlap doesn't mean I'm a bad person, it just means I need a nap.

Like most emotions, jealousy has a function and a purpose it serves. I think it's to give you an idea of your goals. It can be deceptively difficult to know what you want, in both the short and the long term. Seeing someone else get something and thinking "oh, that's what I want" can be a valuable first step in pursuing something. You might envy someone's achievements because you yourself want to achieve something you're proud of; you might envy someone's likable personality because you want more, closer friends. It's a reflection of you, not really about them at all.

When a feeling of jealousy pops up, I think it can be good to unpick it and process what exactly you're feeling jealous of. That's going to be the important, actionable thing that you can start intentionally pursuing for yourself. Envy of someone's appearance might actually be wanting their active, exciting lifestyle that sounds fun and energizing, or it could be wanting their confidence, or their financial security that keeps them dressed so nicely. Envy of someone's success could be wanting to accomplish a similar great work, or it could be a desire for fame, or for the close friends they seem to have made in their journey, or anything else.

It's not bad to want things. The only thing wrong with jealousy is the undertone that you could take this thing from the person who has it. You can't; that's not how it works. But you can sate the hunger for yourself if you can find the path forward.

[myblogystuff]

Dark feather and purple…

I froze in shock. The raven I’ve been feeding for weeks didn’t just talk to me, did it?

I scanned my surroundings. No one else was there. I look back at it.

“Speak,” I say firmly.

“My lord,” the one I named Eddie, said with something human-like in his eyes. He had a scar where his beak met his skin, I always wondered what could be the origin of such a scar.

“A neighbor plots against you. The wealthy man and his shiny spouse–”

“Still feeding the birdies I see !” yelled my next door neighbor suddenly. His loudness startled my feathered friends, making them fly away towards the old tree in my backyard.

His name was Gabriel, he was the humblest of them. I wouldn’t go as far as to say he was my favorite neighbor, but at least he doesn’t bother me with : “your house doesn’t match the local aesthetic” or “It’s your fault we lost title of the most beautiful neighborhood.”

“These creatures are smarter than you might think, Gabe.” I say.

“Are they now ?” he answers, smiling.

“Oh yes ! You’d be surprised.”

“Right then, just remember to interact with humans too,” he shouts while walking away waving.

“Now, where’s the fun in that,” I say, half joking, half serious. It made him laugh anyway.

I turn my head toward the imposing tree, but my feathered friends are nowhere to be seen. 

“They’ll return to me tomorrow,” I whisper to myself.

My attempt at an ordinary day was a failure. Questions swirling in my head : why did he call me “My Lord” ? Why would they warn me ? Who are they talking about ? “His shiny spouse ?” Was the bird talking about Mrs. Christopher Peck, Brenda, or Mrs. Disco Ball as Martine used to call her.

My mind spirals as I think about these people, they are so superficial, so fake, and so condescending…. I felt myself get more and more irritated as I pictured them plotting to get rid of me while sitting in their newly renovated kitchen, with their designer furniture in their newly refurbished home that has shiny green lawns adorned with flowers imported from who knows where?!

My heart fills with hate as I remember clearly that they never liked us, Martine and I. We weren’t like them.

Bold of them to plot against me. Rage is pumping through my veins as I realize that, since the… since Martine, all I did was mind my own business, go to work and feed the ravens. I never asked anything from anyone. And yet they find the audacity to come to me, and speak ill of OUR house, the one I built with my beloved. Why ? Just so they can get a piece of paper and A PLASTIC TROPHY ?!

But now, it’s gone too far, I won’t let them get their way, I will strike first and hard. But first I need to get more details from my friends, tomorrow.

My digital clock reads 2:40 am. I cannot sleep. I cannot wait until tomorrow. I get out of my bed and look through my window. All the lights are out, this week, more aesthetic lampposts are being installed. How convenient, I think.

As if possessed, I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. My vision gets hazy, my head is spinning.

When the dizziness stops, I find myself near the front door, my hand gripping the large purple kitchen knife that Martine got when we moved in. It has always been her favorite color. I smile, remembering her telling me how she wanted the kitchenware to be different shades of purple. 

“Kill ‘em all, Rocky,” whispers a voice. It cannot be her…

My head turns towards the living room. My hands start shaking, my heart is pounding in my ears. She's here, sitting in her favorite armchair, smiling at me. Martine, light of my life. Anything for you, Queen of my heart.

Her image leaves my mind as the dizziness comes back, only a bit stronger this time. 

When I open my eyes, I am outside. Eddie and his friends are perched on my picket fence, the moonlight reflecting in their dark eyes. The sound of their wings fluttering, as they fly away, pierces through my brain and gives me a splitting headache. 

I open the door to our house, my heart light as a raven’s feather. My hand still gripping Martine’s purple kitchen knife, although this time it feels…slippery. My face too is wet, so is my shirt. As I look down, I understand: it is blood, not mine… I did it.

 I ignore the feeling as I rush to the living room to see my beloved.

“I did it, my love,” I yell. “I slit Mrs. Discoball’s throat open, Martine,” I add, laughing hysterically. 

“And her husband, I STABBED HIM ! AGAIN, AND AGAIN…” I kept repeating, out of breath, stabbing the air, as his lifeless face appears again between my eyes.

I turn to see Martine’s reaction, expecting her to congratulate me, but I am met with emptiness and silence. My eyes land on a purple cremation urn. Reality hits like a train and I fall to the ground.

Everything is black. I hear an echo, a voice that gets closer.

“He’s alive, he’s waking up !” 

I try to open my eyes, vision foggy. The voice speaks again.

“Don’t move ! Hands behind your head !”

“I… I…who…” I stutter as the surrounding silhouettes become clearer. Police officers !? What are they doing here ? Why are they handcuffing me ? 

“You are under arrest for the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Peck,” declares one of them.

“Murder?… no… it’s not…” I blink a few times, looking around me. My shirt is stained with blood. On my right is an officer putting Martine’s purple kitchen knife in an evidence bag. “No! Don’t take that ! She needs it,” I hear myself say. 

As they drag me out of our house, it all comes back: the ravens, the warning, the plotting, Martine. 

“I didn’t murder anyone, it was self-defense.” The officer holding my arm stopped walking. “Those rats were plotting my demise,” I add looking him in the eyes before explaining, “the ravens told me, they heard them speak and warned me.”

He looked at me as if I was speaking in tongues. A second man grabbed my other arm, and they started walking again.

I can’t let them take me away from her. I try to break free, but they are way stronger than me, so I decide to convince them.

“If you don’t believe me, ask them,” I plead, pointing my head toward the ravens feeding from yesterday’s crumbs. Their eyes were empty. “Speak ! Your lord commands it !”

Startled, they flew to the old tree. 

The officers push me inside the car, and it drives off. My eyes glued to our window, where she used to wave at me every morning when I left for work.

Epilogue

“What happened here ?!” Gabriel asked Mrs. Shirley.

He was on his way back from a night shift when he saw a police car leaving his neighbor's home. 

Looking around the neighborhood, he noticed the police tape surrounding the peck house.

Mrs. Shirley decided to stay safely tucked behind her picket fence. Eyes glued to the Peck residence, she was holding her newspaper as if her life depended on it.

With a voice laced in sadness, she explained: “I guess he finally snapped, the police said he infiltrated the pecks' home during the night and that he….” she gripped the newspaper even tighter. “Oh lord, If you'd seen the way he screamed at those damn ravens.”

“Why the pecks?” said Gabriel, more to himself than to Mrs. Shirley. Still she answers.

“No idea. Poor guys, they'd even collected money to help him renovate his house.” Turning to the nurse, she explained that: “when I was over last week for a coffee, Brenda confided in me that what they truly wanted was to get him out of the isolation he's inflicted on himself since Martine.”

“I truly believed he could’ve gotten better. But I guess you never know what’s on a person’s mind.”

You always got strange looks whenever you fed the neighborhood ravens. “I give them food, they give me company,” you’d say. One day, a raven excitedly comes up to you and whispers, “A neighbor plots against you, my lord.”

[dexxtrosee]

In the middle of the night

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

TW: mentions of canon violent mass event, panic attack.

He doesn’t talk to you about it.

Days pass and pass, and then they turn into weeks. More patients come, more patients die, more patients live. Jake doesn’t talk to him, Leah's parents invite him to the funeral. Still, he doesn’t tell you about any of it, aside from shaking his head when you ask when Jake's coming over again. It was on the news, he's not stupid enough to think you have no clue about what he went through, you just don't know how bad it was.

You don’t know any of it from his own mouth, and still, it bothers him when you don’t seem even slightly surprised every time he wakes you up with his nightmares and his crying. You just let him hide his face on your neck, let him clutch your body against his while the sobs wreck him. You push his hair back, kiss his forehead, wait until he's calm enough to manhandle him back to lying down. He falls asleep to your fingers tracing the lines of his face more often than not.

One particularly bad night, he manages to wake himself up in silence, petrified. You don’t seem to notice at first, breath soft and slow, still sleeping. He can’t move, can’t make a single sound. His chest feels tight, his head is drowning in screams and sobs and people telling him he's not good enough.

The bed feels too soft, his shirt is choking him. Why couldn't he save them? Why is he even fucking trying? Fuck, he can't breathe. Adamson died on his watch, he made him suffer through a horrible, long death because he couldn't let go. And everyone had to watch him do it again with Leah, cling to an impossible task while docens of people needed him and she was already fucking dead. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck-

"Robby. Hey, Robby, look at me. Open your eyes love, come on."

Your voice makes him jump. He realizes for the first time he's hyperventilating now, squeezing his eyes shut.

God, he feels pathetic for putting you through this again and again. You're gonna end up leaving him, he's sure. He's too much and too little at the same time, more baggage than man. He can’t keep doing this to you, he can't, he can't he can't-

"Robby, open your eyes."

He feels you grab his arms and pull him into a sitting position. His entire body breaks into shivers, his heart trying its best to burst out of his chest.

"Robby, open your eyes."

When he finally does, he doesn’t like the concern plastered over your features. He pushes you away slightly, bending to the side.

"I-I think I'm gonna be sick."

You don’t seem to listen to him, instead jumping over the blankets until you're kneeling by his side. You push his head back with the heel of your hand, and he closes his eyes again. He doesn’t think he can handle your worry right now.

A balloon stretches inside his throat. His hands fly to clutch at his neck, but your hand grips them both and pushes them down until they're pressed against his legs. You're seeing right through him, right into all the things he's tried hiding from you ever since he met you.

He doesn’t want it to reach you.

"Robby, I think my lip is bleeding. Can you take a look at it?"

Your question freezes him on the spot. Did he accidentally hit you? Oh fuck, fuck-

"I bit my lip too hard earlier today, I was sewing up my green sweater and got lost in my head. It's the one you gave me, remember? The knitted one."

Robby frowns, squeezing your hand tighter. The green one? The one he got in Philly after your third date?

"The one you say feels too rough unles you're wearing it."

Ah, Robby remembers that one. It felt itchy, he asked about it when he gave it to you and you put it on right there. Then you had shaken your head and smiled, telling him it was softer on the inside.

"Open your eyes, babe."

Slowly, he does. You're bent in front of him, and there's a small speck of blood close to the edge of your mouth.

He raises his hand, cleaning it up with shaky fingers. It doesn’t really help, just spreads it over your lower lip and paints it a faint red. It makes him chuckle, but the sound resembles an animal in agony.

Out of nowhere, he feels something cold and metallic press against his neck. He gasps, unintentionally pulling you closer.

You let him. You shuffle closer until you're kneeling between his legs, and he wraps his arms around you. His face is wet, his entire body feels weak, made of paper.

"Where did you even get that sweater from? You may need to buy me a new one if I can’t save this one."

It was a local, old shop. The owner was an older man, running the store on his own, if he had to guess. Full of old furniture, the kind that lasts generations.

"I-I can try and h-help you mend it."

Your chest shakes slightly against his, laughing. He buries his head on your shoulder. "Sure you can, doc."

Minutes pass. Your hand tangles inside his hair, the other caressing his back up and down. Your warmth seeps into his clothes, his body, relaxing it until he feels he can barely stay upright.

You kiss his cheek, his temble, his shoulder. He can’t really help it when he bursts into tears.

"Take a deep breath, it’s okay. I'm right here."

His sobs rock the entire bed. He wishes he could hug you close enough to merge his soul with yours.

"It's okay love, you can let it out."

In the middle of the night, with the other half of his soul wrapped around his, he finally does.

[clouji]

Don't get high with Hamzah. He will strip you naked.

+ hamzah x reader, smoking weed, drinking, making out, fwb

💟

“Y/N why is this couch shaped like a L but feels like a circle?”Martin laughs as he sits across two pillows, a beer in one hand and his socks half-off.

Hamzah breathes from the opposite end, a vape pen attached to his fingertips. “That's how you know it's a good living room. Everyone ends up touching their knees, no matter they like it or not.”

You laughed, sitting crossed legs on the floor, back against the couch, sipping just juice with a splash of vodka. Claire texting between sips of her drink. Mandy is next to her, wrapped up with Martin like a cat.

And of course, Chase is in the kitchen arguing with the air fryer.

“I'm still laughing about what Hamzah and I did few days ago,” Martin says, chuckling.

Mandy answers. “What happened?.”

Hamzah just grins, eyes low. He already knows where this is going.

Martin jabs a finger toward him. “All I gotta say is, Don't get high with Hamzah. He will strip you naked.”

Everyone laughs.

Even Claire drops her phone. “I knew something happened!”

“Bro you're making it sound weird,” Hamzah says, without even denying it.

“It's not my fault people like Martin can't handle my aura.”

You keep your face blank. Sips your drink.

You shouldn't be thinking on what happened that night. Or every other night. Or the times it didn’t even need weed. Just one look, a single touch of his hand when no one was looking.

Martin’s still talking. Something about how he ended up in just his boxers watching Love Island with Mandy at 2am. Everyone’s laughing.

Except you.

And Hamzah.

You saw him staring at you. Quick and subtle.

You already know.

⏭️

Everyone's about to leave. Claire and Mandy saying their goodbyes to the cats. Martin drags Chase out of the kitchen, still mid-rant about his overcooked fries. Hamzah stayed like he's just the helpful friend staying to clean up.

Which he is...... kind of.

Hamzah throws a pillow back onto the couch and kicks his feet up as if the party had never stopped.

“Wanna see something crazy?” he says.

You raise a brow. “If that's some stupid shit Hamzah, You're leaving.”

He smiled, reaching something on his pocket and pulling out a half-used joint in a crusty Altoids tin. "Look what Martin and I didn't finish."

You laugh. “So you just have it with you the whole time and didn't say anything?.”

“But I wanted to smoke with you,” he says, “so let's finish it.”

You roll your eyes, but take a hit when he hands it to you. The smoke is nice and warm, quickly taking into your body. He's already leaning back and exhaling like if it's some kind of spiritual experience.

“You really stripped that man on 4/20?” you ask, laughing.

Hamzah chuckles. “He said he was hot. I said prove it."

“Dumbass.”

He smiles at you, lazy. “You scared I’ll try it on you?”

You start to cough a little. "I am not scared. You'd have to earn it."

“Oh word?” he says, puts down the joint into a nearby cup.

And then he moves closer.

Not too much. Just enough for his legs to press against yours. One hand casually holds over your shoulder, fingers brushing your collarbone like it’s an accident. It’s not.

“Prove it,” you say.

He leans in slowly, as if everything is still a joke. But when his lips meet yours warm and slow—it feels like a stab to your chest.

The kiss starts soft.

It doesn't stay that way.

Your legs twitch. His hand slips gently to your waist. You pull off his hoodie, and he smiles gently against your mouth.

“Still not scared?” he murmurs, lips brushing your mandible.

“Shut up,” you responded back, grabbing him again.

His hoodie slips off. Yours comes next. Nothing special. You already know how this works. He throws your shirt off. The tips of his fingers trace the border of your waistband

The smoke still swirls in the air. Everything still smells like weed, perfume, and snacks.

His mouth meets yours again. Impatient. A bit familiar.

This is how it has always been–hot, hungry, and temporary.

Nobody knows about this.

And that is the fun of it.

💟

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of the one where Simon lets you move into a room in his house You tell Simon that you have at least a few weeks before you need to move out of your apartment and into his spare room, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time. The day after he offers to let you move in, he goes shopping, and the next few days are spent putting everything together. The bed, the dresser, two matching nightstands, some shelves — he makes sure everything is solid and sturdy for you, and he hopes you wouldn't notice how new it all is.

He cleans, too, every inch of the place. He's not a particularly messy man, but he'd bought the small two-bedroom house years ago, and he's not one for company. So he goes over everything, and he does what he can to make sure that his home is a good place for you, from the small stepstool he buys and sticks in the corner of the kitchen to the way he organizes his shaving supplies in the bathroom so you can have half the limited counterspace.

When you tell him you're ready, he brings his truck to the bar to pick up you and your things, and his heart aches, just a little, when he sees that all you have is a couple of bags slung over your shoulder. Without a word, he takes them from you and carries them out, and he tries to shrug off the slight disappointment he feels when you open the passenger door before he can do it for you.

"It's not much," he tells you on the short drive back. "Two bedrooms, just the one bathroom. I'm gone a lot. Stay as long as you like."

"What do you think for rent?" you ask. "I've got a little bit saved, and I can —"

"I meant what I said, love. There's no rush."

He hops out quickly after he pulls into the driveway, opening your door for you this time. He takes your bags and carries them in and into the room that's now yours, setting them carefully on the floor before turning to you, sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a key.

"Same one for both doors," he says. "Not much in the kitchen, but help yourself to anything you like. And let me know if you need anything at all."

The first few days, you don't see each other much. He stays in his room more than usual, not wanting to crowd you or make you feel uncomfortable. You pick up an extra shift at the bar, trying to make that rent he keeps telling you not to worry about.

One night during that first week, he comes home late from the gym, and he's pleasantly surprised to see you sitting in the living room, watching tv and having a snack.

"Oh, sorry," you say immediately when you hear the door open, like you'd done something wrong.

He smiles, just a bit, and nods for the couch, wanting you to be comfortable — maybe liking the idea of you warm and cozy in his space a little too much.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart," he says, stepping closer.

You nod, and slowly sit back down, but on the edge of the cushion now, tense.

He doesn't care for it.

"What's on?" he asks.

"Oh, just this show I watch sometimes. It's a dumb reality thing ... I can check it out on my phone later."

You minimize yourself constantly, he's noticed that for a while now, but it's never been so clear as it is now, with you perched on his couch like you're waiting to run for cover. He still doesn't know your story, but in the moment, he'd love nothing more than to find whatever or whoever it was that put this innate fear in you and destroy it.

It's a war in him, a fight between keeping to himself and wanting you not to do the same. This particular battle is decided when he takes a seat on the other end of the couch and forces himself to tear his eyes away from you to look at the tv.

"Tell me about it."

You do. Nervously at first, but you slowly relax. He gives a small, satisfied smile when you scoot back to sit on the couch more comfortably and start to speak more freely, and he fights back a wider one when he really takes you in, bare feet and a loose t-shirt, lounging around at home. His home.

Yours too, now.

After that night, things get a little easier. You don’t sequester yourself in your room, and he warms up to you a bit more. It starts feeling natural, having you in his space. You fall into a rhythm.

Nearly a month in, he comes home one day to find you in the living room, pulling on your shoes, and he asks you where you're headed.

"We're headed to get some groceries," you tell him.

The directness is new, but certainly not unwelcome, and he follows behind you gladly as you lead the way to the store.

Grocery shopping with you makes him feel like a kid again, but one who had someone to dote on him. You walk by the produce, asking him carefully what he likes. What's his favorite kind of apple? What kind of berry does he prefer?

At one point, you actually tell him, "Simon, you have to get some vegetables," and he can't help but laugh at how you stare up at him pointedly, like he's supposed to know he's worth being cared for.

"What's your favorite dinner?" you ask him as you walk through the aisles, carefully scanning for prices before you put things in the cart.

"Don't know," he mutters. "Never really thought about it."

It's true, sort of. He eats, of course, and he has preferences, but it's never really been something to take pleasure in. There's never been some meal he craves, or some kind of food tied to a good memory. He mostly just wants to see if you'll say his name again.

But then he thinks for another beat and starts walking.

He puts a can of beans into the cart, then goes to another aisle and gets a loaf of bread. He doesn't say anything, but you nod and smile at him.

After you buy the groceries -- more specifically, after he buys the groceries, using his body to block the card reader while you laugh and try to wrestle your way around him to pay yourself -- you walk back home. He sets the bags on the counter, and together you put up all your purchases, but he notices you leave out the things he'd picked out.

"Hungry?"

"Generally."

Simon watches, arms crossed, as you heat the beans in a saucepan you'd pulled from under the stove. He doesn't move when you stand close to get to the toaster, and he watches your throat as you swallow when your arm brushes against his to put the bread in.

"You know, I would have made you anything," you tell him as you wait for the toast. "And this is what you picked?"

"Just had it a lot when I was a kid," he mutters, not offering more.

With the look you give him, a glance that's quick but still penetrates, he knows you understand the reluctance to get into the details. It's not the easiest thing to explain, how one can find comfort in the soft lulls of a tragedy. How oddly soothing it can feel to remember any bit of kindness from hands that ripped you apart.

You give him a plate first. Beans on toast, straight from his childhood. He takes a bite and nods, appreciative, and you grin.

A few bites later, you reach your hand up and swipe off a bit of food from the corner of his mouth, and seemingly without thinking, you lick it from your finger. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer, then sets his plate down.

Simon moves slowly, agonizingly so, giving you every chance to stop him. He puts his hands on your waist first, high and respectable, and when you just look at him, waiting, he drops them to your hips.

"This ok?" he asks, and when you nod, he dips his hands lower, over your thighs and to the back of them, lifting you up and dropping you on the counter.

"You didn't have to make me dinner, love," he says softly, working his body just slightly between your knees.

"You don't want me to pay any rent either," you tell him. "I can't just stay here for nothing."

The idea of you bringing nothing to this arrangement is laughable, but he keeps a straight face. He studies you, every fleck of color in your eyes and every line in your skin, maybe too intensely, but you just sit there, and you let him.

"You can tell me to stop," he finally says. "Won't be offended."

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, he brings his lips to your cheek, placing a gentle kiss there, then plants one on your jaw. When you still don't object, and even lift your hands to grasp onto his shoulders, he kisses your mouth.

He doesn't want to rush this, and he doesn't want to ask for something more than you want to give. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him, but the idea of kissing you like this has been loud and persistent in his mind for longer than he cares to admit. He tries to bridge the two thoughts with his carefulness, but when he feels you start to kiss him back, he snaps.

Not visibly -- he doesn't shove his tongue down your throat or grope you with rough hands. That's not how Simon loses control. For him, snapping is internal. It's in realizing how good you feel in his arms and letting himself feel the weight of that.

He's not sure if it's the dinner you made him or something more innate, but when he kisses you, you taste like home.

In the moment, he can admit that to himself. But he's not ready for you to know. Not yet, anyway.

[woniedarlin]

Shared Custody

Pairing: Ex! Jungwon x reader

Synopsis: Breaking up with Jungwon was one thing. But agreeing to co-parent a dog afterward? That was how you ended up in the weirdest post-breakup situation ever. Because what kind of exes still see each other at precisely 10 a.m?

You broke up. You’re sure of it. So why does it feel like your relationship never ended? Just… got a schedule and a leash?

Author's note: Another fic has been sitting in the drafts for too long. I finally decided to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!

Warnings: This story contains equal parts fluff and angst, with a dash of unresolved feelings, awkward ex moments, and a dog that might steal the spotlight. Reader discretion is advised! 🐾

Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

Here’s the thing no one tells you about breakups:

When you two bought a dog together while you were still dating, breaking up isn’t just about parting ways with a person. You get partial custody of an emotional support furball with no idea why mom and dad stopped living together. The breakup was mutual. There was no shouting, no ugly crying, no one storming out at 2 a.m. with a suitcase and a dramatic one-liner.

It was a quiet and tired conversation on the couch. Some nods. A few long silences. And Maeumi, curled up between you, unaware that his life was about to get complicated.

You probably should’ve fought over him. Or at least discussed like rational adults. Instead, you both just… didn’t let go. Now, you set schedules like divorced parents. Only with more awkward small talk and a lot of pretending it’s totally normal to see your ex every other day at exactly 10:00 a.m.

It started with meetups. Hand off the leash, say a polite hello, smile as if it doesn’t sting anymore. Then it became coffee afterwards. Then breakfast “because he looks hungry and I’m already here anyway.”

Then, last weekend, Maeumi ate an entire bag of chips and got sick all over Jungwon’s living room, which somehow led to you arguing about brand-name kibble.

“You were the one who said he needed variety!”

“Variety doesn’t mean junk food!”

“They were organic!”

“He threw up on my socks, (name).”

And you’re not proud of it, but you laughed. A little too hard. Then Jungwon laughed, and it felt like nothing had changed for a moment.

But everything had.

Now, you’re waiting for Jungwon in the usual meeting spot, Maeumi’s leash wrapped loosely around your wrist as he trots in excited little circles. Jungwon’s late. Not by much, just five minutes. Enough to make you wonder if he’s okay. Enough to make you check your phone. He shows up a minute later, hair a bit messy, holding two coffees. “Sorry,” he says. “I stopped by that place you like. The one with the stupid tiny straws.”

You take the cup without a word.

Maeumi barks, happy as ever, tail wagging because it was the best part of his week. Seeing his divorced parents together! ૮ ˶ˆ ﻌ ˆ˶ ა

“Did he eat?” Jungwon asks.

You replied. “Yeah. But he thinks spinning in a circle gets him more food now.”

Jungwon sighs. “You didn’t.”

You shrug. “It was funny. He almost knocked over my lamp trying it this morning.”

There was a slight pause before, “He seemed to miss you a lot when he was with me last week. A good thing he has spent with you these past few days.” Jungwon says, nudging Maeumi’s head.

You nod, eyes on your coffee cup. “I missed him too.”

You’re not sure which of them you’re talking about.

🍎

Maeumi planted his butt on the floor and refused to move. You tugged the leash gently. “Come on, it’s Dad’s turn.” Maeumi looked at you. Then looked at Jungwon. Then flopped onto his side. You sighed. “He’s being a brat again.”

Jungwon crouched beside you, holding out a treat from his pocket. “Maeumi, let’s not do this today.”

Maeumi sniffed the treat, stood up halfway, then turned around and pressed himself against your leg.

You and Jungwon exchanged a look.

“I think he’s made his choice,” you said.

“It’s not even a choice. It’s supposed to be my weekend.”

“You tell him that.”

Jungwon sighed and looked down at Maeumi, who was now rolling over, belly up, smug as ever. “You’re a traitor. You know that?”

Maeumi sneezed in response.

Eventually, after five minutes of bargaining and light bribery, Jungwon stepped inside your apartment to get him moving. One minute turned into five. Then ten. Now you were both sitting on the couch, a lukewarm mug of tea in his hands, Maeumi curled between you like a peace treaty in dog form. “You know,” you said, watching as Maeumi kicked his leg in his sleep, “he wasn’t like this when we first got him.”

“Nope,” Jungwon muttered. “He used to listen to me. Now he acts like he pays rent.”

“That’s your influence.”

He shot you a look. “My influence? You’re the one who started giving him tiny portions of your dinner because he’s a spoiled prince.”

You shrugged and grinned. “He deserves nice things.”

“He eats better than me.”

Jungwon glanced at you for too long, then looked away and sipped his tea.

You didn’t notice.

Well, yeah, you did, but you were pretending not to.

Jungwon leaned back a little. Then he looked toward the kitchen. And then he saw it. The mug. The one he bought for your birthday two years ago. You loved it to the point that you used it daily while you two were still dating. He nodded toward the cupboard. “Didn’t think you still had that.”

You glanced over. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else, but his eyes stayed on it. That dumb, ceramic memory sitting there as if it had every right to exist in a post-breakup world.

You added, “It’s a good mug.”

Jungwon barely smiled. “Yeah. Real high quality.”

You didn’t reply.

He looked back at Maeumi, who was still fast asleep between you, snoring lightly. “I keep one of your spoons in my drawer,” Jungwon said suddenly.

Your head turned. “What?”

“You left it after that one trip. The one where we bought those instant noodles that tasted like cardboard.”

“Oh. Right.” You stared ahead. “That was a good weekend.”

“It rained.”

“I like rain.”

You both nodded and pretended the conversation didn’t sting a little.

Maeumi snored louder as if he were trying to cover the silence.

🍎

Your phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m.

You were half-asleep. Maeumi had gone home with Jungwon hours ago, but the apartment still felt…full.

You grabbed your phone.

Jungwon [11:42 PM]

Thanks for taking care of him this week. He seemed extra happy. When he saw you, his tail wagged about ten times per second.

You smiled without meaning to, your thumb hovering over the keyboard to send a quick "anytime" or maybe a "he missed you too."

But another message came in before you could type.

Jungwon [11:43 PM]

You’re still the easiest person to talk to.

You stared at the screen.

You didn’t know what to say. Or perhaps you did, and that was the problem.

So you… didn’t reply.

🍎

Jungwon sat on the curb's edge, nursing a canned coffee. Sunghoon was sipping from his drink, watching him spiral in silence. “I’m losing it,” Jungwon finally said. “She still knows how I take my coffee. Didn’t even ask.”

Sunghoon glanced over. “She made it the same way she used to? Back when you two were together?”

Jungwon nodded slowly. “Exactly like that.”

“And you’re upset because…?”

“I don’t know,” Jungwon shaked his head. “She laughs at my jokes the same way. She still says ‘bless you’ when I fake sneeze for attention. And today, I saw the mug I got for her birthday two years ago, sitting in her cupboard like it never left.”

“Maybe it’s just a good mug?” Sunghoon offered.

Jungwon stared at him. “That mug has a whale on it saying ‘whale you be mine.’ It wasn’t just a mug.”

Sunghoon choked on his drink and wiped his mouth. “Okay, yeah, that’s tragic.”

“And she still wears my hoodie,” Jungwon added. “She likes that hoodie.”

Sunghoon crossed his arms. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna ask for the hoodie back and confess your undying love in the same breath?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I was over her. I thought we were fine being exes who raise a dog together.” Jungwon let out a long sigh and tilted his head back. “I don’t know when it started feeling like this again.”

Sunghoon crumpled his empty drink can and tossed it into the bin beside them. “You mean the part where you show up with her favorite foods, sit on her couch like you never left, and keep pretending Maeumi’s the only reason you’re still hanging around?”

Jungwon looked at Sunghoon. “…Okay, rude. But not wrong.”

“Exactly. Look, man.” Sunghoon turned to face him fully now. “You two broke up. Sure. But you’re still texting her late at night, still wearing the cologne she once said smelled nice, and still looking at her like she’s the only person in the room.”

Jungwon groaned. “She’s just being nice. She always was.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “No one’s that nice, bro. She has your hoodie. She made you pancakes last week. You said she cut the strawberries the way you like them.”

“She always cuts the ends-”

“Exactly.” Sunghoon gave him a look. “At this point, you’re not just co-parenting a dog. You’re toeing the line of a romcom reboot.” He added, “Seriously, who even does this? Shared custody over a dog? With your ex? This is the weirdest post-breakup dynamic I’ve ever seen.”

Jungwon didn’t even deny it. He muttered, “…Yeah, but it’s kind of working.”

Sunghoon nodded solemnly. “You’re doomed.”

Jungwon groaned. “I think I’m accidentally falling in love with her again.”

“No such thing as accidental. You just never stopped.”

🍎

Maeumi wasn’t himself. You noticed it the moment he refused his dinner. He moved slowly, dragging his paws across the floor, and his eyes looked distant. Something was off. He usually had a healthy appetite, but tonight, nothing. You knelt beside him, gently rubbing his back. “Hey, Maeumi, what’s going on?”

He let out a weak whimper. Panic rose in your chest. You didn’t know what was wrong but knew you needed help. You grabbed your phone without thinking.

Jungwon picked up almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” His voice was concerned, even though he wasn’t sure what was happening.

“Maeumi’s sick. He won’t eat, he’s not moving much… I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Don’t worry. I’m coming over.”

It didn’t take long for him to arrive, his face tense as he crouched down to Maeumi’s level. The dog barely acknowledged him, enough to make you both nervous. “We should take him to the vet,” Jungwon said after a moment.

You nodded, already on the phone, setting up an appointment. The drive was tense, your hand gripping the door handle while Jungwon kept one hand on the wheel, his eyes between you and Maeumi.

When you finally arrived at the clinic, it was quiet. You and Jungwon waited in the sterile, cold waiting room. Maeumi was lying on your lap, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. You rubbed his head absentmindedly, trying to calm yourself. “He’s going to be okay,” Jungwon said quietly, glancing over at you.

You nodded but didn’t answer. He touched his hand lightly near yours as he reached for the water cup beside you, and for a fleeting second, you felt his warmth. You looked at him, but his gaze was somewhere else, not meeting yours.

For a brief moment, you wondered if he missed this. If he missed you. But before you could even entertain the thought, the door to the exam room opened, and the vet emerged, pulling your focus back to Maeumi. Jungwon stood up. “He’ll be fine,” he said.

And you weren’t sure what to make of it, but for the first time since your breakup, you couldn’t ignore how much it stung to see him so close yet still so distant.

🍎

By the time you and Jungwon returned from the vet, Maeumi was already dozing off on the couch, wrapped in an old blanket and looking much more himself. The panic had eased. You stood by the kitchen, hands on the counter, watching Jungwon kneel to check Maeumi. You glanced at the time. “It’s late. You should eat before you head back.”

Jungwon looked up. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I was gonna cook anyway,” you said, opening the fridge. “Don’t expect a five-course meal, though.”

“I never did,” he said, smiling as he joined you in the kitchen. “You still burn rice, don’t you?”

You gave him a light shove with your elbow. “That happened once. And the pot betrayed me.”

Then, he washed the vegetables while you stirred the soup. It was annoyingly comfortable.

By the time dinner was done, the table was set. Jungwon set down the last dish and glanced over at you. “This… feels like we never broke up,”

You froze. Then, you replied, “We never used to have this much garlic.”

He huffed a small laugh but didn’t push it. And for the rest of dinner, neither of you brought it up again.

🍎

The dishes were washed. The leftovers are packed. Maeumi, finally feeling a bit better, had claimed his usual spot at the foot of your couch, tail thumping gently as he dozed. You stood near the sink, drying your hands on a dish towel, when Jungwon spoke from behind you. “I didn’t just miss Maeumi, you know.”

“I miss…” He let out a soft breath. “I miss all of it.”

“Do you still think about us?” he asked.

The silence was deafening. You felt him watching your back, waiting. And if the room had stayed that quiet a second longer, you would’ve said something honest. But Maeumi barked as if he’d sensed the tension rising and decided to cut it clean. You both jumped slightly. You turned with a light laugh, avoiding his gaze. “I think someone needs his water refilled.”

Jungwon didn’t press. He nodded before crouching to check Maeumi’s bowl.

Neither of you said anything else.

But the question stayed.

🍎

It happens on a night that should’ve been uneventful. A regular handoff. Maeumi is snoozing on your carpet, belly full. Jungwon’s quiet tonight. You notice it right away, but you pretend not to. You handed over Maeumi’s leash, but he didn’t take it. “You still have my hoodie,” he says.

You glance up. “What?”

He gestures vaguely toward the coat rack. “The gray one. I saw it last week. You used to sleep in it.”

You shrug. “It’s comfortable.”

His jaw tightens, but he laughs a little. “Everything I gave you is ‘comfortable,’ huh?”

You don’t answer.

“I saw your story the other day,” he adds. “Looked like a date.”

Now, you furrow your eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Jungwon runs a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

“No,” you say. “You brought it up. So say it.”

“It’s confusing. For one moment, we laughed as if nothing had changed. Then, in the next instant, I remember how you used to fall asleep on my chest or steal all the blankets.” His voice wavers for a moment, but he pushes on. “I just can’t tell if I’m the only one stuck in the past or you’re better at pretending.”

You hesitate, then quietly. “I wish I could say I moved on, but I haven't.”

Jungwon’s shoulders drop a little. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?”

He looks down. “Because you looked like you were doing okay. And I didn’t want to make it harder if you were healing.”

“I wasn’t okay,” you say softly. “I’m still not.”

Jungwon lifts his head, his eyes locking with yours. “Neither am I.”

“I miss you,” he says. “Not just Maeumi. Not just Saturday mornings. I miss… talking to you. I miss knowing how you’re doing without having to ask.”

You look away. “Then why are we doing this?” you whisper. “Why are we acting like we’re fine?”

He lets out a breath. “Because maybe we don’t know how to be anything else.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He says, more gently this time, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start an argument.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t.”

He bends down and clips the leash onto Maeumi’s collar. The dog wags his tail, clueless, happy just to be loved by both of you. Jungwon straightens up but doesn’t turn to leave right away. He looks around your apartment. His eyes land briefly on the hoodie by the coat rack, then the familiar mug on your kitchen shelf.

“I still love you,” he says suddenly.

You freeze.

“I didn’t think I should say it. I didn’t want to make this harder. I thought… maybe it’d get easier if I stopped talking about it. But it didn’t.”

He’s not asking for anything. Not a hug. Not a kiss. Not to come back. He was standing there with his hand gently resting on Maeumi’s back because it kept him from breaking. “You laughed at one of my jokes last week,” he says softly. “And for a second, I forgot we weren’t together anymore. That’s how easy it is to fall back into you.”

You swallow hard. But he keeps going.

“I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. Or corner you. I just needed you to know. It wasn’t because I stopped feeling everything when we broke up. I was scared. And tired. And maybe I thought it’d hurt less if we ended it on our terms.”

He finally looks at you. “But it still hurts.”

Maeumi lets out a soft bark. Jungwon reaches down and scratches behind his ears; for a second, it’s just the sound of his hand brushing fur. Then he straightens again, but now you notice his eyes are a bit glassy. “I’ll take him tonight. I’ll text you tomorrow. If you need anything, or if… you want to talk more, I’m one call away.”

You nod. Slowly. You can’t get your voice to work. But your eyes say enough.

Jungwon opens the door and glances back just once. “Goodnight,” he says.

And then they’re gone.

🍎

Jungwon sits on the edge of his bed, hair slightly damp from a rushed shower. Maeumi is curled beside him, his head resting on his paw, and his eyes blinking up at him as if he understands more than a dog ever should. Jungwon takes a small breath and runs a hand through Maeumi’s fur. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” he mutters. “I didn’t yell.”

Maeumi blinks again.

“Okay,” Jungwon sighed, leaning back a little, “I maybe said too much.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Maeumi,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “She just looked at me like I was someone from a different life. That sucked.’’ Jungwon glances down and smiles sadly. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “Mommy and Daddy were just having a little disagreement.”

He lays back on the bed. “I’ll bring her back,” he whispers. “I swear, Maeumi. I’ll bring your mom back to me.”

Maeumi lets out a soft woof.

🍎

The rain had been pouring since morning. You didn’t expect anyone when the doorbell rang, especially not Jungwon. But there he was. Standing at your doorway, drenched from head to toe, Maeumi dripped beside him and looked more like a soggy mop than a dog. “Uh,” Jungwon offered sheepishly. “He refused to walk anywhere else.”

You said in disbelief. “You could’ve called.”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

You step aside. “Come in before Maeumi gets mistaken for a wet sock.”

Towels came out. You wrapped one around Maeumi, rubbing his fur as he wagged his tail. Jungwon was quieter. You handed him a dry hoodie from your closet, which was his, actually. It still smelled like him, though it had sat folded for months.

He changed. You made tea. He sat across you on the couch, rubbing Maeumi’s ears absently. “I’ve been thinking,” Jungwon started, voice gentle. “We weren’t ready back then. But maybe now…”

You looked at him, guarded. “I’ve changed,” he continued. “You have too. And I don’t just mean getting better at feeding Maeumi actual food.” You smiled a little. He took it as permission. “I guess I want to say I’m sorry. For everything I didn’t say before. For not knowing how to stay when things got hard.”

You met his gaze. “I’m sorry, too. For pushing you away when I didn’t know what I needed.”

“Do you think Maeumi would be okay if we lived together again?” Jungwon asked suddenly, eyes hopeful.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking for the dog or for you?”

A sheepish smile curved his lips. “Both.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned into his shoulder, your head resting there like it used to. “Maybe we could try again,” you said quietly. “For real this time.”

Jungwon’s hand found yours.

Maeumi snored at your feet.

And outside, the rain kept falling, washing everything clean.

[alientitty]

gofundme literally refunds donations to campaigns found to be scams and is constantly halting the fundraisers of actual people trying to escape, which you can see constantly from the bloggers on this site organizing to help the real prople they are in contact with. (pretty sure several of the campaigns mentioned here have been vetted and verified as well...) why are people using the same stock phrasing? because they dont know english well and are trying to copy what works! tons of verified fundraising blogs are constantly being deactivated and people not used to this site or language are trying to get the word out however they can. people have multiple blogs for themselves or multiple family members, etc..

i also find it an interesting choice to generalize here about simply the practice of copying wording and sending anons rather than giving evidence for specific scams AND pointing out examples of LEGITIMATE fundraisers which ARE ON THIS SITE. the last time rhetoric like this was spreading it was absolutely disastrous for palestinians and their supporters on here and i think it's irresponsible at best to post like this.

are you really so protective over the possibility of losing $10 here and there that you'd hurt the chances of someone facing genocide?? other people in the notes are chomping at the bit to say no one online can actually be from gaza as though people are not fighting and struggling for internet access to survive while the world sits and watches them die

it can be overwhelming because so many people need help, so im not saying you're morally obligated to answer every ask you get (some people choose to help just one oe a few or hey you can ignore all the posts and messages if you want!), or that there aren't people trying to take advantage of your generosity, but saying that everyone using the same phrases is scamming??? when it's a bunch of people for whom english is not their first language and they don't know the etiquette of this site? god forbid you're ever facing genocide and have to rely on the sympathy of callous strangers to survive constant bombings

I miss when I would get Tumblr asks that actually said things and weren't just digital panhandling scams.

[madebycloud]

Off The Script

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: the scene is all going perfectly—until jinx decides to go... a little bit off script. warnings/themes: fluff, actors au, super ultra mega bff premium, friends to ???, practice kissing, making out, everything is casual....? words: 2.1k

You've known her for a few years already, and you're comfortable around her. You haven't known Jinx to be particularly shy, let alone shy about physical contact. But this isn't just physical contact like pats on the back, or hugs, or even her clinging to your arm during group hangouts... this is a kissing scene.

You can hear the director of the movie calling everyone to their places while you skim over the same words on the script, over and over again.

Across from you, Jinx's lips glisten from the fresh coat of lip gloss, and she puckers out her lips to check her makeup.

Five days ago, you remember how she came up to you and suggested that you two should practice the kiss. 

It was just an impromptu suggestion. It came out of nowhere.

—

FIVE DAYS AGO

“I just need to get used to the feeling. If I'm going to kiss you for the movie, shouldn't I get some practice in?”

She's sitting on your couch and looking down at her phone, not even looking up as she suggests you kiss together.

“...so that it's not as awkward, you know?” she continues. “We're going to be kissing on screen, and I can't have it look too awkward.”

Even though you've known her for years, the suggestion still surprises you. “You do realize how weird that sounds?”

Jinx groans and rolls her eyes, finally peering up from her phone to give you a look. “Come on. It's not that weird.”

“It is weird. Very weird,” you insist adamantly.

She huffs, setting her phone down on the coffee table. “I can't exactly practice with the other cast members, can I?” she points out. “And I doubt the cast members would be comfortable with kissing an actress they've hardly known for a few days, so…”

You shake your head in disbelief. What have you done to deserve this? Then again... it can't hurt to practice the scene. It's not like it means anything.

“Fine, for the sake of the film.”

She smirks and then turns her body to face you, shifting on the couch, and you mimic her, moving to face her.

This is fine, it's just for practice... and yet, your heart is responding as if this actually matters.

Jinx's lips part, and she whispers, “Come here.”

You comply and lean forward, pressing your lips to hers in a light peck. You pull your head back, separating by a few inches. “Like that...?”

She shakes her head with a scoff, dismissing your awkward attempt. “No, no. That was pathetic. Try again.”

Pathetic? Who does she think she is? Ignoring your annoyance, you decide to give it another try, determined to meet her standards.

You lean in again and repeat the gesture, your lips brushing against hers for a brief moment. Again, you pull your head back, looking at her for approval.

She just snorts. “That's weak. We're supposed to be in love, remember? try not to look like you're kissing your grandmother. Make it look like you want to kiss me.”

Like you want to kiss her. That's a difficult thing to make look natural. But you just have to think like an actor. You're acting. She's your ‘love interest’ for the movie.

Act.

You can't look like you're kissing your grandmother.

Your hand finds her face, and you gently cup her jaw, your thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. Your eyes flick back to hers as you lean in once again, pressing your lips onto hers more firmly and trying to push her back into the couch.

Jinx pulls you down on top of her as your hand moves from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.

The brief, initial, light kiss is over. And despite the acting, you feel the briefest flutter in your chest.

She lets out a sigh against your mouth before she gently pushes you away. Then, with a shaky voice, she whispers, “Not bad.”

You're a bit proud of yourself, to be honest. She seemed much more satisfied with that response and even sounded surprised with your sudden effort. She also looks a bit flushed, maybe even breathless.

You look at her lips, noticing a slight smudge of lipstick around the edges of your mouth. “Uh... is that all?”

She glances up at you through her eyelashes, her gaze lingering for just a moment before she looks away.

Wait... is she blushing?

You want to call her out for the redness of her cheeks, but then she speaks. “No,” she murmurs. “That definitely isn't all.”

—

PRESENT

You both have been trying to pretend that things are normal since the ‘practice kiss.’ Neither of you mentions it nor acknowledges the way things feel different since then.

The kiss was entirely for the sake of the film. No big deal.

Just... two friends, practicing kissing for a movie.

It definitely didn't mean anything.

You glance down at your script again. The scene was simple—walk her to the door, say some lines, a simple, sweet kiss that should only last about three seconds, and it's over.

“Okay... places, everyone,” the director shouts.

The crew members then prepare the set and adjust the cameras, making sure every lighting angle is just right and adjusting the scene set-up.

You get up from your chair and walk towards the set.

Jinx walks next to you, smiling at the crew members who greet her. A makeup artist dabs at her face with a brush then pats her cheek. “Looking radiant as ever.”

“Thanks,” Jinx replies, smiling widely. “I'm born stunning, and makeup just enhances the blessing.”

You reach the set and watch as the director talks to a couple of camera operators.

The set looks like a simple apartment hallway. The lights are dimmed in a way that's supposed to emulate the night.

“Quiet on set,” the director calls out. “Places, everyone. I really, really want this take to be great.”

“No pressure,” a crew member adds sarcastically. 

The director glares briefly at the crew member, then continues. “This is a key scene, the audience is going to love this. The chemistry has to be perfect. You have to sell this.”

You nod at the director and then look over to Jinx, giving her a small smile, which she returns. Your eyes linger on her for a beat too long, but you look away when you hear the director shout.

“Ready? Aaaaand... action!”

You walk alongside as Jinx walks next to you. Your footsteps are in sync as the two of you walk together to the apartment door.

“Well, this is it.” You stop by the door and say to her, as stated in the script. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah... I'll see you tomorrow. I'll send you a text or something,” she replies,placing her hand on the door handle.

“You never stick around to say goodbye?”

Her hand stays on the door as she turns, her gaze meeting yours. “No.”

“That's weird.”

She laughs and shrugs her shoulders. “I am weird.”

“I know.”

Jinx glances around and then leans against the doorframe with her back. “So... um... good night then.”

That's your cue.

You lean forward and press your lips to hers. It's brief, barely a few seconds, but it's just as the script says. Simple, normal, and part of the job. 

Your lips part, and you pull your head back a few inches, your gaze never leaving her face. Her eyes flutter open, staring at your mouth, and she wets her lower lip with her tongue.

That's it. That's it-

“Goodni-” you start, but then Jinx suddenly reaches around your neck and pulls you in, and before you can ask her what she's doing, her lips find yours again.

You let out a surprised sound before your mind and body quickly catch up with the moment. She's kissing you.

She's kissing you, not in character, not for practice, not for the film, not for the money. She's kissing you, with her hand clutching the back of your neck, and her eyes tightly shut, just because she wants to.

Your mind is racing, going blank, blank, blank, and your eyes slip shut.

You press your hand against the doorframe to keep your balance as her tongue runs over your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open.

You let her in, and you find yourself suddenly not minding—if anything, you respond and play along, matching her pace as you deepen the kiss. Her fingers tangle in your hair, and your hands grab the curve of her hip. 

You stumble forward, pinning her back against the door. She gasps softly, her lips moving against yours, the taste of her sweet tongue spreading across your mouth. 

It's too much, too much, too goddamn much-

You break the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to hers, until the distance gets too long and snaps.

You try to breathe, to catch your breath, but Jinx is impatient. She wants more. She yanks you back towards her, and her lips crash against yours again, harder, more desperately.

You feel her mouth curl into a smile before she drags her teeth over your bottom lip-

“Ow-” you pull away again as your tongue runs across your lip, tasting the copper taste of your blood.

“...and CUT!”

Your eyes fly open, and you feel her breath on your face. Then, you take a step back, your hand dropping from her hip.

Reality comes crashing back as the sounds of the crew and cast echo around you.

“That... that-” the director says enthusiastically, “-is what we're looking for. That's the energy the audience will love!”

Breathing heavily, you stare at Jinx as you wipe the blood off your face with your thumb. Her eyes meet yours, and before she can say anything, the director interrupts.

“That was an amazing kiss. I could feel the chemistry, the tension, the passion... that's it. That's the scene. This film is going to be a massive hit!” He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder and then Jinx's. “And that's thanks to you two. Fantastic work, fantastic.”

“Fantastic,” you repeat in a half-whisper.

The director pats you on the back before walking over to two of the crew members and starts giving more notes and directions. 

Jinx runs a hand through her hair. You can see her hand trembling slightly, like your own, as she tries to regain her composure.

“So…” She pushes a strand of her hair back behind her ear. “...that was a good take.”

“Yeah…” you croak out, trying to pull yourself together. “Good…” Too good.

She bites her lower lip, then averts her gaze. “Yeah…” Her eyes flick back to your face, and she stares at your lip. “...sorry for biting you. That was a little much.”

She smiles at you, and you smile back, even though your lip is really sore.

“I... it's fine, don't worry about it.”

She nods. “I just... got a little excited.” Excited... about what? “I'll be careful next time,” she adds.

“...right.” Next time. Next time. Next time. There will be next time? “...no worries.”

Jinx clears her throat as she fiddles with the sleeve of her shirt. She looks like she's going to say more, but a crew member calls out to her. “Jinx! Can you come over here for a second?”

She turns her head, distracted. “I'll see you around,” she says quickly to you, then heads over to where the crew member is.

See you around.

“You are too obvious.”

Huh?

You glance over to your right to see a co-actress staring at you. “Excuse me?”

“The heart eyes, the staring... You're way, way too obvious.”

“It's—it's not-”

“You practically had your tongue in her mouth. I'm surprised she didn't swallow it.”

You stare at her, then let out a bitter laugh. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You're really kidding me right now?”

“No, I'm being totally serious. I have no idea what-” you gesture vaguely in the air, “-what you're talking about.”

The actress sighs as she glances back at you, then shakes her head. “Honestly? I have no clue how you can be this dense.”

You sputter, but she's already turned away and heads off.

What did that mean...? You're not staring, you're not looking at her with ‘heart eyes,’ you're just... just...

Your fingers rise to touch your lip, which still feels sore from her biting it.

She's just a friend. A really good, close friend.

That's all.

You're just a friend... friends that kiss for a living.

Damn it, this is... this is really confusing.

[barefoothighlander]

never going back again - 4.5

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), sad but also happy, insinuated alcohol abuse, mentions of PTSD and mental illness, little switch in POVs, alcohol, fluff but also angst

prev part masterlist

a/n: well, my friends, it’s been a long time. i hope this is everything you all waited for and i apologize for the extreme delay. all my love

Six months, fourteen days and twelve hours, that’s how long it had been since your heart had been torn from its place in your chest. The simmering pain of losing him stayed with you through every moment, every corner of the house lay a memory of his spirit.

There were no promises made, no vows spoken, no concrete reason for him to find his way back to you and yet, hope persisted.

There had to be a reason he wasn’t there, you knew the relative outline of what his job required, you knew he couldn’t just pack up and leave but everytime Riley’s ears perked up at a noise outside your heart skipped a beat, hoping the door would open and he would be there.

The days drew on, restless nights in a too large bed, what once was a warm and cozy cottage became an empty home, nothing felt right anymore.

•

It was Simons third meeting this month for his insubordination, disobeying a handful of direct orders gets you put on the shit list, he knew they would never discharge him, he was too much of an asset to the team considering he wasn’t even legally alive.

The day he returned to the base he had requested leave, any amount of time that would get him back to you, to his home.

It was strange to use the word and mean it so wholeheartedly, he’d never felt this type of belonging, not in Manchester with his family, not in the military with his squad, not even in the 141, and they were the closest he had to brothers.

Everyday he’d report for duty only to return to his empty flat, the clacking of beer bottles on the coffee table as he rested his feet, he had nothing left without you, and if he left without notice he knew the team would hunt him down, Shepard would probably send some kill squad after him.

So he waited, for months he waited, putting in a new leave request everytime his previous got denied, it was unfair, he’d devoted decades of his life to the service and the moment he found a reason to leave they force him to stay.

He’d used his clearance to try and track you down, find some sort of phone number or email that he could talk to you, just to hear your voice, to know you were okay, he needed to know that you thought about him just as much as he thought about you.

•

You couldn’t take it anymore, the not knowing, the constant wondering, the hoping, it was driving you mad, it was a moments decision, you had no plan, no clue where to start, but you knew you could begin somewhere.

The dial tone bleeds through the phone, “Hello?”

“I need a favour”

“Anything, what’s up?”

“Can you take Riley and Goliath for the week”

“Yea of course, is everything alright?”

“Yea, no, I mean I’m okay, everyone’s okay I just have to leave town for a bit”

“I’m home all day, drop them off whenever”

“I’ll be there in 15”

The call ends and your heart races, springing to your feet you reach under the bed, pulling out a carry on bag, stuffing the contents of your drawers into it, no time to think.

You persuade your pets into the car with various treats, tucking Goliath into a small carrier before strapping him in, Riley seems all too comfortable sitting passenger.

Making the drive to Williams house you park the car, Riley following after you as you grab Goliath, two knocks on the door and it opens.

Riley races in making himself comfortable as you pass the carrier and a bag full of the animals necessities.

“I can’t thank you enough, I won’t be gone long I promise”

“You’re acting strange”

“I just have to do this” He can sense the determination on your face, nodding.

“Good luck”

You give him a small smile before returning to your car, punching in the closest airport location to your gps.

-

“What do you mean there’s no flights to England”

“There’s none scheduled till tomorrow ma’am”

“That’s not possible, there has to be some airline flying there, please I’ll take anything”

The woman behind the counter can sense the anxiety on your face, letting a small sigh fall from her lips.

“I can get you to Scotland, maybe there another flight from there”

“When does it leave?” You tap your fingers agains the desk nervously.

“10 minutes, gate three”

You nod, picking up your bag and taking the ticket from her, eyes following her movements as she points you in the right direction.

You make your way through the halls, dodging groups of people to get to the gate, reaching for your passport and handing over your ticket before stepping onto the boarding platform.

It’s a relatively short flight, a little over four hours and you’re landing in Edinburgh, your body refusing to sleep on the plane allowing your tiredness to catch up.

It’s another argument with the airlines to get on the nearest flight but an hour later and you’re seated once again on a plane, bound for London.

Your dread settles in your stomach, the lack of planning rearing its ugly head, you had no idea where to go from there, no place to start, only instinct and an idea.

The flight is quick, struggling to grab navigate your way through the busy airport before finding a cab.

“Where’s the nearest military base?”

“S’about 20 kilometres from here”

“Let’s go there please”

There could be a hundred bases around and you had no clue which one Simon would be on, you knew he was from Manchester but that didn’t mean he lived there, you’d have to start somewhere.

-

“Ma’am I can’t let you in without authorization”

“Is there someone I can call? I need to know if the person I’m looking for is here”

“I’m afraid all of those answers are classified, I wish I could help but for security-“

“I know, security reasons, it’s the same shit I got at the last two bases”

“You’ve been around three bases looking for this guy?”

“I don’t know which one he’s on”

“And you don’t know his address or anything?”

“No, I know nothing” The realization hits that this may be a means to an end, running around South England, trying to find a man that doesn’t exist.

“Well I’ll tell you this, you go around asking about people on another base and they’re gonna detain you for questioning”

“I figured they would at some point”

He smiles, “Good luck”

-

It’s cold and wet, the rain unrelenting as you step out of the cab, after too much money spent driving around you’d decided to just check into a hotel and accept your defeat, your heart heavier than the weight of your eyelids. What a stupid idea, dropping everything to chase a man halfway across the world without a semblance of a clue as to who, or where he is. Your chest pangs as the tears begin to fall, dripping down your cheeks as the exhaustion overtakes you, there is nothing left, no clue to follow, the house doesn’t feel like home without him. Your last thoughts are of him, soft and warm, dozing in the morning sun when he looks almost peaceful as your eyes shut and sleep takes over your body.

You wake to a knock on the door, running your puffy eyes as u rise to answer it, a middle aged woman standing behind it muttering something about housekeeping, she looks thoroughly unimpressed as you wave her off and close the door. Checking the clock it’s a little before noon, you stand at the window looking out over the cityscape, trying to make sense of the maze of streets and crowds of people bustling by.

It’s not long before you’re dressed and outside, the breeze doing wonders for the dryness you feel in your throat. Just being outside feels better, atleast outside you can distract yourself with strangers and various shops, rather than sitting alone, thinking about him. You waste hours wandering around, peering into book stores and stopping for tea at a little cafe, half the day passes before you even check your watch and find its past dinner, your stomach growling to remind you that you’ve had little to eat.

You pass by stores closing and pubs opening looking for somewhere relatively quiet to grab some food before setting your eye on a rundown pub a few blocks down, the lights are on but there’s no one outside, unlike the other pubs that dot the block, groups of people outside yelling and drinking as they curse at the rugby game that plays on the television inside.

•

Simon had enough, enough of the denials, enough of the mandated meetings, if they wouldn’t give him leave he’d atleast go home for a weekend, leave the place that forbids him to spend a moment thinking about you and not about his work. That’s all he needed, one weekend alone, drinking in the quiet dark to set his mind right. He’d been stepping out of line toward his superiors, cursing them for making him take accountability for going AWOL, he was sick of always being the bad guy, that’s what he missed, being able to have a regular conversation, the freedom to be Simon rather than his darker counterpart, the peace that only came from being tucked away in the cottage with you.

He grabbed what little he had in his shacks and threw it into a bag, stowing it in the rear seat of his truck before taking off toward Manchester, he still kept an apartment near where his mum used to live, he liked the neighborhood, liked seeing the kids with their parents, with their dads. It helped him imagine what his life could’ve been if life granted him a decent father, though if it did, he would have never met you, never known real kindness, real affection, real love.

Time passes quickly as he drives, the radio almost a silent echo of the wind that passes by the window. He parks in the driveway and grabs his things, moving to unlock the door and make his way upstairs. It’s dark inside, he’s not much for interior design but there’s a bed and a couch, the latter typically where he finds himself on the nights he stays here. His hand moves to flick on the light but nothing happens - “fuckin bills” with a sigh he drops his things, rifling through the pile of unpaid electric bills that have fallen through the door slot, dropping them aside and walking toward the kitchen. He opens the fridge and it assaulted by the smell of whatever left overs had gone bad and the sight of three warm beers, cursing under his breath he throws the lot in the garbage.

He needs a damn drink, but with the group of men hanging outside and the gaggles of drunks that’ll be lining the streets in no time hes down to a limited amount of choices. Raising the hood of his sweater he locks the door, making his way outside the building and down the street. Simon keeps his eyes toward the ground, not out of cowardice or fear but rather over the chance that someone in this neighbourhood might recognize him, even though he’s 30 years older, about 190 pounds larger and covered with more scars than he can count, he knows that if someone were to look into his eyes, they’d recognize that young boy, one who’s life is filled with so much pain.

It’s a couple minutes walk from his place to get to the small pub run by an elderly man, Paddy, or Addi? He can’t remember, and odds are the man is too drunk to speak clearly even through his thick accent, it doesn’t bother Simon, the not knowing, he’s used to people around not asking questions about him, making assumptions, he’d rather take his drink alone in the corner anyway, less people to distract from watching the game.

He arrives at the pub, albeit with a few taunts from a couple of drunk teenagers a few streets back, the bell above the door ringing as he opens in breathing in the scent of wood and alcohol, the televised cheers echoing through the newley empty room. He’d been frequenting this pub for a few years, it was quiet, less people came to it considering the age of the building and the lack of air conditioning or heating, but the less people the better, and the whiskey was just as good.

He keeps his head down as he makes his way in, sure to not make eye contact with any patrons but the voice of a young woman catches his attention and he peaks up. At the bar is a girl, dressed in nice clothes with his hair done, laughing with Paddy/Addi and yelling at the television, he can’t stop staring, she’s enigmatic, almost familiar as she sips her drink, her eyes glued to the screen. He’s stuck, glued to the floor as his heart races, his stomach threatening to upturn.

“Oi, big lad, you gonna stand there like some creep or d’ya wan a drink”

The man’s voice breaks the trance and Simons dream crashes to a halt as the woman turns around.

It’s not her.

His worlds stops and starts over a hundred times in a second, of course it’s not her, how could it be, what an idiot, she’s not coming for you.

Simon nods and the man pours a whiskey, pushing it across the bar as Simon grabs it, downing the liquor before setting the glass back down, nodding for another. He finds his spot in the back, resting his sore back against the harsh wood and keeping an eye on the game as he continues to drink, his mind spiraling over thoughts of you, tucked away in your small corner, safe. It’s that part that makes him feel some comfort, the fact that if you were apart of his world, you’d be in danger, and he’d rather see a lifetime of pain and loneliness than ever put you in that position.

•

Your shoes are practically soaked through by the time you reach the steps of the pub, navigating the old streets and avoiding the drunk onlookers, your face flush and mouth dry, aching for a drink. The bell rings above the door as you step in, there’s only a few people inside but it looks to be a rather big pub, an old man tends the bar while he chats to a young woman. You shed your layers, allowing your skin a bit of air before you overheat and you make your way in.

“What’ll it be miss”

You give him your order, thanking him with a tip as you sip your drink, the cool liquid working quickly to smooth your throat, this is fine, this works, a quiet bar to drink and pretend you care about sports. This’ll do wonders for taking your mind off Simon.

“Oi, big lad, another?” The man shouts over his shoulder, you can’t see who he’s talking to but you hear him, that voice. Thousands of people in this city, all the same accent, no one with a voice like that. The man begins to pour the drink and take it over but you stop him -

“Do you mind if I take it over?”

He looks at you quizzically, “Be my guest, less work for me”

You take the drink from the man and make your way toward the back of the pub, a sigh from ahead over the rugby match making your pace quicken, your heart skip a beat. You can see the outline of his upper body, the man is so large he takes up nearly half the bench as his gaze is toward the television, he looks at his empty glass then straight ahead, as is wondering where his drink is.

Simon moves to look toward the bar but his eyes land on you, standing there, holding his drink, and you can see his face fall, his eyes squint then open as he stares at you. You can’t help the tear that escapes you, the quiver of your lip as you move closer, you clear your throat as you place the drink on the table.

“You know, it was getting lonely up there, was wondering if you wanted to have a drink with me”

He swallows, his body moving before his mind as he stands, his arms enveloping you, caging you to him as if trying to figure out if you’re real. You wrap yourself around him, out of all the outcomes, all of the possibilities, perhaps your subconscious knew this was the bar he would be in. Maybe fate intervened and brought him here, who cares, destiny, fate, god, all them be damned, he was here.

Minutes that felt like seconds trailed on as he held you, slowly pulling back to look at your face, your skin blotchy and red from the tears you failed to fight. His hand reaches up to hold your cheek, wiping away the stray tear as he leans down, his lips enveloping yours and it feels like you can breath again. No air compares to this feeling, like half of your soul returned, you stay there, inches away from eachother before he steps back.

“How” He asks

“I don’t know”

He nods slowly, moving to sit down as if needing to catch his breath and you follow, positioning yourself right at his side.

“I never thought you’d come here” He says, his face tilted down.

“I had to, i realized pretty quickly that if I wasn’t with you, i felt empty. So i got a flight, ran around a couple of military bases, definitely got myself put on some kind of warrant list. And then I decided I needed a drink to stop thinking about you”

He laughs slightly, “I needed a drink so I could think about you”

It sounds harsh but you understand,

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

You shake your head, just you.

He nods.

“Simon I-“

“Don’t say anything, not yet atleast”

You silently agree. The two of you sit, your sides glued together as the silence washes over you, your breaths practically in sync as your hearts finally slow to a steady beat.

“Thank you” he says

“For the drink?”

“For coming, no one’s- no one outside the team has ever come looking for me, and they only come cause they have to”

“You would’ve done the same for me”

He nods, despite all his attempts, all his capabilities, you were the one that came to him, you chose him.

“I’m gonna be here a while, in the city I mean”

He turns to face you, “Darling i don’t care where you are or where you’re going, as long as it’s with me”

You smile, your hand reaching for his face as you lean in to kiss him, the taste of whiskey on his breath as he kisses you back. Home, you were home, in a dirty old pub that stunk of liquor and wood, sitting in a rough seat, beside the man you loved, his eyes looking at you with nothing but hope as his lips leave yours his hand moving to hold yours.

The two of you leave the pub, your heart full and head clear, albeit a little tipsy as you walk back to your hotel room. Simon doesn’t say anything about his apartment as he helps you drag your suitcases up the stairs into it, you don’t ask. He vows the buy some proper furniture for the place and you decide to stay a little while, at least until he can figure out how to explain to his superiors that his deployment will only be with the 141 from now on. You settle in once again to life, you see him most weekends though he’s on base a lot during the week, but this life, with him, it’s better than an eternity without, and the joy in his eyes as he looks at you, even weeks later when he’s kneeling in front of you, his fingers sliding a ring onto yours, you can’t fake it, the happiness that floods your veins at the thought of being tied to him forever, no matter the consequences or struggles, it’s real, and it’s everything money can’t buy.

A lifetime of happiness with Simon, his highs and lows, the knowledge that no matter what happens, he’d fight to the death to get home to you.

tag list: @pepsicolacoochie @coolbanana44 @konigsblog @lialacleaf @mli345 @gghoulzz @fuckface-6996 @jklkverr @2dmensl @sapszilla @yahet-moi-ohorat @snixx2088 @meeom @sorryimbusytalklater @zuyilu @streetartist22 @aryiannarae @rosiesrosyroses-blog @salsa-reads-stuff @stateofcatatonia @viylikescats @kaysav608 @yourlocalmoon-lover @wordsfromshona na @elichisstuff @fanficwriterlover @thriving-n-jiving @babygirl-panda19

[pandacherryblossoms]

𐙚 Brat Tamer - Stray Kids 𐙚

Request

Genre: Smut MDNI 18+

Warnings: NSFW content, Power play, Teasing, Rough handling, Light choking, Possessiveness, Manipulation, edging, Physical restraint, Dom & Sub themes, Oral references, Slight voyeurism

Bang Chan

You’d been pushing him all night.

Eye rolls. Smirking. Ignoring him when he spoke. Sitting in his lap just to get up again with that innocent look he hated. You wanted to get under his skin. You wanted to see what would happen if you didn’t back down.

And now you were about to find out.

He doesn’t say a word when he corners you in the hallway. Just pins you to the wall with his hand tight around your waist, holding you still like you’re his to manhandle. His eyes are dark, jaw tight, but the smirk on his lips is the worst part.

“Oh, now you’re quiet?” he breathes, eyes dragging down your body like he’s undressing you with his stare. “Wasn’t so shy when you were acting like a spoiled little brat, huh?”

You open your mouth, probably to push back with something smart—but he cuts you off with his hand wrapping lightly around your throat. Just pressure. Just enough to remind you who’s in control.

“Keep playing, baby. I’ll make you regret it.” His voice dips lower, dangerous. “You want me to fuck the attitude out of you? ‘Cause I will. Slowly.”

He leans in, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, just barely skimming skin as he breathes, “I’ll make you beg. I’ll ruin you. I’ll make sure the next time you think about mouthing off, your legs go weak just remembering how I left you shaking.”

Your body tenses, back arching the slightest bit to feel more of him—and he laughs. The sound is cruel, quiet, too pleased.

“You want it that bad?” he teases, palm sliding between your thighs, not nearly where you need him. “Poor thing. Already dripping, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

You shiver. You hate how much he’s in control.

And just when you think he’s going to snap—finally lose it and give you what you’ve been aching for—

He steps back.

Lets go of you like you’re nothing.

His voice is calm when he says, “Next time you want attention, just ask. No need to act like a brat for it.”

And he walks away.

You’re left breathless. Trembling. So close it hurts.

Lee Know

The night had been full of subtle games—your eyes meeting his across the room, the way you purposefully pressed yourself just a little too close whenever you passed by him. You knew exactly what you were doing, but he wasn’t going to let you get away with it. Not anymore.

As you make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your wrist, pulling you back effortlessly. You’re forced to face him, the intensity in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine.

Minho doesn’t need to say anything. The look on his face says it all. You’ve pushed him too far.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he murmurs, his voice like honey—smooth, dangerous. His grip tightens on your wrist, and he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space between you. The heat of his body makes you ache, but it’s the way his eyes stay on yours that makes you freeze. “You’ve been begging for me to take control all night. Don’t think I didn’t notice you testing me.”

His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your lips in a way that’s teasing, yet oh-so-slow, making the anticipation build. Your breath catches as you try to respond, but before you can speak, he leans in—just close enough to make you feel the heat of his breath against your neck.

“You want it so badly, don’t you?” Minho whispers, the words coating your skin, sending a thrill that makes your legs almost give way beneath you. “Want me to remind you who’s in charge here?”

Your body betrays you, a desperate little whimper escaping, but Minho is already stepping back, his hands disappearing before you can react. He looks at you—studying you—as though he’s savoring the moment.

You try to move toward him, your body burning with need, but he only chuckles softly.

“You’re not ready yet,” he says with a smirk, his voice low and taunting. “Not until you learn a little more patience.”

He steps back, walking away slowly, leaving you standing there, desperate, frustrated, and aching, with nothing but the feeling of his absence lingering, and the knowledge that you’re far from finished.

Changbin

You’d been pushing all the right buttons—teasing him with those soft glances, the little smirks that always seemed to rile him up. But Changbin was patient—maybe too patient, letting you have your fun. But you’ve gone too far now.

He pulls you into his chest without warning, the sudden force of it leaving you breathless. His hands grip your waist firmly as he holds you in place, his breath coming fast against your ear.

“You think you can just tease me all night and get away with it?” His voice is rough, no trace of the calm you might expect from him. “You’re testing me. And I don’t take kindly to that.”

You don’t have time to react before he pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes your pulse race. There’s no teasing this time—he’s taking control immediately, and you can feel it in every inch of his body.

Changbin’s grip on your hips tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ve been a brat. Time for you to earn it.”

He leans in close, his lips brushing just above yours, a taunting proximity that makes your breath hitch. But instead of kissing you, he pulls away, his hand trailing down your body, over your thighs, dangerously close to where you want him most. Just as you think he’s going to touch you, he stops.

“You want more?” he growls, voice dark. “You think I’m going to give it to you just because you’re begging?”

Your frustration bubbles over, and your hips move involuntarily toward him, but it only makes him laugh—low, dark, and knowing. He looks down at you with that cocky smirk that makes your heart race.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, babe,” he says, his lips brushing your ear again. “Next time, I’ll decide how far this goes. And trust me, you’ll be begging for more. But not yet.”

With that, he steps back, leaving you breathless, your body aching for what he almost gave you.

Changbin turns, tossing you one last glance before he walks away, leaving you standing there on the edge of frustration, wondering just how much longer you’ll have to wait.

Hyunjin

It started with a subtle glance—his eyes lingering on you a moment too long, like he was already imagining what he could do to you. You hadn’t expected it, but the tension between you two was undeniable. And now, here you were, sitting beside him in a crowded café, trying to keep things cool, but everything about the way he was looking at you said he wasn’t.

You shift slightly, trying to adjust yourself in the seat, but it only makes things worse. Hyunjin’s eyes flick to your thighs, the way your legs crossed, and then slowly, deliberately, he slides his hand under the table. It brushes against your knee, making your breath hitch.

“Stop moving,” he whispers, just loud enough for you to hear, his fingers inching higher along your leg. “You’re making it so hard to concentrate.”

The light touch sends a jolt through you, and you almost forget where you are, but then you remember the people around you. You look up at him, your eyes wide with sudden realization.

Hyunjin’s lips curl into a smirk. “Worried? Don’t be.” His voice drops to a teasing whisper. “If they only knew what I’m planning to do to you later.”

Your pulse races as his fingers continue their slow path up your leg, just brushing the edge of where you can’t hide your excitement. You try to steady yourself, but he’s too good at this, too good at keeping you on the edge of being discovered.

“You’re so desperate, aren’t you?” he teases, leaning in just enough to make sure no one else can hear. “You can barely sit still. But don’t worry. I’ll make you wait. You’re not getting anything tonight unless you’re good.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, your body aching for the release you know won’t come anytime soon. Hyunjin’s hand moves higher, just barely grazing the waistband of your pants before he stops, his fingers lingering for just a second too long before pulling away completely.

“You’re going to be begging by the time we’re alone,” he whispers, his tone still teasing, but there’s that darker edge beneath it. “But for now, keep your cool. I want everyone to see how hard it is for you.”

You glance around nervously, aware of how visible you’ve become, but when you turn back to Hyunjin, he’s already leaning back in his chair, casually sipping his coffee, as if nothing happened.

You’re left trying to calm your racing heart, the tension between you two unbearable, knowing exactly what’s coming next—and it’s going to make you wish you had never been so impatient in the first place.

Han

You couldn’t help it—Jisung was being extra today. The way he kept looking at you from across the room, that playful smirk on his lips, the way his fingers brushed against your arm every time you were close. It was like he was begging you to act out just so he could punish you for it.

You had no idea what had gotten into him, but you were about to find out. He wasn’t going to let you keep teasing him like this—he was ready for payback.

As you walk down the hallway to your shared room, you’re caught off guard when Jisung pulls you into the nearest bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you. Before you can say anything, he’s already pushing you up against the wall, his body close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin.

“What the hell, Han?” you manage to say, but he cuts you off with a single finger pressed to your lips.

“You’ve been acting like a little brat all day,” he growls, his voice low and controlled. “Now it’s my turn.”

His hands move swiftly, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head. You try to struggle, but he’s too strong. His body presses into yours, and you can feel the undeniable hardness against your stomach.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice how you’ve been teasing me?” he murmurs in your ear, his breath hot and making your skin tingle. “Every little touch, every smile, every glance—this is your fault.”

You swallow, your heart pounding as he leans in even closer, lips brushing your ear. “You’re not getting away that easily,” he says, his voice dark and possessive. “I’ve been patient, but now I’m done. I’m going to make you pay for making me wait.”

Before you can even react, his lips are on yours, kissing you with an intensity that takes your breath away. It’s rough and possessive, like he’s claiming you, marking you. But just as you start to get lost in it, he pulls away.

“You wanted this, right?” Jisung teases, his hand sliding down your body, skimming your side before stopping right above where you want him most. His smirk grows as he sees the frustration building in you. “Beg for it. Maybe then I’ll give it to you.”

He steps back slightly, but his hands remain on your body, hovering just where you need them. You’re desperate now, body aching, but Jisung knows exactly how to keep you right on the edge. He leans in again, this time just whispering into your ear, “You’ll wait. And when I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for me to take you harder.”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the desperate groan threatening to escape, but Jisung just smiles, steps back, and leaves you standing there. The tension in the room is thick, your body trembling with the need for release, but he’s already out the door, leaving you to wonder just how much longer you’ll have to wait before he comes back to finish what he started.

Felix

You could feel the tension building the moment you two locked eyes across the room. Felix had always been playful, always teasing, but tonight there was something different about the way he was looking at you. It was like he was sizing you up, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

The group had just finished their practice, everyone else scattered around, but Felix? He stayed close, watching you like a predator eyeing its prey.

You were talking to some of the others when you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could practically feel the heat of him before he said anything.

“Miss me already?” Felix’s voice was light, but there was something more dangerous beneath it. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, just a soft touch, but it made your whole body react, a tingle spreading down your spine.

You turn your head, and his smile is sharp, too knowing. “I think you’ve been a little too bold lately, huh?” he says, voice laced with mischief and something darker. “Do you know how much it’s been driving me crazy?”

Before you can even answer, he pulls you to the side, away from the others. The way he handles you is effortless, making you feel like you don’t have any control in the situation, and honestly, you’re starting to like it.

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You’ve been teasing me all day, haven’t you? I can feel it—the way you move, the way you look at me. You think I’m just going to let you get away with it?”

Your pulse quickens as you try to speak, but Felix presses his body into yours, effectively silencing you with his presence. “You want to play with fire?” His voice is low now, and his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there’s no space left between you.

The way he looks down at you—eyes dark, lips parted slightly—sends a rush of heat through your entire body. “I’m going to make you regret this,” he warns, his hand slipping lower, brushing against your thigh. “But not until I’ve made you beg for it.”

His fingers trace dangerously close to where you need him most, but he doesn’t touch you there. Not yet. He pulls his hand back, letting the moment hang in the air between you like a threat.

“You think you’re in control?” Felix smirks, pulling away slightly to get a better look at you. “Not anymore. I’m going to make you wait. And when I finally give you what you want? It’s going to feel so much better.”

You bite your lip, the frustration building in your chest, but Felix steps back with a teasing grin on his face. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be back. Just don’t make it too easy for me next time.”

With one last glance, he walks away, leaving you standing there, hot and desperate, knowing you’re only getting a small taste of what’s to come.

Seungmin

You knew you were pushing his buttons this morning, teasing him a little too much, getting under his skin on purpose. Every time he told you to stop, you only pushed harder, your playful attitude making him frustrated but in that endearing way—at least, that’s how it started.

By the time the day had gone on, you could tell Seungmin was getting more and more irritable. He tried to keep his cool, but his patience was wearing thin. You didn’t expect him to confront you about it so soon, but you should’ve known better.

Later, when you two were alone in his room, he didn’t give you the chance to speak. He shut the door behind him, his gaze dark as he locked eyes with you.

“You’ve been a little brat today,” Seungmin says, his voice quiet but stern. “You think you can just tease me and get away with it?”

You smirk, playing it off, but he doesn’t smile. Instead, he steps closer, the air between you thick with tension.

“Stop,” he mutters, his tone a warning, but it’s too late. The teasing had gone too far, and now it was his turn.

Before you can react, he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward the bed. His movements are quick, efficient, and you’re not sure if it’s the playful Seungmin you’re used to, or someone else entirely. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you in between his legs.

“You’re going to learn a lesson, brat,” he murmurs, his grip tightening around your wrist. “You wanted to push me? Fine. I’m going to make you regret it.”

You try to pull away, but Seungmin doesn’t let you. His eyes flash with that familiar mix of frustration and desire as his other hand moves up to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“I told you to stop this morning,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “But you wouldn’t listen, so now you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”

His lips are suddenly on yours, rough and demanding, as though he’s been holding back all day. His kiss is hard, controlled, and you feel him pull you closer, his hands roaming over your body, showing you exactly how much he’s been holding back.

“You wanted attention, didn’t you?” he growls between kisses. “Well, now you’ve got it.”

He pulls away just enough to catch his breath, eyes narrowed in a mix of exasperation and hunger. His hands slide to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin.

“You’re going to learn to be good for me,” he says, voice low. “You think I’m going to let you get away with that? You’re wrong.”

Seungmin’s grip tightens as his other hand moves down your body, teasing just the edges of where you need him, but never quite giving you what you want. The teasing makes your body ache for more, and you can’t stop yourself from whining just a little.

“You’ll have to beg for it,” he says, watching you struggle, a smirk forming on his lips. “And maybe, just maybe, I’ll give you what you want.”

But before you can beg, he leans back, giving you one last teasing smile. “But not yet.”

The frustration is unbearable as he lets you stand there, panting, yearning for more, knowing that Seungmin won’t give you the satisfaction until he decides you’ve had enough time to wait.

I.N

You knew exactly how to push Jeongin’s buttons today. The moment you stepped out in that outfit—a little tighter than usual, a little more revealing—he couldn’t take his eyes off you. His gaze followed you all day, his thoughts clearly fighting between keeping his cool and wanting to do more than just watch you walk by.

You kept it up on purpose, knowing it was getting to him, knowing the effect it had. You’d always had this power over him, and today, you were going to have some fun with it.

When you finally find yourself alone with him in his room, you notice his usual smile is gone. Instead, there’s a look of pure frustration on his face, something dark brewing behind his usually sweet expression.

“You’ve been acting like this all day,” Jeongin starts, voice tight. His eyes rake over your outfit one more time, making it clear that he’s had enough. “I can’t concentrate with you wearing this.”

You smirk, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What do you mean? You’ve been looking at me like this all day, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

Jeongin takes a step forward, his hands balling into fists at his sides, trying to keep control. “Enjoy it? I’m about to lose my mind, and you think I enjoy being driven crazy by you?”

He steps closer, his breath warm on your face as he looks down at you. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you put this on, didn’t you? You’ve been walking around, flaunting yourself, and I’ve been doing everything in my power to keep my hands off you.”

His voice drops lower, more dangerous now. “But I can’t keep holding back anymore.”

Before you can even react, his hands are on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his chest rises and falls with the effort of keeping control. He leans in, lips brushing your ear as he speaks, his voice rougher than usual.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my distance from you all day?” he growls, his hand slipping just below the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin. “You’ve been flaunting yourself, and I’ve been trying to be good. But you don’t make it easy, do you?”

You feel him press even closer, his body caging you in. “You’ve got no idea how badly I want you right now,” he whispers, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a searing trail behind them. “But I’m not going to make it that easy for you.”

You’re about to speak, but Jeongin pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes. There’s a teasing smirk on his face, and his eyes are filled with something you can’t quite name—desire, frustration, something in between.

“You think I’m going to just give in, don’t you?” he says, voice thick with anticipation. “You’ve been so bratty today, wearing this outfit like you’re begging for me to lose control. But I’m not going to give you what you want so easily.”

He steps back, his hands leaving your body but still lingering just above you, like a silent promise of what’s to come. “You’re going to have to wait for me, just a little longer. I’ll make you regret this, but not yet.”

With one final look, he walks away, leaving you standing there, breathless, craving more, knowing it’s only a matter of time before he comes back to finish what he started.

[midyearflowers]

normally im a tag talker but i wanna put this more visibly: i highly recommend the last 3 on the list. as nice as relaxing media can be, its even better when there is no media at all. we spend so much of our time being "on" and having media blasted at us 24/7 in the form of ads and signs and media, that its good to just completely disengage

sit in your room with nothing on, no music no movies no videos, put your phone in another room if you have to. open the window if its nice and just listen to the sounds of life. lie down and close your eyes, you dont have to sleep (if you do thats fine too!) but just "turn off" as many of your sense as you can and just Be. let your mind wander, dont force thoughts or hold onto them, just let it all pass by to give your brain a break

if you cant sit still for long or you know youll get too bored, then go for a walk or sit outside and quietly observe, again with no music no media, the point is to focus on the moment and not overload yourself on stuff happening (and yes this goes for everyone, even with sensory issues. i have misophonia so i know what its like to have the random noises around you be stressful but you gotta disengage. if you need something use head or ear phones but do not play anything!! your brain needs to not be so focused on something like music or talking in your ears)

we like to think that doing something easy that we dont have to think about is relaxing, but its still thinking and using energy! ive had days where im so exhausted that even watching tv seems like too much effort, and thats cause my brain needs a reset! you need to go full off, as quiet as you can get (or as natural of sound, think ambience), and be in a comfortable position to just completely drop put of thinking for a bit

become blob and truly rest your brain, it will thank you!

im so serious about this but if youre autistic and especially if youre chronically ill creative labour cannot be your only way to relax. working on a creative project is still working. take time to do nothing. its good for you i promise.