#it is like he put me on this pedestal and then pulled it out from under me after getting a gf im so confused

[rmorde]

I try to be as objective and unbiased as possible while watching stans go at each other in the fan war that is Gojover vs Fraudkuna. However, there is one camp that is just a different kind of breed.

[parseisflat]

i thought immediately coming out to male friends was a way to avoid all the weird male female friendship stuff but i was wrong :////

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetic torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[salemlunaa]

∘˚౨ৎ no need for desperation ౨ৎ∘˚

no matter what you’re going through, the state of pure consciousness is yours.

∘˚౨ৎ ACT I | why desperation isn’t needed…

“I need to “enter” RIGHT NOW, my circumstances have gotten 100x worse”

“you don’t understand i need help, an instant method, something”

“time is running out i need to induce pure consciousness and get my dream life”

You need to stop with that, take a second now and breathe. 1: Time doesn’t exist, you can get all the time back you’ve supposedly “wasted” if you properly apply what you know. 2: You don’t need anything, kill that thought of being the one in need, because you aren’t. 3: circumstances aren’t real, they are nothing. and everything will be worth it when realise you already have everything.

∘˚౨ৎ METHOD | the only one you need.

Whether you’re sooo desperate for pure consciousness or not, whether your life depends on it, this is the only method you need: (at anytime of the day, mind you)

eyes closed

breathe, relax, let go of everything around you

you don’t have to be in a certain position and you don’t have to be a statue, both dumb pieces of misinformation, scratch that itch, lay where you’re comfortable

you are “I Am”, whether in pure consciousness or not, you can remind yourself of that by affirming “I AM” if you believe it helps you,

or your mind can trail off and think about ANYTHING, whether that be your new life or one of your favourite songs, take that mind off the 3d

before you know it, you’ve induce pure consciousness

this is all you need, not some grandiose, 50-step intricate method. Just relax and focus on all but your 3d THATS IT BABE

you don’t need to be desperate for something so easy

there’s is no “it doesn’t work for me”, you’re not exempt from the law of shifting awareness, you’re not some special person who “just can’t” make it work. Inducing the “I AM” state is in our nature.

౨ৎ˚∘ACT II | get out of the cycle, you aren’t yearning anymore.

This desperation won’t get you anywhere. And it puts you in a vicious cycle. You’re desperate to change your life → you see the void state as the only ticket out of here → you put all your faith and adoration into the state of pure consciousness instead of you → you put it on a pedestal → you believe pure consciousness is the only thing that can pull you out of your misery= therefore, you are relying on external factors for something you must do.

And if you look at the base law for loa: think as if you have it. Would you have feelings of desperation if you’re a void master, if you supposedly have your dream life?

So leave the circumstances behind, like now this time, really don’t say you’re going to and go back to complaining in 2 days

“i have school soon and if i don’t induce-” no.

“i NEED to induce before-” shhh. you can do it right now, you know that.

“my circumstances are getting so bad and-” what circumstances?

“no you don’t understand how life is getting-” i thought you had your dream life?

The days of desperation are no more. No more will you beg for something that is so easy, something that is owed to you. No more will “fail”, failure doesn’t exist for you. Just believe it.

There’s nothing to be desperate about because circumstances aren’t real and you can have your desire whenever.

Would a baker be desperate to get ahold of the recipe for a cake he already knows how to make?

🎄🎅 it’s your reality, don’t allow external factors to make you desperate for something so easy.

also merry christmas lovies (and happy holidays regardless for those who don’t celebrate) hope you guys are digging the theme 😏

[cherilightt]

the art of letting go • ˖📓🕷️ ࣪𖦆

(I learnt the hard way)

(also yes, after an year long hiatus your girl is back)

oftentimes when you desire something and are in the process of manifesting it, you end up obsessing over it; "I can't wait to get it omg when will it manifest I can't live without it" and get anxious, impatient.

but honey.. would you be impatient if you already had it? would you be anxious if it was already yours? by getting 'impatient' and 'waiting' for your desire to arrive, you're giving off the signal that you're in the state of waiting; hence your reality will make you wait.

you're under the impression that you're in the middle of the 'process' of manifesting instead of acknowledging the fact that it's literally already yours. the universe will reflect your assumption that 'its still coming' and keeps it coming 😭

it won't arrive till you decide it's already here and LET GO of the wanting state.

here's a personal example, there's this guy A and this guy B.

I was really obsessing guy A and I had been 'trying' to manifest him for months, but to no avail. I was in the state of wanting him and waiting for him therefore the universe reflected that state and STILL kept me waiting, kept me in the state of trying to get him.

but when I saw the guy B, I decided "I'll pull him for fun" and the WAY it happened so fast is crazy. He kept complimenting me and took me out on a date etc. in literally a week of us talking.

then I wondered, what did I do differently?

how come I've been doing my best and affirming, chasing guy A and nothing worked but the moment I thought I'd get guy B, I ended up getting him?

the difference was; I didn't obsess over guy B. I thought he was cool and decided I could pull him, after that I completely forgot about him and stopped thinking of him altogether; I was detached and had a belief "eh I've pulled him." so I wasn't anxious, impatient or obsessed with him because I KNEW he would like me. and that's exactly what happened. unlike guy A, whom I had put on a pedestal and desperately tried to get; guy B fell instantly because I was detached from him.

I wasn't in the state of 'chasing' I was in the state of 'attracting.' and this applies to every other desire, would you be constantly impatient and obsessing over your body if it actually was your desired body? heck you wouldn't even consider it that big of a deal because you'd know you have it. you'd know it's already here so you have nothing to wait for.

It's already here, why you waiting for something you already have? just LET IT GO.

[allfearstofallto]

Make Me Your God, I Can Give You Everything

Yandere! Scaramouche x Broken! Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, my lord Scaramouche,”

“How much?”

“More than anything, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you kill for me?”

“Happily, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you die for me?”

“If it would please you, my lord Scaramouche,”

Like a broken record repeating the same phrase over and over, you spoke your words with little emotion, hardly even a change in cadence. You looked at him, but your eyes had lost that familiar glimmer, that light that he'd come to rather enjoy, even if it was annoying. That light was perseverance, it was hope, it was your drive and will, but now it was gone and you often just looked more like a doll than he did.

“What’s something that would bring you joy?” He asked. Typically, he wasn't one to spoil you, but the last few weeks of you just being so docile and…empty. It had him worried. He wanted that spark back, that light in your eyes. He wanted you back.

“You, my lord Scaramouche,”

“No,” he spat back angrily, “What will really bring you joy? What will make you happy?”

“Anything you offer me is a gift enough, my lord Scaramouche,”

Annoyance caused him to stand swiftly from his chair and march over to where you sat, still as a board and posture straight, just like he'd drilled into you many times before. When he raised his hand to strike you, you didn't even flinch, making him lower it in surrender. You were still as beautiful as the day he got you, still as soft and your voice still as sweet. But you were hollow. Had he truly broken you down so?

He slumped back in his seat and sighed out longingly and you still barely moved. He made a motion with his hand for you to come closer and without a word, you did, “Sit. Join me,” he ordered. Promptly, you sat on his lap, the weight of your body comforting him. You were still in there, somewhere.

“I didn't want this,” he mumbled, his face pressed into you back, arms wrapped around your waist.

“You didn't wish for me to sit here?” You questioned, preparing to stand, but he pulled you back down with little resistance.

“No. I didn't want you to end up like this,” he squeezed your waist a bit tighter, making you let out a shallow breath, “Why couldn't you just love me as you were before. Why did it have to come to this?”

“I do love you, my lord,”

He pushed you from his lap and you crumbled to the floor, still, with little resistance. You didn't look scared or shocked, you didn't even look hurt from the way you'd fallen. Just there. He remembers the last time he'd done something similar to you. You spat at his feet in defiance. Mentally, he cringed at how hard he'd punished you that day. One of the many days of punishment that led to you becoming what you are now. Empty.

“I'm…I'm sorry,” he struggled to get the words out. Eyeing your face he saw something different, the slight raise of your eyebrows, before they fell again. But it was something. It was you, even for just a second, “Is that what you want? An apology?”

He kneeled before you and took one of your feet into his hands, his cold hands traced the soft skin of it. Scaramouche hadn't taken a knee for anyone in years. No one except his creator and the Tsaritsa herself. Both archons, but he put you on a similar pedestal. A kiss was pressed right against the toe of your foot and he felt your body jolt.

“Come back to me,” he pressed another kiss to your foot, “You'll be worshiped, not broken again.”

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Gale x Tav Kissing Headcanons

A/N: The patch 6 announcement has me back on my bullshit. I know I write a lot for Astarion, but this stupid wizard has my heart too. Here’s to hoping we get to make out with him soon.

Gale’s kisses come in stages

Obviously for a long time he’s very concerned about the orb and getting too excited, as it were

Even after the orb is stabilized and you have your first night together, some part of him thinks he’s getting away with something

The kisses shared between you are fleeting, but tender

While he adores your lips, he’ll just as happily kiss your hand or the top of your head, really any place he can reach

He wants to stay, even if it’s just the barest kiss you can sense it pains him to pull away, but you have other things to do

If he pushes his luck, maybe you’ll be the one to pull away first; he knows he can be a bit…much

The longer your together, the less hesitant he is

All he really needs is for you to pull him back into a deeper kiss a few times in a row for him to get the message

Once he has your permission, it’s nearly impossible for him to keep his hands off you

He still feels like he’s getting away with something, that at any second you’re going to realize he’s not enough or maybe the orb comes back or honestly just the daily dangers you have on your journey are going to tear you away, but instead of bracing for rejection, it just makes him hungry

He starts kissing you like it’s the end of the fucking world, but, in his defense, it kind of is

Even soft kisses come with hands cupping your face as he sharply inhaled your scent

He also can’t help but steal a few more, as if making up for lost time

Kisses after a fight are positively indecent

We already know he gets horny, but knowing he can touch you after makes him practically vibrate

He has enough self control to wait until your properly healed and back at camp, but not enough to wait until after you bath before he’s pulling your some place private and kissing the air right out of your lungs

That’s not to say every kiss leads to something more, only that he’s less reserved in putting all his love and adoration into every touch

He worships you, let him worship you

The feeling can be addicting, but it’s also something you might need to work on with him

Everybody wants to be loved, but being truly in love you need to be a partner, not a goddess on a pedestal

Your mortal and so is he, you don’t need worship, you just need him

And when he finally gets that into his thick skull you find him kissing you in all new ways

Without the threat of the Elder Brain or the crown, Gale finally feels like he has time

He still can’t keep his hands off you, but there is a warm security in it

He’s not afraid your going to pull away

He can kiss you slowly, savor the taste as he smiles against your lips

He can tease you and know you’ll just laugh and pull him back again

His finds he loves kissing your shoulders and the back of your neck as he simply holds you from behind for no other reason than because he can

Even when he finds himself distracted by grading papers or some new discovery, he’ll reach out for your hand, bringing it to his lips to make sure you know he knows your there

He starts to plan his mornings allowing for at least an extra fifteen minutes to get out of bed because how can he be expected to get anything done before he’s properly kissed you awake

Maybe things will teeter off later down the line, his colleagues have teased him more than once about the honeymoon phase

But even years down the line, he can’t see himself slowing down

Honestly the fact that it’s expected for people to be less in love with their spouse after their married is something he can’t find himself ever understanding (skill issue)

He doesn’t kiss you like it’s the end of the world, he kisses you like the world is going to keep on spinning, that time is going to keep moving forward and the best way he knows how to spend it is with you

[whytheylosttheirminds]

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 3)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

⯎series masterlist⯎

“I like the lilac, but I just wonder if the lavender would’ve gone better with your complexion,” your mom said as she eyed you critically. You were standing on a pedestal in the middle of Sally’s Dress Shop, trying on the bridesmaids dress your mom had picked out for you to wear to her wedding. The dress was far too frilly and pastel for your taste, but if wearing it would please your mom and make this week move faster, it was worth it.

“I think this is fine, mom,” you were trying your hardest to keep your tone polite, determined to keep this outing from turning into a fight. After all, it was your mom’s wedding week, and despite all of the history between you, you really did want her to be happy. 

By the time you had returned to the table last night, your mom had already paid the bill. The three of you drove home in silence, your mom giving you her patented silent treatment. This morning when you came downstairs dressed and ready for your fitting, she simply started talking about the flower arrangements for the reception, like the night before had never happened.

“I think you chose well,” you said before your mom could change her mind on the dress again. You’re lying through your teeth, you think this dress might be one of the worst choices she's ever made, but the satisfied smile on her face makes your discomfort worth it. 

“Do a spin for me,” she asks for the tenth time today. When you roll your eyes she pouts and says, “please?”

You smile and twirl for her again, giggling when you nearly lose your footing and fall off the pedestal, grabbing your mom’s shoulder for support. Your mom laughed too, and you realized you couldn’t remember the last time the two of you laughed together. It was nice.

Rafe has been avoiding going downtown as much as possible these days, keeping his outings to the Island Club and having his friends come to him if they want to party. Even though his dad had officially taken the fall for everything, he knew people still whispered about him as he walked by. I heard he was there. I heard he did it. They say his fingerprints were on the bullets.

Today, however, he had a meeting with a potential buyer of some of the melted gold, a jeweler on main street. He slid on his sunglasses and locked his car, trying desperately to act like today was just business as usual, like he hadn’t just put a hit on his own father.

He walked quickly from his truck toward the jeweler’s store front, but stopped in his tracks as he passed Sally’s. There you were, behind the glass, spinning in a puffy purple dress, before nearly falling on your ass. He cursed himself for the way he flinched, as if he could reach out and catch you through the window. Why was it still his instinct to catch you? 

Two Years Earlier…

“Rafe!” You squealed as he pulled you through the side door of the ballroom into the dimly lit alley. “They were playing my song!”

“That’s why I had to get you outta there,” he leans over you, backing you slowly up against the wall. “You looked way too fucking good dancing to that song.”

Rafe started rifling through the layers of your prom dress impatiently, trying to get his hands on you.

“What are you doing?” You playfully swatted his arm, thinking he must be teasing you.

“I need you,” he growled.

“Right here? In the middle of this gross alley?” You started to think he might not be kidding.

He finally gets his hands under the heavy fabric of your gown and begins kneading the flesh of your ass, making you gasp. His open mouth found yours, and you can immediately taste the alcohol on his tongue. You pull back from him and reach up to grab both sides of his face, hoping your touch would ground him a bit. He looked at you frenzied, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

“Baby, are you drunk already?” You said as gently as possible.

“Just on you, baby,” he slurred, attempting to dive back in for a kiss. 

“Wait,” you turned your head, causing his mouth to miss yours and land sloppily on your ear.

“What the hell?” He backed away from you in frustration. His chest was rising and falling quickly, nostrils flaring, and you wondered if he was also high. He’d only done coke once before, as far as you knew, but you remembered how panicked he was after, his heart pounding violently as you tried to calm him down. 

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “We just need to slow down a bit.”

You approached him with your hand outstretched, like he was a stray dog you were trying not to scare off. He didn’t look at you, but allowed you to slip your fingers into his, squeezing gently.

“I just wanna dance with you,” you whispered softly. Je just glared back at you, so you pouted your lips, knowing he found it irresistibly cute when you did that. He couldn’t hide the crooked smirk growing on his lips, and his breath steadied.

“We can party hard later,” you promised. “But I wanna remember this part, with you.”

He looked down at your hand in his and ran his thumb over the promise ring he had given you just a few weeks ago. You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed it softly.

As you swayed softly to the next slow song, he bent down and laid a kiss on your bare shoulder. For a moment, you thought you were successful in bringing him back down to Earth. You were full of pride, truly believing that you, and only you, would always be able to fix him when he was broken. 

Now…

Rafe stood frozen at the dress shop window, just watching you. When you tucked your hair behind your ears, it was like he could still smell your pretty coconut shampoo. When you smoothed down your dress, it was like he could still feel your soft hands on his bare skin. When you said something to your mom, it was like he could still hear your voice whispering in his ear I will love you forever, Rafe Cameron.

But you hadn’t meant it, had you? You couldn’t have, or you would’ve stayed. And if you had stayed, maybe he wouldn’t be where he was now. Maybe he would’ve married you, taken you away from this island like the two of you used to dream about. Maybe he wouldn’t be a thief, a liar, a killer. 

It was too late now, too late to undo it. Too late to get back to who he was before you left. But there was something about the sight of you, the presence of you, even through the tinted window glass, that made him want to try.

Decisively, he turned back toward his car, feverishly dialing Barry’s number. Praying to whatever God was good enough to create the girl in the window that it wasn’t too late.

Looking back at yourself in the mirror, you stopped short when you saw the reflection of a figure in the window. By the time you turned around, it was gone, and you were the one left wondering if you were imagining things.

Two Years Ago…

“Ma’am can you tell us what happened here tonight?” The cop questioned you.

Rafe looked up at you with pleading eyes. White button up stained with blood, eyes glassy and red. His suit jacket, the one you had picked out together to match your dress, had been ripped to shreds.

“I don’t know,” you said to the cop, not removing your disappointed eyes from Rafe, his bloodied face illuminated in the blue-red light of the sirens. 

“We’re going to need you to give a statement, ma’am,” the officer clarified, “for the record.”

“For the record…” you shook your head at the boy on the curb, arms held behind him in handcuffs. Arms that used to hold you every night, arms you didn’t know if you could trust anymore, “...I don’t know him.”

With that, you walked away, the shattered glass from your car window crunching under your heels with each step. Rafe had no choice but to sit there and watch you go, aching with something completely unrelated to the accident.

“Y/N!” He yelled after you, unable to suppress the pain in his voice.

You just kept walking.

Now…

You woke up with a start, clutching your bedsheets. Sighing, you tapped your phone screen and it lit up in the darkness. 5:53am. 

You weren’t surprised, you hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in two years. You knew how this would go, once your brain was awake there would be no turning it back off. You sighed and threw the covers off, your old childhood bed creaking loudly as you stood up. You winced at the noise, your mother was a light sleeper, a lesson you’d learned the hard way too many times. 

You pulled on an old pair of leggings and a hoodie, and slowly crept down the stairs. Once out the door, you found your old bike in the shed in the backyard and rode off into the soft morning light. No clear destination in mind, you rode around the neighborhood, down to the beach. You watched the waves crash as you passed them. It had been two years since you’d seen the ocean, and you had nearly succeeded in convincing yourself you were okay with that. But now, the sun rising over the sea, salty air consuming your senses, all the hard work you did to delude yourself unraveled.  

Without really meaning to, you ended up at the cemetery. You parked your bike and let your memory lead you right to your dad’s plot.

His grave clearly hadn’t seen visitors in a while. You made a weak effort to brush the dirt off of his headstone, before smiling and choosing to leave it as is. “God made dirt, dirt don’t hurt” your dad would’ve said. 

For a while you just sat there, fingers combing through the grass as you listened to the birds chirp loudly in the trees above.

“That ever get annoying?” You asked your dad in jest. You smile to yourself, knowing your dad wouldn’t have minded. He was too easy going, the calm current that kept you and your mom afloat. Suddenly hit with a pang of longing to see your father again, you wished that you had something to leave here for him. You noticed a grave a few plots over, completely covered in fresh blooming flowers. 

“Somebody was popular,” you say to your dad’s headstone. “I’m sure they won’t miss one flower right?”

You stand and approach the grave, wondering who it was that inspired such an outpouring of love. 

“Sheriff Susan Peterkin” 1977-2020

You frowned. She must’ve died recently, then. Strange that your mom hadn’t said anything, surely Chip had known her, being on the force. You remembered Peterkin, she came to your school every year when you were growing up. Back then, she was just a beat cop who pulled the short straw and had to give the anti-bullying presentation, but you remember her being very nice.

You plucked a tulip from one of her many bouquets and felt like you should say something.

“Um, hi. I don’t know if you knew my dad, but I think you would’ve liked him. I’m sorry for whatever happened, but thanks for always being so cool.”

As you walked away from her grave, you noticed another newly dug plot a few yards away. The plot was small, if something was buried here, it wasn’t a body. Still, there was a small plaque over the fresh dirt. You approached, having to get pretty close before you could make out the name…

“Ward Cameron.”

Your knees buckled beneath you, the tulip you were holding slipping from your grasp. This grave couldn’t have been here for more than what, a few weeks? The grass had barely begun to grow. Maybe your mom could have just forgotten to tell you about Sheriff Peterkin, but surely the very recent death of Ward Cameron hadn’t just slipped her mind. Clearly, something bigger was going on. 

And Rafe…Rafe.

You regained your footing and started running, past Sheriff Peterkin’s grave, past your father’s, blowing him a quick kiss.

You found your bike and started pedaling as fast as you could. Not even pausing to think through what you’d say when you got there, just knowing you needed to see him, to be with him. Suddenly, it made more sense. He was grieving. Their relationship was complicated, but even when he was pissed at him, Rafe still worshiped his father.

You pulled up to Tannyhill, but the gate was closed. You tried some of the gate codes you remembered the Camerons used to rotate through, but none of them worked. After your fifth attempt, the system locked you out. You rang the bell, not sure if he would even let you in when he realized it was you, but you had to try. No answer, he must not have been home.

You sat by the wall for a few hours, waiting for him to get home. Eventually, your stomach ached with hunger, and you really had to pee. You decided to go home, collect yourself, and come back later. 

By the time you arrived home on your bike, it was almost noon. Chip was just walking in the front door, home from work. He had been pulling double overnight shifts to pay for the wedding and he looked exhausted. Luckily for both of you, the wedding was just a few days away now, and all of this would be behind you soon.

When you walked in the living room, he was mid-conversation with your mother, who quickly shushed him at the sight of you. He looked at her in confusion, clearly not reading the silent message she was trying to send with her eyes.

“What’s going on?” You asked, feeling just as lost as Chip.

“Just telling your mom how we brought in that Cameron boy again last night-” your mother cut him off with a harsh, “Chip!” and he threw his hands up in surrender.

You and your mother looked at each other for a long moment, saying nothing, and at the same time, everything. 

“Don’t,” she pleaded quietly.

You turned fast and ran toward the door, grabbing her car keys and your purse off the dining room table as you passed.

“Y/N, do not do this,” your mom was up from the couch, running after you as you headed for the front door. “Tonight is my bachelorette party and tomorrow we have the rehearsal!”

“I’ll be back in time, I just have to-”

“No you don’t! You don’t have to!” She yelled, trying to grab the handle of the door before you could get to it, but you beat her to it and threw open the door.

“I’m sorry,” you called behind you as you ran to her car in the driveway. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t bother,” she yelled from the front steps. 

You stopped in your tracks, hands pausing on the handle of her car door as you whipped your head towards her in surprise.

“If you leave right now,” she said, eerily composed, “If you go to him, I don’t want you at my wedding. If you do this, y/n…I don’t ever want to see you again”

Your mother had said many harsh words to you in moments of frustration that she tried to take back later, but the way she was talking to you now, her tone so even and her words so carefully selected, you wondered if she’d practiced this speech. Then it dawned on you, she knew you would do this. She knew if you found out about Ward, that you’d run to Rafe’s side. And she was fully prepared to cut you out.

You opened the car door and got in, not looking back at your mom as you peeled out of the driveway.

Twelve Years Earlier…

“No, Rafe,” you scolded, hands on your hips. “You’re the cop, and I’m the robber!”

“Well too bad. I wanna be a robber, too,” he said, taking off the plastic sherriff's badge you had given him and throwing it in the playground dirt. 

“We can’t both be robbers, that doesn’t make any sense,” you told him. 

The rules of make-believe were very clear, and you’d always been a rule follower. That is, until you started spending your recesses playing with Rafe Cameron. He was always in trouble.

“Sure we can, we’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde!” He encouraged, handing you his plastic toy gun.

“Bonnie and Clyde,” you agreed with a smile, taking the gun.

Suddenly, you didn’t care so much about breaking the rules. Not if it meant you got to keep playing with him.

(chapter 4)

a/n: y'all are blowing me away with all your kindness about this story!! I hope you keep loving it!!! Lots more to come (including some smut if you're patient🤫) 🫶

If you asked to be on the taglist and I forgot you, I'm sorry and please let me know!!

taglist: @maybankslover @dark1paradise @lmg-stilinski24 @idkdudsworld @mimipanini09 @patis643 @readingsmuts @nymphetkoo @xoxohoneymoongirl @hangmanscoming @azrielsgirll @maibelitaaura @laniirackssss @rubixgsworld @sweetienans @dasguccier @brain-palacee @ymnizuh @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesgiirl @thewalkingdeadsmut @themindofmoe @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @v0lturiaq

[minhosimthings]

A study in Tea || I.N (18+)

Synopsis: An innocent date to a tea shop takes a wild turn when you and Jeongin stumble upon aphrodisiacs.

Pairings: bf!Jeongin × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, p in v, rough sex, oral (f), fingering, roughdom!Jeongin, spanking, hair pulling, thigh riding, needy reader, USE OF APHRODISIAC, jeongin being a hot little shit

A/N: not gonna say anything yall enjoy the porn

"Oh look at that one!" You excitedly pointed out a light blue sachet of tea, placed high and proper on a pedestal. Beneath it was a plaque which read 'Butterfly Pea Flower'. 

"Doesn't this turn pink when you add orange juice or something?" Jeongin eyed the tiny tea flakes in the sample cup wearily, as if it would hop out and attack him at any moment. You rolled your eyes at his utmost ignorance. 

"I think you mean lemon juice." You corrected him in a matter-of-fact voice, "Ugh just leave me in this place forever!" You bounced up and down on your heel, excitedly looking at all the colourful sachets of teas, coffees and chocolates surrounding you. 

Cute, Jeongin thought. 

"Am I going to be spending money on dried leaves all day?" Jeongin peered at yet another sachet suspiciously, to which you rolled your eyes, and pointed towards your handbag. 

"I have my own money, you know?" You chuckled, going back to skipping through the aisles to find something you like. But Jeongin shook his head. 

"Now what kind of a boyfriend would I be if I let the love of my life spend money huh?" He said, placing his hand on his chest as if the mere thought of you spending money was nothing short of a scandalous affair. 

"Ooh let's look there." You said, completely ignoring him as soon as your eye caught a magnificent section filled with different hues of pinks and reds. Your boyfriend complied, letting you drag him wherever you wanted.

After all, he was the one who had suggested going to ‘that aesthetic shop’ three blocks down as a date in the first place.

Jeongin admired you while you happily moved through the vast ocean of bold reds and calm maroons, each shade getting inkier as you moved along to the end of the tea section. A soft smile appeared on his face everytime you excitedly pointed at a sachet of tea, rambling for a minute about everything you knew about the fragrant tea leaves sitting in the free trial cup. To any stranger, he would have looked like a madman, going insane out of his love for you.

You, on the other hand, were immersed in reading the titles of each different tea. A mischievous smirk (which your beloved didn't notice), appeared on your face as you reached some of the darker magenta packets. They were outlined in a different kind of font than the other. They were bolder, more tantalising, and to simply put it—sexier. But that smirk was also combined with an involuntary blush, one that Jeongin, with his sharp, fox-like eyes, noticed immediately. 

“Now which non-existent man here just made my baby blush hm?” He inched closer to you, placing his nose close to your neck, inhaling your scent, “I’ll fight him with my bare hands.”

“Chivalry exists after all.” You giggled, when you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist as if they were magnets which had been torn away from their iron. Goosebumps erupted on your skin, when Jeongin pressed a particularly wet kiss on the curve of your neck, sucking on it with his plump lips. You were thankful that not a lot of people were in the shop and the employees were on the other side of the store.

“Innie.” You said in a waning tone, hoping it concealed your shaky voice, by god did he make you melt into his hands with a single kiss, “We are in public.”

“And?” Jeongin questioned, teasing your waist with his moving fingers painting invisible murals, “Didn't really stop you from staring at those—what were they called?” He glanced over your shoulder at the teas, “Love potions.”

You felt your cheeks burn, not out of embarrassment, but from the way Jeongin spoke in that alluringly low voice of his, bringing it down a few octaves just to send ripples through your body. He had you trapped in his arms as well, his lips free to attack your neck like a starved man lusting for food.

“How about—” You felt his grip loosen (only slightly), “—we test these out at home hm?”

==============================

“Don’t drink it yet!” You slapped Jeongin’s hand away from the steaming cup of tea, “The instructions say we need to wait for five minutes for—” You stopped in the middle of your words, taking a breath before speaking, “—for the effect to fully register.”

“Oh the effect will register alright.” Jeongin smirked, his dimple appearing on his face, “But what should we do while we’re waiting hm?” 

“You really wanna ruin the magical adventure of drinking this, don’t you?” You bit your lip, eyes flickering down to his swollen ones (the parking lot was an amazing place for a messy makeout). Jeongin scrunched his nose, making you chuckle.

“I’ve never even heard of these things.” Jeongin glanced down at the mugs filled with lilac-coloured liquid, “Aphrodisiacs huh?” He chuckled darkly, “Shame that we didnt know about it before, imagine all the fun we could have had.” Jeongin noticed your awkward smile and the way you avoided his eyes. He raised his brow at you.

“Don’t tell me you knew.” He groaned on seeing your smile widen, “And you seriously never told me?”

“Well would you look at that, it's been five minutes.” You said quickly, grabbing the mugs and shoving one of them in Jeongin’s hand, “Cheers!” You clinked your mug with his.

Jeongin smirked into his cup before lifting it to his lips, pretending to pour it down his throat. He eyed you from a corner, silently musing over the way you were forcing yourself to drink it. It must have tasted horrible, a fact which he used as an opportunity.

“Fuck—i can’t drink the rest.” He said, loud enough for you to hear it. He proceeded to walk over to the sink and dump the entire tea in, making it look like he had only drunk half. 

“Me neither.” He heard you groan, following in his footsteps and dumping only  a little amount of tea into the sink. You wiped your mouth with the back of our hand, sticking out your tongue in a disgusted manner.

“We did not just waste our money on that horrible thing.” You said, “I need sugar right now.’

“Woah, hold on.” Jeongin grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to him, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Didn't the instructions say it wouldn't work if you ate anything after drinking it?” 

“Welp.” you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, “Guess we have to wait then.” you turned around to face the counter and your eyes landed on the ripped packet of tea laying on the granite surface. ‘Effective in less than a second!’ was written in front in cream, coloured italic letters, to complement the magenta colour of the packaging. 

What a scam, you thought, wondering why you weren't immediately feeling the urge to go ham crazy on Jeongin right in the middle of the kitchen.

 If only you knew what would happen later.

============================================

“Ugh fucking hell....” You said, rubbing your forehead with your fingers, did the living room always smell so much like Jeongin’s cologne?

“You okay babe?” He asked, looking up from the book he was reading. He had noticed you constantly bringing your hand up to your head, in an attempt to soothe your nerves. Was this a side effect of the tea? Jeongin wondered. You were sitting only a few inches from him, with your feet slightly touching his.

“Why do you smell so good right now?” You asked him, albeit you had to admit that you were technically asking yourself that. Jeongin chuckled darkly, and put his book down on the table, crawling over to you on the sofa. His arms automatically wrapped around your waist.

“You sure you’re alright baby?” He asked again, this time inching his face closer to yours, “Do you wanna get to bed–”

Jeongin’s sentence faded into a groan, the sound deep and raw, and before you could pull away from your sudden attack on his lips, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you back to him, his lips crashing against yours with a carnal hunger. You felt the heat too, the urgency that was beginning to rise between you so suddenly. 

You felt his tongue caressing the inside of your mouth, tracing the shape of your teeth, stroking your own tongue, coaxing it to move with his. A soft moan escapes you when the kiss becomes more intense, Jeongin's slender tongue effortlessly sliding into your mouth and dominating the kiss, arousal pooling between your thighs while your mind fogs with lust, the feeling of his hands burning into your skin as you think you're going to go mad with desire. 

The aphrodisiac worked after all, a small voice at the back of your head said. You felt your head grow light from the lack of air, but still, you were locked in the kiss, unable to pull away, unable to do anything but respond to him.

“c’mere, baby,” he murmured, voice heavy with arousal. You shifted forward, practically climbing onto his lap, pulling a groan from deep within him. Your entire body moved on its own accord, as if you had come alive for the first time; your mouth worked against his and you circled your hips against his and you were consumed entirely by him. 

He kissed back more firmly this time. His fingers dug into your hip and you sighed into his mouth in response. He took this as a good sign, moving his hand around to palm at your ass.

He gives an experimental roll of his thigh, and the friction against your clothed core draws a sharp gasp from your lips. The sensation is maddening, just enough to stoke the fire that’s been smoldering inside you, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention eased up on your lips and began a slow trek towards your collar bone, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the low lying neckline of your oversized shirt, which covered your thighs. Jeongin’s fingers reached below the shirt, hitching it up to your bustline, and ghosting over the skin there,

As if you had unconsciously understood him, you raised your arms up to give him better access. Jeongin smirked as he pulled your shirt off the top of your head in one swift motion, leaving you in your bra and panties. 

His hands eagerly travelling across the exposed skin you just revealed, fingers dancing across your lower abdomen before reaching your lower back and up, swiftly unclasping your bra and pulling it off while your lips meet his passionately, both of you smiling into it to start with.

You gasped at his touch, your hands moving in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. Jeongin’s eyes darkened at the sight of your perked up nipples.

“So fucking needy for me.” he mumbles, a hand coming around to let you wrap your arms around him. As soon as your weight falls on his thigh again, your mouth falls agape, and your forehead falls on his shoulder. Your breathing gets heavier, softly rubbing your lower half on his thigh.

“You alright baby?” Jeongin asked, his hand coming up to rub your back, his leg muscle unintentionally flexing under you. You let out a loud gasp at the sudden stimulation. Though you had ridden him multiple times before, this one felt so much more different. So much more ravenous.

You continued to move on his thigh, finally finding the spot, your clit rubbing against his thigh. Jeongin’s eyes continued to eye you up and down, lingering for a long time at the sight of your naked breasts bouncing up and down rhythmically.

 “Such a good girl, you're such a good angel,” He said, now feeling the strain on his grey sweats.

The heat off of him felt so nice. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck. Your bare chest pressed against him. You slowly caressed the skin on his back. Turning your head up, he turned his gaze down and your eyes met. A moment savoured just before you leaned in and you kissed. You lingered before you both pulled back just slightly.

His thigh rubbed your cunt just right, making the right amount of friction. You buck your hips to grind against him, moaning out. “Ngh…fuck..” You grasp at his shoulders and grind harder, your shame got thrown out the window. You were dripping on his pants at this point, your stomach forming a burning knot. 

"Innie," you groan when he cups your breasts, squeezing firmly but not too hard, his fingers grazing over your nipples and pulling on them softly, dragging more sinful noises out of you. "I need you," You sigh out, lolling your head back as he toys with your boobs shamelessly with his long, sleek fingers, smirking against your skin at the feeling of your hips grinding against him harder, needing to ease the incessant throb between your legs, the intolerable heat that only he could help you with.

“Please, please, need your fingers,” you pant like you’re in heat. The tea was working its wonders on you, which Jeongin was highly pleased to see.

Like mercy from God, his middle finger leaves through your folds. It simply strokes up and down for a little while, focusing fleetingly on your sensitive nub before tracing around your entrance, making you whimper desperately. You closed your eyes and exhaled softly, when you felt his cold fingers against your wet folds. 

"So wet for me, honey?" His rhetorical questions were turning you on even more. His dominance knew no bounds and so did his fingers, that were gently rubbing your labia. Everything around you started fading away, the only thing you could focus on was Jeongin and his fingers on your pussy. 

You lost yourself when he slowly inserted his finger inside, finally making you moan properly (just the way he liked it) and burying your face into Jeongin’s clavicles, desperate arms scratching at his back.

 “Oh you like that don't you?” He grinned, watching your poorly hidden scrunched face as he felt your throbbing arousal. You started seeing stars even so your eyes were tightly closed. Wet juicy sounds wafted through the living room and for a moment, you forgot where you are or what your name is. 

Jeongin’s curling inside you picked up the pace, his hot breaths turned into chuckling, as he felt your clenching around him. You let out a loud moan, your chest was moving rapidly, as you tried to catch your breath.

 But Jeongin wouldn't let you have your fun. And soon enough his fingers had left your panting pussy faster than you could comprehend anything.

“Innie!” You cried, edging towards him, with a shocked expression on your face, “Why would you—”

He didn't let you complete your sentence properly, choosing to make you fade it into a pleasured scream, when his hand collided with your rear with a loud smack, jolting you forward slightly. You whimper at the pain but find oddly that there’s a sensation. You find yourself moaning softly, and now magically laying on your stomach.

Thwack, thwack, thwack. He delivers a few more. With each one, the feeling is more pleasant, your skin tingling under his ministrations. He takes a moment, gently rubbing up and down your back, almost like he’s soothing you. He feels you rising and falling with your sharp breaths under his hand. You’re mortified at how much you’re liking this. Perhaps it was because of the tea.

“Dirty little slut.” he taunts, smacking you once more, eliciting a guttural groan from you, “Who’d have thought that my sweet baby would love this so much?” Jeongin’s warm breath on your ear tickles you. 

He shifts slightly and then chuckles deeper, noticing a dark wet patch on your underwear. “You’re really liking this,” his hand settles between your cheeks, rubbing at your clothed heat. You whimper and arch your back. “You’re soaking darling,” he coos. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re a whimpering mess,” he moves his hand up to pull down your underwear, it peels slowly away from your core, the cool air hitting your wetness and making you shiver. 

Jeongin grips your hips tightly and shifts your position to lay on your back, the soft material of the sofa providing a sort of comfort to your skin, which was already bruised by the multiple kisses that had escaped from your boyfriend's mouth. You watch as he takes off his shirt and pulls down his trousers, exposing his hard cock, dying to burst out of his boxers. Jeongin's cock is oozing with precum, and you can see the dampness spreading on his boxers as he slowly takes them off, coming to rest between your legs. You hook one leg each over either shoulder, bringing yourself closer to him.

You stretch a bit uncomfortably in this position, but any discomfort fades away the moment he leans forward and licks from your entrance to the top of your clit. A loud moan escapes you as his warm, wet tongue makes contact with your pussy. You sigh into the sensation, your eyes fluttering shut as you tangle your fingers in his hair, anchoring yourself as you urge him deeper. His tongue glides up your folds, skillfully, occasionally pausing to plant soft kisses on your clit. He encircles your clit and sucks, pulling whimpering pleas from your mouth.

“That feel good, baby?” He murmurs, making you whine in response.

“Yes, i-it feels real-really good!” You choked out as his tongue began burrowing into your core, sliding in and out with a wet sound that set your nerve endings on fire.

 “Oh, my God, Jeongin!” You cry as you feel the tension in your belly tighten, your thighs tremble warningly, and he grabs firmly onto your thighs so he can make them squeeze his head to lock himself in place.

 “Fuck, yes!” You whine, clenching your thighs around his head as your back arches from the pleasure of your release. Jeongin laps sloppily at your folds, drinking your sweet nectar greedily, refusing to stop until you’re begging him to quit. “Innie—I–ahhhh.” You sigh weakly, your body jolting with every languid stroke of his tongue.

Jeongin groans against you, sending delicious vibrations coursing through your body as you tug on his hair, lost in the pleasure. You find yourself grinding your hips forward, desperately seeking more contact as your arousal drips down his chin like a waterfall. 

You didn't really notice the way Jeongin’s eyes trailed darkly up your body, or the way he lapped up the arousal he had collected on his chin from your heavenly pussy. You didn't notice, until he was laying on top of you, his naked body sprawled out in a magnificent display. You practically drooled.

“Poor baby.” Jeongin cooed at you, cupping your cheek with his hand and leaning forward to place a kiss to your nose, “Do you need my cock, darling?”

You knew he was taunting you, mocking you even, for being so needy for him, but you didn't mind, how could you? When the delicious tip of his naked cock was teasing your throbbing labia so much. You couldn't even say anything, choosing to remain silent and enjoy his teasing.

“Come on now.” Jeongin urged you, smirking, “Be a good girl for me,” He lowered his hips so that his cock was an inch deep in your cunt making you gasp loudly, “and beg for my cock.”

“Please Innie,” You whined, grabbing his bicep with your right hand and squeezing it, “Please–need you so bad.” 

That was all it took for his massive cock to completely split you open. Jeongin thrusts his whole length into you, black dots cover your vision at the feeling of it.

You whimper at the new angle, struggling to accommodate his impressive girth. As your walls squeeze around him, trying to adapt, he uses more force to push deeper, stretching you further. The sensation is intense, almost overwhelming, as it feels like you’re being torn open, split in half by his thickness.

“S-shit it’s like you’re fucking choking my cock” he grunts out, looking at the slight bulge in your lower stomach. The sight is enough to make him cum right then and there. You nod, babbling incoherently into his ear. Your skin takes on a feverish sheen, but you don’t care. All you care about is the feeling of his cock slamming into you and how his arms flex with every thrust. 

Jeongin doesn't give you any adjustment time, his thrusts are hard and quick, his one hand moves to your head, he grabs a fist full of your hair and puts your head back making your arch your back. He smirks at you like he was testing a theory and he was right about it. He lets go over your hair and moves to your neck. Your eyes widen as he pushes harder and harder against your neck.

“Ah, fuck!” Tears are already dripping down your face onto the sofa. His cock is so big, long and hard and he makes your pussy and tummy feel so full of him. 

“I’ve got you–fuckkk.” he soothes and moans his pleasure out simultaneously, fucking you at an impossible pace. This hedonistic feeling was heaven on earth. 

All you can answer with are moans as they slip off your lips. Your mind goes blank as all you can do is focus on the feel of him stretching you, filling you up, so overwhelmed with bliss already. He thrusts deeper inside you, earning whines and moans as you continue to cry out his name. You try to tell Jeongin, breathlessly, about how good he makes you feel. The sound of your pleasure fuels his desire to fuck you better, urging him to do more. He picks up his pace, thrusting into you quicker, harder, hitting the spot that has your body going numb.

You claw at the sofa's material, burying your face into the crook of his neck to muffle your screams. The air is all stuffy around you as his hips move faster, you whine as you try to push back your hips against his to take more of his thick cock. He moans at the sight, kneading your ass as he tries to bury himself more inside you, the tip hitting your cervix instantly. Your eyes roll back inside your head as you dig your fingers more into the sofa, you mewl at the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.

“F-fuck fuck fuck, this feels so goood—” The sentence doesn’t even fully come out from your mouth.

He's so deep inside you, your legs are shaking. He doesn't stop though, instead of his regular thrusts he does small ones so he can stay buried inside you.  He stays like that for a while just slowly fucking you, you start to get annoyed, you want more. More of him. 

"Baby, please." 

"What do you want, princess?" He looks at your drooping eyes. 

"Harder please harder." Jeongin chuckles at your pathetic words.

 "Fuck" You say breathless as he begins rubbing and thrusting into you once more. Jeongin bites and kisses your ear and your neck. You hold in your moans but can't help the few squeals and whimpers that escape your lips. He whispers the filthiest words known to mankind in your ear, you can't take all the pleasure it's too much.

 "I can't"  You say but it's barely audible.

 "Yes you can baby." Jeongin whispers "Just one more time." He kisses your cheek. You close your eyes tight, your body shakes, your head is fuzzy. "That's a good girl." He praises. "Look at you, cumming for me. Such a good girl." You open your mouth but you can't make a sound.

 You cum, hard. 

His massive cock and immeasurably hard thrusts were all too much. You came undone with a loud cry, clenching around him as his fingers worked over your clit. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave and your thighs shook, gripping at the headboard as his breath hitched and he came too, fucking you through it, leaning heavily over your back. You felt your vision turn hazy and gave a moan as you felt him spill inside you, moving your hips what little bit you could into his jagged thrusts, eating up every breathless sound he made by your ear. He pushed into you a couple more times before halting, breathing like a bull behind your head.

His lips peck yours once more before pressing a loving kiss to your temple, his body rolling next to you. You stay like that for a while, sounds of heavy panting filing the air. Your mind racked inside its skull and your eyes started feeling heavy as pure exhaustion hit you like a truck.

You felt Jeongin’s gentle touch pull you closer to him, turning you on your side so that you were more comfortable in his arms. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he waited until you were fully asleep before slowly removing his arms from your body and sneaking into the kitchen, with hastily worn pants.

Jeongin chuckled at the sound of your loud snores, which could be heard even from the kitchen, before he reached into the shopping bag, filled with goodies from the tea shop. Smiling to himself, he collected all the dark maroon packets and quietly tucked them into a cabinet, to keep them absolutely safe and sound.

(And absolutely hidden from you.)

Taglist: @jiyeonslays @gimmeurtummy @hpnsfwaddict @yasuraokaa @sweatyracoon

[yeyinde]

idk the idea of Ghost being an absolute dog. rough, mean, downright cruel. treats you like a thing, he’s gross.

and Price being the opposite. like can’t imagine even asking you to lift a finger, full on princessification. buys you pretty things and brushes you hair for you. and them just never seeing eye to eye is making me CRAZYYYYYYYYYYYYY

what's crazy is that they're both doing the same thing, just with wildly different approaches. and my (controversial) take on this is that Price is arguably worse than Ghost.

with Ghost, you pretty much know what you're getting into from the jump. no holds barred. he's not playing games. he wants you, he'll have you. end of. everything is laid out in stone before he even has to lift a finger to get you. you want out? run.

(but just. keep running. forever. because if he wants you, he'll never stop chasing you.)

but Price? you don't have to lift a finger because you can't. princess-ification, sure. but the sort that involves gilded cages. it's still a leash even if it's gold.

the end justifies the means, and that includes all things - even you. especially you. and once Price has you, you're stripped of everything that he doesn't like. put on a pedestal. your life wrapped around his finger. dependent on him for everything. he convinces you to quit your job, to move in with him (into a house that's just in his name). bends you until you break. moulds you into the thing he covets the most. there's no room for error here because one misstep and he can just. remove you.

and where would you go?

back to the friends he told you he didn't like? bad influences. or the ones he gave you that follow his every command? can you get a job in a city he has so much pull in? probably not when he has you blacklisted everywhere. the Price name holds a lot of weight and he has no qualms using his inherited power to ruin you.

he systematically dismantles your entire life and the wild thing is: you end up thanking him for it.

two sides of the same coin but at least Ghost is honest about how badly he's going to ruin you, y'know?

[tmblrcolouredpaper]

When TXT is making you feel comfortable: habits, routines and rituals that occur when they prioritize your comfort

5 short scenarios per member listed

wc (in total): 1943

no warnings

When Yeonjun is making you comfortable...

... he has his apartment stocked with products that make you feel at home. He has your favorite snacks. He bought your favorite clothes as substitutes that he keeps in his closet for when you stay over. He has some copies of your favorite books and gets some magazines you enjoy. If you're a person who menstruates, he of course has all possible period products ready. If your hobby is painting, he has all utensils at his place. If you are currently into lifting weights and working out, he creates a little sport corner for you. 

'Top drawer on the right', he yells after you when you leave is room to go to the kitchen, because you feel like having a snack.

'Look at the bag in my closet', he instructs when you spilled on your favorite shirt, while he gets the detergent ready to wash your shirt right away.

... he is with you when you decide to face your fears. If he can and it makes sense, he is with you in person, but otherwise, he offers you to be on a call with him or text him. One or the other way,  he will be with you.

'Three, two, one and you go inside, okay? I'll stay on the call and you can return right to my voice if you want to, yeah? Now, my brave baby, three, two, and one'.

... he is his crazy self around you and is the happiest when you slowly allow yourself to let your guard down and become more unhinged yourself. 

'That doesn't sound like a chicken. My donkey impression totally beats yours. Try again'. 

... he directly protects you from others. Whether it's strangers or friends, encountering you with inappropriate intentions or ignorant jokes, he shields you. 

'Keep walking', he spits at a man who is eyeing you up and down when you are outside. Yeonjun pushes himself between you and the crowd immediately and takes your hand to pull you behind him, not letting go of you until he feels like it's rather safe again. 

... he lets you sleep. Regardless if you fall asleep on his bed, taking up all the space or of you fall asleep directly on him, he lets you. The only time he moves you is when your position looks rather uncomfortable and possibly damaging if you remain lying  like that for too long. 

'Oh? Am I that comfy?', he whispers as he looks down on your sleeping figure on his chest, smiling to himself.

When Soobin is making you comfortable...

... he subtly bends his knees or leans against an accessible surface when he's talking to you, to not tower over you as much.

'Oh, why I'm leaning against the wall like this? I'm just a bit tired, that's all'.

... he carries all your bags at a shopping trip and cheers you on in every outfit you are trying out.

'This looks beautiful on you. Wait? Feels a bit too tight? Give me a second. I'll bring it in a different size', he says and rushes into the isles with bags already dangling from his shoulders. He always has capacity to carry just one more thing if it's for you.

... he never, NEVER, distances himself first when you hug. He always waits for you to be ready to let go, because he doesn't even want to give you one nuanced opportunity to doubt him wanting to be with you.

'I'm not letting go before you're ready', he whispers when you were already in his embrace for ten minutes, standing in the middle of the room. It doesn't matter if you are happy, sad, scared, worried. He is constantly ready to be your safe space. 

... he gives you the biggest side-eye. As much as he admires you, he doesn't put you on a pedestal. When your jokes aren't funny or you say something particularly dumb, he will silently let you know and expects to be treated the same. 

'What do you mean unicorns weren't real at least for one period of time on this earth? I literally saw a documentary about it!', he argues and has to contain himself to not burst into a laughter, seeing you shaking your head in disbelief with a big frown on your face. Those situations are so funny and carefree to him. 

... he has your back regarding everything. Regardless of how unrealistic or silly something may seem, he is always there, encouraging you to at least give it a shot. As uncertain a situation, a project, a try may be, he remains your certain stability. 

'So what if it's stupid? You're curious of it. It excites you, so go and see if it could be working for you', he says and adds that regardless of what happens, in the end of the day you can just return to him as always. 

When Beomgyu is making you comfortable...

... he waves at you when he sees you walking towards him, but is surprised to see you turning around to look at the other people who are walking down the street in an attempt to figure out if he might be meeting someone else.

'I was waving at you, you know', he says after greeting you when you are finally standing in front of him.

... he is puzzled to find you wearing long pajama pants as it is a warm summer night during which he is staying over at your apartment. He toys with the fabric when you sit down next to him and experimentally pulls the fabric up your leg a bit. 

'Isn't it way too warm in those?', he questions and listens to you negating in an obvious lie. 

'Just wear shorts. I won't do or think anything inappropriately only because I see your skin', he assures and when you leave to your bedroom to get changed, he adds, 'And don't you dare forcing yourself into that bra any longer'. 

... he observes you lingering a bit closer around him than usually when you feel particularly down. 

'Want to hug?', he simply asks and opens his arms when you shyly nod, inviting you into his embrace at your own pace. 

... he slides on the bench to sit right next to you when you are particularly anxious in a cafe, and he opens his hand as he watches you trying to hide your own trembling one. 

'I'll hold you', he offers and waits for you to place your palm on his. Then he gently encloses his fingers around your hand and makes you shift your focus by asking you to count every brown item you could see in the room. 

... he lets you wear his clothes, either when you're freezing and need extra layers or when it's warm outside but you don't want to wear too revealing clothes. 

'I have a whole closet, just try my clothes'. 

When Taehyun is making you comfortable...

... he doesn't interrupt you. When you are speaking, regardless of how loud and enthusiastic or how quiet and hesitant you are when talking, he listens patiently. 

'No, keep talking. I wanna hear', he encourages when you insecurely stop yourself from sharing. 

... he challenges you. If you want to do something, but doubt yourself, he makes it into playful game to lift the pressure off your shoulders, stepping away from the burden of actively existing. 

'One hour? Okay, one hour and then we'll see who manages to write more applications. Winner gets, hmm, one wish. Anything? Yeah? Let's go', he cheers and starts typing right away.

... he coexists with you in silence. Grocery shopping, cleaning, reading, whatever it is, he doesn't force conversations. Eye contact, gentle smiles, pointing at items, that's already such richness of mundanity. 

'They have your ice cream on sale', he informs and watches you hurrying down the isle to grab some packages, happily smiling at him. 

... he directly teaches and explains things. He doesn't leave room for any condescension. If you don't know something or make a mistake and he knows then he just explains. If you want to learn something he already knows how to do, he offers to teach you if you want. 

'I know this choreo. Want me to play dance teacher?', he asks in a laugh, happy at the thought of spending time with you while you explore your interest. 

... he simply assures and compliments you. 

'You're doing great today', he beams when you tick off another point on your to-do-list and later on doodles a little smiley face on the bottom of your paper. 

When Kai makes you comfortable...

... he takes interest in your interests to genuinely connect with you when you share pieces of your realms of curiosity. 

'Omg, the new episode of your favorite show is online', he informs you in excitement and watches you grabbing your phone to check it yourself. To the question if it would be fine if you watch it now, he just nods and asks if he can join you. 

... he reserves spots for you. In restaurants and cafes he always makes sure you have a place to arrive to when he is there earlier or you are definitely running late. At home he has one plushie that is assigned to you, so it can occupy a chair or one side of the bed, keeping others away from your destined space. 

'Over here', he says loudly when he sees you entering the cafe. He towers over the present people and waves you over to his table, where an empty chair and a cookie or fruit bowl or whatever snack you like, is waiting for you. 

... he laughs with you. He genuinely enjoys your humor and he will not leave you hanging whenever you are telling a joke and make a sassy remark. When you are being clumsy, he laughs it off with you. There is no second of insecure embarrassment when he is around. 

'Yo! I tripped over that exact edge yesterday, too!', he squeals as he holds you by your arm to prevent you from falling and bursts into laughter simultaneously with you when your eyes meet. 

... he lets you be shy. You talk too quietly for people to understand what you're saying? He translates calmly and with a sense of protection over you, his expression telling the listener not to dare making an unnecessary comment regarding your behavior. He lets you hide behind him when you are too shy to face someone or something. 

'Come here', he whispers when he notices your shyness and opens his jacket for you to step closer to him where he can hide you between the fabric and his body, telling people who look confused, that he's freezing a bit.

... he always responds to you. Any question you could possibly ask will get a useful answer and even if it's just him informing over his state of uncertainty regarding a topic or a repeated answer to a repeated question. He doesn't waste time engaging in the reality in the form that  it matters to you.

'Yes, of course I'd love you if you were a worm'; 'My first thought is that I don't mind either, but I feel like I tend to prefer pizza over burger today'; I said it minimum hundred times already, but here is another reminder: You look great and I am going to cuddle you to sleep in every state of your body'. 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism Boys - Meeting Your Parents

G/N. Headcanons on what your parents would think. Goo, Jake, Gun, Samuel, Ryuhei. Masterlists

Both are absolutely two sides of the same coin. Either way, your parents will be so charmed by Goo or Jake that they wish they were the ones dating him instead.

Goo is hilarious. In a mean bitchy way, that even though he is laughing at other people rather than with - he's laughing with your parents at other people so this slips pass their radar.

They are caught up with his quips and sharp tongue and honeyed words that they happily go along with this ride, trading numerous inside jokes by the end of the meeting, giggling together like a bunch of school children.

It helps that he's also dressed head to toe in hard to miss designer labels, and brings lavish gifts for them too. No, their affection and approval can't be bought but well, it doesn't hurt to try.

Jake is the son your parents wish they had, insult to their actual sons be damned. Or the person they wish they had met if they were twenty years younger, sexuality be damned.

And yes, Jake would pull out the cheesy lines like (gesturing to your mother) "Y/N, you didn't tell me you had a sister!" and dad jokes to your own dad. He would be so insufferably charming about it that it would inevitably work and win them over in no time at all.

Unlike Goo, so what if Jake's finances are tight right now? And his prospects are a little questionable? He clearly loves you and is a Good Guy. You two are young, he can work that out in due course.

There's a powerful aura emitting from Gun and your parents don't know what to make of it. Is it ok that you're seemingly with this dangerous man? With the unusual eyes and scar between his eyes?

This would have put their backs up more but Gun, to your surprise, is capable of showing exceptional manners. He is super respectful in their presence. Deep bows, good etiquette, and formal honorifics. They can't help but be reassured that if he is this respectful of them, then surely he will be of you.

Gun's demeanour is generally stiff and serious. He's quiet and doesn't talk much, though they don't miss the way he softens when he looks at you. Nor his patience when you revert back to being a sulky child when you're in your parent's presence too long.

They approve, mostly. But will always be a little uneasy around Gun.

At first glance, or first meeting, Samuel is clearly a guy that thinks a lot about himself. Unfortunately it shows to your parents too.

To his credit, his ego and confidence is inflated but the way he treats you is surprisingly tender. And despite the pedestal he sometimes likes to put himself on, he puts you on an even higher pedestal. Which can be both positive and negative. To your parents though, it's good that he obviously treats you well.

Sammy does turn on the charm a little, walking the thin line between flattering and smarmy - a bit like how he is with Eugene. Most of all, your parents are impressed with his prospects (something Jake, unfortunately, lacks).

Excellent career prospects, property, assets, finance. Even if he is a bit up his own ass, at least he can look after you.

Ryuhei has never ever met a partner's parent, and it shows with how tense he is. A complete surprise for you to see your happy-go-lucky puppy so anxious.

He relaxes each time you give him a small smile or squeeze his hand in a comforting gesture.

Your parents, to be honest, don't think much of him. Not to say they think he's bad for you, they just don't form much of an opinion of him during the first meeting.

The second meeting, however: 'Poor guy,' your parents think. He is wrapped around your finger and he's too head over heels to even kick up a fuss whenever you're being unreasonable or bratty.

He tries to charm them, which is a bit hit and miss but it's so so obvious how much he adores you and hangs on to your every word that even they become a bit worried about his well being and you taking advantage of him.

Not that you would... maybe.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Worship

a/n I won’t say anything because what is there to say… Also, this is fiction idk why but I just feel the need to wave that flag here.

Summery: Just on stage shenanigans between you, the back singer, and the boys.

warning: no full on smut because there’s so much of that as it is but they are sex on legs so this does have sexual implications. I’m just a girl. And I feel like I should go confess my sins to someone.

All of them x reader

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Nothing truly beats the feeling of the stage lighting beaming on you. The radiant atmosphere and the beating of the crowd in front of the stage. It got addictive fast. And the rush of both adrenaline and freedom you never truly got over. Most of the time, it still felt like a dream. Like you weren’t there. There weren’t four other people. A whole band that people swooned over. 

You still remember the notification of the private message in your DMs. “We’ve seen your videos. The voice is to die for. Up to back us up?” You had stared at it for hours. Pressing the profile over and over again, convinced that one of the times it would take you to some scammy account, but it didn’t. So you took that leap of fate, and the roller coaster that unfolded still made your skin tingle at times. 

“How you don’t break an ankle in these is beyond me," II grumbled, gesturing to the high heels you were strapping around your legs. Before throwing the towel he had just used to dry his hair with, at you. You huffed back, “Of course you wouldn’t know; you sit and look pretty the whole show."  You shot him an overly exaggerated smile before flipping him off. “Put the claws away, baby," he said, lifting his hands up, “I would love to keep my eyes for some time longer." You lifted both of your hands, making sure to flex the black coffin-shaped nails, only earning a chuckle in return from II. 

“No form of violence is allowed backstage," III cut in, putting the mask over his face, “Unless it’s consensual, of course." The three of you snickered. There was never a dull moment with them. You weren’t sure exactly why you imagined them to be all cold and unapproachable, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. From the silly hats they happily took from the fans to messing around on stage barking. “We’re out in thirty,"  IV's voice cut through the snickering. “Vess?”, you questioned, standing up only to still feel tiny among them. It was unfair how even killer heels had you feeling minuter. “In his element, ready to go," the usual then. You turned to the mirror while doing the last checkups. Fiddling with the straps of your dress.

“Headset feels good?”, warm hands slipped up your beck, fidgeting with the wires as if he even knew what he was doing. “You just needed an excuse to put your hands on me, sir," you said, pushing back against IV’s chest. He already had his mask on, but from the way his blue eyes flickered, you knew he was smirking at you. “You can’t call the man guilty if you haven’t caught him red-handed, darling,"  he muttered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “And to my defense, the wire wasn’t plugged in,"  he snickers before pulling back. You shook your head as you watched him follow after the boys out. Reaching for your mask, you take a couple of deep breaths to steady your heartbeat. It was going to be a night to remember. You could just feel it. 

And your gut wasn’t wrong. The crowd was wild tonight, and that always set the bend into a different kind of frenzy. For most of the shows, you were usually up there on your pedestal. Looking like a vision cloaked in both light and darkness, there were some songs that Vessle liked having you down there with him. But you always felt almost guilty. You didn’t want the fans to feel like you were there to change the dynamic. Let alone take up a spot that wasn’t yours to take. 

So when you noticed Vessel striding towards you, you couldn’t help but silently shake your head. They had already all been all over each other all night. But you don’t get to run through all of your reasons as to why this was a bad idea before Vessel was in front of your pedestal. Hands reaching up for your ankles before he pointed for you to get down. You shook your head at him, continuing to sing your part. Not wanting the interaction to seem odd, you sank to your knees so you can touch his face, only realizing how wrong this move was once Vessel's hands grip the sides of your hips and you’re airborne before you can even blink. 

A small shriek slips past your lips as you hold onto his shoulders. But no matter what your reaction to this was, he was all smug about it. His white teeth bright against the black paint covering his body. “I don’t like it when you put on unnecessary fights," he mused before turning back to the crowd. So, you let the thrill of the beat take over. Playing into the role of the masked goddess. A siren. That was the beauty of the mask. Such little thing making the biggest difference. Giving one the chance to feel way more confident. 

And it’s II your legs take you to first. His eyes follow your movements all across the stage. With the drum set taking most of his platform he was sat on, playing games with this man was tricky. But it wasn’t impossible. So you slither behind him. Placing your hand on top of his head, you carefully make him look up at you. That same moment, the heel II was so found off finds its way between his parted legs. Without missing a beat, his face is pressed into your upper thigh, fingers dipping beneath the mesh overlay of your dress. And you know there will be hell to pay later on from the way he’s gripping your ankle. You push his face away from your body, throwing him a lighthearted kiss as you hurry down the platform stairs. The roar of the crowd filling all of your senses. 

III is left to your mercy next. And since his eyes were all over you, you knew that even if you were to walk right past him, he would follow you across the stage. So you stand there, motioning with your fingers for him to come to you. Right as your part of the solo vocals came. Ones that boys even called your siren song. You let the melody pour out of you. Watching III sink to his knees in front of you. Your brain blanks for a moment as he leans forward, and you just know why the crowd erupts in chaos. So your fingers find his head, pulling him even closer. Let him paint the picture of devouring you. Worshipping you. And you’re yet again so thankful for the mask covering your face because you know that your face would be as red as the paint on his skin. Especially after he stands back up. Fingers moved to brush over his lips as if he was cleaning them.

You can feel someone’s eyes burning holes in your body, and you’re not even one bit surprised to see IV with his eyes blazing. He was the one you flirted the most with backstage as well. Since day one, there was just that mutual fire you both shared. So the back and forth between you both was never-ending. But if there was one thing IV avoided, it was making any move towards you while everyone was on stage. And while boys took their sweet time being lunatics when it came to you. His play pretend ended with his bandmates. Yet you didn’t miss the glances he threw your way. Or how he would find himself close to your pedestal, close enough to touch but never leaning in. 

And while your head was telling you that maybe he just didn’t want to get involved, your heart was telling you to take yet another leap of faith. So you two stood in front of each other for a heartbeat. And right as Descending’s you came crawling back to me, filled the stage. Your finger hooked beneath the bottom of his mask as you pulled him closer. No matter the blast of sounds around you, you could still make out the growl that slipped past his lips. And since his eyes promised hell, you threw all caution to the wind as you leaned in, smashing your lips against his. You didn’t let it linger for too long; there was little fun in having two masks between you both, but it got the point across well enough. 

IV’s hand reached for you as you moved back away. A freaked-out giggle slipped past your lips as you darted towards your last victim for the night. Well, and shelter now, considering that you had to get away from IV. Vessel was someone you knew had to be worshipped in front of the fans. You weren’t living under a rock. His hands and fingers had separate fan blogs, not to mention his carved-out chest muscles. So you slipped behind him. Letting your fingers trail the sides of him. Finding the sweat-drenched skin. Dragging your nails over the paint, no doubt leave claw marks in its way. 

You rested your head against Vessel’s beck for a heartbeat, hoping to slip from behind him with ease. But you couldn’t have been more wrong because the moment you took the reassured stride away from him. A firm hand gripped your hair as he carefully, yet rather possessively, dragged you back to him. Pulling your head back so he could look down at you, shaking his head. But the smile gave his controlling demeanor away. “Whatever will we do with you, little Vixen?" You bit your lip, shrugging slightly. Playfully pushing at his chest, you slipped out of his grip. Swaying your hips as you slowly climbed back to the steps of your pedestal. Not letting your brain think of the hell you just set ablaze.

[taelophone]

Soft Feminine˚࿔ ⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆TWs: None! Its fluff of luigi fixing your childhood music box lol ˚｡⋆A/N: This was written as an allegory for something!! If you catch it please lmk id be so so happy <33

The slow silence filled the room, pardoned by the occasional shift of clothing or the clinks of Luigi sorting the things on your nightstand. It was a quiet night with your boyfriend, simply enjoying each other's presence while engaged in silent conversation.

His hands whirled around the slowly recovering nightstand, The lids to the foggy glass candle jars and the clutter slowly finding their native places as he worked his magic. Soon enough, your nightstand was clear, bothered only by your lamp, room spray, a mini succulent, and your flamingo-pink Laneige sleep mask. 

When Luigi finished bringing order to your nightstand, he glanced at you momentarily. No reason in particular, just to bask in your features as you scrolled on the cyber-white hue of your phone.

He smiled, overcome with warm and fiery sparks of affection. He wanted nothing in the world to ever raise a finger at you in challenge— if so, he’d gladly break it just to deem himself your hero. 

When he was done staring at you, he patted your head affectionately as you lay stationery in your bed, relishing in the warmth of your smile. He whisked away from your nightstand, making his way to your vanity as he began sorting that as well.

While you listened to the glass and metal clinking over by the far corner of your room, you turned off your phone to stare up at the ceiling. Today had been a long, long day. 

You longed to continue to lay down and embrace your boyfriend with rampant lovelorn. Maybe even accompanied by some soft and quiet…music!

Music! Your music box! Oh, he can fix it!

“Lui, babe?” You spoke, shattering the fragile silence. 

“Yes, my love?” He answered, tilting his head slightly in your direction but not taking his eyes off of the things he continued to put away.

“You’re an engineer, right?” You inquired, crunching your torso to bring your body up, sitting criss-cross on top of your soft comforter.

“Depends…what are you asking me to fix? I can’t do appliances” he joked with a light smile and a boyish giggle. Cute little cornball.

“Nothing too serious…I have a music box that I’ve had since I was like…a baby. Can you take a look? It broke sometime after I turned nine, but I never got it fixed” You murmured, shuffling over to the end of your bed and leaning over the foot of your bed frame.

With your brushes, blushes, and plushes sorted at your vanity, Luigi broke his structuring trance to take a look at the little music box you began to pull from under the depths of your bed. Aged with hospitality, pink with youth, and loved with adoration, the ballerina-esque porcelain wind-up contraption presented itself in your hands.

Gold embellishments, blush roses, and shimmery gloss drew attention to the little ballerina on the front of the design. Her figure was just like you, only donned with a white tutu and bodice as she sat with her ankles crossed.

“It’s really old so it might just be an age thing, but I really wanna see if it can be fixed. I loved it so much growing up I just don’t wanna let it go” you said with a nostalgic chuckle.

“It looks really pretty! Can I see?” He gently asked, walking over to the front of your bed and extending both of his hands to seek out permission for the piece.

You nodded, carefully and cautiously handing him your innocence with benign hands. He seemed to examine it, get a feel for the material under his fingertips before he carefully flipped open the little lid to reveal the swan and the woman standing atop a pink pedestal.

He gave it a few winds, listening for any potential clicks along the way as he was met with a suspicious amount of loosened compliance. Normally it would give some sort of pressure or noise if it was working properly, but he seemed to have already figured out the problem.

“Okay…I think I know what the issue is. I’m gonna have to take this apart, baby” he stated, closing the little box with a satisfying click. “I know what I’m doing, I promise, I just don’t want you to panic. I have to take it apart to see its anatomy, and that’ll give me a better understanding of what’s wrong…is that alright with you?”

Your eyes widened with slight fear, ‘what ifs’ flooding the pipes in your mind while your heart rate spiked. This was his job, yes, and he spent a good portion of his life assembling things and putting them together. 

But there’s always a possibility, and there’s never a zero. It’s okay to be afraid of accidents, and it’s ok to keep an open mind, but where do you go if something goes wrong?

What if he breaks it further? Snaps the lid off with unmonitored strength, shatters the neck of the swan with a grip that went unchecked for too long, cracking the perfect porcelain.

Could you get it fixed then? Would your childhood pride be lost at the hands of the one you love the very most? How would you cope when the sound of shattered glass pierces your ears followed by a gasp of alarm?

“Love.”

You looked at him, half-aware of the grip you now had on your music box. The wrinkles in your knuckles as your fingers wrapped around the heavy relic. 

You hadn’t realized how hard you had been holding on, to both your breath and your childhood. There was nothing to fear as long as it was in his hands— he would treat every part of you with the same tender and merciful hands he had held you with time and time again.

“Yeah…okay,” you nodded, handing him the music box with a silent swallow of anxiety.

His eyes softened. An empathetic and understanding wiggle in his brows as he leaned over, and kissed the top of your head with a hand behind your neck. Brief and intimate.

“Thank you for trusting me” he promised.

You smiled, nodding your appreciation as you crossed your arms. 

“All of my tools and mechanical equipment should be in my closet in a white clear box. It should have blue painter's tape on the lid.”

“Awesome,” he said, placing the music box down on the empty vanity before he traversed into the depths of your closet. Rustling and jostling of clothes, shoes, perfume bottles, and unboxed accessories echoed through the silence, aches of impending doom and lingering hope gnawing at the side of your neck.

When he emerged with the clear box of tools, he sat them on the side of the white desk, flipping the music box upside down to see what type of screwdriver he’d need. When he had everything he needed, he took his time, hands cradling and supporting every inch of delicate glass.

Unscrewing each screw, tender love and hospitality possessed his hands as he took it apart. Piece by piece, little by little.

Everything was on display for him, unfiltered in its purest form. Now that he had seen each piece of the machine and what makes it turn, he quickly identified the problem and its solution. 

With expert hands carrying endless wisdom, he reconstructed the feminine melodic music like he was the very man who invented the machine. And in no time, he had the ballerina and her swan spinning on her pedestal of high confidence again.

He wound up the handle, the now familiar pressure and sounds of approval reaching his ears with smug approval. He knew what he was doing, and he’d always be there to prove it to you. 

“Done!” He smiled, flipping the music box closed and giving you a wave of nostalgia and gratitude.

When he approached your bed once more, he climbed on top of it and plopped himself down beside you. He kissed your forehead again, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you beamed with joy.

“No way, thank you so much! I literally love you,” you gasped, winding up the machine, the familiar melody of Swan Lake ringing through chimes and twinkles as the little ballerina began to spin slowly in the confines of her box. 

“Anything for you.”

[jamespotterismydaddy]

the Birth of Venus

daemon x reader smut

A/N: reader is mentioned to be Valyrain but I don't think I really describe features. This is based off a request here. hope you like it!!

word count: 1,106 words

TW: smut, allusions to possible incest, breeding kink, pussy slapping, pushing down on the tummy hehe

Is this the third or fourth time he’s been exiled? Daemon can’t seem to keep up. His own sweet niece was the cause of it this time. He couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, keep his hands off of her. He heads to Lys this time. He enjoys Lys, mainly taking pleasure from the appearance of Lyseni whores. That’s what draws him to you. You sit in the pleasure house, surrounded by the other girls who all try to look desirable. The madam has you posing as the Birth of Venus. She gave you the honour of portraying the love goddess herself, encircled by the nymphs. His eyes fill with lust at the sight of you. Who better to play as Venus than a girl who looks so inherently… Valyrian. 

“I want her.” He says to your madam as he looks directly at you, his gaze piercing.

“My Lord, I am afraid I am reserved.” You say with a little smirk on your face. You were told to speak these words every time you were asked for until a bid for your virginity is accepted.

“No she’s not.” The madam says quickly. “But she is a virgin… a very expensive one, my prince.” You bristle at the title. A prince?

“No price is too great for such a pretty little nymphet.” He says, dropping a bag of gold coins into her hand.

“I am no nymph. I am Venus.” You say, putting yourself on a pedestal for him.

He looks amused. “I’m sure you are.” He says and holds up a hand for you to take, leading you off your watery throne.

“You are a prince?” You ask innocently.

“The Rogue Prince.” You nearly gasp.

“You’re Daemon Targaryen.”

“Who else would I be?” He holds open a door for you, letting you enter first.

“Some rich Lyseni lord who has enough money to call himself ‘prince’.” You say a bit snippily.

“I can prove it to you, show you my dragon, Caraxes.” He says as he walks up behind you, brushing your hair off your shoulder.

“Is that what you call your cock?” You ask playfully. He laughs.

“You’re quick… for a harlot.” He presses a light kiss to your neck.

“I’m no harlot yet. Not while I am still a maiden.” You whisper.

“I can fix that.” He doesn’t take the time to untie your chemise, he instead tears it down the middle and lets the shreds slip off of you, causing you to gasp. He is clearly pleased by your lack of smallclothes. You can tell by the way his fingers trace around your breasts. “Such a pretty girl. You’re no common Lyseni whore. There’s Valyrian blood in you. I can feel it.” He turns you and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. You gaze up at him. “Tell me of your parents.” 

You shrug. “My mother washes clothes.” 

“And your father?”

You shrug again.

“Hmm…” He hums. The prince clearly thinks that you’re dragonseed. He just is trying to figure out who’s you are, deciding that you are perhaps a little too old to be his.

“Is it a matter of importance, my prince?” You ask, your tone a little too disrespectful for the fact that you are speaking to royalty.

“Should you be speaking to a man who has you, naked in a bedchamber, like that?” He speaks, always with that air of amusement. He enjoys your temper. It’s the same Targaryen temper that he has.

“I have been reserving it for you, your grace.”

He chuckles. “Little seductress.” He grabs you by the chin, gently as first before swiftly tilting your head up and to the side. “Get on the bed.”  You scurry over, quickly lying on the bed. His eyes are dark as he looks over you. He pulls his trousers down slightly so he can pump his cock as he watches you. It makes you nervous, how domineering he is, how… large certain parts of him are. “Don’t be scared. I’m going to make a woman out of you.”

“I can’t imagine, with all that confidence, that some of it isn’t misplaced.” You tease because you can see how he likes it.

“Spread your legs.” Is all that he says in response. You do as he bids and are surprised when a harsh slap comes down between your thighs.

“Ah!” You wince and curl in on yourself.

“I didn’t say to close them.” He says sternly so you spread your legs again and take the following two smacks without complaint. Your eyes are watering at this point. “Not so bratty now, are you?” He gives you one of those wolfish smirks and you pout.

“Are you toying with me or fucking me? It must be hard to get it up at your age.” Now, you’ve given him something to prove. Just after you get the words out, he sheaths himself inside of you, right to the hilt.

“I was going to be gentle with you, Venus, but now I don’t think you deserve it.”

“I didn’t think that dragons were meant to be gentle.” He can see a similar fire burning in your eyes, a twinflame to himself. He brings his lips down to yours for a hungry kiss before he begins to pound into you. It hurts from his size but that only makes it better. You want him, desperately.

“Do I… please you, my prince?” You put on an innocent face for him.

“I think your tight cunt would please any man, zaldrītsos.” He says as he fucks into you ruthlessly.

“zaldrītsos?” You ask him.

“It means you’re my little dragon, my zaldrītsos.” He nibbles at your neck and you whimper, his thrusts continue quickly and deeply. “I’m going to put a baby in you. You’ll carry my heir, Venus.” He places his hand on your tummy. “Right in here.” He presses down and the action pushes you over the edge as you tightly squeeze around him, your peak washing over you in full force. “Fuck.” He murmurs. “So tight.” The way you contract around his cock has him spilling his seed deep inside of you.

He pulls himself out but quickly replaces his cock with his fingers so none of his cum spills out. “Can’t have you wasting my seed now.”

“I’ll have a baby now, my prince?” You look at him from beneath your lashes. You’ve never yearned for someone so. It is like your blood calls for his.

“If I breed you regularly, you will.” He runs his thumb over your lips. “Then… then I think that I just might make you my wife.”

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy

[n0vazsq]

Goddess | OB87 x Reader

pairing . . . ollie bearman x singer!reader

summary . . . Oliver reassures you that beneath the glamour and expectations, he loves the real, imperfect you

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.2k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . well!! kill me rn i need to stop making oneshots about angsty songs

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The noise of the crowd still echoed in your ears as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline coursing through your veins felt like a distant memory, fading with every step you took away from the lights.

You tugged at the sequined dress that clung to your skin, each shimmering piece feeling heavier than it had on stage. The smile you had out there was gone, replaced by a familiar exhaustion that you couldn’t get rid of.

Ollie was waiting for you, just like he always was. His eyes lit up as you approached, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached for your hand, his fingers warm against your skin.

"You were amazing," he said softly, his voice filled with that awe he always had after your performances. Like he was seeing you for the first time, every time.

You forced a smile. "Thanks."

He didn’t notice the way your voice wavered, or if he did, he chose to ignore it. He led you to the car, the silence between you growing heavier with each passing moment. You stared out the window, watching the city blur past. The lights, the noise, all of it felt distant. Hollow.

When you got home, you kicked off your heels and pulled the pins from your hair, letting it fall around your shoulders. The sequins on your dress caught the light, but they felt like shackles now.

You could feel Ollie's eyes on you as you moved around the room, his gaze lingering like a weight you couldn’t shake.

"You’re quiet," he said finally.

You didn’t look at him. "I’m tired."

He stood up, his brows furrowed. "Something’s wrong. Talk to me."

The words hit you like a slap. You spun around to face him, the frustration that had been building all night finally boiling over. "You want me to talk to you, Ollie? Fine. Let’s talk. Are you surprised by me now? Now that the lights are off and I’m just… this?"

He blinked, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

You laughed, but there was no emotion in it, no humour. "You took a star to bed, and now you’re waking up with me. Just me. No lights, no glamour. Just skin and bone. Just me!"

He opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. "You fell for the girl on stage, didn’t you? The one who sparkles under the lights, who makes you feel like you’re part of something bigger. But that’s not real, Ollie. That’s not me."

"That’s not true," he said, his voice low. "I love you. The real you."

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. "You think you do. But you love the idea of me. The version of me you’ve created in your head. The perfect, untouchable goddess. But I’m not her. I can’t be her."

His hands were trembling. "I never wanted perfect. I wanted you."

"Did you?" Your voice broke, the words barely more than a whisper. "Or did you want the fantasy? The one you could show off, the one who makes you feel like you’re living some kind of dream? Because that’s all I am to you. A dream. And dreams always end."

He took a step closer, his eyes pleading. "I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve put you on a pedestal, but it’s not… it’s not like that."

"Then what is it like, Ollie?" You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hold yourself together. "Because all I feel is… empty. Like you’re killing my light, piece by piece."

His face fell, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to lose you."

A hollow laugh escaped your lips. "You never had me. Not really. You had the version of me you thought you’d love. But I’m not your Aphrodite. I’m not a goddess. I’m just… me."

He reached out, his hand trembling as he cupped your cheek. "I don’t care about the stage. I don’t care about the lights. I care about you."

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Then why does it feel like I’m never enough?"

His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear. "Because I’m an idiot. Because I… I got so caught up in everything that I forgot… I forgot that you’re more than the girl on stage. You’re more than the image. And I’m so sorry."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. The tears came harder now, the weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashing down. "I can’t be perfect, Ollie. I can’t be what you want."

"I don’t want perfect." His voice broke, and you could hear the tears in it. "I just want you."

The words hung between you, fragile and uncertain. You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But the scars ran deep, the wounds of past expectations and disappointments etched into your skin.

"I’m not a goddess," you whispered.

"I know," he said, his voice raw. "You’re… you’re so much more than that."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. For the first time, you saw the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he always tried to hide. Maybe you weren’t the only one struggling under the weight of expectations. Maybe you weren’t the only one afraid of falling short.

The silence stretched on, but it felt different now. Softer. He pulled you into his arms, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. And maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to heal. Together.

You stayed wrapped in his arms, the silence between you filled with unspoken words. His heart beat thrummed steadily beneath your cheek, a reminder of something real, something fragile, but still there. His hand traced gentle circles on your back, a silent apology, a silent promise.

"I’m scared," you finally admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Scared that if I remove everything and take it away, there’ll be nothing left for you to love."

Ollie pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. "Then we’ll remove it all," he said softly. "The lights, the glamour, the expectations, everything. We’ll find out what’s real. I’m not going anywhere."

Tears welled up again, but this time, they didn’t feel like a burden. They felt like a release. "You don’t know what you’re promising."

He smiled, a soft, broken thing. "I know exactly what I’m promising. I want to know you, the real you. The one who’s scared, and strong, and human. I don’t want the goddess on stage. I want the girl standing in front of me."

You let out a shaky breath, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. "What if it’s not enough?"

He cupped your face, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "It already is. You already are."

For the first time, you let yourself believe it, just a little. Maybe he was right. Maybe love wasn’t about perfection or performance. Maybe it was about standing together in the quiet moments, stripped of everything but the raw, messy truth of who you were.

As he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, the world felt a little less heavy. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered. "Together."

And for now, that was enough.