#Radiohead How Can You Be Sure?

[iamtryingtobelieve]

When I'm like this How can you be smiling, singing? How can you be sure?

[weskergrl]

fake plastic treethan

i made this for the sillies i was so bored and the cover for this goes hard🙏

[imaginedisish]

All I Need (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: AHH! This took so, so long. Anyway, here is the period-comfort fic! Needed this. Loosely inspired by "All I Need" By Radiohead and "Let the Light In" by Lana and Father John Misty. Hope you guys enjoy! P.S. I'm so sorry if I forgot to tag you, or if the tags don't work.

Summary: Your period is awful this month, but Logan is there to take care of you...in more ways than one...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!! SMUT!!! Fingering, PIV, period sex, soft!Logan, praise kink (if you squint), friends to lovers, softdom!Logan (if you squint again), mentions of blood (bc period), so much fluff, feelings, cursing, afab!reader/fem!reader, definitely some grammatical errors bc I struggled through proofreading...and I think that's it!

Word Count: 4,474 it was supposed to be short

You’re no stranger to pain. You’ve been in countless battles and fought more fights than you can remember. And yet, nothing makes you feel as obliterated as your period does. 

Your cramps have always been terrible, but this time they were particularly bad. You sit in your bed, on a Saturday night, alone, struggling. You couldn’t find the heating pad. You couldn’t find the ice cream you wanted. You couldn’t find anything to watch. And, of course, everything hurts—your breasts are beyond sore, and your head is aching. You look up at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than for your period to be over. 

Your lower abdomen pulses with pain and you groan audibly, not caring how loud you are as you turn over onto your stomach in frustration. 

But then there’s a knock at your door.  

“Hey, everything okay in there?” It’s Logan—of course it’s him. “Didn’t mean to be nosy. Just happened to hear you.”

“I’m okay!” You call out, rolling back onto your side to face the door. 

“Are you sure?” Logan asks. You can hear his hand on the knob. “Can I come in?”

Heat suddenly rises to your chest. Logan? Coming in here? Now? In reality, this shouldn’t be a big deal. Logan has been in your room before—albeit very briefly and in passing—but you can’t help but feel nervous. You’re always nervous around him. You’ve been harboring a crush on him for months now, and it’s brutal. You’ve grown closer, but not quite close enough. At least not in the way you want.

You swallow nervously. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice almost cracking. “You can come in.” 

Logan immediately twists the knob and pushes the door open, stepping inside your room. You can’t help but smile at the sight of his familiar beater and blue jeans. He takes another step and closes the door behind him—he’s just a few feet away from you, his arms crossed over his chest.

He smirks, tilting his head down. “It’s Saturday night, and this is what you’re doing?” He steps towards you, approaching the bed and sitting down. 

“Not feeling great,” you admit, wincing as you sit up in bed. 

Logan’s brows immediately furrow with concern. His hand comes up to rest on your knee, and you have to stop yourself from shuddering under his touch. “Are you okay?” He asks, his thumb drawing gentle circles into your skin. He sniffs once, and you know he can smell the blood between your thighs. “Do you need anything?” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you say, trying to politely brush off his concern. You don’t want to trouble him, don’t want to hold him back from his Saturday night plans. But Logan’s brows are still furrowed, concern painted clearly across his face. “Really, I’m okay,” you reassure, but he doesn’t budge. 

“I know you’re not okay,” he says, his eyes looking deeply into yours. “Let me help you, yeah?”

“I’d feel bad. I’d be holding you back from whatever plans you—”

“No plans, princess,” Logan says, cutting you off. You try to hide the way your breath hitches in your throat at the familiar nickname. “Just you. Whatever you need.” He smiles widely, his thumb still drawing circles into your knee. 

It’s so soft, so delicate, so unlike the way Logan is with others. There’s something domestic about this, something especially comforting and gentle. He’s sacrificing his Saturday night for you—to make sure you’re okay. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the thought. 

“Is it bad?” He asks, his voice low and calm. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you almost don’t notice the way Logan inches closer; don’t notice the way his hand slides down to your lower stomach. The warmth of his hand feels so good that you have to stifle a moan at the sudden contact.  

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, leaning into his touch. His hand presses firmly into your stomach, rubbing gently. “But your hand feels nice,” you admit, your voice a bit shaky as the words fall from your lips. 

He’s next to you now, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hips in line with yours. His touch, his presence—it’s all simultaneously relaxing and exhilarating. You’ve never had him this close, never felt him touch you like this. Your heart beats out of your chest as his palm pushes against your aching lower abdomen. He’s in tune with you, registering every movement you make, every half-moan you can’t seem to suppress as his hand soothingly rubs your stomach. 

You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Do you want me to get you anything?” He asks, smiling widely. Your mind immediately goes to the lack of ice cream in the freezer, but you’re hesitant to ask. Getting you something would entail leaving. And the last thing you want is for Logan to leave. 

“I’m okay,” you answer, but you know your voice comes out as unsure. 

He arches a brow, his caring smile turning into a knowing smirk. “You sure about that, princess?” He nods his head towards the door. “I saw you all disappointed after lookin’ in the freezer, earlier.”

You can’t help the grin that forms on your face at Logan’s words. He noticed you. “There wasn’t any ice cream left,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. 

Logan chuckles and stands up, his palm slipping away from your stomach. You want to reach out, to yank him down and force his hand back where it was. “I’ll be right back,” he says, walking towards the door. “Don’t move an inch. I mean it!” He keeps his eyes on you as he backs out of the room, opening the door and closing it carefully behind him. 

Not even a minute later, Logan comes back with a silver spoon and a pint of your favorite ice cream. “No way,” you mutter, shaking your head, your smile spreading across your face. “How did you know?”

Logan smirks. “I just do,” he answers, sitting back in his place next to you on the edge of the bed. He passes you the silver spoon and the pint. “Knew that’s what you were looking for. Went out to the store to grab it the second you walked out of the kitchen empty-handed.”

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, still in awe of how he got you the ice cream without asking. He simply noticed. He remembered your favorite flavor—you never had to tell him a thing. He just knew. 

You open the packaging and dig into the ice cream, wrapping your lips around the spoon. “Oh sorry,” you mumble, your mouth full of ice cream as you pull the spoon from your lips. “Do you want some?”

You dig the spoon back into the ice cream and scoop out a big serving, pointing the spoon in Logan’s direction. He smirks before opening his mouth, waiting for you to feed him. Your breath catches in your throat as you hold the spoon up to him. His lips wrap around the ice cream, and he takes the spoon from your hand, his fingertips brushing against yours. 

He sucks and pulls the spoon from his mouth. You swallow harshly at the sight, watching as he digs into the pint and takes another scoop of ice cream, this time bringing the spoon to your lips. You open your mouth, inviting him inside, closing it around the cold ice cream. You silently wish you could taste him on the spoon. 

You grab the spoon from his hands, his fingers lingering before pulling away—like he’d do anything to touch you again, to savor the feeling of your skin against his. 

“Thank you, Logan,” you say, taking another scoop of ice cream and shoving the spoon past your lips. “Really, it means a lot.”

Logan shakes his head, his hand finding that spot on your stomach again. “It was nothing,” he mutters. “I’d do anything for you.” He soothingly rubs side to side, the warmth of his palm enveloping your lower abdomen. “Is there anything else you wanted?” He asks, nodding his head towards the T.V. on the other side of your room. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” you say back, reaching for the remote on your nightstand. You flick the T.V. on and look over at Logan. “W-would you wanna stay?” You ask, nodding your head to the other side of the bed. 

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, princess,” he husks, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed. He settles in next to you, lying down on the mattress. You’re shoulder to shoulder, and his hand quickly finds your lower abdomen again. 

You scroll through the movies on various streaming services, and nothing seems to click until you find an old, campy B-movie from the 80s. You turn to face Logan, grinning widely, pointing the remote to the television. He rolls his eyes playfully as he reads the description. “Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

Your heart stops at the epithet. Pretty girl? Princess, sure—you’re familiar with Logan’s classic princess nickname. But pretty girl was entirely new. Different. Certainly not friendly. Princess was teasing, tongue and cheek—a way to mess with you, to slip under your skin and rile you up. Flirty? Perhaps. But not inherently romantic. Pretty girl? 

Pretty girl seems like…more. 

You decide to take a chance, letting your head rest on Logan’s shoulder as you press play on the movie. You spoon ice cream into your mouth, waiting for Logan’s next move. After a few seconds, he sits up. His shoulder separates from yours, and his arm reaches around your shoulders instead, tugging you into his chest. 

“This okay?” He asks, his lips brushing against the side of your head, pressing what feels like the ghost of a kiss to your temple.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “It’s perfect.” You can hear Logan’s heart beating in his chest. It’s loud and fast. His fingertips draw circles into your shoulder as he pulls you closer. 

The movie starts, but you can’t seem to concentrate. You nervously shovel scoop after scoop of ice cream into your mouth, hoping to take your mind off Logan, but it obviously doesn’t work. Not with the way his arms are wrapped around you��one draped around your shoulder while his other hand is tucked in its place against your lower stomach. 

You somehow finish the entire pint, and Logan notices immediately, taking the container from your hands and placing it on the nightstand next to him. His hand is back, soothingly rubbing your abdomen, within the blink of an eye. He’s endlessly attentive, listening carefully to every breath you take, watching every wrinkle in your forehead crease and every wince you make when a bad cramp comes on. 

A sudden, sharp pain builds in your abdomen, and you squeeze your eyes shut, grinding your teeth as the pain worsens. You take a deep breath through your nose and out your mouth.

“Hey,” Logan coos, pressing his hand a bit harder into your belly. “Is it getting bad?” He asks softly, holding you tighter. 

You swallow harshly, taking another deep breath. “Yeah, it hurts right now,” you choke, wincing as you let yourself lean completely into him. 

Logan pulls you into his lap, one arm draping across the front of your chest while his hand slips underneath the waistband of your athletic shorts. He stops just above your panties. “Is this okay?” He asks, his warm palm messaging your stomach. 

The pressure is so nice, and the heat from his palm is delicious. “Yes,” you groan, your legs intertwining with his. You squirm a bit in his lap, trying to get comfortable. “You’re so warm,” you whisper, turning on your side, still situated between his legs, your head on his chest. “F-feels good.”

Logan presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His arm slides up and down your body before settling on your waist. “You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, pressing your face into the center of his chest. All you can smell is him—pine and musk and denim and leather. It’s perfect, dizzying, distracting. Just need you, you think to yourself. 

“Need me, pretty girl?” Logan asks. You lift your head up, furrowing your brows as you realize you let that thought find its way to your lips and out of your mouth. “I’m right here.” 

His face is just inches away from yours. His breath fans across your nose, your cheeks. His lips are close, too—just a bit closer and you’d be kissing. “L-Lo,” you stutter. “I…” You trail off, unable to form a coherent thought. You can feel the tension in the air, feel the heat building between your thighs. Fuck, you want him. Need him. 

His throat bobs as he swallows. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?” Logan murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. 

“W-want you,” you admit, your voice shaky. 

“Want you too, darlin’,” he says, his fingertips playing with the waistband of your panties. “Let me take care of you,” he husks. “Let me take the pain away.” And you want him too—more than anything. 

“Please,” you beg as his hand slips under the hem of your panties. You flip the T.V. off and throw the remote to the floor.

His lips finally press against yours, slow and languid. His fingertips find your clit, drawing tight, quick circles around the bud. “I’ll tease you next time, pretty girl,” Logan whispers at the shell of your ear. But all you register is next time. There’s going to be a next time. “Just wanna make you feel good right now.”

“F-fuck,” you moan, your hips rocking against his hand. He swirls around your clit, pinching gently between his strokes. 

Logan’s free hand comes down to your thighs, gripping your flesh tightly and spreading your legs wider. “That feel good, princess?” He rasps, stroking faster. 

Your head falls back to his shoulder. “Yes, so good,” you whimper. His lips find your neck, kissing your pulse point and sucking softly. His hand slides back up your body, slipping underneath your shirt, trailing over your stomach. 

His fingertips climb tentatively towards your chest. You remember you aren’t wearing a bra as Logan’s fingers brush against the underside of your breasts. “Please,” you beg, arching your back into his touch.

Logan presses another kiss to your neck as his hand palms your breasts, massaging gently, alternating between one side and the other. He hikes up your tank top, giving himself better access to all of you. His fingers continue their tight circles on your clit, swirling around, releasing that pressure at the bottom of your stomach. Your walls clench down around nothing as he presses harder into your core. 

“Thought about this for so long,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “Thought about touching you, fucking you. Wanted you this whole time, sweetheart.”

“Logan,” you moan, bringing your lips to his. “I wanted you too,” you confess. You can feel yourself hitting your peak, ready to fall apart. “I’m c-close.”

“I know, darlin’,” Logan soothes, his fingers quickening. “I’ve got you.” His lips melt against yours, fitting together like magnets, like you were always meant to find each other. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip. “Wanna make you come, wanna watch you let go.” 

It all happens so fast—your orgasm crashes into you, and Logan swallows your moans with another kiss. “That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, still stroking your clit. Your walls flutter as pleasure courses through your every nerve ending. His strokes slow down until his fingers rest, unmoving, on your clit. Logan’s hands still palm your breasts, messaging the tender flesh gently. “You okay?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah, p-perfect,” you stutter, curling into his chest. “Felt so good.” 

Logan presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Relax darlin’,” he husks, taking a deep breath. 

“Lo?” You whisper, looking up at him, his eyes immediately finding yours. “Do you really want me?” You ask, suddenly embarrassed to be saying anything at all, and yet you find yourself rambling. “When you were saying all that when we were—” 

But his lips are on yours again, hungry and desperate. He pulls away like he doesn’t want to—like it hurts to be away from you for even the briefest second. “I want you, pretty girl,” he says, pulling you back into his chest. “You’re all I think about…” He trails off, his voice less stable than it was just seconds ago. “You’re all I need.” 

“Logan,” you say, smiling widely. “I’ve wanted you for months. I didn’t know you felt the same way.” 

You can feel his chuckle reverberate through his chest. “How could I ever want someone else?” He asks. There’s levity in his voice, but you know he’s being serious. “You’re it. You make me think that…” he pauses, and you look up from his chest. “You make me think that there’s some purpose to all this.” He meets your gaze, and you can see the sudden shift in his expression. His eyes are glossed over. He works his jaw. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. For love. For you.” 

You know that Logan has had everything taken from him, time and time again. He’s an undeniably selfless person, the type of person who would let the world destroy him to protect those he loves—and he has—it’s happened. But he’s still here, and now he’s here with you. He deserves happiness. He deserves love. And the thought that he finally feels those things with you is too much to bear. You try to smile, but you can’t help the tears brimming in your eyes. “I love you,” you whisper. “So much.” 

“I love you too, beautiful.” 

His lips are on yours again, melding, coming together, building something unbreakable. You straddle him, his hands finding your hips. He squeezes firmly, keeping you in place on top of him. His tongue swipes your lower lip, asking permission to slip inside, and you happily oblige. You want Logan, all of him, now. Forever. 

“Always gonna want you, just you,” he mumbles against your lips. “So fucking beautiful. Never wanted anyone like this.” His hands guide your hips to roll over his. Your core drags along his erection—large and straining against his jeans. 

“Want you so bad,” you whine, grinding down onto him. But then you remember the reason Logan is here in the first place. “B-but I’m on my—”

Logan rocks his hips against yours, ignoring you. “As long as you want this pretty girl, I want this. Don’t care about that.”

Fuck.

You nod, your lips pressing to his. He swallows your whines, his tongue brushing against yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip. His hands slide up and down your back, your tank top still hiked up over your breasts. Logan’s nails trail across your skin, drawing along your curves, taking in every inch of you. 

You bring your hands down his chest, finding the hem of his beater. You tug it up his body, revealing his skin. “You want this off?” He asks, smiling against your lips. You nod, and he breaks contact for just a split second, tugging his shirt up and over his head. 

He’s so beautiful, his abs, the thick, dark hair scrawling across his chest. You bite your lip at the sight. “You’re perfect,” you mutter, letting your hands feel his exposed skin, searching him, growing familiar with his every curve.

He smirks, his hands finding your hips again, squeezing tightly. “That’s all you, princess,” he rasps, shaking his head. “Beautiful girl.” 

You grind your hips against his again, and he presses his forehead to yours. “Need you, Lo.” His arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so that your chest is flush with his. Your fingertips find his belt, fumbling with the buckle until you get it undone, and sliding the leather out of the loops of his jeans. You toss it to the floor and quickly work at his button and zipper. 

“Slow down, sweetheart,” Logan chides, grabbing your wrists with one of his massive hands. “Let’s take it easy, yeah?”

You can’t help but pout. “But I want you so bad,” you whine, grinding down onto him. Logan groans, his hips bucking up into yours. He brings his hands to the hem of his jeans and tugs them down. You take the opportunity to grab a condom from the drawer of the nightstand next to you. 

When you look back, Logan’s erection is free from his jeans. He’s massive, so much bigger than you ever imagined. You swallow harshly, handing him the condom with shaky hands. He smirks, opening the little package and rolling the condom over his cock. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he husks. “Gonna take it slow, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, and then his hands are on your hips again, flipping you onto your back so that he’s hovering over you. He quickly finds the hem of your shorts, and you lift your hips up a little, helping him tug them, along with your panties, down your legs. He places them at the end of the bed and lowers back down over you. 

He balances on his forearm as his free hand guides his cock to your folds, sliding through you, nudging against your clit. “You have no idea how much I need you,” Logan whispers, his tip teasing your entrance. “No idea how much I love you.” 

He shoves himself deep inside you with one thrust, bottoming out, down to the hilt. “Fuck,” he curses, his cock filling you up, stretching you out, giving you a chance to adjust to the sheer size of him. “You feel so good,” he praises. “Knew you’d feel perfect. Fucking made for me.”

He finally pulls out only to thrust back in, somehow deeper this time. “Logan,” you moan, your nails digging into his muscular back. “S-so big, so good,” you breathe, stumbling over your words. 

“Love it when you say my name, pretty girl,” Logan pants, slipping out and pumping back in, setting a slow, languid pace. His free hand reaches between your bodies, his fingertips finding your clit with ease. He draws those familiar, tight, rapid little circles into your bud. 

You curse under your breath as he splits you open, his pace growing faster every few thrusts or so. He’s holding back, and you can see it in his face—his eyes all dark as he works his jaw, feigning patience. You know he wants more—to take all of you and make you his. 

“Logan, y-you don’t have to…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed as he hits that sweet spot deep inside you. 

“Eyes on me, pretty girl,” he says, demand in his voice. Your eyes flutter back open. “What do you need?” He asks, softer now, attentive as ever.  

His fingers swirl against your clit, adding more pressure with every careful stroke, making it near impossible for you to form a coherent thought. “Y-you don’t have to hold back,” you stammer as he sinks into you. “I-I can take it.”

He presses a kiss to your lips as he pumps in and out. “Just wanna take care of you this time, beautiful.” He pinches your clit lightly before stroking again. “Next time I’ll take you how I want.” There it is again. Next time. 

His hips snap against yours, his fingers working dexterously at your clit. It’s all too much, the way he bites your lips, burying his face into the crook of your neck and kissing your pulse point, whispering praises against the shell of your ear. Taking me so well. Doing so good for me, darlin’. So fucking beautiful. Such a good girl. 

His cock drags along your walls, and you clench down around him. He twitches inside you as he buries himself deeper, hitting that sweet spot again and again. “Logan,” you whine, your eyes struggling to stay open. “I’m so close.” Logan’s cock throbs as the words fall from your lips. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters, his composure slipping. “I know, princess. Me too.” His hips rock into yours, his pace growing faster with every hit. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna get there with you.” 

You arch your back, your chest pushing flush against his. “Yes,” you moan as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers firmly circling your clit. It’s too much—you know you’re coming undone, unraveling underneath him. Your walls clench down around him again. 

“That’s it, beautiful,” Logan soothes. “Come with me.”

The tension snaps, splitting in two. It’s uncontrollable, a raging fire, blinding heat. You let go, melting into the mattress, your orgasm wracking through your body. Logan twitches inside you, and you know he’s coming too. You’re trembling underneath him, legs shaking as his thrusts slow down. With one more slow pump, Logan stills inside you. His fingers stroke your clit lightly, working you through your high, bringing you back down to Earth. 

After a few seconds, his fingers slip away, and he pulls out of your cunt. You can’t help but feel empty now that he’s gone, already craving more of him. He sits up on his knees and climbs off the bed, taking the condom from his cock and tossing it into the garbage. He grabs his boxers from off the floor and tugs them on. 

Before you can beg him to come back, he’s crawling onto the bed. He grabs your panties and your shorts, dragging them up your legs, making sure everything is back in its right place. 

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asks, tugging you into his chest. “You need anything? New pad? Water?”

“I’m okay,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. “Just need you.”

You can feel him smiling against the crown of your head. “You have me, beautiful.” He whispers. “Always gonna have me.” He tugs the sheets and the comforter over your bodies, the warmth of him and your bed dragging you under the current of sleep. 

You wake up a few hours later. Logan is still there, next to you, his arms holding you tightly to his chest. 

“Lo,” you whisper into the darkness of your room.

“I’m here.” His voice is cloudy, tired, filled with sleep. “Never gonna be anywhere but here.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Go back to sleep.”

“I love you,” you say, because you can, because you mean it.

You can hear the sleepy smile in his voice. “I love you too.”

tags: @banlaineslawyer @gothgoblinbabe @alsoprettyinpink @librababe99 @ponygyatt @yoursrosie @itdobe-foggy @gplol @healmydesires @qardasngan @princessterek @alastorssimp @yawnetu @chronicallybubbly @corvid007 @muffin-berry @emmdog2999 @kieekto @creepsbeware @starrdustss @evasmlp @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @ilysmdovie12 @silversprings-mp3 @prettyseaveins @derbygracie @pedrohoe04 @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @movhoney @honeyfwr @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @cosmiccandydreamer

[paxtito]

and they were roommates

pairings: tara x reader (g!p)

word count: 2717

warnings: smut 18+, masturbating, oral (r receiving), p in v, swearing

summary: tara is out running errands, she’d be gone for hours- or so you thought

a/n: i’m working on multiple request atm— wenclair x reader one and the radiohead song (i’m just listening and reading the song to get an idea atm) also thank you to the anon for requesting this and their kind words!

The dorm is quiet, unusually so, and it’s kind of nice. Tara had mentioned heading out for the day—something about running errands and meeting up with Sam—and while you’re used to the hum of her presence, the silence isn’t unwelcome.

You glance around the shared space. It’s small but cozy, a mix of her personality and yours crammed into every corner. Her side of the room is meticulously organized—her books stacked neatly, her bed made with precision. In contrast, your side looks… well, lived-in. A pile of clothes rests precariously on your desk chair, and your bed is a haphazard mess of blankets and pillows.

You plop onto your bed, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Without Tara around, you’re left to your own devices—literally. You snort at a meme, sending it to her out of habit.

“That’s stupid,” she’d probably reply, but there’d be a hint of fondness in it.

After a while, you glance at the clock. Noon. The day stretches ahead, and you find yourself feeling restless. You could clean up your side of the room, but… nah. Instead, you wander over to Tara’s desk.

Her books catch your eye first—old classics mixed with crime thrillers and a few surprisingly heartfelt poetry collections. You pick one up, flipping through the pages idly. A note scribbled in the margin catches your attention, her handwriting sharp and deliberate: “This makes no sense. Why didn’t he just leave?”

You chuckle softly. Even in her annotations, Tara’s blunt honesty shines through.

Your gaze drifts to her bulletin board. It’s a mix of pinned photos, ticket stubs, and little reminders. One of the pictures is of the two of you, taken on move-in day. You’re grinning like an idiot, throwing up a peace sign, while she’s glaring at the camera, her arms crossed—but there’s a subtle upturn to her lips that gives her away.

You flop onto your bed, the old springs creaking under your weight. The small TV in the corner flickers to life as you jab at the remote, the sound of canned laughter filling the room. It's some trashy reality show, but it's mindless and distracting—just what you need right now.

As you settle in, your gaze drifts around the room. Tara's side is always so pristine, everything in its place. It's annoying how tidy she is. You, on the other hand... well, your side looks like a bomb went off in a thrift store.

You reach for the bag of chips on your nightstand, tearing it open with a loud rip. The salty scent mingles with the faint smell of Tara's lavender body spray, creating a strange but not unpleasant odor.

You munch away, eyes glued to the screen, as snippets of conversation from the show drift through your thoughts.

"I think I'm going to kill her," one of the contestants is saying, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

You snort. Yeah, right. They're all too busy primping and preening to actually do anything. Unlike the Ghostface killers, they've got no balls.

You check the time again, just to be sure. Tara won't be back for at least a couple of hours. With the coast clear, a mischievous grin spreads across your face. Time to take advantage of the privacy.

You reach over to your bedside table, fishing around in the drawer until your fingers close around the cool, smooth bottle of lotion. You pop the cap open with practiced ease, squirting a generous amount into your palm. The slick, slightly cold sensation sends a shiver down your spine as you rub your hands together, warming the lotion.

With your other hand, you unlock your phone and pull up your favorite porn site. Your fingers fly over the screen as you type in your search, already feeling the familiar stirrings of arousal. A few taps later, and a video starts playing, the sounds of moaning and grunting filling the now-silent room.

You settle back against your pillow, one hand already slipping beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. Your cock is already half-hard, twitching in anticipation. You wrap your fingers around it, giving it a slow stroke as you watch the scene unfold on your screen.

You stroke your cock slowly, teasingly, savoring the building pleasure. Your other hand roams over your chest, pinching and tweaking a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. The dual sensations send sparks of electricity shooting through your body, making your hips buck up into your touch.

On screen, the actress lets out a particularly loud moan, and you match it with a groan of your own. Fuck, that's hot.

Just as you're getting into a rhythm, the door to your dorm swings open without warning. You freeze, your hand still wrapped around your throbbing cock, as Tara steps inside.

"Shit!" she exclaims, her eyes widening as she takes in the scene before her. You're sprawled on your bed, pants pulled down, phone in hand, and a sticky puddle of lube on your stomach.

Mortification floods through you, and you frantically try to cover yourself, grabbing a pillow and pressing it over your lap. Your face burns with embarrassment, and you can't meet Tara's gaze.

"I-I thought you said you'd be gone for hours!" you stammer, trying to come up with some excuse. But there's no hiding what you were doing.

Tara stands in the doorway, frozen in shock. Her eyes dart between your flushed face and the pillow. After a moment, she seems to shake herself out of her stupor.

Tara's eyes flick down to the pillow, then back up to your face. Her expression is unreadable, but there's a glint in her eye that makes your stomach flutter with nerves and excitement.

She steps further into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The sound seems to echo in the tense silence.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she says, her voice low and teasing. She saunters over to your bed, the mattress dipping under her weight as she sits on the edge.

Your breath hitches as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against the pillow in your lap. Slowly, she pulls it away, revealing your straining erection. You whimper at the sudden exposure, the cool air hitting your overheated skin.

Tara's gaze rakes over your cock, and you feel yourself grow even harder under her scrutiny. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and your hips twitch involuntarily.

"Looks like you were in the middle of something," she purrs, her hand resting lightly on your thigh. Her touch is electric, sending shivers racing up your spine.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be back so soon," you manage to say, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.

Tara leans in closer, her breath ghosting over your ear. "Don't apologize," she whispers, her lips brushing against your skin. "I think I can help with that."

And then, before you can process what's happening, she's sliding down your body, her hands pushing your legs apart. You gasp as her mouth hovers over your cock, her hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, Tara," you groan, your fingers tangling in her hair as she takes you into her mouth. The wet heat of her tongue is almost too much to bear, and you buck your hips, desperate for more.

Tara hums around you, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body. She bobs her head, taking you deeper each time, her hand wrapping around the base of your cock.

Your head falls back against the pillows as Tara works her magic. Her mouth is a wonder, hot and wet and so damn perfect. You can feel every ridge and valley of her tongue as it glides along your shaft, tracing the veins and swirling around the head.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good," you groan, your hips rocking up to meet her movements. Your fingers tighten in her hair, gently guiding her pace.

Tara hums in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. She takes you deeper, her nose brushing against your pubic bone as she swallows around you.

The sight of her, head bobbing in your lap, lips stretched obscenely around your cock, is almost too much to handle. You feel yourself getting close, your balls tightening and your stomach muscles clenching.

"Tara, I'm gonna..." you warn, your voice strained and breathless.

But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she doubles down, her head moving faster, her hand pumping in tandem. She looks up at you through her lashes, her eyes dark with lust and something else, something intense and hungry.

It's too much. With a guttural groan, you explode in her mouth, your cock pulsing as you spill your seed down her throat. She swallows it all, not spilling a single drop, and continues to suck and lick until you're spent.

Finally, she releases you with a lewd pop, sitting back on her heels and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks immensely pleased with herself, a satisfied smirk on her kiss-swollen lips.

You collapse back onto the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Your whole body feels like jelly, boneless and sated.

"Holy shit," you breathe, running a hand through your sweat-dampened hair. "That was... wow."

Tara giggles, the sound low and sultry. She crawls up your body, straddling your hips and leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

You roll over, pinning Tara beneath you on the bed. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. You capture her lips in another heated kiss, your tongue delving into her mouth to taste yourself on her tongue.

Your hands roam her body, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to caress the smooth skin of her stomach. She arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Breaking the kiss, you sit up and pull her shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly aside. Your eyes drink in the sight of her, clad only in a lacy bra. You lean down, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the swell of her cleavage.

Tara's fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently as she holds you to her. "More," she breathes, her voice husky with need.

You oblige, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. It falls away, freeing her breasts to your hungry gaze. You take a moment to admire them, full and perfect, before lowering your head to take one pebbled nipple into your mouth.

Tara gasps, her back arching off the bed. You lavish attention on her breast, sucking and nibbling until she's writhing beneath you. Your hand slides down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans.

"These need to go," you murmur against her skin, hooking your fingers in the denim and pulling it down her legs. She lifts her hips to help, kicking the jeans off and leaving her in just a pair of matching lace panties.

You sit back on your heels, taking in the sight of her laid out before you, flushed and wanting. Your cock twitches, already hardening again. You reach down to push your own pants fully off, kicking them away.

Tara's eyes widen as she takes in your naked form, her gaze zeroing in on your erection. "Fuck, you're so hot," she breathes, her hand reaching out to wrap around you.

You grind your cock against her, feeling the heat of her through the thin lace. Tara gasps, her hips lifting to meet yours, seeking more friction. The rough drag of your hard length against her clothed clit sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you both.

"Please," she whimpers, her fingers digging into your shoulders. "I need you inside me."

You don't make her wait any longer. Hooking your fingers in her panties, you yank them down her legs, tossing them aside carelessly. Tara spreads her legs wider, inviting you in.

You position yourself at her entrance, the head of your cock nudging against her slick folds. Tara's breath hitches, her eyes fluttering closed as you press forward.

You sink into her inch by delicious inch, groaning at the tight, wet heat enveloping you. Tara is so fucking perfect, her walls gripping you like a vice. You bottom out, your hips flush against hers, buried to the hilt inside her.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you pant, fighting the urge to just start pounding into her. Instead, you hold still, letting her adjust to the stretch.

Tara rolls her hips, urging you on. "Move," she demands, her nails raking down your back.

You don't need to be told twice. You start to thrust, setting a steady rhythm that has you both gasping and moaning. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and the creaking of the bed.

Tara wraps her legs around your waist, using the leverage to meet your thrusts. Her tits bounce with every snap of your hips, and you lean down to capture a nipple in your mouth, sucking hard.

"Yes, just like that," Tara hisses, her head thrashing on the pillow. "Don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. You fuck her hard and fast, chasing your pleasure and hers. The coil of heat in your belly winds tighter and tighter, signaling your impending release.

You can feel your orgasm building, your balls tightening and your thrusts becoming erratic. But you force yourself to slow down, to focus on Tara's pleasure instead of your own.

Tara's nails dig into your shoulders, her teeth sinking into your neck as she holds on for dear life. Her walls flutter around you, tightening and releasing in a rhythm that tells you she's close.

You redouble your efforts, angling your hips to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Tara keens, her body tensing beneath you.

You reach between your bodies, finding her clit with your fingers. Tara bucks against your hand, her hips moving in frantic circles as you rub tight circles over the sensitive nub. You can feel her getting closer, her inner walls starting to flutter around your cock.

"Come on, baby," you urge, your voice low and rough. "Come for me."

Tara's body goes rigid, her back arching off the bed as her orgasm crashes over her. She cries out, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice as she comes undone.

The feeling of her coming around your cock is too much. With a guttural groan, you pull out, your hand flying over your shaft as you stroke yourself to completion. Your cum spurts out, painting Tara's stomach in thick, white ropes.

You collapse beside her, both of you panting and sweaty. Tara turns her head to look at you, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

"That was intense," she murmurs, reaching out to brush a sweat-dampened lock of hair from your forehead.

You grab some tissues from the box on your nightstand, quickly wiping the cum from Tara's stomach. She sighs contentedly as you clean her, her body still tingling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

As you toss the used tissues aside, you can't help but let your gaze wander over her naked form. Tara is a vision, her skin flushed and glowing, her hair splayed out on the pillow like a halo. She looks thoroughly debauched, and the sight sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

But then reality starts to set in. You just had sex with your roommate. Your best friend. What does this mean for your relationship? Will things be awkward now?

Tara seems to sense your thoughts. She sits up, pulling the sheet around her naked body. "Hey," she says softly, reaching out to cup your cheek. "We okay?"

You nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Tara smiles, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Good," she murmurs against your mouth. "Because I want to do that again. Soon."

With that, she hops off the bed, completely unselfconscious in her nudity. She pads over to her closet, rummaging around for something to wear.

You watch her, your mind still reeling. What have you gotten yourself into?

—

request: where reader and Tara are roommates and reader thinks Tara is out so reader starts to masturbate but Tara comes home early and walks in on reader so she gives a helping hand (a blow job) then they do it yk?

[kisses4kaia]

nobody does it better by carly simon but it’s the radiohead cover and it’s patrick… cw: DISGUSTING smut with this evil man, no less no more . im shameless.

a/n: so we all know the photo. and what ThePhoto did to me was… this! enjoy. 😌

the room is loud. there’re a million people you could be talking to, looking at. a hundred people you could sit in the corner and people watch, but his eyes are on you. and you cannot look away.

patrick zweig was a reoccurring character in your life. starting off as low-commitment boyfriend freshman year, turning to effervescent fuckbuddy you could never get far enough away from to become detached. you hated him, god, you hated the pull on you he had. the iron grip that steeled you right where you were across the room from him, eyes locked like a guarded palace onto his. good lord.

it truly takes the will of god to keep your feet planted where they are, forcing yourself to divert your eyes from him. but, never fear, he’s already moving towards you.

his towering presence is felt immediately as he stands in front of you, looking down into your eyes as if he can hear your heart pounding regardless of the blaring song around him.

“hey,” he says quietly, tone soft but gravelly, as if there wasn’t a sound barrier around the two of you that might keep you from hearing him. “what do you want, zweig?” your voice comes out more pointedly than you intended, but with the way your pulse is thrumming and your hands are shaking, you can hardly blame yourself.

looking at you with that look in his eye, the one that almost mocks you as to say ‘got ya’, he cranes his neck down to whisper in your ear. “what do you want?” and he knows.

patrick turns without another word, and before you can process what you’re doing, your feet are moving with him, as if a collar was wrapped around your neck, choking your senses, and the leash was hanging haphazardly from his hand.

his path leads you into a bathroom, small, no shower, with a buzzing, lagging light. his hands are on your waist as soon as you step through the door, pushing you against it. patrick doesn’t kiss you immediately, unusual for him. “i miss you,” he breathes out, nervously, and it is jarring.

patrick zweig is not nervous, ever. he was self sure and confident and a fucking dickwad who knew it and embraced it as part of his “charm”. “yeah? and how many girls have you said that to, hm? britney posted you on her story yesterday, patrick. last friday, it was ántonia. fuck you,” you spat out, the 3… maybe 4 vodka sours you indulged in half an hour ago making your head pound, or maybe it was his dior sauvage.

he sighs, looking away from you impatiently, but when his eyes lands back on you, his gaze is crazed. “fuck, they don’t matter to me. i don’t know their last names, i don’t know their little siblings, they don’t know my favorite band, and i don’t look them in the eye when i fuck them. shit, baby, it’s you, don’t you realize? always fucking you,”

oscar winning preformance, is what you want to say, but his exasperated exhale after the words come out, paired with the rihanna song dully thrumming behind the door, bass vibrating against the wood, you look between his eyes, down at his lips, and your eyes don’t travel again before you smash your mouth onto his.

never fucking again, you tell yourself as his lips move in desperate, hungry, almost disbelieving tandem with yours. this is the last time.

“do you have a boyfriend?” he breathes out between kisses as he unbuckles your belt and unbuttons your jeans, shimmying them off. “like that’d make you walk out right now,” you kiss him again, biting his lower lip. “fuck. no, fuck no, but if you do, i’m going to make you remember exactly why nobody does it better.”

patrick lifts you effortlessly and places you on the sink, pulling your sticky, lacy panties to the side, smirking that evil damn smirk at the fancy little bow at the top. “did you know i was gonna be here tonight?” he nibbles as your ear, bringing loving bites down your jugular to your shoulder.

“no, but i knew art would be.” your smile is devious as his eyes light up, not with jealousy, but with the same fire he gets when he realizes his opponent on the other side of the net is really playing with him, when they’re really playing fucking tennis.

patrick jerks himself once or twice, languidly, before sliding his cock into you. a hardly contained whine pulls from your voice, and your mouth drops into an ‘o’ at the stretch. he nearly has you in an embrace, the way he’s holding you closely against his chest, and his curls are begging to be pulled. you entwine your finger with the hair at the nape of his neck and tug with every sharp thrust into your leaking pussy.

“more, give me more, patrick, don’t hold back on me, asshole.” he doesn’t even respond, just obediently lifts you up every so slightly off the sink and moves you on and off of his cock, giving him a much wider range of motion. his dick is nearly completely out of you each time his hips snap back, but you’re moaning like a pornstar each time he’s in again.

his ability to hit that spot inside of you with near perfect accuracy every fucking time is expert, a skill that could only be acquired by someone so in tune with your pleasure—and if patrick zweig was nothing else, he was that.

“fuck, gonna, shit! gripping me so fucking tight, leaking all over my shit, baby. she miss me? huh, pretty? you miss me?” he was talking right through you, each word penetrating your deepest desires and fantasies. you hated how he knew you. you hated that you let him. but most of all, you hated how close you were to coming.

he keeps fucking you unforgivingly, whining and moaning like a whore all the while. “you still on that pill?” he asked, voice pitchy and annoying and sexy.

“no, insurance stopped covering it.” you say seriously, and you can’t keep your laughter in when his thrusts slow and he looks at you panicked. “i’m fucking with you, don’t stop,”

“you’re evil, you know that?” he says endearingly, playful as always, and it’s no more than a minute later that he’s coming inside you.

patrick never was a selfish lover, so it came as no surprise that after pulling his softening girth from you, not one, not two, but three of his finger were quickly pumping in and out of you, making him moan sluttishly at the way his own cum coated his fingers. his other hand made busy circling your clit with his thumb, fast and calculatedly.

he knew every button to push because he sewed them onto you, and so it was no surprise that with that special angling of his wrist, you were coming undone on his fingers in minutes.

it’s quiet for the next few minutes, you cleaning yourself up, patrick washing his hands, the both of you redressing in silence.

“so… same time tomorrow?” he smiles at you, pleased with himself and sure your answer will be affirmative.

you walk up to him, smile, kiss him tenderly on his lips, let your heels touch the ground again softly. “go fuck yourself, patrick.” your words are sharp but your tone is sickly sweet, and patrick recovers from his shock quickly, smirking stupidly.

“after that, i most definitely will be.”

[dughole]

radiohead’s complicity in israeli-occupied palestine

my feelings on radiohead are complicated these days, as i’m sure they are for many. i'm using this post as a method of sorting out my own thoughts & to provide sources.

for me, the bottom line is this: radiohead is both a brand & a musical group. the brand of radiohead has always had deep roots in the israeli colonial project - they have played many, many shows there throughout their career. their breakout single - creep, was intially only a hit in israel (x, x) & the personal choices of some of radiohead's members remain just as involved. jonny greenwood met his future wife - the israeli artist, antivaxxer & vehement zionist (x) sharona katan - at a show radiohead played in israel in 1993 (x). jonny consistently collaborated with zionist musician shye ben tzur & his projects continue to tour in tel aviv as recently as last september. as for jonny himself - his only statement in regards to the war on gaza has been in mourning for the israeli concert goers on october 10th - w no such empathy spared to the 100,000 palestinians dead, injured, or missing. as for thom, while he’s thrown a few bitchfits (x) through the years abt criticism of radiohead’s shows in israel, he has imo - only paid lipservice to the criticism, saying “playing in a country isn’t the same as endorsing its government” going against the pleas of his peers & coworkers in the music industry. as well as the pro-palestine activism undertaken by his long term friend micheal stipe (x & x). (note: stipe stood by radiohead’s performance in israel in 2017, but his current political choices suggest his understanding of the situation has evolved). even his own son - noah yorke, a fellow working musician, has voiced his opposition to the genocide in gaza via instagram stories. as for the other members, rhythm guitarist ed o'brien has called for a ceasefire, as well as making a few tweets about "solidarity with palestinians & israeli peacemakers". while bassist colin greenwood reportedly refused to accept letters of dialogue from the fan-run organization radiohead fans for palestine. drummer phillip selway's commentary is similarly brief but defensive, saying radiohead's 2017 tel aviv concert "felt right"

to me, this paints a picture of a band who's members stances on israel range from abhorrent to simply not enough. & as a brand, their particular combination of action & inaction amounts to a fundamentally zionist perspective. you cannot separate radiohead as artists from radiohead as a brand name.

i've loved radiohead since i was 14. i was brought into it by another longtime fan. i cried & danced when i saw them live back in 2017 - it was, & remains, a moment that allowed me to live through the hardest parts of my life. i felt for the longest time, that radiohead's music & political positions encouraged my empathy - my questioning of conservative political authority. & while all celebrities are failures in some sense - it is still heartbreaking to know how wrong i was.

i don't think it's possible to disconnect the decade of connection & love i have for their music - I won't ask that of myself or anyone else. & the idea of scrubbing one's taste of the "morally impure" is useless effort & an inappropriate simplification of both art & our conceptions of what makes someone "bad". but i can say with certainty - i will not be giving them any more of my money, whether that be streaming their music or buying their merch - & i encourage you to do the same. silence is complicity - this is beyond silence.

in the words of nina simone - "an artist's duty, as far as i'm concerned, is to reflect the times. how can you be an artist and not reflect the times? that to me is the definition of an artist."

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 04

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS/WARNINGS: flashback in italics, the first chapter all in MC pov!, The Truce, yoongi is insane about pens and notebooks again, communication via lipliner and water, yijeong cameo, park jimin strikes fear into yoongi’s heart, tangerine hats and heart-pocket pants, seokjin is unhelpful, idk most of this chapter is a bit silly to be completely honest with y’all, stuff happens but i don't want to give too much away (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 6.8k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i told y’all this was a slow burn... but happy valentine’s day! thank you to tanni @yooniivrse and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading this chapter (and K again for literally writing a whole line for me when i got stuck)

CH. 04: E-X-P-L-O-D-E

There are worse places to be, you think, than sitting across from Yoo Kihyun.

He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Expensive clothes, perfect teeth, dark brown hair styled neatly away from his forehead. An endearing little divot at the curve of his sharp jawline. The kindest eyes you think you’ve ever seen.

The restaurant he’s picked is a bit hard to get into, a new trendy spot that’s had a line out the door every night since it opened. You’re honestly a little impressed that he managed to get a reservation. If the flush in his cheeks when you mention that is anything to go by, that was his intention.

You’re no good at first dates, but Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind carrying the conversation. He has plenty to talk about, riding high on his critically acclaimed debut. Well-earned acclaim, in your book—he has a beautiful voice, along with a charming personality that his growing fanbase is sure to love the more they get to know him.

You’re happy to listen, and even happier to keep the attention off of yourself for as long as you can. Kihyun’s relatively new to the industry, hasn’t been in the game for too long, and you’re starting to realize that the less he knows about you, the more you like him.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been in such an intimate setting with a man, and you’re surprised by how at ease you begin to feel as the night goes on. The tension in your body dissipates more and more with every sip of wine, every kind word. Kihyun hasn’t made any move to touch you, but by the time he pays the check, you’re starting to think you’d let him if he tried. 

You wait together, side by side, for the valet to pull his car around. Maybe it’s the wine, but in a moment of bravery, you allow your fingers to slide between his tentatively. Your heart skips a beat when his hand squeezes yours, interlacing your fingers all the way.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Kihyun says, his voice soft. “I’m sure you get that all the time, being a model. But it’s true.”

His free hand comes up to brush your hair away from your face, and you turn to him. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you,” he adds.

It’s the first thing everyone notices about you now, with your new career path. More often than not, it’s the only thing people bother to notice, you think. You still haven’t learned how to respond to the compliments, not when you don’t even know how to feel about them.

You kiss him instead. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him to meet you. His lips firm against yours, frozen in surprise, before they yield into something softer. Tentative. Chaste. Gentle.

You were probably going to do it anyway. It feels better than saying ‘thank you’ when you’re not sure you’d really mean it.

★ ★ ★

A week has passed since you shook hands with the devil.

To his credit, Yoongi seems to be holding up his end of the deal—better than you are, even. It’s unsettling. You think you hate it.

It’s gone like this:

Day One

You wake up and choose violence. 

The memory of Yoongi using your ex-boyfriend against you is still fresh in your brain, and you decide to say fuck the truce until he pays suitably. It’s only fair.

Yoongi doesn’t leave the house often, unless dragged, but the universe seems to be on your side today. He’s out of cigarettes! Praise be. Surely his absence, however brief, will give you enough time to exact your revenge.

You tiptoe down the stairs just in time to watch the back of his stupid head disappear as the front door closes behind him. As soon as the lock clicks, you’re springing into action.

Careful not to tip off his bandmates, you slink around the house, stuffing your cardigan pockets with every single Uni-Ball Jetstream Premier pen you can get your sights on. 

Maybe it’s childish, stealing all of Yoongi’s pens, but fuck it. What else do you know about him? What else is there to take? Pens will have to do.

By the time you’ve scanned each room in the house, twice, your pockets are overflowing. More pens create indentations in your stomach, stashed in the elastic of your leggings like a belt. Like a trophy.

Fifty-six pens are dumped into the bathroom sink. An absolute mental patient amount of pens for one person to have, you think as you separate them into groups of seven. You bundle them with hair ties, stuff them into your emptied makeup bag, and hide your crime in plain sight—the bathroom counter.

Then you wait.

The payoff isn’t immediate. Once he gets back, it takes an hour or so for Yoongi to start patting his pockets. A little longer for drawers to be rifled through, for couch cushions to be overturned. You just watch, confident that he won’t find anything.

By the end of the night, the house looks like it’s been ransacked by a crazed fan, and your makeup bag remains untouched.

Day Two

You have sightseeing plans with Jeongguk today, a visit to the aquarium where photos are sure to be taken. You’re just about to leave the bedroom and head downstairs to meet him when you notice a piece of paper at your feet. 

When you pick it up, you’re faced with the scrawl of Yoongi’s handwriting, smudged in an eerily familiar shade of pink.

The name Yoo Kihyun will never come out of my mouth again if that’s what you want. Have mercy on my pens. They didn’t do anything wrong.

— The only person committed to this truce, apparently

P.S. Your lipliner is now a prisoner of war

You absolutely do not snort at Yoongi’s note. You don’t find him funny.

What is funny, however, is that when he swiped the lipliner from the bathroom you share with Jeongguk, he was less than three feet away from all fifty-six of his pens the whole time. Hilarious.

Later, when you’re watching a group of penguins waddle behind glass, you’re hit with a wave of genius.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

“Hm?”

“Can you give me Yoongi’s number? I don’t have it.”

Jeongguk seems more than happy to comply, instantly fishing his phone out from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Wow, you two are really getting along now, huh?” he asks, sounding more than pleased as he taps on his phone screen a few times.

“What can I say?” you hum, retrieving your own phone as it buzzes in your purse. “You were right. We have more in common than we thought.”

You open your camera app and hit record, zooming in on one of the penguins for a few seconds. It’s the first thing you send to Yoongi.

You: has anyone ever told you that you walk like this?

Day Three

Yoongi has a new pack of pens delivered to the house. You decide to let him keep them, since your message was clearly received. No response to your penguin text yet.

Day Four

Jeongguk needs to learn to read the room, you decide.

It’s late as fuck. You’ve been out all night with him, on another sightseeing trip—following him around, holding his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. Everything that’s expected of you.

By the time you make it to the bedroom, the mask of ‘fake girlfriend’ feels too tight, too heavy. All you really want is to climb into bed and go to sleep.

Instead, you’re wide awake, idly scrolling on your phone in bed while Jeongguk talks to his real girlfriend over the phone. With all the fucking lights on.

Despite how hard you try to tune them out, you catch every single word. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to even notice that you’re in the room with him, that you’re trying to sleep, too busy cooing sweet nothings over the line. 

In this moment, you’re more aware of where you stand with Jeongguk than you’ve ever been. And for the first time since this whole charade began, you’re actually kind of grateful that you’re not really dating Jeongguk. As it turns out, Jeongguk in love is nauseating. Since you’re on your phone, you go ahead and tell Seokjin as much.

After toughing it out for nearly half an hour, you slip out of bed. You decide to go get yourself a glass of water or something, give Jeongguk time with his girlfriend. You’re sure he misses her.

You tiptoe to the door quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary to your presence or your departure. “Noona, I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Jeongguk whines, completely oblivious to you. 

Aw hell nah.

You book it down the stairs as fast as humanly possible, so fast that you’re out of breath by the time you make it to the bottom.

The living room is dark when you pass through it. You think, for a moment, that you and Jeongguk might be the only ones still awake at this hour. As you get closer to the kitchen, though, the smell of fresh coffee floods your senses.

There’s only one person in this house insane enough to make coffee this late at night.

“Hey.” 

The sound of your voice makes Yoongi freeze in his tracks, caught, but he shakes it off quickly. 

“Hey,” he replies in kind, looking you over. “You’re up late.”

Something in his tone makes you pause, confused, until you look down at yourself and realize what he must be thinking. You’re in sleep shorts and a tank top, barely covered despite the chill outside, sneaking downstairs late at night. From the room that you share with your supposed boyfriend. Out of breath and shaken up.

He probably thinks you just had sex.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply stiffly. “Thought I’d get some water.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else, opting instead to stare at the coffee pot as it brews in front of him. Good. You don’t want to know what he’s thinking.

You grab a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it up at the sink. It hits you, as you take a sip, that you haven’t actually spoken to Yoongi since the truce began four days ago. Nothing beyond a note written in your lipliner and an unanswered text about penguins. You don’t know how to act around him now, unsure of how guarded you need to be.

Thankfully (you hope), he breaks the silence first.

“I’ll be out of your hair once this is done,” he says, gesturing towards the coffee. You can’t help but note that he still isn’t looking at you.

“Who drinks coffee this late, anyway?” It’s an attempt at a joke, something to cut through the awkwardness settling between you.

Right at that moment, the coffee pot beeps. Wordlessly, Yoongi fills his mug and shuffles past you like he’s in a hurry, hot coffee threatening to spill over.

“People with albums to write,” he mumbles once he reaches the doorway. Without another glance in your direction, he’s gone.

Day Five

Your day starts with a pounding in your head.

Despite both of you falling asleep around the same time (read: late as hell), the couch Jeongguk’s been sleeping on is desolate when you open your eyes. 

He does that, you’ve noticed. No matter how late he stays up, he’s always up at the asscrack of dawn, going for a run or whatever it is he feels so compelled to do during the devil’s hours.

You roll out of bed around ten. You don’t have anything to do today, and judging by the quiet, it seems like you might have an empty house on your hands. It’s for the best, you think, because your skull feels like it’s about to pop.

Coffee, then. That should help.

Almost as soon as you cross the threshold from bedroom into the hallway, you’re intercepted by an extremely perturbed Yoongi.

“Okay, the pen thing was cute and all, but this is a little different,” he says. No hi, hello, how are you? Great. Your temples are throbbing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, making an attempt to push past him so you can get to the stairs, but Yoongi stops you with a hand on your elbow. Again with that shit.

“YN,” he huffs, unimpressed. “Just give it back. I know you have it.”

“Have what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, jerking your arm out of his grasp. “Will you stop fucking doing that, by the way?”

“My notebook,” Yoongi says, stepping in front of you again. “I can’t find it, and you stealing my shit seems to be a running theme this week.”

You blink at him, brows knitted together in confusion. His notebook? The fuck?

“What, you only had the one? But five dozen pens didn’t seem like overkill?”

“YN, I’m not fucking around,” he snaps. “There’s shit I need in there. Like all the songs for the album I’m here to write? An album I’d really like to finish as fast as possible.” 

He doesn’t say the ‘so I can get away from you’ part, but he doesn’t really have to. His tone says enough.

That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have his shit.

“Should’ve kept better track of it, I guess. I don’t know what to tell you.”

At this, Yoongi laughs, sharp and bitter. “You are fucking ridiculous, you know that? You’re the one who wanted this stupid truce. I was perfectly fine with the way we were operating before, but you came to me, practically begging me to play nice. What the fuck have I been doing?”

He’s looking at you like he expects an answer. You clench your fists at your sides. “Playing nice,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Better than you,” he adds, arms crossed over his chest. “I know you’re used to everyone letting you get away with whatever, but I’m not Kihyun, and I’m not Jeongguk. I don’t gain anything by letting you act like a brat.”

That makes you bristle. “Fuck you. I don’t have your stupid notebook, Yoongi. It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not interested in reading any more shitty lyrics about how much of a cunt you think I am.”

With that, you shove him out of your way once and for all. Blood rushes through your ears as you hurry down the stairs, almost running face-first into a wide-eyed Jimin in your haste. 

Shit. You can only hope he didn’t hear any of that.

You run into Yoongi one more time, right before bed. Same as last night, you’re getting yourself a glass of water while he makes coffee. You move around each other in stony silence, both of you unwilling to acknowledge the other’s presence in the kitchen. 

This time, though, you’re the one that leaves first. It feels a little like getting the last word.

Day Six

You spend the whole day in Teams meetings. You packed your schedule on purpose this time, disinterested in dealing with anyone that isn’t paid to kiss your ass. 

You eat a power bar for lunch. At dinner, Jeongguk brings a plate upstairs for you. You claim that you’re too busy to come down, but really, you’re still licking your wounds after your run-in with Yoongi yesterday afternoon.

It seems stupid now, but you really thought things were getting a bit better between the two of you. Or, at least, you hoped so. You weren’t naive enough to think that Yoongi was starting to like you, but you did think that there was a mutual respect forming there.

Your mistake.

It’s late when you decide to venture downstairs. You’re restless, having spent the better part of an hour tossing and turning while Jeongguk snores from the other side of the room.

Late enough that you think, hope, that you’ll be able to avoid another run-in with Yoongi. Even if he’s still awake, there’s no way he’s making coffee at this hour. You held off for long enough.

When you reach the kitchen, you find that you’re half right. The coffee pot is nearly empty, but judging by the aroma, the pot wasn’t made all that long ago. Yoongi, however, is nowhere to be found.

On the kitchen counter sits a glass of water, and next to it, a scrap of paper. Blank, but unmistakably from Yoongi’s thought-to-be-missing notebook.

Huh. So he found it.

You take the glass upstairs with you, careful not to wake Jeongguk as you sneak back into the room. It’s only when you climb back into bed that your phone buzzes beside you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the sight of your still-unanswered penguin text, and a new message.

The Devil: 🏳️

Day Seven

When you venture into the living room in the morning, you’re surprised to find the whole band gathered around the seating area. 

For the most part, the house has remained pretty quiet during the time you’ve been here. Today, though, it’s rowdy. You quickly find out why when you spot an unfamiliar fifth face—a handsome stranger with his arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulders.

A new bombshell has entered the villa. 

The chattering stops as soon as you’re spotted. You don’t even get a chance to be properly introduced to the new houseguest before you’re intercepted by Jimin, who throws himself in front of you at the foot of the stairs. 

“The inappropriately dressed goddess in silk shorts is Jeonggukie’s girlfriend, YN.”

“You may recognize her face from every Olive Young in Seoul,” Taehyung adds with amusement. 

“YN, this is Yijeong.” Jimin turns around, pointing at you. You think you catch a twitch in his right eye. “Go get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Um… Okay,” you say, half-awake and confused. 

Once you’re dressed less than half an hour later, you’re all piling into the van outside. The busy day, you find out, consists of a trip to the Little Prince citrus orchard—the trip that the band takes every time they’re in Jeju. You guess it was fast tracked due to Yijeong’s arrival.

In any other circumstance, you’d be thrilled at the prospect of spending your day picking tangerines, but the vibe seems off. Jimin looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, and the glances you catch him sending Yoongi’s way chill you to the bone. You don’t know what Yoongi did to piss him off, but it seems like Jimin has officially cracked, and you don’t really want to get on his bad side by asking.

Still, you suck it up. There will be plenty of photo opportunities, you reason. Plus, the hallabong smoothie this place offers looks really fucking good.

Upon entry, you’re handed a small wicker basket and gloves for tangerine picking. At the very least, the weather is suitable for what Jimin has in store. It’s the kind of winter day that feels fresh and crisp, more than comfortable to walk around in as long as you have a jacket.

At first, the group breaks off into twos—Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi and Yijeong, you and Jeongguk. You’re not exactly mad about the pairing, considering it means you’ll get to take those pictures for Seoyeon to post on your Instagram. Jeongguk is more than willing to indulge you, immediately tugging you close and snapping a selca with his cheek smushed against yours.

As your basket fills, though, you end up rotating through the group. Taehyung, dressed all in warm tones, buys you one of those smoothies you’ve been eyeing. Jimin snickers at you as you spike it with the flask you’ve had stashed in your purse, stealing a sip. Even Yijeong makes a point to walk with you for a bit, re-introducing himself politely.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to greet you properly earlier,” he says, sheepish. “It’s hard to get a word in with this group, sometimes.”

“So I’m learning,” you quip back easily, eyes scanning over the hanging hallabongs surrounding your path. “So, you’re here for the weekend, then?”

“Seems like it. Yoongi-yah called me down earlier this week. He wants a fresh pair of eyes for a song he’s working on.”

You scoff at that, unable to help yourself. “Like he doesn’t have three other pairs already?”

Yijeong gives you a sidelong glance, although it isn’t unkind. “He can be kind of secretive,” he explains, careful. “I think he just wanted the opinion of someone without a vested interest.”

You hum, unsure of how to respond. It makes sense, you guess.

“Am I wrong in assuming there’s a little bit of… tension there?” Yijeong continues. “Between you two.”

“We’re working on it,” you mumble, taking a much-needed sip of your smoothie. “Really. Chalk it up to incompatible personalities.”

“Ah.” Yijeong chuckles knowingly. “I get it. Yoongi-yah can be a little…”

“Bitchy?”

“Guarded,” he snorts. “But bitchy, too. I thought the same, when we first met. I was signed to the label about a year after Burn the Stage was. It took us a while to become as close as we are now.”

“You’re a musician?” you ask, interest piqued. You’ve never heard his name before, but granted, you don’t really keep track of that side of the industry anymore.

“Soloist,” Yijeong confirms, seemingly unoffended by your lack of recognition. “Producer, sometimes. I helped master their last album. I guess I impressed Yoongi, back then.”

“Teach me your ways,” you joke, earning another laugh from him.

“He’s not as hard to figure out as he likes to come off. It’s getting him to trust you, that's the hard part.”

Ah. Well. You’re kind of fucked in that department.

“Just give it time,” Yijeong says reassuringly. “If you’ve won the rest of them over, Yoongi will follow. He likes to play the part of the overprotective hyung, but he really is a nice guy when it comes down to it.”

“So I keep hearing. You two must be close, then.”

“Yoongi doesn’t have a lot of people to talk about his problems with. He’s way more interested in being a problem solver for others. But… everybody needs somebody.”

You grimace, stomach dropping at the thought of what kind of things Yoongi might have said about you, to this virtual stranger. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yijeong.

“If it helps, he hasn’t had anything bad to say about you since I showed up,” he adds reassuringly.

“Meaning he hasn’t said anything about me at all?” you ask, hopeful.

“Mm. Well, he said you’re pretty… passionate,” Yijeong says, lips quirking up at the corners in a soft smile. “I’ve learned that’s a good thing, in Yoongi’s book.”

Or it’s code for crazy bitch. But hey, you’ll take what you can get.

“Sure,” you hum, glancing in Yoongi’s direction. He’s a little further ahead on the path, deep in conversation with Jimin. His face is as pale as the white flag he sent you. Uh oh. “We’ll see.”

As the two of you gain on Yoongi and Jimin, it seems like whatever confrontation that was being had is over with. Good, because you still don’t really want to know what that was about.

“You need the Vitamin C, hyung,” you overhear Jimin say as you and Yijeong approach. He bumps Yoongi’s shoulder conspiratorially. “I bought something for you.”

“What?” Yoongi narrows his eyes.

From behind his back, Jimin procures a hat—a fuzzy, bright orange tangerine hat, complete with a tiny green leaf on top. He looks thrilled.

Yoongi, however, does not.

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” Jimin is already shoving the hat onto Yoongi’s head before he can fight back, dodging his weak attempts to resist. “Cute,” he coos, stepping back to admire his work.

Yoongi glares, but to your amusement, doesn’t make any move to take it off. 

Jimin, delighted, raises his phone. “Come on, let me get a picture—”

“No.”

“Just one! You’re already wearing the hat—”

“Park Jimin, do you want to die?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Jimin is full-on sprinting, chasing Yoongi around the orchard, phone camera wielded like a weapon. You can’t help but laugh. You’ve never seen Yoongi run, but just like his walk, there’s something penguin-esque there.

As Yoongi dashes past you, tangerine hat still firmly on his head, your gaze catches on something. His jeans—fitted just right, annoyingly so—have heart-shaped pockets.

You blink, looking away immediately. Definitely not something you needed to notice. Definitely not something you should be thinking about. But the image is burned into your mind, and unfortunately, Jimin notices the direction of your gaze and stops dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” he gasps, doubled over as he catches his breath. “Hyung, are those hearts on your back pockets?”

Shit.

Puzzled, Yoongi slows to a stop, frowning. “What? So what?”

Jimin, absolutely giddy, points. “Oh my god. Look at you, Mr. Soft and Romantic.”

“They’re just jeans,” Yoongi grumbles, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears says otherwise.

Jeongguk, watching the whole thing unfold, slides next to you where Yijeong had just stood. “You know, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea, staring at Yoongi-hyung’s butt like that,” he murmurs, voice low so no one else can hear.

You shove him, hard, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself. “Yah, they’re cute jeans!” you hiss-whisper. “Maybe I want a pair for myself!”

He just grins, nudging your shoulder again. “Come on, pervert. We’re all going to dinner.” 

★ ★ ★

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

★ ★ ★

The finale to Yijeong’s impromptu weekend visit is a night of bar hopping. A night that ends at a local noraebang.

The room all of you inhabit is small but cozy, with plush seating surrounding a sleek table. Accent lighting on the walls glows neon, pulsing to the rhythm of the music. The large screen in the middle of the room is lit up with endless list of songs—some that you’re surprised to see in the repertoire.

Everyone picks off of a tray of drinks and snacks—crispy fries, fried chicken, soju shots, frothy beer—refueling after all of the alcohol you’ve downed tonight.

You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, but when Taehyung thrusts the microphone into your hands with a boxy grin, you don’t hesitate. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a noraebang, but you can never go wrong with some Paramore.

The moment the opening chords of Ignorance blast through the speakers, something electric rushes through you. It’s instinct, really—the kind of song that demands to be sung like you mean it.

If I'm a bad person, you don't like me Well, I guess I'll make my own way It's a circle, a mean cycle I can't excite you anymore

Where's your gavel? Your jury? What's my offense this time? You're not a judge, but if you're gonna judge me Well, sentence me to another life

Like riding a fucking bike.

As soon as you open your mouth, Jimin and Taehyung immediately lose their minds, jumping onto the couch and headbanging along like he’s one of the fans at a concert for his own band. Jeongguk, beside him, stares in awe, boba eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them.

But it’s Yoongi you glance at between verses, though you’re not sure why. He’s leaning back against the couch, half-hidden in the dim lighting, watching. His expression is completely unreadable. You can’t look away.

This is the best thing that could have happened Any longer and I wouldn't have made it It's not a war, no, it's not a rapture I'm just a person, but you can't take it The same tricks that, that once fooled me They won't get you anywhere I'm not the same kid from your memory Well, now I can fend for myself

Don't wanna hear your sad songs I don't wanna feel your pain When you swear it's all my fault 'Cause you know we're not the same We're not the same Oh, we're not the same

By the time you hit the chorus, you’re all in—singing like you’ve got something to prove, like the song is a battle you refuse to lose. 

It’s cathartic. It’s messy. It’s more fun than you’ve had in a long fucking time.

As the last note fades out, you’re fighting for breath, buzzing from the energy. The room erupts into cheers, and Jimin all but tackles you in excitement.

“Holy shit, YN,” he howls. “That was amazing. Again, again!”

Before you can protest, Jeongguk takes the mic from your hands and spins through the song queue. “Nah, it’s my turn,” he declares. “Does this thing have Linkin Park?”

When you manage to peel Jimin off of you, Yoongi’s gone.

You know that it shouldn’t bother you. You know that you should say good riddance, let him go do whatever is so important that he had to bolt like that. But for some reason completely beyond you, you just can’t. 

Your feet start moving before your brain can catch up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, but it falls on deaf ears anyway. Everybody is wasted, attention already diverted to queueing up the next song, and you slip out entirely unnoticed.

The alley behind the noraebang is dimly lit, the cool air hitting your skin like a slap. And there he is, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his lips. He notices you immediately, his gaze flickering to you in that lazy way of his.

“You left,” you say dumbly.

He lifts his cigarette in answer. “Need something?”

It’s a great question. Now that you’ve found him and you’re freezing your ass off, your lost sanity is quickly finding its way back to you. Why did you leave everybody inside to follow a person you hate?

“Just needed some air,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Couldn’t breathe in there.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, smoke curling in the space between you, and you shift on your feet, shivering against the cold. If he notices, he doesn’t comment—just watches you with that unreadable expression, waiting.

You should go back inside. You should say something biting, roll your eyes, turn on your heel. But you don’t. Instead, you rub your hands along your arms, trying to warm yourself up, and Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“You’re shivering.”

Uh, yeah? It’s winter and you forgot your jacket inside. Of course you’re shivering.

“It’s freezing,” you mutter.

Yoongi sighs, long-suffering, then shrugs off his jacket. Before you can protest, he steps forward, draping it over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It smells like him—faint cologne and smoke, something a little sharp but not unpleasant.  

You clutch at the lapels before you can stop yourself, blinking up at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, waving a hand dismissively as he leans back against the wall. “Just don’t make it weird.”

Right. Because this is totally normal behavior.

You huff, rolling your eyes, but the warmth is welcome, and you make no move to give the jacket back.

Yoongi glances at you sideways, smirking. “See? You do like it.”

Suddenly, the cold is forgotten. Like somehow, the cramped noraebang felt less stifling than standing here, out in the cold with Yoongi.

“Why’d you follow me out here, dollface?”

There it is again.

“You need to stop calling me that,” you snap, annoyed.

“Nah,” he hums. Your eyes are drawn to the orange glow as he flicks his cigarette, crushing embers into the ground with the toe of his boot. “I think you like that, too.”

What the fuck.

“I—”

“Answer the question,” he interrupts.

“Why did you leave?” you counter.

“Needed a smoke. Told you that already.”

It’s a solid alibi, but something in his tone tells you he’s not being completely honest. So, you pry.

“Left in a pretty big hurry, for a cigarette,” you goad. 

Yoongi huffs, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you want me to say? Clearly you have something in mind.”

All you do is glare at him in response. You’re out here, shivering to death instead of being inside with people that actually enjoy your company. The least he could do is not waste your time by being a fucking pussy.

It’s silent for a long moment, both of you waiting for the other to break. But then, Yoongi sighs.

“I didn’t know you could still sing like that,” he finally says, his voice a low murmur.

Wait.

“Still?” you ask, bewildered.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth turns up in a lazy smirk. “What, you think I don’t know things about you? You should know better than that by now.”

“I was at your debut show,” he adds, his voice suddenly more earnest than you’ve ever heard it. “That voice was my first impression of you. Almost had me fooled.”

Infuriatingly, he doesn’t elaborate any further. “Fooled into what?” you ask, eyes narrowing. That wasn’t an attempt at a compliment, was it? There’s no way Min Yoongi is paying you a compliment right now.

“Into thinking you’re someone I might want to spend time with,” he replies, unwavering but still completely unclear.

You wish you could tell what he was thinking. What does he mean by that? That if you met under different circumstances…?

The tension is thick, suffocating. Your pulse thrums in your ears, drowning out everything else—the distant music, the buzz of electricity, the rational part of your brain telling you to walk away.

Yoongi just watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his gaze now—something that makes your breath hitch. Eyes all pupil. 

Against your will, your gaze drops to his lips. You wonder if he notices. You hope he doesn’t. Or maybe you hope he does.

You don’t know who moves first.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him in the cold; the next, his mouth is on yours, and you’re backing him into the wall. It’s messy, urgent—like neither of you expected this, but now that it’s happening, neither of you want to stop.

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. You’re dizzy, drunk off the way he kisses you, how he tastes like smoke and whiskey, how his tongue slips into your mouth like he owns it, the sensation of smooth metal on the roof of your mouth making you whimper.

And then—

Reality crashes back like a cold slap to the face.

You pull away, breathless, hands shaking as you take a stumbling step back.

“What the fuck,” you pant, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, like that’ll erase what just happened.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he looks just as bewildered as you feel, his chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.

What the fuck. What the fuck did you just do?

Without another word, you turn on your heel and bolt, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to get away. Your head is spinning, your heart hammering against your ribs and threatening to explode.

And Yoongi doesn’t make any move to stop you. 

You leave everything. You don’t stop. You run, catch a cab, operating completely on instinct until suddenly, you’re in the bedroom, door shut behind you, hands pressed to your face like that’ll somehow ground you.

When you finally lower them, your lips are still tingling, Yoongi’s jacket still draped over your trembling shoulders.

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[hivemuthur]

Hello love,

I was hoping to request a jayvik x reader with depression. Ideally a modern college AU, maybe reader hasn't left their room in a few days and the boys check on them?? Angsty fluff?? Do with this as you will, take what you want leave what you don't, whatever you write will be amazing. Make sure you're resting, eating, and touching grass love <3

Hi love! I'm sorry it took so long, I feel like two weeks might just settle as my current waiting time :v I confirm that eating and touching grass has been done today. Here it goes!

Help me get back to your arms

viktorxgn!reader general audiences, Modern college AU, depressed reader, comfort and fluff

author’s note: title from Radiohead's song Motion Picture Soundtrack. And thank you guys for sending me such lovely requests. Forgot to say, @rennethen beta read this, thank you!

word count: 0,9K

—

Your phone keeps buzzing, and after some time, you stop bothering to check. You bury your head under the pillow and groan. It’s only been two days, hasn’t it? Or was it more?

The vibrations become so annoying that you finally pick up your phone, intending to turn it off—until you see the notification, and your heart melts a little. Jayce and Viktor are bickering in your group chat over the propriety of the memes Jayce has been sending you. And while some of them are, well… corny, the whole conversation still makes you smile.

Until a sharp knock on your dorm room door makes you jump, and your phone slips from your hand before you can finish reading.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, calculating whether you can just ignore it.

“Hey, it’s me!” comes a cheerful voice, and you already know Jayce is pressing his ear to the door.

“And me,” Viktor adds, with a hint of sulk that makes you sure he just rolled his eyes at Jayce and huffed.

“Yeah, right! It’s us. Can we come in?”

You glance around your room—uh, it’s a mess. You glance down at yourself—uh, you’re an even bigger mess. But before you can answer, the door cracks open.

Viktor’s worried face peeks through, his eyes lighting up as soon as he sees you. “Hey, darling. Can we come in?”

He pauses, waiting for confirmation, and you find yourself frozen in place, standing in the middle of the room, unable to say anything. So instead, you just nod and hold your arms out in front of you.

Viktor is between them instantly, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, his hand rubbing slow circles over your back. Moments later, Jayce presses up behind you, resting his chin on top of your head and sealing the group hug by placing his hands on Viktor’s shoulders.

Their scents mix together, and suddenly, you find it easier to breathe. Their chests press against you, squeezing the exhales from your lungs, and warmth blooms deep in your ribs. Viktor’s hair tickles your cheek, and Jayce’s palm rubs the back of your neck.

It’s safe.

“We brought food,” Viktor offers, tilting your chin up with his finger and giving you a soft smile.

“Or rather, snacks, since we figured real food might be too demanding,” Jayce corrects, and Viktor rolls his eyes again, murmuring something under his breath.

You sigh, your body sagging slightly between them. Food is the last thing on your mind right now. Instead, you ask, voice quiet, “How did you even know I was here?”

Viktor’s lips curve into a knowing smile as he tilts his head toward Jayce. “He has been refreshing Find My Friends for the last couple of hours before we decided to check.”

Jayce scratches the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “Well… yeah,” he admits. “You weren’t answering, and we got worried.”

His eyes search yours, warm and careful, and after a moment, he asks, “How are you?”

You wince, and the reaction is instant—Jayce doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps you up in another firm hug, squeezing the answer out of you without making you say a word. “It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Viktor, still holding your hand, squeezes it gently. “Do you want to watch a documentary instead?”

You nod, feeling the weight in your chest ease just a little.

“Good,” Viktor says, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before leading you toward the bed. “I have one on deep-sea creatures that might just lull you to sleep.”

“I like deep-sea creatures,” you mumble as you sit down.

Jayce chuckles. “Guess we’re watching creepy fish, then.”

The three of you settle onto the bed, shifting and adjusting until you find the right fit. Viktor puts the film on, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows across the room. You’re nestled between them, your head resting on Jayce’s arm, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you.

On your other side, Viktor nuzzles in, his head resting on your shoulder, his hair tickling the curve of your neck. His leg is lazily thrown over your hips, anchoring himself to you, as if making sure you won’t slip away. Their hands intertwine over your stomach, fingers laced together in a quiet show of solidarity.

For a while, the only sound is the deep-voiced narrator explaining the eerie bioluminescence of some deep-sea creature, but Jayce, never one to sit still for long, eventually rustles open a packet of jellies. He pops one into his mouth before holding the bag out to you.

You hesitate, but when he gives you a little nudge, you sigh and take one. As soon as you do, he grins knowingly and flicks his gaze to Viktor, who, despite his apparent focus on the documentary, quirks an amused brow.

“Predictable,” Viktor murmurs, his voice warm with affection.

Jayce just smirks, nudging your side playfully. “Yeah, yeah. But at least she’s eating.” Viktor hums in agreement, pressing the lightest of kisses to your shoulder before settling in closer. The weight of them, the warmth of their bodies, the way their presence demands nothing from you—it’s enough. For now, it’s enough.

[loveemii]

𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 - 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐜𝐬

|𝐒𝐟𝐰/𝐍𝐬𝐟𝐰| 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐍𝐬𝐟𝐰 - 𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐓.𝐊. 𝐱 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐛!

- Dating Jeff is always up and down, for example one day he’ll be all over you and and the next he’ll become distant

- Jeff absolutely loves and adores you though! He’ll tell how you hot n beautiful you are everyday on multiple times

- Jeffery’s favorite activity with you is watching mlp and drinking monsters (besides having sex ofc) :3

- While watching mlp he’ll be all cuddly with you, always has his hands on you. Snuggling his face on your chest or in your neck

- He also loves to give you small gifts, like this one time he got you your own knife, he made sure it was your favorite color ofc, and if they didn’t have the color you like then he’d buy things you can decorate it with :>

- Jeff is always bothering you, no matter what you’re doing. If you’re in the middle of taking a shower he’ll pop his head in the curtain and yap to you abt his next victim but stare at your boobs half the time (you love it though)

- Jeffery and you are HUGE music fans, he likes to skip the song just right before it ends though, it kind of gets you annoyed but he’s Jeff and you love him (lol)

•

- You and Jeff absolutely love to make out in the backseat of his car while listening to Radiohead or Chase Atlantic

- He’ll be so touchy with you as well, occasionally he’ll slip a hand (or two) under your shirt and bra, perking up your nipples real nice for him

- Jeff will also go down on you in his car, he loves to tease your clit too, hearing your whimpers are so beautiful to him, maybe just as beautiful as killing someone to him

- What makes him even hornier is when you try to push is head away or squeeze it with your thighs, tugging on his hair sends him over the edge (also his favorite position is 69)

- So when you two do 69 he’ll be a moaning mess, and don’t get me started on when you dom him, he’ll be whimpering and squirming not being able to stop moving

- And it’s even worse when you start to kiss his neck, he can’t take it; he’s too sensitive but you love to hear him beg you to stop

- Once you finish with him though he’ll act tough as if he wasn’t a mess for you a second ago, and he’ll do the aftercare (mainly kisses, cuddles and mlp)

thank you for reading my first creepypasta ff! i hope you enjoyed reading :’)

- please excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, thank you

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke selection- Creep - Radiohead

AN: A little more insight on Nancy and her major: Nancy is majoring in architecture. The Landgraabs are famously known for owning land and property- both residential and commercial- and Nancy will eventually operate the part of family business that will allow her to design houses, buildings and other structures in addition to leasing. (Geoffrey comes from a family of doctors but he decided to get a business degree- as he knows this would likely please Nancy's parents)

Transcript under the cut

Siobhan: Think about it, Nancy! Making your mark on this university—on the world—begins with Theta!

Becca: Nice one, you two.

Nancy: They only want me to join their organization because it’ll benefit them. All they care about is money -Ouch!

Geoffrey: [winces] Sorry. Your knees are completely raw.

Geoffrey: They’ve only got as far as knowing your name. If you give them a chance to get to know the real you-

Nancy: There’s nothing to know! Why do you think I had my parents make arrangements so I’d have my own room? I don’t want roommates. I don’t want friends! I just want to do my time so I can-

Geoffrey: Get away, I know...but what if you just take the next four years to have fun? It’s ok to just enjoy it for what it is. Isn’t that what college is all about?

Nancy: [scoffs] Sure, for you. You don’t have the same expectations as me.

Nancy: You can be anything you want. You can join any sports team; you can switch your major a million times if you want to. I have to excel at everything I do, whether I want to or not, and I cannot come out of this a failure. I have to be ready to start working along with my parents the moment I graduate.

Geoffrey: I just want you to be happy. I want you to take care of yourself. Be kinder to yourself. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’re a good person. You’re an amazing person, Nancy. Anyone would be lucky to be apart of your life.

Geoffrey: Does this hurt?

Nancy: Yes. It hurts.

Nancy: You’re too good for me.

Geoffrey: Don’t say that.

Geoffrey: It’s Karaoke night at Tab’s. Bobby and I wanted to check it out. Did you want to go?

Nancy: I think I’ll pass. I should get started on this project for Munch. I want to get ahead.

Geoffrey: If you change your mind, come down and unwind a bit. Have fun. Eat. Ok?

Nancy: Ok.

Geoffrey: I love you, Nance.

[door shuts]

Nancy Narrates: [I’m holding him back. A selfish part of me knows it, but I can’t fathom the thought of losing someone else]

[distant laughter]

Nancy: Heavenly Father, help me to find peace in Your love and wisdom-

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke Pick: Creep by Radiohead I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[crowd whistles and cheers]

I don't care if it hurts I wanna have control

I want a perfect body I want a perfect soul

Morgan: [hums] Upright High Priestess. That’s twice now. Once again, my intuition is being called forth.

I want you to notice When I'm not around

Morgan: My appetite is off. I can’t focus. If I weren’t on the pill, I’d think I was knocked up. So. What does that leave me with? I can almost bet this is all connected to-

Morgan: You! You have something to do with this.

Nancy: [frowns] Do with...what, exactly?

You're so fuckin' special I wish I was special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo

Morgan: Rich Christian girl with walls as high as Berlin stumbles on campus and taps my shoulder. I had a dream the night before that I placed an injured dove back into its nest. I think this is fate. Sit. I’ll do your reading. Free of charge, of course.

Nancy Narrates: [I didn’t know it then, how right she was. About fate. About everything]

What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[moneymartin]

teen gf Shauna headcanons pleaseee

🐶 - losergf!shauna hcs

warnings: mostly fluff but a lil smut under the divider :p

a/n: i know u didn’t ask for loser but shauna shipman is soooo loser girlfriend u cannot tell me otherwise. kinda messy and trash… i’m so sleepy rn i’m writing this half awake nd lowk a lil drunk UGH

taglist: @deerlottie @ultrone

my brown eyed beautiful baby where do i even start.

def the most athletic yj i will stand by this till the day i die

MUSCLE MAMAAAA

rolls up the sleeves of her flannels so you can see her muscles pop 😮‍💨

not a gym freak though but she works her arms 100%

cuddlebug fosho

little spoon and you can argue with me about that all you want this girl loves to be held

when she big spoons though she’s burying your face into her chest all the time

she plays with your hair tho no doubt abt it

even when you’re cuddling her instead

super soft kisses all over you while you doze off

sleeps after you do just to make sure cause sometimes you end up sleeping a lil too hard and she needs to make sure you aren’t dead

well thats what she thinks.

wakes up early even though she sleeps the latest out of the both of you

when you sleep for way too long she ends up full on wrestling you until you wake up

music geek

she def loves the smashing pumpkins, radiohead, the cranberries, the cure, mazzy star, jeff buckley, pavement, the cardigans. artists and bands of that genre

had a walkman like nat’s that you guys share on walks together

also has a vinyl player that she keeps at hers so you could listen to music with her when you come over

writes about you in her journal while she listens to the music

also writes these cute little love letters for you and she’ll write what songs she listened to while writing

sleepovers all the time though she’s one of those girls

drives you all over the place too

no matter how far so that you know she truly loves you

she goes absolutely nuts when you’re wearing her clothes i fink

esp her flannels

the moment you’re seen wearing one she can only think about taking it off of you cause it looks so good 😞

loves when you wear her jersey too

or her letterman jacket

funny sock gal

wears the one w monster faces on em or something like that

south park socks… hmo

SMARTY PANTS

got accepted into brown for a reason

she’s always helping you with assignments in case they’re too hard

she runs through them so fast though it actually baffles you to how she can do it

book geek too

has probably read harry potter a million times

edgar allan poe is her main dude she def likes poems and stuff from him

genuinely has a momma instinct

before you even get sick she tells you to be careful with the cold

and you don’t listen.

so you do end up getting sick and she has to take care of you until you’re all better

babies you but is also teasing you cause you didn’t listen to her warnings about it 😭 she could tell beforehand that you were gonna get sick

unlike lottie i think shauna has the ability to cook and stuff like that

not a 5 star chef but she’s good enough for you

being touchy in her public is her thangggg

you guys are always touching somehow

pinky holding, interlocked arms, holding hands, her just grabbing your wrist. she’s always gotta hold you no matter whaaaat

not very possessive but definitely a jealous person

makes it known she’s jealous w her attitude

has those anger issues we all know it

is not afraid to make a scene in front of a bunch of people she will cuss someone out for even looking at you

but she’s just jealous cause she’s really insecure :( poor girl my god

she thinks that the people you talk to are better than she’ll ever be

you have to reassure her countless of times so she can feel better about herself cause she’s always questioning you abt it

she loves little make out seshes behind the bleachers

its def the thrill of being caught like she loves that so much ��

when she kisses you she isn’t rough i think she’s very gentle actually

caressing your jaw and cheeks so you know she’s there and its not just some dream 😭

loves sitting on your lap while kissing cause it makes her feel like she’s the one in charge

also cause your hands are always in the spots where she wants them without her having to ask

biting…

teeth marks EVERYWHERE!!!

dom fosho but that’s not relevant rn

during arguments this girl is ruthless

not because she wants to hurt you but it’s because she’s always bubbling up

bottles up everything cause she’s afraid people won’t listen to her

but she’ll apologize eventually after if it looks like whatever she said got to you

won’t mean anything she tells you she just gets so mad at everything cause she can’t express herself as well :(

she regrets it so fast too like she’s immediately saying sorry afterwards

def a lace girly

loves showing off her new sets for you…

red black and white are the favs

OUUHHH

whiny as fuck but also holds her noises in cause she thinks they’re embarrassing

PANTER AND GROANER FOR SUREEEE

switch i think

like if she really wanted to she could top you but she’d rather be a power bottom

have you ride her strap or whatever…

its blue.

loves when you eat her out though cause she gets to pull on your hair

makes you talk her through it and when you’re topping but when she tops shes SO bold

she loves when you praise her thats the only thing she wants to hear from you during it

makes you kiss around her tits for sure

thats where she always wants you to be

when she’s jealous you’re constantly asking if she’s okay which leads into an argument

meaning that it’ll probably lead into really hot angry sex from her

the car scene really spoke to me

initiates everything too

anyways i’m done i’m so tired

[ryemackerel]

Me infodumping about my headcanons of musical themes for the Eddsworld gang, specifically the ships!!

Get ready for me to go absolutely silly over TomMatt’s music because AGAHHAHhh I love them so much.

For context! This is based on my TomMatt Spotify playlist @starrixle helped out with!

Pictured above: Two gay guys, who are very stupid silly, take a selfie together, circa 2017. Original post!

First things first: This goes for all of my character playlists, but I always go by a certain genre, mood, and/or instrument I associate with each of them!

For example: I see Edd with a lot of songs from the mid to late-20th century! He loves artists such as The Smiths, Tears For Fears, and Beach Boys. Outside of that, he even loves a lot of Indie genres, like Mac DeMarco and Vacations. I generally describe his music taste to be very calm and easygoing like his personality, and a lot of guitar or keyboard songs, since those are the instruments I generally see him playing.

In this case, for Tom and Matt as individuals:

Matt’s songs are very lightweight, romantic, and daydreamy. A sort of echoey, floating feeling amidst the clouds. He’s the kind of guy who expresses his love upfront to the people he adores and cares about, and a good amount of his playlist has songs with the main theme being love and romance. Some of his songs can be rougher and louder, reflecting more of his love for rock when he was a teenager, but as he got older, he’s generally more lighthearted. I associate a lot of his songs with guitar since he’s the guitarist for The Creatures, and the guitar fit his personality a lot to me. :-] He has a good amount of Soul and R&B. His playlist has artists including Thee Sacred Souls, Common Saints, Steve Lacy, Ginger Root, Frank Ocean, and TV Girl.

Tom’s songs are generally heavier, rougher, louder, and harsher, with a lot of metal, rock, and grunge genres, though with the occasional ska, which shows more of his sillier side, and hip-hop and rap. Tom is usually very concealed and closed off when it comes to expressing his true emotions, but compared to his playlist, his music is very loud and outspoken; either it’s a weighed down feeling in your shoulders, or calmer and more relaxed, yet rough. I highly associate Tom with the bass (also a bassist for Creatures), and there are a good amount of bass-heavy songs in his playlist. I associate him with artists like Deftones, Whirr, Alice In Chains, Type O Negative, SOAD, ATCQ, MF DOOM, and Radiohead. (THANK YOU STAR for introducing me to Deftones and Whirr LOL)

Tom and Matt are almost opposites of each other, with Matt being more upfront and lighter, and Tom being concealed and heavier. And it’s clear that, yeah, evene though their personalities contrast each other, and their main music tastes are different, I still LOVE seeing how this works thematically, and specifically how they get along in the first place.

Tom and Matt together:

A TomMatt song I associate with this segment :) Listening to it right now as I’m typing this!

I associate a lot of what TomMatt is with harmony. This warm, soft embrace, quieter and calmer, but full of rhythm and energy. You feel like flying into space, and the guitar echoes and sustains throughout the air, flying skyhigh, but the bass settles it down, keeps it grounded to make sure it doesn’t fly too far away. They both play together, a melody of highs and lows, both intertwined into one.

Tom and Matt have kinda almost this harmonious relationship with each other, where one of them helps the other realize their own qualities that they never realized before, and helps one other realize things that the other loves about them. They love each other dearly, and as they’ve grown older, they’ve learned to love themselves.

Tom doesn’t open about his issues a lot and closes them off out of fear of burdening others. He insists he’s able to manage these issues on his own without anybody’s help. He doesn’t see himself as anything special, a nobody or “just another problem for someone to deal with.” Especially as he’s grown into his 20s and started taking on harmful coping habits, he’s constantly beaten himself up.

And you can imagine how Matt would react knowing all of this. He never saw Tom as a burden, a nobody, or a problem, but someone that he just genuinely loves to be around. He sees Tom as his whole entire world, and constantly expresses it multiple times, over and over again.

“You’re everything to me, Tom, and you mean so much to me. I just want you to remember that, okay? I love you.”

Tom doesn’t always express his happiness out loud, but being around Matt has helped him realize that “Hey, maybe there’s some good things about me that people love about me. Maybe shit isn’t all so bad.”

Sometimes, there’s moments where Tom slips back into that mindset. Sometimes, he doesn’t understand why Matt would love him for simply “being himself.” The things he hates about himself feel so much more amplified than the things people appreciate him for. Tom sees Matt, who loves every single part of him, and he asks Matt, “Why do you love me so much? Don’t I just stress you out more?”

“Well, you feel hurt, right? I can’t just leave you be when you feel hurt all on your own.”

“You should be spending time with else. Don’t put all of your energy just on me, man. Go with Edd or Tord, maybe they’ll make you happier.”

“But what if I want to spend time with you? You make me happier.”

“…

Do what you want.”

Sometimes, Tom never understands Matt. He sometimes accidentally says things that hurt her, and he sometimes stresses her out with his issues, so why would she want to spend more time with him? But you know, no matter what, he appreciates how much someone is willing to stick around and never give up on him.

Even Matt has her own shit. She can be really fun to be around and loves talking to other people as much as she can, but there’s times where being out overwhelms her. Whenever she’s out in public, her anxiety can skyrocket. She picks up on every little conversation others say around her, and she constantly thinks about what others feel about her. She can have a good day, but as soon as she feels like her surroundings overwhelm her, she shuts down.

Tom doesn’t always know how to help or what to say, since he isn’t someone who uses a lot of words to help others. But during those quiet moments, the best he knows what to do is take Matt into his arms, and embrace him, so so tightly.

“(Hugging Matt) …Had a bad day today?”

“…”

“Hey, hey… It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe.”

“Today could’ve been a good day.”

“It’s okay to have a bad day. We all get those sometimes.”

“I missed you a lot.”

“(Hugging her tighter) I missed you a lot, too.”

I love how well the guitar and bass work together, just like Tom and Matt together. A lot of their music I associate with Steve Lacy, BADBADNOTGOOD, Tyler the Creator, Childish Gambino, and Piero Piccioni. Some of the songs I’ll list below shows a lot of bass and guitar, and also some orchestra, which I associate with Matt. :)

Some by Steve Lacy was the very first song I thought about when I imagined what Tom and Matt's duo theme would sound like. A lot of Steve's discography is what I see being TomMatt's genres :-) Lots of bassline and very funky guitar tunes. Again, very lightweight and enthusiastic, but also relaxed and calm. I imagine them playing together in almost all of these kinda songs. <3

Some other songs I absolutely ABSOLUTELY love and associate with TomMatt:

I'll end off this post for now because I don't want to make it TOO long HAHAGAA But this is just a little insight to my TomMatt brain! This is solely based on just my headcanons and roleplays of them with the help of my partner. Been wanting to talk about my thought processes behind all my other Eddsworld playlists, so hope you enjoyed this super long one! GAHHA

[piftamere]

the eclipse

one - lonesome town (wc : 900)

Today, objectively, sucked. 

First Akaashi got dumped, no warnings, not even a fight. Just a simple “we need to talk,” followed by the most unoriginal breakup excuses, “I just want to focus on school,” “it’s not you, it’s me,” and so on. In the alley behind the store during his break, too.

Then, as if the universe was testing him, he spilled coffee on his white button-up, one his now ex-girlfriend had bought him, so maybe it was for the better. The coffee shop Suna recommended was packed, he had to shuffle through a noisy crowd and his earphones were dead. 

To top it all off, the backup shirt he borrowed from his aforementioned dark-haired coworker was cropped. He wasn’t in the mood to show his midriff on a Tuesday afternoon, or ever really. 

After what seemed like a lifetime, Akaashi dragged his feet up to the counter. A red-haired barista was sculpting something unrecognizable in the foam of a latte, while beside him, a girl was carefully decorating a cupcake, her tongue sticking out in concentration. 

It was pink and green, covered in tiny star-shaped sprinkles. Actually, now that he thought about it, the entire shop seemed to be star-themed. Even the drinks had space-related names, like “Galactic Espresso” or “Cosmic Latte.”

He watched as she cheerfully held up the cupcake in front of her coworker’s face, eyes expectant. “Tada !”

“Beautiful, Yn. Now please serve the next customer.”

She huffed, mumbling something about how he barely glanced at her new creation as she turned to face Akaashi. 

Her apron had various starry pins, and a few even adorned her hair. He caught the way her lips moved, but didn’t register a single word that came out. His brain was too fried from the shitty day he was having.

He blinked a couple of times. “Sorry ?”

She smiled brightly, not looking the least bit annoyed. “Hi ! What can I get you ?”

“Hi… huh. I don’t know.”

“You… don't know ?” She tilted her head, with a puzzled expression. “Maybe I can recommend something for you ?”

He hesitated but eventually nodded.

She studied him for a moment, and for some reason, it made him nervous. Like she’d be able to see exactly what kinda day he was having. Like she could tell he was feeling like absolute shit.

If she did, she didn’t point it out. Instead, she tapped her chin pensively, then snapped her fingers. “You look like you need something sweet. How about a Pink Stardust ?”

“A what ?”

“It’s an espresso with milk, strawberry syrup, fresh strawberry slices, and whipped cream, with stars sprinkled on top, obviously.”

Akaashi cringed on the inside but he’d already held up the line long enough, and she looked so sure of her choice that he just sighed and gave in.

As he paid, she grabbed a marker. “What’s your name ?”

“Akaashi, what’s yours ?” he asked as he saw her write his name on the plastic cup and suddenly wished to disappear in the ground.

She chuckled. “I’m Yn. You can wait over there while I make your drink, Akaashi.”

He quickly shuffled out of the way, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. A few minutes passed before she called his name, “Here you go ! Also, I love Radiohead !”

He stared at her in silent confusion until she pointed to his (well, Suna’s) shirt.

“Oh… Yeah, me too.” Akaashi chose to lie to her face instead of explaining that he was having the worst day of his life.

Her eyes lit up. “Really ? Name five songs.”

“Huh…” Akaashi froze.

She snorted. “That was a joke. Can you imagine if I was serious ?”

He exhaled a small laugh. “Right, that’d be embarrassing.”

She chuckled again, and he found himself mirroring her without thinking. “Have a nice day !”

“You too.” He gave her a half-smile, cup in hand as he walked over to a quiet corner of the shop. There was no way he was going back to work anytime soon. Suna could survive on his own. Probably.

Akaashi warily took a sip of the pinkest drink he’d seen in his life. It was sweet. Really sweet. The kind of sweet where he could feel the sugar attacking his teeth as he swallowed. 

But also, somehow, it wasn’t terrible. Actually, it was kinda good.

Sighing, he pulled out his notebook and flipped to a blank page, but his brain refused to cooperate. He just stared at the empty page, pen hovering above it uselessly.

He took another sip, shifting his grip on the cup, then paused.

Something was written just beneath his name.

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

Akaashi blinked, he glanced back towards the counter. She was busy making drinks, still smiling, still effortlessly bright. She didn’t even look in his direction, didn’t wait for a reaction. She was just… nice.

He hesitated, then ripped a corner of the blank page he’d been staring at and scribbled something, folding it up, along with the biggest tip he could afford.

As he got up to leave, he waited for a moment when she was looking away before slipping his note and money under the tip jar. Before she could turn around, he escaped through the door, his heart a bit lighter.

facts

yn can read

she's not the most efficient barista, she's too chatty

in case it's not clear the first note says "you made my day a little better with your kindness, thank you for that.”

suna and yn haven't met yet

akaashi's handling the break up well right?

suna has a video of akaashi pouring coffee all over his shirt

author's note

i'm sdgbkjsbdf!!

the eclipse - next

taglist : open!

@lvtilzs @evilari111 @keijicentric @loriiiroari @itsdragonius @haechansbbg @wordsofelie @rowensboat @luvvmae @sunasstovetop @hrithi11 @graveantics @0rangej0e @sugacor3 @spectoo @softtashoney

[cowboyshadows]

I’ve written a silly little roommate!Simon before but unfortunately the brain worms are back. Like, what if he’s MORE reluctant and also this time he’s not the responsible one because he’s literally just a guy and also minus other roommates

cw: he’s pervy, price is low-key misogynistic but he means well, allusions to sex but nothing graphic. Mdni as always

It doesn’t start off that way. You guys are neighbors, nothing more. You’re far more chirpier and social than he would prefer - always going out of your way to greet him and bake him cupcakes (‘I made extra!’) and pet his dog. It’s become strangely domestic in a way, he thinks. Poor birdie. Coddle him any further and he might be forced to make a housewife out of you yet.

So imagine his surprise - and quite frankly, delight - when he’s out on his porch for ye olde evening cigar only to see a group of men in navy overalls walking in and out of your house. There you are, standing outside, looking all worried. Hand clutching your chest and all. He looks your way, giving you one inquisitive nod.

‘Termites,’ you call out to him. He lets his cigarette fall to the floor, crushing it with the heel of his boot. Pulls his balaclava back down over his exposed mouth.

Turns out your house is infested with them. City’s declared it hostile, so you’ve gotta find a new place. And live in a motel while you do it.

Simon’s dick has taken him places he wouldn’t go with a M6 rifle. A Radiohead concert. Honestly, not worth it. A pottery class. It grows on you. And now, apparently, a segue that’s inevitably gonna lead him to do something incredibly stupid.

‘Motels are… basically hotels, righ’?’ He adds a huff of laughter, trying to mask how well acquainted he has grown with motels over time. It’s no trip to the Radisson, that’s for sure. ‘Sure it can’ be that bad.’

You look like a puppy that’s been caught breaking the vase. He can picture it in technicolor — ears all floppy, tail hidden between your legs.

With a sigh, he breaks his resolve. Actually, he takes a hammer and goes to town on his resolve.

‘You can live with me, if you want.’ The second part is his rational, north-bound mind speaking. An easy way for him to find a cop out without seeming like a right prick.

So he helps you move into his place. Doesn’t let you lift a hand or so much as crouch down to lift one of your trinkets that’s rolled out. You’re a wreck, always on with the ‘it’s only till I find a place’ and the ‘I’ll pay half the rent’. Relax, birdie. Don’t you know he’s getting as much out of this as you are?

He’s proven terribly wrong in the weeks to come, of course. What they don’t tell you about having a hot roommate you want to mount like a feral mutt is exactly that you can’t. So now he just has this lass in his house, wearing cute little pajamas and cooking for him.

You’ve also managed to get real comfortable in his house, he notes. Despite your initial trepidation to impose, you don’t mind at all now. He’s returned from his day at the base, walking into whatever the hell it is that you’ve managed to make his house now. He still hasn’t gotten entirely used to it.

Maybe because back when it was just him, his hood was only just that. A house, not a home. And that didn’t bother him one bit. His idea of a ‘home’ was drilled into him as the broken one he knew so well from his boyhood. So he makes no effort for personalisation. But it’s not exactly clinical, either.

Typical bachelor scene, really. Navy blue sheets — he can’t remember the last time he’s thrown them for a wash. That was the whole point, anyway, innit? No furniture except for the bare minimum. Fridge nearly always empty except for a single carton of eggs, bread that’s a couple of weeks old, and roundabout six coolers of beer. Give or take, depending on whether he’s had the gang come over for a game.

But it’s different now. The smell of cookies wafts towards him in the doorway. The faint sound of you humming from the kitchen filtering through in company. Riley’s on the couch, sleeping soundly under a crocheted blanket. Former K9, his arse.

‘Did you take my san’wich out of my bag?’ You do this song and dance every two to three days — home’s starting to feel empty without it. It goes somewhat like this: you decide he’s an incompetent man child and go out of your way to do something for him. Mother him, basically. He smiles, catches himself, comes home to nag you about your nagging. You bicker until your face is in a semi-permanent pout that makes his dick throb harder than he’d like to admit. Then he storms off and decompresses — literally — under a hot shower.

Why should today go any different?

‘Yes,’ you reply, not even looking up from the bowl you’re whisking. There’s flour on your cheek. With every movement of the whisk, your body jiggles in a downright sinful way. He’s not a pervert, he swears. But what is a man supposed to do, save for watching? ‘The bread was stale and the cheese was mouldy.’

You had replaced it with a club sandwich instead; filled with fresh, washed vegetables and wine-marinated pork. A small slice of key lime pie on the side, crunchy at the edges and frothy at the middle. There’d been a note attached to the lid of the box — one he’d made the mistake of reading in the vicinity of a certain captain.

‘A sour treat for my favorite sourpuss…? Jesus, Simon, you got a wife we ain’t privy to?’

‘’S the roommate. Won’t stop doin’ this… housewife shite.’ He’s glad he’s still got his mask on. Wouldn’t wanna be caught smiling at the so-called housewife shite.

Price chuckles, signature Duchenne smile buried in his rife beard. ‘Ya don’ seem terribly ‘appy abou’ it.’

He huffs. ‘She treats me like I’m a child. Does my laundry an’ all.’

‘You makin’ it worth her while, then?’ Simon’s ears burn at the tips. ‘The missus and I bicker a lot, too,’ he continues. ‘’S jus’ in their nature.’

‘What do ya do?’

Price grins, threading his lighter over and between his fingers. ‘Give it to ‘er good.’

He almost chokes on the key lime pie.

‘I’m serious. Foolproof.’

‘I can’t shag her.’

‘’Course ya can. She’ll settle down real nice. Ya won’t have to hear about the damn dishes or sheets again, tha’s for sure.’

It’s stupid. He listens to you go on and on about how he forgot to… do something. He’s lost track of what you’re talking about, to be quite honest. Some menial chore he hadn’t realised he was supposed to be doing until you’d moved in.

He’s not gonna shag you. It’ll make for an unnecessarily complicated living situation. He didn’t need that.

But, right hand to God; damn him if the way your hands moved when you were annoyed didn’t make him wanna put them behind your back and—

No, Simon. Bad Simon. She’s your roommate.

He’s Lieutenant “Ghost” Riley. Prized for his discipline, his need to maintain order. But all that seems to slip out of his hands like fine sand when it comes to you. And that’s how he finds himself at what he’s convinced is lower than rock bottom.

To: Cpt. John Price

Subject: - - field blank - -

> need yr help

>> Shagging her?

>>> yes.

>>>> Nice to see you’ve come to your senses

I’ll have a PowerPoint ready by tomorrow

[whatcannotbesaid-shallbewept]

So What Makes Chappell Roan so great anyway?

This post is way too long. BUT. If you are interested in how Chappell fits into the current pop landscape, why she’s unique, and why she got so big then read on.

Personally - I think if pop music is going to continue then it NEEDS to follow Chappell Roan’s example.

As a popstar she stands out from her contemporaries in a way that isn’t talked out enough. If the world doesn’t end in the next ten years, I feel like we’ll be looking back at Chappell Roan as a gamechanger for changing the pop landscape. 

Let’s put things into context. Before going to gay clubs and writing pop music, Chappell was closer to an Adele-wannabe than the next Lady Gaga. 

In old videos from the 2010s Chappell distances herself from the “pop” label. Her republican family wanted her to use her voice to go into country or christian music. 

Becoming a popstar - a Katy perry maximalist popstar at that! - was not only a deliberate choice from what she used to be, but a risk for her. The oldest songs on her album are still piano ballads for that reason. 

If you look at her career momentum you can already tell she’s coming at this from a much different angle from everyone else.

Back in the rock era, people heard “Live Forever” or “Smells Like Teen Spirit” in tiny venues before they even knew anything about Oasis or Nirvana. The bands got big because of the strength of those songs - 

Success doesn't work like that in the pop landscape though.

Ariana Grande, Selena Gomez, Tate Mcrae, Sabrina Carpenter, Harry Styles, Camilla Cabello, Renee Rapp didn’t get big off the strength of their songs. You can argue they have good songs, sure - but that’s not how the order they got famous in. Their names were known before they had songs out. They then had songs people liked, but they were famous first. 

Would Selena Gomez really have gotten so famous if she started out by just touring a lot as a no-namer and hoping people liked her songs enough to buy them?

But Chappell got big the old way! She performed live in obscurity for years, working and learning how to hype up a crowd. Go watch her perform Naked In Manhattan to a crowd of 50 people. She custom-made songs to sound better live. The thing that finally pushed her into the mainstream was giving a great performance at Coachella.

People just liked her music enough to keep seeing her live, despite her not being famous. 

She has a much different background than any pop star working today, and because of that she just brings a lot of different things to the table. She’s not only not a traditional popstar - she’s openly explicitly gay, her drag aesthetic isn’t to shock it’s out of a genuine love for that style - she doesn’t sound like a traditional popstar. 

First of all - her voice! Which honestly needs to be talked about way more, because WOW. Way more expressive and powerful than what’s expected from pop music. I think Olivia has a great voice too, but Chappell just makes way more interesting choices with her vocal performances. It’s really no contest.

 Listen to how hurt she sounds in Casual, how angry she is in Good Luck Babe or how scared she is in Pink Pony Club. See how different she sounds from Ultra Graphic Modern Girl, California and Guilty Pleasure. Like yeah, obviously this woman started out singing low-key piano ballads where she had to work to actually distinguish her voice instead of letting it drown under production. 

She also just has way different influences than the other main pop girls. 

We currently are living in the era where every new popstar really, really wants to be Taylor Swift. Olivia is Taylor all over, Gracie Abrams is very much positioning herself as a Taylor Swift type figure, and Sabrina is extremely influenced by her. 

However Chappell (And Billie actually) are really uninterested in Taylor. 

Chappell lists her influences as Lady Gaga, Katy Perry and Kate Bush. Billie always mentions alt-icons like Radiohead, Amy Winehouse, Lana Del Rey. Both are actually pretty influenced by Lana. And it shows when you compare their music -

Olivia does some interesting stuff with her sound - the riot grrl nods are very fun imo - same for Sabrina (Go listen to Juno and Espresso!). But they are a lot less adventurous than Billie and Chappell sound-wise. Like Taylor they just prefer to stick to something so they can put the lyrics onto. Like Taylor their lyrics are self-referential and outwardly trying to signal to the audience what they’re about. 

For Billie and Chappell the production is just as important as the rest of the song. Which puts them more in the lane of alt artists like Caroline Polachek, lana del rey or Charli XCX. It makes Rise And Fall Of A Midwest Princess/Hit Me Hard And Soft way leagues more interesting to listen to than Tortured Poets Department or The Secret Of Us. 

I already knew about Chappell from the lesbian twitter circles I was on. But like… that wasn’t necessarily unique to her. We were also hyping up quite a few gay girl obscure singers. Fletcher, XANA, Renee Rapp all had their moments where we thought they could be a big thing. Especially Fletcher. Chappell Roan actually started out opening for Fletcher. Which is crazy, since you guys probably haven’t even heard of her. 

If we’re being serious, there have been lesbians making pop music before the Beatles (Lesley Gore, Dusty Springfield). In the modern age, there are multiple lesbians winning grammys, some are on the charts, and there are plenty of famous bisexual woman making music. Chappell is not a gamechanger for being openly queer.

But when we talk about Pop music, Chappell Roan stands out because she's owning it, in a similar way that Lil Nas X did. Making it extremely explicit in almost every one of her songs, and making her queerness is a huge part of over the top pop persona. 

Lil Nas X isn’t all that relevant anymore but he was breaking boundaries that haven’t been touched since Madonna for a while there. Chappell Roan definitely feels like a continuation of that.

She’s also just very good at articulating the queer experience? 

Obviously she has the “men can’t give me orgasms” songs, but Pink Pony Club might be the archetypal example here. Leaving your shitty hometown to be gay in the big city is a topic that has been done before - but Chappell sounds so vulnerable when she sings it.

She doesn’t pose being herself in that song as a choice - but something done out of necessity. And like Queer Euphoria of being free for the first time, you hear it! There’s so much optimism and heartbreak in that song. All the best Chappell songs have both of those in them.

Naked In Manhattan is joyful and euphoric for the most part - but in the subtext its way more complicated. She’s way more into this girl and vice versa, and how apprehensive, and again, vulnerable she sounds on some of lines kinda hurts your soul.

Kaleidoscope is mostly a sad song about falling in love with your best friend but how hopeful and pleading she is in the chorus just makes the entire song.

Unlike say Olivia, she writes her pop songs to have emotional plot twists Guilty pleasure and Feminonmenon start out as sad ballads and break out into explosive energetic pop songs. Bridges in Red wine supernova or Good Luck Babe hit like a sledgehammer. 

Oh yeah. Good Luck Babe. She can work in the industry for another ten years but I still think “You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling” will go down as her best lyric. 

As a woman who repressed herself for years and grew up in a homophobic environment… It shows in the way she writes. She knew from experience what “you’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling” meant. 

But even down to the way that she describes love, you can tell its actually very different than her popstar colleagues. Love is a Chappell Roan song is an immovable force that can’t be tamed or controlled. In the narratives she sings about, it’s hindering her, making things more complicated, breaking her heart when it isn’t breaking her partners.

 

In typical pop-punk fashion ;ove in an Olivia Rodrigo song is a condition. Illogical, embarrassing but ultimately something to get over (Stranger) or to avoid (Bad Idea right, get him back). It gets rough out there, but love can very much be won in a Olivia song. 

Love in a Sabrina song is a game. Or perhaps more like a battle? Sabrina is locked in regardless. Almost every love song Sabrina writes is about her plans or how she wants things to go just as much as it's about what’s actually happening. The way her relationships affect her ego and people's perception of her is one of the big challenges she goes through in her discography .

Most of the time she fails! The balancing game between having someone and her ego gets tipped in the wrong direction. She’s with guys just for the sake of saying she’s with someone. It ends poorly. Sabrina’s songs are full of expectations in a way. This is probably why straight women relate to her so much.

Love in a Chappell Roan song is an eldritch monster.  It can’t be controlled or stopped. All you can do is obey or suffer through it. She sounds so angry in the good luck babe bridge because she knows you can’t control love. 

You’d have to stop the WORLD just to stop the feeling. 

[vanyatas]

Your Jeff and Toby Hcs are amazing!! Could you write some for Homicidal Liu?? Would love to read how you portrait him!! :D

HELLO ANON ID LOVEEE TO DO THIS!! I’m so sorry if they’re a bit short, i haven’t seen much of him in so long but he used to be one of my favs 😭

HOMICIDAL LIU HCS:

GENERAL HCS:

6’2.

Reserved, Very polite when he’s fronting, I see him being very shy.

Punk/Grunge music all the way.

Something about him not enjoying old gen emo music because of Jeff sticks with me.

He doesn’t entirely hate Jeff, I just know he is holding onto things from his brother seriously fucking him up.

DID, PTSD, & Anxiety

When Sully takes over he probably doesn’t remember anything Sully does or says at all.

Nirvana, Nine Inch Nails, Soundgarden, Alice In Chains, Foo Fighters, Radiohead, Green Day, Pixies, Pearl Jam, Screaming Trees, Stone Temple Pilots, The Distillers, Dead Kennedys, Circle Jerks (😭) ethusiast!

Scratches at his neck when he gets anxious.

Keeps his hair layered cut, short brown hair!

Kind of scene hair, he doesn’t like to think of it like that, it’s just the layers man.

Heterochromia, Brown and green!!

Liu is a complete angel when he’s is fronting, i like to think he’s very kind and sweet to everyone he’s friends with.

6 Years older than Jeff.

Sully does not like Jeff whatsoever.

ROMANTIC HCS:

He is such a gentleman compared to Sully pls 😭.

Offers you his jacket if you’re cold.

Brushes the hair out of your face.

WILL Stare at your features for hours on end.

He would be SO in love with you.

Even if he doesn’t hate Jeff, I personally think he wouldn’t want you around him too much.

Sully agrees with this 100%.

ACTUALLY he would probably make sure you weren’t anywhere in a 10 foot radius of that emo freak.

Sully likes you just as much as.

He might not be as sweet and romantic but he makes it his goal to make you feel loved in some way.

Liu will lay his head in your lap.

He will also come to you whenever he feels as if everything is getting to him too much.

Brushes your hair up with his hand so he can kiss your forehead.

hello gang i’m so sorry if i interpreted this so strange.. i haven’t written for liu/sully EVER, feel free to let me know if i did something WRONG, BUT HERE YOU GUYS GO!!!