#writing is hard when you’re a perfectionist

[somekindofstardustt]

Okay I’m officially going to start outlining my black fam fic for nanowrimo ahhhhh

[monzabee]

bad idea right? – ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where seeing Lando tonight is a bad idea, right?

Pairing: lando norris x ricciardo!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of breakups and also fighting, cursing, kind of a toxic relationship?, allusion to smut, it's criminal how long it took me to finish this fic

Request: this wasn’t requested, but the idea is veeery loosely from this tiktok right here! (i might def write the scenario in the tiktok in the future though)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! it has officially been a month since i started my master's programme and i have to say it is absolutely kicking my ass, but thank you all for bearing with me while i adjust! this song has been stuck in my head for the last two-three (?) months and i really wanted to write a fic based on it. i also wanted to say that i've received all of your guys' requests, and i'm working on those, but it's harder for me to get out a request than a fic that just popped in my head because i tend to be more of a perfectionist with those - so, those are definitely on the way, don't worry! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

It’s not that you don’t like spending time with your brother and his girlfriend – because you do, but considering the fact that spending a mere hour with them causes you to suddenly question your life choices (of being single), you are very eager to leave them alone for the night. Which brings us to the current situation, with you standing in front of your brother’s apartment complex in one of the hoodies you stole from the sample boxes, waiting for someone you should’ve never hit up in the first place. It was probably not your brightest idea to message Lando to ask him if he wants to go for a ride, especially because a) the last time you saw him a year ago the two of you were yelling and throwing things at each other and b) you’re definitely buzzed from the bottle of wine you hogged upstairs. But you know what they say; absence makes the heart go fonder, right?

So there you are with your phone in your hand, texting Lily in hopes of getting the tiniest bit of reassurance about your decision.

To lily m: i texted lando To lily m: he’s gonna pick me up From lily m: WHAT? NO To lily m: seeing him tonight To lily m: it’s a bad idea, right? From lily m: YES From lily m: DO NOT GET INTO THAT CAR To lily m: yes i know that he’s my ex, but can’t two people reconnect?

Fuck it, it’s fine, you decide as you quickly delete the last two messages. With a soft sigh, you wrap your arms around yourself to shield yourself from the cold air of the night. And while you could just wait for Lando inside the apartment building, you really don’t want to attract more attention to yourself. You can feel yourself getting more and more nervous as the minutes pass by, and you even contemplate cancelling the whole thing and going upstairs to sleep. Just as you’re about to give up on the whole thing, a car honk grabs your attention. When turn to look at the source of the sound, you see Lando’s unamused face through the open window.

He motions you to get in with his head, his voice as equally detached as he calls out, “Get in.”

Rolling your eyes at his behaviour, you do as your told. But you tell yourself that it’s not because he told you to, but because you’re cold. And so you get in the car making sure you slam the door as hard as you can, which makes him scowl as a small smile forms on your lips. “You know, you could really try on being more polite.”

“I’m picking you up in the middle of the night,” he points out as he puts the car on drive and starts driving off, “and put your damn seatbelt on.”

You give him a sideway glance as you put on your seatbelt, letting out a sigh, “Are you okay? I’m sensing some serious undertone.”  

Lando doesn’t answer you, mainly because he is smarter than he looks and he knows you’re trying to goad him into another fight. That’s what the two of you had always done, not that he hated you or vice versa, but the two of you mainly got along in fights which ended up in both of you twisted between the sheets of the whatever hotel you were currently staying in. And it had worked for a while, until of course it didn’t, and Lando was mature enough to admit that he had a huge role in fucking up your relationship.

“You changed your car,” you point out.

“Thought you’d appreciate a roof over your head this time,” he replies.

The car is silent as Lando drives down the now empty streets of Monte Carlo, and you find yourself involuntarily checking out his side profile because well, he always looked so good while driving. You suppose it’s only one of the things that didn’t change with time.

“So,” his voice draws you out from your thoughts, “why’d you call me tonight? Are you drunk?”

“I am not drunk,” you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest, “if you don’t feel like being here Lando, I can just get off and go home.”

“Now I didn’t say that, I simply asked a question.” He steals another glance at you, but this time a little smirk forms on his lips when your eyes meet and he sees your scowl. “It was a harmless question, really.”

Your voice comes off as clipped as you answer, “I’m not drunk.”

“Your cheeks are red,” Lando points out but the playfulness from mere seconds ago is gone, in fact, he’s more serious than you’ve probably ever seen him, “you either had wine or your rosacea is acting up.”

It takes a moment for you to take in his words, and there is no humour in his voice or on his face when you look at him to see whether he’s joking or not. “I had some wine,” you confess, voice much lower than before as you add, “but I’m not drunk.” One of his eyebrows rise up, and you find yourself mumbling, “Fine maybe a little bit, but not a lot.”

His jaw ticks as he mumbles, “Okay, whatever you say.” And as you try to assess whether his voice is cold or not, you see his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

“What?” You ask, a bit quicker than necessary (in your opinion), “What did I say?”

Now it’s his turn for his voice to be clipped, and his eyebrows furrow as he asks, “Did you only call me because you’re drunk?”

“No,” your reply is truthful to some extent, you suppose, you would’ve texted him even if you had no alcohol in your system. “I wanted to see you.”

He lets out a hum, “Why?”

It’s a hard question, and you contemplate not being a hundred percent honest – but deep down you know he deserves better, even if you had your differences. So, to reveal the truth, you turn your face away from him to look outside the window, “I missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t turn to see what his reaction will be. Everything is peaceful for a moment.

He takes you to a hill, the very one he took you for your first date. Though, it doesn’t carry the same excitement this time around. The two of you remain in the car with the windows rolled down, but the colder air doesn’t make you chilly. It’s silent, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. Neither of you make the first move to start a conversation, and you don’t know if that’s because you’re both obstinate or he doesn’t want to be there. Though, you suspect he would’ve told you ‘no’ if he didn’t want to be there – not that he could ever tell you ‘no’.

It's unnaturally hard, you realise, not looking at him on purpose when he’s seated so close to you. Especially because you haven’t seen him in months. Not that you’d confess that to him, or let yourself have another weak moment where you say you missed him. Because you can’t. Because it’s not the way the two of you operate. Because he broke your heart but you’re not strong enough to let him go. With that last thought, you take a sharp breath, undo your seatbelt and get out of the car. You lean against the hood of the car and he soon follows suit. But where your hands are splayed behind your back, his arms are crossed over his chest.

“You’ve not been sleeping.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Because he is not dumb (or blind enough) to let the circles under your eyes slide.

And it’s a statement that might be true. You only give him half of a shrug, “So?”

“It means that something is bothering you.” You’re about to object, but he quickly shuts you down, “I once drove you around for four hours so you could sleep in my car, honey,” his fingers move to gently turn your chin towards him so he can look into your eyes, “and that was because you forgot to bring me back junk food from Australia.”

Even if you’re taken aback by his physical touch, you don’t show it as you stubbornly maintain your eye contact. “It’s the jet lag, I haven’t travelled in a while.” You gulp down a breath as you gently push his hand away, “And don’t call me that.”

“Why?” He turns his body to face you, “You’re just as sweet, aren’t you?”

“Lando,” you warn him, “don’t.”

He raises a brow, “Why not?”

“Because we’re friends,” your response comes off in an instant, “I only see you as a friend.” The biggest lie you’ve ever said.

“Friends,” he repeats, tests out the word, then shrugs, “sure. Now tell me what happened tonight that made you call me. Did you and Daniel fight?”

“What?” an involuntary laugh leaves your lips, and you catch the corner of his lips turning upwards just the smallest bit. “No, we didn’t, it’s not about Daniel. Can we just not talk about it, please?”

He gives you a firm nod, and you catch his grimace as he turns his attention back to the view in front of you. “You can tell me, you know,” he mumbles, “you used to.”

He’s right, you realise. You used to tell him all the little thought that popped into your head, whether it was nice or not, and he’d accommodated your thoughts. It was easier to talk to him, once upon a time, and you’re not really sure why it hurts so much right now that you can’t.

“Why do you care?” The question comes out quickly, and your voice is not as strong as you’d like it to be. “After everything, why do you care?”

“We’re friends, right?” The words tastes unbelievably sour in his mouth, and he has to restrain himself from making any sort of face, but it seems harder than it actually is for him to do and he questions whether it is worth it to

“Friends,” this time it’s your turn to test out the word, and it tastes as bitter as they come, “sure, can we ride around a bit more?”

“Fine,” he gives you a nod and motions you to get in the car, “but I have to get gas first.”

The fluorescent lighting of the gas station is definitely not the most flattering thing. So much so that you’re sure the unflattering light outside is exaggerating the bags under your eyes. But that situation of course doesn’t apply to Lando because even under the harsh lighting, he looks too pretty. And compared to earlier in the night, you don’t try to hide the way your eyes focus on him while he’s driving, though you hope you do a much better job at hiding the thoughts that come to your mind. Even after he’s parked the car in the nearest pump, you find yourself staring at his side profile a bit too long, which earns you a sideway smirk and you try your hardest not to react, but the smile you keep trying to fight is too strong and eventually you find yourself with the tiniest smile playing on your lips.

Lando turns towards you, meets your eyes and leans over the console, “Do you want anything from the shop?”

You blink once, trying to come up with anything, twice, then “Can you get me those gummy bears that I like?”

He gives you another nod, reaches into his pocket and then hand you his phone. Ignoring your questioning stare, he explains, “So that you can play music or something, the password is still the same.” Before he gets out of the car, he does the unexpected and leans in just a little bit more to press a feather-light kiss to your temple.

You watch him get out of the car and walk away from you with your mouth slightly hanging open. You contemplate trying to unlock the phone, because why would he tell you that his password is the same? And why would he trust you with his phone when the two of you have been broken up for over a year? With shaky hands, your fingers put in the password, calling Lando’s bluff. Oh shit, you think when the phone unlocks, now what? Throwing the phone out of your hands onto the driver seat, you grab your own and quickly type a new message to Kika, who of course got the news from Lily and has been blowing up your phone, while ignoring her dozen other messages who went unread in your text thread.

To kika: this was a bad idea kika Tokika: a very *very* bad idea From kika: please tell me you’re going home To kika: um… To kika: sure From kika: GET OUT OF THAT CAR AND GET YOUR ASS HOME From kika: NOW!!

Chewing on your lower lip, your eyes linger on the messages spamming your phone, and you contemplate just getting out of the car and trying to find your way back home. But you also can’t help yourself but think… what’s the worst that could happen if you stayed? Clicking the button on the side of your phone, you place it face down on your lap after making sure you silence it for the rest of the night. With the reminder of the abandoned phone on the seat next to yours, you open your window to let some of the night air in. As your phone keeps buzzing on your lap, your eyes focus on the figure that comes out of the convenience store – and by some grace of God, he doesn’t realise the way your eyes basically undress him as he approaches his McLaren.

There’s no smile on his face, in fact, if you didn’t know Lando, you’d say he looks like an asshole; not that he occasionally doesn’t act like one. He gives you that boyish smirk when he’s next to your window, signalling you to roll it down by tapping on it twice. Lando leans against the car, his eyes locked onto yours. “Got your gummy bears,” he says, holding up the package and handing it to you once you roll it down. “It was the last one too, you’re lucky.”

Giving a tight lipped smile to the man looking expectantly at you, you accept the packet of gummy bears. “Thank you, Lando,” the softening look in his eyes is, ironically, strong enough for you to choke on the next words that are on the tip of your tongue. “I–”

“I’m sorry to bother you, are you Lando Norris?” A third voice interrupts you, and you find yourself moving your gaze from Lando to the woman who’s excitedly waiting for a response.

“Yes,” he breathes out, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice polite but he’s also very annoyed at the same time – though the way he eyes up the stranger definitely makes your blood boil.

With his attention on the woman, you find yourself feel the tension in the air and quickly look down at the packet of gummy bears in your hands. You start absentmindedly picking at the wrapper, your mind racing with a mixture of emotions. As the conversation between Lando and the fan continues, you steal glances at them from the corner of your eye. She's gushing about a recent race, talking animatedly about the thrilling moments she witnessed. Lando, for his part, is gracious and engaged, taking the time to listen and respond. And despite the polite exchange, you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It's a reminder of the world he's a part of, a world where fans approach him with admiration and excitement. A world you used to share, but now only observe from the sidelines.

You watch the woman place her hand on Lando’s bicep, laughing at a (rather mediocre) joke he made about the understeer of the car. It’s not a funny joke by any means, and you are not scared to admit that the woman’s laugh that fills your ears makes your insides twist uncomfortably. You remind yourself that you're here by choice. You could have left at any moment. But there's something about this night, about being with Lando again, that you can't quite let go of. It's a confusing mix of nostalgia and longing, wrapped in a blanket of uncertainty.

The woman’s voice hits your ears as you hear her ask, “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Without letting them both know that you’re actively listening into their conversation, you attempt to subtly let out a warning cough, but Lando covertly smirks as he leans towards the car with his hand grabbing the lowered window – without caring about the possible finger prints he might leave behind, might you add. Without any hesitation, you let your fingers go of the packaging to thread your fingers with his.

While his thumb gently starts to draw circles on the knuckle of your thumb, he does his best to supress the chuckle building up in his throat. “That’s, um, very kind – but I’m with my girl, you see, and we are both pretty tired.”

Maybe you would’ve given her a friendly smile over a misunderstanding if you were in a better mood, but as the woman looks at you with wild eyes, all you can offer her is an annoyed pout, and soon after she leaves after apologising to you both for interrupting your plans. You watch her leave until there is a good enough distance for her to not hear you, and then turn to Lando and give him a glare as you hiss, “I am not ‘your girl’.”

He finally lets out the chuckle he’s been holding as he watches you letting go of his hand with an exaggerated push, and then diverts his amused eyes towards you, “Sure, whatever you say, jealous girl.”

“I am not– I wasn’t jealous!” you exclaim, eyes narrowed. When he starts walking towards the driver’s side, you can’t help but call out, “I’m not jealous!”

Lando is still chuckling to himself when he gets in the car, and even as he starts driving, completely ignoring your whining complaints. “That’s alright, honey,” he says, voice full of condescension, “it was very cute.”

“You are an ass.” You roll your eyes as you cross your arms across your chest. “Maybe I should’ve gotten off when I had the chance, that way you could’ve fucked her in the back seat.”

“Bold of you assume she’s the one I’d want to fuck in my back seat,” he raises an eyebrow, then shrugs “but sure.”

Your face scrunches up in disgust, “You’re, ugh, you’re just the worst, Lando.” Shaking your head in disbelief, you add, “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you over you fucking girls in your car.”

Lando manages to get out a disapproving tut, and then contends, “I never said I’d fuck girls in my car, I’d said I’d rather fuck you in my car.”

Completely baffled by this revelation, not that you should’ve been, you turn to him in disgust, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He shrugs again, noncommittally, and without paying you any mind continues to focus on the road.

“Well,” you laugh, breathlessly, “good thing that’s never happening.” Gently clearing your throat, you later can’t help yourself but add a silent, “Again.”

“If you’d rather a bed, that could also be arranged, honey.” Lando assures you, and you realise the little fucker has a smirk growing on his face.

“As if I’d sleep with you willingly,” you scoff.

A boisterous laugh is what you get from Lando, who tilts his head towards you, “Come on, I’m a good-looking bloke.”

“And I’m sure I’ve seen much hotter man,” you sing, but you just can’t remember when. So deciding to block out what Lando is rambling about, you pull out your phone to message someone who has the answer for you.

To lily m + kika: can you tell me someone who is hotter than lando? From lily m: alex From kika: pierre To lily m + kika: ew, be serious please From kika: what about the guy with the accent, from hungary? From lily m: the doctor? To lily m + kika: i think she meant the reporter From lily m: god no he was a creep From lily m: what about the surfer? From kika: oh yeah he was cute too To lily m + kika: i need someone hot, pleaseee From lily m: THE MODEL FROM MILAN From kika: WITH THE ABS From kika: and also porche From lily m: BUT ALSO THE ABS To lily m + kika: okay thanks To lily m + kika: love you guys

Getting lost in the conversation, with the aid of your ambition to prove yourself right and, naturally, Lando wrong, you don’t realise that he’s actually driven you back to his apartment instead of a bar or literally some other place that sells alcohol in that ungodly hour.

“This isn’t a bar.” You point out, eyebrows furrowed.

Lando dignifies your comment with a scoff, “Well aren’t you quite the detective?”

Crossing your arms across your chest, you basically hiss at him this time, “This is basically kidnapping.”

Lando glances at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “Kidnapping? Really? I thought we were just catching up.”

You shoot him a sarcastic look, but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, sure. Catching up in the middle of the night at your place.”

He parks the car and turns to face you, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Well, here’s my proposal. I’ll go to my apartment and you’re free to either join me or drive my car back to Daniel’s – I’ll come pick it up tomorrow.”

You hesitate for a moment, considering your options as you watch Lando give you an assuring smile and handing you the keys before getting out of the car. Going back to your brother's place doesn't sound all that appealing, and Lando's offer, as questionable and a bad idea as it may be, seems like the lesser of two evils. Though, there is also the reality that if when you go up to his apartment, you’re probably going to do something that either you or your friends will regret tomorrow morning. Watching Lando’s retreating figure move further into the apartment building, you think, fuck it, it’s fine.

So, you wait for a few minutes, anxiously twirling the car keys in your hand to make him wait – but you’re pretty sure it makes you suffer just as much. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then climb out of the car. Locking it behind you, you follow Lando into the building. The familiar scent of his cologne hits you as you step into the elevator, and a wave of nostalgia washes over you. The elevator ride going up to the second floor is pure torture, and it leaves you squirming in your place the whole time. Basically throwing yourself out of the elevator once it lands on the second floor, you realise that Lando has been waiting for you, standing and smiling at his door.

He gives you a teasing look as you approach, clearly amused by your slightly dishevelled state. “Took you long enough,” he remarks, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. But instead of saying anything or retorting back, you quietly follow him inside his apartment. Lando closes the door behind you, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The dim lighting casts a soft glow, creating an intimate atmosphere. The first thing that catches your eye is the helmet collection he keeps in the living room. Without saying anything, you quickly make your way over to the shelves that display the helmets, trying your best to avoid his approaching footsteps behind you. The familiar design of a particular helmet has you instinctively tracing the number at the top, and the arms that hug your waist from behind makes you freeze for a moment. Lando's touch is both familiar and foreign, stirring up a mix of emotions you thought were long buried.

“That's from Monza, 2021,” he says, his voice close to your ear. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You clear your throat, attempting to regain composure. “I remember,” you reply, your fingers still lingering on the helmet.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the past and the uncertainty of the present hangs in the air. Lando breaks the silence, his voice low and measured. “I wasn't sure you'd actually come up.”

You turn to face him, meeting his gaze, but don’t attempt getting out of his arms. “I didn't think so either.”

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly leans in, his lips brushing against yours. It's a tentative touch, a testing of waters, and you find yourself responding to the familiarity of the kiss. The taste of the past lingers, and for a moment, it's as if the years haven't passed. But reality crashes back in, and you pull away, the distance now a necessary boundary. Lando looks at you, a mix of emotions playing on his face. There's longing, regret, and an unspoken acknowledgment of the complexities that bind you.

“I thought we could just catch up,” he says, his tone a mix of apology and yearning.

You turn in your place, facing him. “Catching up was never our strong suit, was it?”

“Not really,” Lando shakes his head, “no.”

You bite down on the corner of your lip, threading your fingers through his curls as you pull his face down to meet yours as you rise on your tiptoes, “It’s a bad idea, right?”

Lando lets out a supportive hum as he lets his lips softly brush against yours, “The worst.” And maybe he should have been the gentleman and pull away, but when he sees your eyes closing, he just leans in further to press his lips against yours – and the way you respond to his kiss? It's as if the world outside ceases to exist. The kiss deepens, each brush of his lips against yours reigniting a long-buried flame. Lando's hands find their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, erasing the physical space between you.

You don’t complain as he pulls you towards his bedroom, or when he gently throws you on his bed, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. As he hovers over you, the weight of the past and the intensity of the present converge. His hands trace the contours of your face, memorizing every curve as if committing it to memory. And when the two of you get lost between each other within his sheets, the only thing that ends up coming from your mouth is either his name, or some sort of encouragement to keep him going. After he manages to wear you out, Lando decides that you’re definitely not going anywhere as he wraps you in his arms around you. The room is filled with the soft sounds of breaths syncing, hearts beating in tandem. Lando's fingers draw absent patterns on your skin while you check the messages that have accumulated in your phone. The glow of your phone illuminates the dim room, creating a subtle contrast to the warmth that envelops you. Lando's presence beside you adds an extra layer of comfort, a silent acknowledgment of the shared intimacy that unfolded moments ago.

From danny: please tell me you didn’t get kidnapped by the organ mafia From danny: wink twice if you’re alive From danny: this is not funny, where are you? From danny: fine i’ll ask alex to ask lily

Rolling  your eyes before sending him a text to let your brother know you’re okay, you decide to turn your attention to the group chat with Lily and Kika.

From kika: did you get home safe? From lily m: daniel is pretty stressed about it From lily m: please for the love of god tell us you’re home and not with lando right now To lily m + kika: omg just calm down i’m in bed To lily m + kika: and i’m going to sleep To lily m + kika: love you guys

You catch a glimpse of Lando’s grin over your shoulder as you click your phone off, but he only chuckles as he buries his face into your neck as he leaves small kisses to the skin there. “Well, I’m not lying, I just didn’t specify where I was.”

“Or in whose sheets,” his laugher gets louder as you jokingly slap him on the arm, “go to sleep, honey, we’ll be tired in the morning.”

And it might’ve been a bad idea to message him in the first place, but it certainly doesn’t feel like one.

[hopeastrz]

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒🪷 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫/𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 + 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭.

𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 may indicate having a serious spouse, disciplined, neat and works hard to make fortune for his family, you’ll have a stable and long marriage due to saturn influence, but there will be many lessons to learn along the way.

𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 are born to be mothers, you can’t convince me otherwise, they just have this caring aura around them that resembles a hug!.

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 especially 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐧/𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 I’ve seen or talked too always tend to be over thinkers, and i know that this might’ve been said before but it’s really one of their prominent traits, they are usually 25/8 nervous and they tend to be a bit perfectionistic.

Having 𝟏𝟏°, 𝟐𝟑° 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐭 tells you where you may be original or a trendsetter.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝟏°,𝟐𝟑° your ideas, your voice may be unique, if you’re an author or just like writing in general you tend to create unique literature pieces that are considered quite creative.

𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝟏𝟏°, 𝟐𝟑° your style is original, what you wear, makeup you apply on your face, or even perfumes you buy may be quite underrated or unique etc..

Having 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢��, 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝟖°, 𝟐𝟎° 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 may indicate going through many transformations with your friendships, they are always unstable, changing and evolving, also you may be the type to change personalities and sacrifice lots of things for your friends, please be careful and don’t get way too attached.

Having 𝐧𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞, 𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟐°, 𝟐𝟒° 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 may indicate always attracting relationships with people that are calm, like serene or just way too quiet (one may even say secretive) on the outside but freakiest people to exist on the inside, one of my friends has this placement and her boyfriend barley speaks when he’s around us, but when he calls her and thinks we can’t hear him let me tell you.. that man becomes a whole different person, its kinda fascinating to be honest, neptune illusionary influence doesn’t fail to impress me.

𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 are hot as hell, both figuratively and well… literally no like they need to chill please calm down a bit you guys are really really fiery, always on your feet and ready to throw hands if someone angers you, seems cliché i know but it’s the truth.

𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 is one of my favorite placements to have, and i believe that it indicates fame and having a very beautiful spouse, also a very ethereal beauty.

I also noticed something a weird pattern on a whim but why does 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 tend to work on medical fields and 𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 may excel quite well in companies, relations and business in general.

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞𝐧>>>>>>> that’s it.

If they have earth placements combined with fire placements you won at life.

I have 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝟏𝟓° 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞, many people have told me that my voice is soothing and beautiful, i also love singing!.

[catiuskaa]

charcoal, paint, post-its and tape.

SUMMARY: seeing your boyfriend’s messy art studio, you couldn’t help but want to try and surprise him with a painting of the most gorgeous piece of art you knew: him.

REQUESTED! here by my pookie wookie @4ln-stay8, and honey, this was a beautiful idea! i love writing about art and hyunjin and hyunjin and art (and hyunjin) lol, hope you like! <3

CW: hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety, reader is really hard on herself as a perfectionist (which sadly i can relate), crying and cursing, lots of fluffy comfort in the end!

WC: 1.6k

[☆🌷🖼️🌷☆]

You hate it.

Your hand feels cramped, your head hurts and you’re close to breaking the paper if you keep on erasing the same lines over and over again.

But it’s hideous.

It’s a sad excuse of an attempt in art and you hate it.

You were tempted to kick the sketchbook away, but knowing that it belonged to your boyfriend, to hyunjin, who could actually do art, made you refrain from doing so, opting to just harshly shove it away from your lap.

It wasn’t fair. You’d seen tutorials. You had practiced beforehand. You went as far as to use his anatomy books to study it, wanting to be able to do justice to his ethereal, beautiful self by at least getting proportions right.

But no. Art wasn’t accepting your preposterous attempt to join into it.

Hyunjin entered your shared apartment as he hummed a random melody, happy to come back a bit earlier than usual, his head drifting off to how he could surprise you and what kind of activity the both of you could do with the newly-founded time.

But he froze after he kicked his shoes off at the entrance.

“Angel?” He called, and you cursed, but barely had any time to put anything back into place as he followed the sound of your gentle sobs.

“Hyun…” you started.

“My love.” He crouched down next to you, looking at you as if you held the stars and the moon just for him. “Want to tell me what’s wrong? Mhh?” He hummed shortly, his hands traveling to your face and stroking it sweetly.

You stared at him, your heart troubled, so the only coherent response you could come up was throwing yourself to his arms.

The long-haired artist hugged you tightly in response, a part of him appreciating having the type of trust that allowed you to break before him and let him watch you reasemble with a little helping hand.

You sniffed, then shook your head sideways.

“Are we doing the nod and shake?” He smiled in efforts of making you join him, which you did shortly, and he allowed himself to take that as a win. “We can do that, pretty. Nod if you want to.” He snickered.

But you shook your head, staring down at the forgotten sketchbook.

“I-it’s just th-a-at I… I w-wanted… wanted to surprise you… b-because I-I wa-s trying to paint…”

Hyunjin’s face shined upon your confesion.

“My pretty girl was painting?” He chimed back with a gleeful joy. “But you’re not having fun. What happened?”

You just shrugged, sinking your head in your hands. “It’s horrible.”

“Can I see it?”

Watching you nod, it was only then when Hyunjin separated himself from you just enough to grab the sketch, then sprung back to your side.

A silence only broken by your unsteady breathing clouded the house as he viewed the canvas.

“Do you want my opinion, my advice, or my shoulder to keep crying?” He offered soothingly, and you rolled your eyes at his last mention. “What? My shoulders are very comfortable. I don’t even charge if you leave tears on my shirt, you know.” Hyunjin teased with a smile that you were quick to match. Another win for him.

“I just… I don’t know…” you sighed, melting against him. “It’s… ugh.”

He stared at your piece in silence, which you didn’t, only zoned out, playing with your hands as the silence crept up your spine.

What if he hated it too?

“It’s just like how you do with your post-its.”

He interrupted your spiral of thoughts, and you blinked at him, so Hyunjin repeated himself with a gentle smile. You then sniffed, a small chuckle fighting to get out in the midst of frustated tears. “What are you on about?”

“You have your cute organizing board filled with post it notes, don’t you, lovely?”

You nodded, but scoffed, still submerged in the depth of the painting —or rather lack thereof. “What’s that got to do with anyth-“

You trailed off when his hands, still a bit colder from the weather outside, cradled your face, forcing you to look at him, a beautiful sight you didn’t notice you were evading.

“Listen to me for a second. Please?” He pleaded, eyes soft, and giggled sweetly when you pouted, a petty way of letting him know you were listening. You blushed when he kissed you.

“So. Your post it notes.” Hyunjin smiled. “You stick them on the board, but often, they slip down, right?” He asked, to which you nodded. “And when that happens, I noticed your little trick, brains.” He booped your nose, and you couldn’t help but smile coyly. “Tell me, beauty. What do you do when they don’t stick?”

“I… I put a small piece of tape on the back.” “And it works like magic,” he grinned, beaming in a kind of proudness you had never seen on anyone, not when it came from others aside from themselves. And it mended your frustrated heart to see him like this, his now warmer hands stroking your cheeks.

He took one of your hands, and with a strained groan, reached to his pencil cade, grabbed a piece of charcoal and stained your hand with it, kissing your palm sweetly

“These are now the hands of an artist. And artists, just like you and me, can be quite like those little post it notes of yours. We bend right after taking us out of the package.” He chuckled, and you followed along, letting the sound of his voice lift your spirit. “It won’t matter how, there can always be a crease, or the glue won’t stick right, or the color is too blinding, maybe too dull, perhaps the paper got stained with paint or ink.” He stared at you, deeply so, allowing you to see through him, allowing you to understand.

This wasn’t about post it notes. Not anymore.

He continued. “But, just as your post its, sometimes…” he smiled. “Sometimes all we need is a bit of tape to stick in place.”

He kissed your tears away one by one, allowing your breathing to even out, matching and following his as you relaxed against him.

“Let me help you stick back on the board.” He looked at your lips in a flash, then bashfully went back to your eyes. “Let me be your tape.”

He hugged you tightly, and he showed you the sketch.

“To me it looks fine, beauty.” He started. “It’s a really nice attempt. Would I redo some things? Probably, if I wanted to be really perfectionist, because it doesn’t look bad at all. Or maybe I’d let the color do its magic.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “The thing about drawing is that we cannot let it control us, hoping to achieve perfection. That can’t be achieved, my love.” Hyunjin laughed. “Even what we see sometimes doesn’t look right in real life. There are references and references, and if a drawing’s sketch isn’t quite what we’re looking, sometimes we may need another one.”

You stared at him softly, comforted in his honest commentary.

“I can help you. You know were to find me.” He smiled sweetly.

“I…” you sniffed, staring at your charcoal-stained hand.

“I just want a coffee right now.”

You both giggled as you stood back up, and he engulfed you in a bear hug, picking you up and carrying you to the kitchen, determined to make you the best coffe in the whole year.

It wasn’t until the next morning that you found him puting your first sketch next to his. Only this time, instead of his usual messy tape lines, yours han bits of tape glued to the back.

Little by little, charcoal and paint helped post-its and tape, but even with the smallest things, it could certainly be the other way around.

And Hyunjin loved it any kind of way— Hyunjin loved you, post-its, charcoal stains and all.

[☆🌷🖼️🌷☆]

catiuskaa, may 2024 ©

~kats, who will now go to bed with my own cup of hot milk (not coffee lol, and sadly not made by hyunjin either)

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

────────────

Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[emilys-bangs]

Hiiiii💕 I love your fics so much and how you write Emily!!! Think you could write a date night at home while you’re already dating, with Sergio and all but it ends up with a make out sesh! Doesn’t have to be nsfw I just NEED kiss her face and drink some wine on her couch!! Thanks 💕

Feel free to ignore me if you don’t feel like this!!!!

Hii, thank you lovely!! ty for requesting, I hope this isn't as choppy as I think it is <3

----

date night | e.p

Tags: established relationship, fluff, making out, no use of yn, use of petnames

Word count: 1.5k

“Em, honey, my loveliest darling, are you sure you’re doing this right?” You sweeten your voice as you peek over Emily’s shoulder, hiding a grimace at the chocolate slab she’s heating directly in a pot.

“Are you doubting my abilities?” She turns her accusing gaze on you. Her eyes, you notice, are just the same shade of the melting chocolate. You have a feeling they’re twice as sweet. “Maybe you could’ve guided me instead of stuffing your face with the chocolate.” Her brow arches, playful, but your body heats.

“I was testing to see if it’s good!”

“Yeah, looks like it’s too good,” Emily teases. You frown and she lets go of the spoon in her hand, reaching out to press her thumb to the corner of your lip. When she lifts it you find her skin smeared with chocolate.

You shrug, willing yourself not to be embarrassed. “It’s delicious,” you say demurely, ignoring your girlfriend’s smug look as she wipes her thumb on a tissue, “and anyway. Everyone knows you’re supposed to melt chocolate using a double boiler.”

“It’s melting fine!” Emily huffs and peers into the pot, idly swirling the still-hard bits in the sea of melted chocolate. You scrunch your nose, unconvinced, and Emily looks up just in time to see it.

“You’re such a perfectionist,” she sighs, letting go of the spoon again to wrap her arms around you. “Let loose a little.” Her nose bumps into yours. The action makes you smile, like she undoubtedly knew it would.

“Sorry I don’t fancy my strawberries with burnt chocolate,” you murmur, rubbing your hands up and down her sides. The wool of her black v-neck is soft; you languidly follow the curves of her waist, tracing the lines of her torso. Emily rolls her eyes and you kiss her before she bites back, effectively silencing that smart mouth of hers.

You can feel her smile against your lips. She knows what you’re doing, but she lets you have it, gently kissing you back as her fingers thread into your hair. The edge of the counter digs into your back as she presses you against it, her warm thigh slotting between yours. You hum into her mouth and she toys with a lock of your hair, twirling it around her finger and tugging just enough that you feel a sting.

“Mmm, you know what you taste like?” Emily mumbles against your lips. She gently presses kisses along the outline of your mouth, catching the chocolatey corner and the tip of your chin.

Sighing, you slide your hand into her hair and scrape your nails down her scalp. “I’m sure you’ll tell me, anyway.”

“Unburned chocolate,” she grins. Her eyes flick up to yours, pleased at her own cleverness.

“Ugh, fuck off.” You lightly shove her back. Emily laughs, grabbing your hand just in time to pull you with her. The two of you skid across the kitchen floor and you yelp, both your socks slipping on the smooth hardwood. Your heart skips but Emily catches you, holding on to your waist and digging her heels in to find purchase.

“Stop whining about the chocolate,” she says when you’re both steady, letting go of you and turning to grab the pack of fresh strawberries you’d gotten on your way, “and help me wash these.”

“I’m your guest,” you murmur as you take it from her hand and head to the sink. “You shouldn’t make me work, it’s rude.”

“You’re hardly a guest, amor.” Emily’s voice is warm as she wraps steady arms around your waist and nuzzles into your neck. Her body presses into yours, making your hips nudge against the sink. “This is your home as much as it is mine.” She whispers after dropping a kiss, gently squeezing your waist with her palms.

You almost drop the strawberries. Damn her silver tongue.

By the time the two of you are done washing the strawberries and dunking them in the—unburnt—chocolate, your dinner is ready. Despite Emily’s earlier insistence that you help her, she refuses to let you lift a finger in plating the food or carrying it to the dining table. You try to argue but she doesn’t have it, so you content yourself with cuddling Sergio as she flits to and from the table, smoothing your fingers through shiny black fur.

“Stubborn woman, isn’t she, Serg?” You ask, pressing a kiss to his furry forehead. His purrs rumble through his small body and reverberate through yours, growing louder when you scratch between his ears. “But we love her for it.”

Eventually Emily comes back to take Sergio out of your arms and tugs you to the table, making a quick stop at the bathroom to wash off the cat hair before she presents dinner with a flourish. You can’t help but smile, both at her actions and at the bouquet of freesias you’d bought her sitting in the center of the table, lightly illuminated by the candles she’d laid out around it.

It’s not just the wine she pours out that brings a heat to your cheeks.

Everything, from the tender way she fills your plate to the softness of her laugh as you talk, makes a golden warmth surge through your veins. Even Sergio comes to join you, curling up on the floor between your chair and hers, evidently soaking in your conversations as you talk and laugh, barely remembering the food, a soft gleam in both your eyes that could be nothing but love.

You lose track of time with her. Eventually your glasses are drained, the candles burning low and your plates empty as you skim your thumb over the back of Emily’s hand. The craving for something sweet deep in your stomach is what reminds you of the chocolate-covered strawberries chilling in the fridge, and when you mention them to your girlfriend, she pulls you up from the table.

“Leave them,” Emily whispers when you try to gather the empty plates, insistently tugging them out of your hand and placing them back on the table.

“But—”

“No buts.” She blows out the candles and takes your hand, linking her fingers through yours and gently pulling you away from the table. “They can wait.”

You can’t really complain, not when she tugs you to the couch and forces you to sit down by shifting onto your lap, her knees on either side of your waist. The fight leaks out of you, her warm weight on top of you deliciously fogging your brain.

“Hi,” Emily whispers, her dark eyes wide, and you think you fall impossibly deeper in love.

“Hi,” you breathe, grabbing her face in your hands. Her lips are so inviting when she smiles like this; you can’t help but cover them with your own. “Fucking dork,” you murmur into her skin, the words lost in another kiss.

“Mean,” Emily mumbles. The tips of your fingers slip into her hair; her breath hitches as you kiss the corner of her mouth, then the plush center—that one gets many kisses—and then trail your lips to her chin.

“On the contrary, I think I’m being very nice.” You say, moving upward to the half-moon curve of her dimple. The dent is too light to feel, but you kiss it anyway before your mouth gently lands on her cheekbone. Emily sighs as you kiss the soft skin next to her eye, her fluttering lashes tickling your lips. The bridge of her nose is next, then the very tip of it, and her breathy laugh skips over your mouth.

Your heart skips in a similar fashion. 

Pausing your kisses, you lean back to look at her properly. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, her lips rosy and swollen from your kisses. There’s a slight daze to her eyes, now nearly darkened to black, her pupils blown wide.

“I love you,” you whisper. Unthinkingly, you skim your thumb over her cheekbone, your touch feather-light. “So much.”

“I love you.” Emily breathes. She leans forward and kisses you, sweet before she nips your bottom lip and it turns desperate. She takes your own hands off her cheeks and guides them under her shirt. You cup the warm curves of her waist and she sighs into your mouth, thighs tightening around your hips as you lightly skim the tips of your fingers over her spine.

Goosebumps follow in the wake of your fingers. Slowly, you peel her shirt off her body, only breaking the kiss to toss it over her head. Pale skin is exposed, the lines of her collarbone sharp under the straps of her lacy, stark black bra.

It’s hardly a new sight, but your breath catches all the same.

“Beautiful,” you say, your voice low and choked with reverence. 

Emily smiles as you place one hand on her hip on the other on her cheek, your lips dipping in the soft junction where her jaw meets her neck. She sighs, threading her fingers through your hair as you take her skin between your lips, warm and tasting faintly bitter—courtesy of her perfume.

It’s just you and her. In this moment, the whole world whittled down to the space between your bodies. All that matters is the warmth of her thighs around your waist, the scratch of her bra against your chest. Her sighs echo, soft and sweet, turning louder with each piece of clothing you gently peel from her skin. 

Your clothes join hers on the floor as your bodies tangle together. Soft lips meet warm skin, swallow up breathy sighs, and dirty plates and chocolate-covered strawberries are gone forgotten in your wake.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @justhereforthosefics @catssluvr @haiklya @i-lovefandom

[hariboz]

PROMISE ME…!

“when you don’t tell your boyfriend you’re sick and still perform!”

pairing: idol!bf!ricky x gn!idol!reader

genre: fluff, tiny angst (?)

warning: mention of headaches, blurry vision, nausea and similar symptoms, softie bf!ricky, that’s it i think?

notes: ty to nonnie for requesting this!! i got a little carried away but i got into a pretty good flow writing it so i hope you enjoy 🥹🫶🏻 also!! this is my first time writing idol!reader so i hope it feels somewhat realistic…? as realistic as it can be i guess 😵‍💫

word count: 1.8k (😵‍💫 how and why…)

five, six, seven, eight.

five, six, seven, eight.

five, six, seven—

“y/n, are you okay?” the voice of your leader rips you out of your trance, your tired eyes meeting in the mirror. you nod and put on a bright, although fake smile in hopes of being reassuring, though you’re not sure you were being all too convincing — either way, none of your members pry, because they understand. they understand the need to push through, especially now with all these end of the year award shows happening; you simply can’t afford to be sick, to fall behind and to be absent from such huge events. so, you decide to push through the dizziness, nausea and pain. you’ll take some medication later, it’ll be fine. (at least that’s what you’re telling yourself when you catch yourself stumbling from the dizziness when you get ready to practice your solo entrance.) even though there is a silent understanding between you and your members, there still is one person you know you won’t be able to convince, no matter how hard you’ll try — your boyfriend and professional overthinker in regards to your well-being, ricky.

it’s quite cute, the juxtaposition of his public image and the way he tends to worry. did you eat? does your throat hurt from vocal practice? did you trip during dance practice again? (a question that’s especially annoying considering you told him about tripping once, roughly six months ago. he refuses to let it go.) he sends you teas and throat sprays to make sure your voice is taken care of, secretly checks the soles of your shoes to make sure they aren’t getting slippery, somehow manages to pack you little snacks you can munch on when you haven’t eaten anything before practice again. he’s very rarely stern, much too soft-spoken and gentle towards you to speak to you in a more serious manner when he’s worried, so he shows his care and love through these things — which makes you feel all the more guilty when you straight up have to lie to him when he asks if practice is going fine, if you’re feeling well, and letting you know how excited he (along with gyuvin, he mentions) is to see you perform in person up close.

you try your hardest to get better before the performance, you really do. well, as much as you can between hours and hours of practice and barely any sleep, at least. all your efforts seem to be in vain, though, because the day of the performance seems to be the worst day yet — if you had a choice, you would bury yourself under every blanket available and not leave your bed for at least a week, that’s how awful you feel when you and your members are picked up from your dorm during the wee hours of the morning.

unfortunately, the little perfectionistic gremlin that lives at the back of your mind refuses to let all these weeks of practice go to waste, so you muster up a brave smile through your shaking pupils and tell your worrying members that you have everything under control — you’ll smash this performance just like all the other ones, even if you have to do it while being a little dizzy. it’s no big deal, you’re a professional after all.

your stylists is making some last minute adjustments to your outfits when a gentle knock sounds through the room, a very familiar blonde head of hair popping in. you rush over to ricky, his arms snaking around you immediately. “hey, handsome,” you mutter as you observe his face, a small grin playing on his lips. “you’re not looking to bad yourself, hm?” his voice is smooth as he brushes some of your hair out of your face, careful to not interfere with your hairstylist’s hard work. you’re thrown off your balance a little when another dizziness spell hits you out of nowhere, the look on ricky’s face immediately morphing into one of concern, “are you okay?”

you muster up a smile and just nod, eyes blinking rapidly to dispel the black dots bouncing around in your vision, “yeah, i’m just a little nervous,” you reach up to adjust his collar to avoid meeting his worried eyes, “i’m fine. just freaking out a little, that’s all.” you can tell ricky doesn’t entirely believe you, but he trusts that you would come to him if there was something wrong — so he reluctantly lets the subject go. he steals a quick kiss to your lips, whispering a “good luck, i love you.” before he turns to leave to make any last preparations for his own performance.

your first wave of regret overcomes you when you stand ready beneath the stage, you and your members getting into position to perform the intro to your performance. your head feels like it’s about to split and your hands are shaky, but it’s too late to turn back now — as queen sunmi once said, the show must go on.

your second wave of regret comes when you’re actually on stage, all the lights, the music, the screams and your in-ear monitor feeling less like the dream you’ve worked so hard to achieve and more like your own personal hell. your group having your own amazing entrance with one of the stage elevators excited you at first; unfortunately, right now you’re preoccupied with managing your expressions to make sure you won’t let any irritation or discomfort slip.

your third and final wave of regret comes when you stand in the middle of the stage in this massive venue, tens of thousands of eyes on you as you start to perform your solo part of the song — your head is pounding and you can barely hear your own voice through your in-ears anymore, your steps are shaky and imprecise, your vision is blurry. you manage to push through, somehow, but it’s clear in the way your chest is heaving once the lights go out that you’re not well.

the atmosphere is very much tense in the part of the audience where your fellow idols sit, all of them having to cover their very obvious concern with faux excitement — you pulled it off well enough, but it’s clear to every single one of them that you’re sick and that you probably should not have performed. ricky especially has to keep his expressions in check, because the mix of worry and concern but also frustration and maybe a little anger is raging heavily inside him right now.

the worry and concern are obvious, the last thing he wants to see is you being sick, much less performing in that state. the frustration is bubbling inside him because he knows that you know better, that even the chance of you hurting yourself even worse by performing while sick is enough reason to sit out one performance. the anger is entirely directed at your staff and maybe some of your members, your leader at least — they must’ve seen that you were unwell, no? and they still let you on stage? is that not what managers and leaders are for, to take matters into their own hands and to know what’s best for their members? it all comes to a head when your members join the other idols in the audience while you’re nowhere in sight.

ricky is getting restless, his hands sprawling against his dress pants, occasionally pinching the fabric to keep his mind occupied. gyuvin and matthew both gave him little reassuring pats on his back but neither did much to comfort him, his mind entirely preoccupied with worrying about you and counting down the minutes to when he will finally be able to check up on you backstage.

it’s about an hour later when the award show is finally over, and for once ricky is the first one to rush backstage, a little ahead of all of his members. he swerves past staff and security and doesn’t even bother knocking on your group’s dressing room, ripping the door open to find your shocked but still very exhausted eyes staring up at him in surprise, “ricky?”

he’s in front of you in the blink of an eye, squatting down to meet you eye-to-eye, his hands gently cradling your face, “are you okay? for real, this time?” his brows are furrowed and you feel a little bad for thinking that he looks pretty handsome all serious like this. you nod sheepishly, apology ready to spill from your lips when he squishes your cheeks together to silence you, “shhh, you listen to me. never do that again, okay? do you know how scary that was, watching you perform like that? what if something had happened, you know you could’ve—,” he stumbles over his words a little, clearly worked up, “i don’t know, fallen off stage or something. you could’ve fainted! or you could’ve broken something or— i don’t know, just, promise me, don’t do that again.” ricky’s once so stern voice turns soft towards the end again, never really able to keep up his serious tone for long, especially towards you.

“‘m sorry, just didn’t want to let anyone down,” you mumble, leaning into his touch. his cold hands on your face feel incredibly nice, a stark contrast to your feverish face. he sighs and one of his hands comes up to brush your hair away from your face, his hand stroking your head softly, “i know, but still. don’t do stuff like that, okay? talk to someone when you’re not feeling well. your managers, your members, me — there’s so many people you can go to, okay? anyone, as long as you tell someone,” you nod along to him, and maybe it’s the guilt of making him worry so much or the fact that you’re overwhelmed from the amount of affection coming from him while you’re still a little delirious, but you feel like you need to lighten the atmosphere with a little joke.

“even gyuvin?” the gentle expression on his face falls almost immediately, replaced by a very unimpressed stare. you break out into quiet giggles, muttering a “sorry” before pressing a kiss to his cheek. ricky grumbles a little before getting back up, running his hand through your hair gently one last time. “i have to go back now but i’m ordering you some soup to your dorm later. you’re on bedrest for the next few days, you hear me?” he tries to sound stern again and puts on his best serious face, but his façade is broken when you smile up at him so tiredly, the exhaustion clear on your face.

“thank you, i love you,” you call after him when he turns to leave, ricky sending you a flying kiss before leaving the room, “love you too.”

(your fourth wave of regret came when you realised ricky formed an alliance with your members, all of them exchanging “y/n intel” to make sure all of them can keep an eye on you while you’re recovering.)

[navyhyuck]

how many times? — 2.3k words, choi yeonjun

warnings: explicit marijuana usage, shotgunning, kissing, so incredibly suggestive and so much sexual tension, stoner!yeonjun, sorta mutual pining/bff2l idk, reader gets a little goofy

a/n: my comeback!! honestly i was high writing this because what the fuck. i got so carried away. anyway @itgirlgyu (i hope it's ok i tagged u hehe) wrote the most lovely little thing and getting shotgunned by yj would most def lead to.. something :> so thank you for the inspo! also pls don’t smoke kids, i would let only yeonjun absolutely demolish my respiratory system. tagging kai @channoticedmeuwu bc … yes! <3 (yes it’s not soobin but he’s otw ok). listen to often by the weeknd for ultimate vibes!

you’ve decided that you absolutely love the way yeonjun rolls his joints. 

there’s nothing special about it, of course. you’ve watched him countless times, folding the rolling paper with hazed concentration, carefully packing the perfectly grounded weed inside. it’s the stupid sleeveless shirt he insisted on wearing today, stolen from soobin’s closet after a fifteen minute banter—as you’re told, because it’s ‘too hot outside’ to wear a short-sleeved t-shirt instead. 

his arms are bare, smooth skin stealing the attention of your gaze the moment you walked into his apartment a few minutes ago, and you still haven’t gotten over it. not when yeonjun rolls the unfinished joint between his fingers, involuntarily flexing his forearms as he does so, flitting his eyes towards you as he asks in question to your silence, “you good?”  

perfect. you simply nod, untrusting of your words at the moment. he smiles lightly, getting back to work as you let your eyes wander once again, finding yourself caught up on your friend a lot more than you usually do.

that’s not to say you haven’t thought about him in the past, when he’s invited you over to sit on the overpriced outdoor furniture outside on his balcony, sporting a handsome smile and tousled hair, getting you higher than taehyun’s gummies ever have. the other boy swears his working on increasing his milligram count, but you think it’s a little more than that.

you’re on-your-knees, borderline inappropriately attracted to yeonjun; clearly, considering you watch a little too intently as he raises the joint upwards, licking a quick stripe to seal the paper. fuck, if you leaned in just a bit closer, you could waft the addictive cologne he’s rubbed on his neck, one you gifted him on his birthday last year, and maybe it’d get you off in ways you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about.

yeonjun finally lights the joint, slowly rotating it in his fingers as he does so, sharp eyes focused on perfection. it was hard to believe how much he cared how intentionally his joints were lit (price inflation?).

a gentleman as always, he places the joint to your lips with a gentle expression of want to go? and you couldn’t imagine saying no to him. 

how could you? pretty boy perched next to you, legs spread in such an inviting position—you’ve almost lost it already. eyelashes fluttering, you inhale deeply, trying to ignore the way his fingertips pressing lightly at your lips, keeping the smoke contained from the very beginning. you wonder how his lips would feel on yours, maybe for a little longer than you should.

when he pulls away, you lull your head back, your body slumping, easily enamoring yourself in the sudden joust of pleasure. it makes you forget where you are momentarily, giggling in a daze as you part your lips, letting the smoke leave your mouth. 

“all that with one hit?” yeonjun teases, and your eyes meet his with a roll of annoyance. there’s a smirk dancing on his lips, playfully as you watch the smoke bellow around him, slowly releasing from the corner of his mouth. always so fucking pristine, a perfectionist if you will.

“it’s been a long day,” you say in response, furrowing your eyebrows as the boy shrugs, passing off the joint. “remember how my manager told me to recruit another intern for our team?”

“hmm,” he hums, running a hand through his hair as he watches you inhale again, relaxing your head back as you always do. he finds it so innocent, the way your jaw relaxes as the weed takes its effect, and your lips, as inviting and plump as always, opens only to the smoke.

there’s a sort of numbing feeling, either from watching your jaw slack, mouth open, eyes closed with a string of dense fog surrounding your face or simply the high he’s slowly losing to watching you. it’s almost intoxicating, how you tilt your head to him, small smile lining your lips, offering him another hit as you continue speaking.

“i referred taehyun, you know,” your eyes are narrowed now, gazing nearly shamelessly at yeonjun when he’s unsuspecting. “dude’s got a fucking stellar resume. but they hired this other guy instead, and he’s just been following me around like he’s my intern.”

“yeah? what’s he like?” 

sharp eyes trail on you carefully, watching intently as you subconsciously dart out your tongue, licking along your bottom lip before going off on one of your usual ramblings. it’s so easy to get lost in the way you look, yeonjun thinks, especially when he’s slowly prodding a ‘wow’ or ‘no way’ into your rants every so often, just so you don’t get so caught up in the way he’s absolutely undressing you with his eyes.

he can’t help it, you’ve always been so difficult to be around after a certain hour at night; when the clock strikes midnight and he hears, from a distance, the university bells signaling the arrival of tomorrow, you take his invitations with open arms, spreading your legs on his couch and marking your spot. it’s not as though he spends his time smoking in pg rating with other girls at 2 a.m. anyway, that’s all reserved for you.

the dark-gray shorts and white t-shirt combination is maybe his favorite ever, he thinks, as you suddenly flail your arms up in sudden annoyance, screaming about some ‘and he fucking asks me again!’, the uneven hem of your shirt riding up slightly, exposing the smallest sliver of skin. yeonjun’s mind wanders to where you might’ve gotten this shirt; maybe he should ask you before he tears it off of you.

yeah, maybe it’s time for another hit.

and your voice blurs more than it did before, surprisingly, sounding increasingly more attractive with every word that leaves your mouth. yeonjun’s dazed, drunk on how you lean towards him, chest forward before your face, reaching to grab his joint with your perfect, graceful fingers. in a split second, he moves it out of your reach, smiling lazily when your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“want me to shotgun you?” he asks with a tilt of his head, words spilling from his mouth impulsively. your forehead smoothes at the question, maybe a little too casually for his liking, and you shrug a nonchalant sure. “i–have we done this before?” he’s got to be crazy, he’s never lost his memory smoking weed ever in his lifetime.

“no,” you’re trying to search his eyes, “hmm, taehyun’s shotgunned me before, though.”

the innocent shining of your eyes paired with your response has yeonjun suddenly giggling, making him place a hand over his mouth as if it would mask anything. oh, he hadn’t known you could be this cute, whining lightly as you question his laughter. when he catches his breath finally, planting his sight back on you, he simply pats the seat right beside him, “come here, i’ll show you.”

you’re quick to oblige, your body buzzing from the marijuana in your bloodstream, keeping you warm even as a cool breeze blows by. yeonjun’s presence is ever-so comforting, more so than ever, and you nearly have to hold yourself from resting your head against his shoulder. with parted lips in unadulterated awe, you watch as the dark-haired boy takes a long drag, the simple motion appearing astonishingly alluring. you’re hooked on deep, and there’s nothing to save you.

but when yeonjun turns towards you, suddenly holding the side of your face–thumb pressing down on your bottom lip to keep your mouth open, and moves impossibly close, you practically freeze. 

heart in your throat, his eyes beckon you to fill in the gap, never faltering. when you shuffle close enough, cautiously grabbing onto his forearm—you can almost taste the ghost of his lips, barely an inch away—he exhales straight into your mouth.

oh…your eyes flutter shut at the soft sensation, your fingertips pressing tightly into his arm as you let the high course through your body. maybe it’s because you’ve already taken too many hits (how many times?), but the intimacy has you buckling down even faster, the rate possibly record-breaking in guinness terms. 

yeonjun’s waiting when you open your eyes, nearly blowing the excess smoke right into his face, yet he isn’t fazed. it wouldn’t matter anyway, no, you could do anything to him and he’d take it without hesitation.

“wow,” you mutter, laughing breathlessly as your friend plasters on a stunning smile. “yeah, i definitely haven’t done that before.”

good. taehyun would be dead otherwise. his hand’s found solace resting on your thigh (when did it get here?), barely grasping at the flesh with nimble fingers. the material of your shorts are soft against his skin, loosely covering you, reminding him of just how easy it would to simply tug—

“can i try?” yeonjun’s fighting inner demons at this rate, testing the deep levels of his self control. he lets you do as you will (of course, why not?), eyes widening when you shift onto your knees, cautiously placing one in between in his legs. he’s gripping on your waist now—just lightly in case you’re overwhelmed, hoping he doesn’t look incredulous with the way he stares at you taking another hit, absolutely enamored with every move you make. 

there’s a flash of desire in the way your pupils dilate, suddenly hyper-fixated on your best friend’s exposed arms. it’s driving you crazy, your mind wandering back and forth—palm grazing up his bicep, feeling the taut muscle beneath your fingers. yeonjun’s gaze wanders on you, quietly leaning forward and putting out the joint against the ashtray. 

you’re looking down at him now, hovering over him in a less than platonic way, glancing between his eyes and lips. opening his mouth, he guides your jaw back towards him, warping you in far too close than the previous time. everything is so heightened, senses tingling from the ends of your finger to your nose—which barely brushes his—and you exhale. 

you’re a natural, yeonjun thinks, from how you don’t let your stream falter, giving him a high just as well as yours. as you finish, you realize you’ve moved your hand to grip at the junction between his shoulder and neck, leaving slightly reddened marks against his skin. 

“sorry,” you mumble, trying to rub them away, but yeonjun merely brushes it off, instead pressing your hand back against him. “i didn’t mean to…”

you lose your voice to the dead of the night, faltering when he runs his thumb back over your bottom lip, eyes scanning your face. when you all but gape at him, he takes it as his invitation to yank you down, crashing your lips against him.

he’s kissing you feverishly, desperate for the way you let out the slightest sound of surprise before surrendering completely, finding it more than difficult to keep you perched above him. your legs are spread over him, nearly lewd in the way you press up against him, drinking him up to the very last drop. 

even when you lean back, disoriented from how the world around you spins miraculously, grinning from ear to ear, yeonjun pulls you back. licking into your mouth, begging for anything physical, feeling you up from the sides. oh.

“yeonjun,” you’re panting, dodging him lightly as he tries to chase you. blinking dazingly, your fingers find purchase in his dark locks, gripping a lot harder than you would’ve done sober. “jun—i didn’t know you liked me like that. i thought we were just friends.”

you’re giggling under your breath as he groans, now tightly wrapping both arms around your waist. it’s so contagious, how your smile lights up your entire face, and he can’t help but match your expression. “what am i meant to do, y/n? have you seen yourself?”

you scrunch up, now gazing at your hands as if you’ve never experienced them before. “i’m seeing myself…”

yeonjun clicks his tongue, gathering your attention with a humorous look on his face. “fucking gorgeous, right?” you start giggling again, shying away when he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. 

“mm, but you’re hot,” you all but whine, overcome with confidence when you lean in, molding your mouth against his with an adrenaline-filled fervor. hands run down the sides of yeonjun’s neck, circling around until you’re grasping at him. you gasp while he delivers the smallest licks to your lips, taking advantage of your open mouth.

he sucks on your tongue—such an obscene action in your usual book, yet you can’t care. laughter racks up through your chest when his impulses get the best of him, sinking his teeth into your tongue hard enough to elicit the most indecent sound. 

you’re lucky you’re high, or else you’d be doubling over in embarrassment at your behavior. you’d have to thank yeonjun for getting you stoned later. 

“hey,” he calls for you, thumb caressing your cheek, “you’ll let me kiss you after this, right?”

you climb off of him, much to his dismay—laying down against the cushions, stretching your legs, opening your arms—grinning up at your friend. shirt riding up, exposing your midriff as you make a show of your position, nudging him with your legs. 

he's giving in to your beckoning, palms grazing your thighs, gripping and tugging, slotting between your legs. caging you in with his arms, you woo dramatically at his biceps, pecking at the skin with quiet giggles. “yeonjun…”

he hums, admiring you softly, desire and longing lingering behind his eyes. 

“you can have me anyway you want,” you whisper, igniting a fire in his stomach, roping him down in your embrace with a tantalizing kiss. now tangled amongst you, prying mindlessly at clothing that seems so unnecessary in the moment. 

oh, that’s something he’ll have in his mind forever.

[nicksbestie]

haiii can i be 🐛 anon? also mayhapsss a johnnie x reader where they meet thru mutual friend jake and instantly like each other but are too nervous to ask the other out? and like they act all awkward around each other until eventually jake basically does the work for them 😭 totally chill if not tho!

Nerves - Johnnie Guilbert

Summary : You're anxious about meeting your best friend's new roommate, but you hit it off better than you think you will.

Pairing : Johnnie Guilbert/Reader (romantic)

Warnings : mentions of anxiety

Word Count : 1378

A/N : The ending was kinda rushed because I was writing it before school, I hope you still love!!! (and obviously the number I put at the bottom is fake, please do not go harass whatever poor soul has that phone number!)

You and Jake had been best friends for a long time, coming up on a decade now. You had grown up in the same part of town, and being the only alternative kids for a hundred miles, it was no secret that you were immediately drawn to each other as a choice in friends. Your friendship had persisted when the two of you had begun careers in social media, specifically YouTube for Jake, and TikTok for you, knowing that there had to be something better out there for you than just living in Kansas all of your life. You had run into an extremely incredible amount of luck, allowing the both of you to become incredibly successful, and moving out to LosAngeles to pursue your careers even further. 

You used to be roommates, but in some cases, best friends weren’t the best roommates, and this was one of those times. Your personalities meshed together perfectly when you were hanging out, talking, and spending time with each other, but when it came to living together, they clashed heavily and you just didn’t get along. Neither of you held any hard feelings, and you moved out, finding a new roommate, which ended up being Jake’s now ex-girlfriend, Tara. You two were best friends, and loved living together, and Jake had found a new roommate recently, another YouTuber named Johnnie. You were supposed to be meeting him for the first time today, and you couldn’t deny that there were definitely some nerves there. 

You didn’t always make the best impression, because despite your on camera appearance and bold personality, you were very introverted off camera. You weren’t necessarily the quiet kid, but you weren’t someone who went out of their way to meet new people. But, Johnnie was clearly a very important person in Jake’s life automatically, so you wanted to get to know him and hopefully enjoy his company as much as you enjoyed Jake’s. Tara had already met him, and said that his personality was similar to yours, very energetic on camera but very laid back off of it, and you were happy to hear that because it meant that if push came to shove, you could sit in quiet, comfortable silence until you and Tara were ready to head home, depending on how late the night lasted. 

Tara was coming with you for moral support, and the fact that Jake had invited her over. You really respected their relationship, knowing that not very many people could still be best friends after a breakup, especially with such a long relationship, but they seemed to not want to let go of the other, refusing to be anything less than friends because they had been friends first, and the fact that they had fallen in and out of love with each other was not going to change that if they had any say in it. You were getting ready to leave the house, Tara finishing her makeup, you finishing your hair, and Tara was going to drive because you really just didn’t want to, and she was happy to. 

Getting in the car after putting finishing touches on everything, (you’re nothing short of a perfectionist), Tara was talking away about how much fun the two of them are, and how they’re clearly really good friends, and that you were going to get along great with the both of them. Her comfort and reassurance really did help your nerves, and you were glad that you had someone to go with just in case your anxiety did get the best of you, as it did sometimes. Meeting new people always caused it to go nearly haywire because of the fact that there is a ton of pressure on making a good first impression, and as a perfectionist, you hate messing things up, full stop. So, having someone there to help you should anything go wrong was amazing, and you were so grateful to have such a good friend in Tara. 

Pulling up to Jake’s, and now Johnnie’s, home, you immediately got out with Tara, and she just walked in like she owned the place. In a certain sort of way, you guessed that she kind of did. She did use to spend nearly all her time here, so she may as well have co owned it right along with Jake. She still had a key, Jake hadn’t wanted it back, so here she was again, going straight to the fridge and announcing her entrance by cracking open a random can of some drink, probably alcoholic, knowing that Jake often threw parties at his place. They were some impressive parties, and you respected his ability to go that all out with that many people there. Tara did the same, but you always left the house on nights she did that. 

You noticed a person sitting on the couch, looking up as Tara walked in, and it definitely wasn’t Jake, so you assumed that this person was Johnnie. You couldn’t deny the immediate attraction that you felt towards him, as you had always had a thing for the alternative scene style. The multiple piercings on his face just added to the pull you’d felt for him, as you had quite a few yourself. You couldn’t stop your thoughts from wandering about how his lip piercings would feel against yours, what it would be like to trace his tattoos with your fingers while laying next to him, and you needed to shake yourself out of those thoughts before you turned red and embarrassed yourself. When you did just that, it took you a moment to realize that he was speaking to you. 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Jake’s roommate, Johnnie, as you probably already guessed.” 

Shaking yourself out of your daze, you introduced yourself with a smile on your face, turning back to walk over to where Tara was sitting at the bar. You gave her an incredulous look, one that she had seen so often. It was your “what the fuck” look. She had a defensive look on her face, not sure what you were about to say. 

“You didn’t tell me his roommate was hot.” 

Tara now returned her own incredulous look, glancing over at Johnnie before returning her eyes to you.

“Him? I mean, he’s cute, but he’s not really my type. I knew he was yours though, thought it might help you loosen up a bit or whatever if there was some level of attraction.” 

You could strangle Tara right now, but you knew that maybe it would work out for the better. It was shortly after that that Jake walked into the room, hugging you both, and asking if you’d introduced yourself to Johnnie. You said that you had, to which Jake gave a playful eyebrow wiggle and a short comment about “he’s hot, no?” You rolled your eyes, ignoring your best friend and grabbing some chips out of the bag that he had laid out on the counter. He tried to reach for it, and you snatched it out of the way of his hand, angling it to where Tara could grab some out of it. He of course exaggerated his reaction to this, throwing a hand over his heart and feigning offense. 

“I’m being ganged up on! Johnnie, help me, two on two?” 

His friend cracked a smile but shook his head staying on the couch. 

“No way. I’m not getting involved in this, you never pick fights against Tara, let alone her friends too.” 

You tossed the chip bag over to Johnnie, smiling at his support of you and Tara against Jake. The rest of the night went perfectly, and you and Johnnie really hit it off. As much as you hated to admit it, Tara had been right, and you ended up enjoying yourself. And after a little bit of encouragement from Jake, which basically meant that he yelled at you and Johnnie to kiss and go get a room, pushing you towards each other, you woke up the next morning to see a text from a new number that you hadn’t saved in your phone yet. 

+1 (978) - 495 - 6506 : Last night was fun. I really like you, are you free for lunch today?

~ taglist : @jake-and-johnnies-slut @gvf23 @elliem505 @ilydeaky @maryx2xx @oobleoob @aemrsy @blahbel668 @mystic-maniac @maddytheweird @707xn @jasperthefriendlyghostt

~ if you'd like to be added to my johnnie and jake taglist, click here!

~ my inbox is open, come chat!! <3

[soullumii]

if my heart’s gonna break | joel miller x f!reader

part 1 (read part 1 before reading this!)

summary: a couple nights later, you head back to joel’s

warnings: 18+!!!! smut again. unprotected piv. fem!afab!reader. angst again don’t worry i’ll make a happy ending okay

word count: 4k

joel mod in gif is by speclizer (so fucking hot oh my GODDDD)

a/n: finally finished part 2 omg i’m sorry for the wait yall… i’m a perfectionist it’s lowkey debilitating. anyways… i hope u guys enjoy <3 tysm for the support on part 1 and tbh on all my other fics too… i can’t believe ppl like my writing that much. i am very grateful! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

im scared but if my heart's gonna break before the night will end

i said we're in danger

sleeping with a friend

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

You cant stop thinking about the kiss. 

The kiss that honestly shouldn’t mean so much to you. You’ve kissed him, like, so many times. So many times his tongue has been in your mouth, been in your damn vagina. So why the fuck… why the fuck are you so worked up over this right now?

It’s just…it was so heavy. It felt like…like more than just a kiss. Like he was laying his life down for you, much like he does in patrols. 

He… Joel… he usually never kisses right after sex. He recognizes in the post-coitus energy that things are different. They mean more. He has to know that. So… why now? Does he…?

No. You’re just in your head again. Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard. You’ve never had a friends with benefits situation before now. Maybe this… maybe this is regular.

But for your own psyche, you think you might have to set some ground rules. 

There was always that main rule, that wretched, critical rule. The one you said to him on the first day of your strange exchange.

“Don’t go falling in love with me, cowboy.”

Well, to hell with that one, right? Pretty sure you’ve beaten that shit to death. Shattered all possible remains of it.

So more rules. More rules will have to do. Starting with:

No kissing.

Should be easy enough. 

You’ll figure out the rest later. You have got to stop thinking about it, though, because you’re on the way to his house right now. 

You knock swiftly on the door, and you swear you feel your heart drop into your pussy the moment he opens the door to reveal himself. A plain, black t-shirt is stretched across his broad chest, haphazardly tucked into a pair of plaid pajama pants that hang loosely around his hips. His graying hair is ruffled beyond belief, curling around his ears and falling over his forehead. In your fits of passion and desire a couple nights ago, you hardly realized it had grown longer. It looks nice.

This sleepy and soft Joel is not one you’ve seen in a while. Well, it’s not like you’ve seen him much lately anyway, with him having been gone and all. Still, it’s disorienting. 

“Howdy,” he says.

“Um. Hi.” You try not to gawk. “Did…did I come at a bad time, or something?”

“No, not at all. I just got back from patrols… took a shower,” he says, leaning a shoulder against the door jamb, strong arms crossing over his chest. There’s a tiny, barely perceptible smirk on his lips. “Need somethin’?”

You see it now, the water clinging to his hair, darkening it, beading at his temples like sweat. You follow a line of water trickling down his throat until it disappears behind his collar.

Rule 2: Don’t come over after he’s showered.

“I…uh, I can come back later if you want—“

You’re nervous to ask him what you want to ask him, which is honestly ridiculous considering you guys have been doing this for months now. You used to be able to just knock on his door and he’d pull you in, and it was that easy. Or you’d give him a look when in public, and he knew exactly what you needed.

Now, you’re painfully awkward. Curse him and curse your feelings.

He straightens a bit, his brows furrowing in slight concern. “What’s goin’ on?”

Heat spreads down your neck, embarrassment. Shame. It’s strange, how just a couple nights ago you let him finger you in public, and now you’re afraid to ask him for sex again in his house and for your panties back.

You should honestly just say something like:

I’m here for my underwear.

And you’re positive he’d say:

Want it back? You gotta earn it, sweetheart.

And your knees would buckle and you’d sink down to the carpeted floor in front of his couch and suck him off until he was coming down your throat, stroking back your hair and thumbing his cum on your plush bottom lip.

But instead you’re scowling at him and blurting: “I need a drink.”

How dare he leave you high and dry for three weeks, come back and fuck the shit out of you, make you realize you’re in love with him, and look this good?

God damnit, you need to get your shit together. 

Joel’s eyes widen, surprised only slightly by your outburst, before he backs up to allow you inside his home. When he shuts the door behind you, his hand settles warmly on your lower back as he steers you toward the kitchen.

He immediately beelines for the liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of red for you. A warm, tingly feeling stirs in your stomach at the fact that he knew you’d want wine. The frustration you’ve been feeling fizzles out. 

“You know me so well.”

He gives you a light smirk, uncorking the bottle. The liquor gurgles as he pours it into a glass. “Think you’d kill me if I didn’t know after all this time.”

You laugh, “Sure, but the real test of friendship is if you knew how I’d kill you.”

“A swift kick to the nuts and then one of my guitars to my head.”

Your eyes widen on a guffaw. “You think I’d damage one of your guitars?”

“You care more about my guitars than my genitals?” 

“Yes. Why would I ever smash one of your guitars?”

He rolls his eyes. “Kill two birds with one stone—my soul and my body. It’s effective. If you needed to kill me, I’d hope it was like that. Now how would I kill you?” 

You hum in consideration. “Trick question. You wouldn’t—no, you couldn’t.”

“You know me so well.” 

His words mirrored back at you so gently, with his brown eyes trained on you intently has the warmth in your belly spreading, making you drop your gaze.

His smirk grows and he hands you the wine glass and reaches for some homemade brandy. You watch the muscles in his arm flex as he pours, sipping daintily while your mind replays thoughts of filth. Of you dragging that arm between your legs, grinding down on it until—

“So, you really only here for a drink?” He asks with a playful lilt, taking a sip of his own beverage and effectively jolting you out of your daydreaming.

You lean against the island, wondering if you should tell him the truth. From the way he’s looking at you, hungrily and heated, like a lion ready to pounce, you’re tempted to.

But…you’re afraid. You can’t stop thinking about The Rule. The one you broke and the ones you just made. You wonder if whatever might happen between you two tonight will unravel them before you can even put them into place.

You look up at him through your lashes, lips pursed around the rim of the glass. “Maybe, maybe not.”

His eyes darken, tongue darting out to lick his lips of sweet fermented wine. His gaze travels up and down your figure, comfortable and breathable in a t-shirt and shorts. Nothing fancy and cute like your sundress from the other night, because today you had to work. But Joel has never minded what you’ve worn, swearing you always look sexy in anything.

Which is something that also makes you question this friends with benefits situation you have here.

He sets his glass down and eases in closer, curling an arm around your waist to pull you into him. “How high’s the chance then?”

“…What do you mean?”

“I mean what’s the probability that you really did only come here for a drink?” he drawls, eyes following your lips as your tongue dips out to wet them. “Or was there another reason?”

The cold tip of his nose brushes along your throat, lips ghosting over your skin. You tremble in his hold. “Odds are in favor of the first option,” you breathe, “ran out of alcohol at my place.”

“And you couldn’t just stop by the Bison? Had to steal from my stores?”

“You know you have the good stuff.”

“You’re lyin’ but I’ll pretend like you ain’t.”

That makes you laugh, and more tumble out of you when one of his hands traces lazily over your stomach, fingers light and delicate and teasing.

“So why d’ya need a drink?”

Because you’re driving me crazy. Because I’m driving myself crazy. Because the universe wants to fuck me over.

You smile and your free hand skates up his muscled back, your fingers brushing along the stretchy fabric of his tee, your voice soft. “Just needed to destress a little. Work has been intense.”

He grins back, presses it into the spanse between your throat and your shoulder, before he lightly scrapes his teeth over it and lays a gentle bite that has you keening into him, pressing your body against his.

“Well, I could help you destress another way too,” he murmurs, palm squeezing the pudgy flesh of your waist, fingers digging lightly into your muscle.

“Mm… yeah?” you hum, your voice a low purr, back arching. Your breasts press into his chest, and Joel makes a sound deep in his throat in agreement.

He presses you into the island, caging you in with his hands on either side of you. He towers over you, a sweatpant clad leg sliding between yours. 

He leans down to kiss you, and a flashing light blares in your mind — NO KISSING — loud and bright and distracting. You turn your head at the last second, his lips landing on your cheek. But Joel doesn’t pull back, doesn’t question you. He just kisses down your cheek, along your jaw, mouthing at you. Sucking your skin to leave little marks that will either fade or be covered by concealer. 

It used to upset you when he left marks because they’re a pain to cover up. Then, you started to like it. You didn’t mind covering up the marks because when you took the makeup off and saw them at the end of the day, all you could think about was him. About the how he made you come. About the words he muttered in your ear. About the feeling of his hands on you—in you. 

Now, you’re starting to grow upset again, but this time it’s because you want to wear them proudly. Want people to know he gets to claim you like this. But… you can’t. But you also don’t want him to stop.

You allow him to continue marking you up, his hand coming up to rest behind your skull, holding you in place. You press your body into his eagerly and with desperate, soft noises that he returns with placating moans.

And then he shifts, and his thigh ruts against your clothed core, and you moan lightly, airily, grinding your hips down against him, searching for any friction. 

His hands curl around the hem of your white tee, and he peels it off your body. One skates behind your back to easily undo the clasp of your bra, and then your breasts are heavy and on display for him. 

Joel stares down at you with heavy eyes. “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Longing claws at your chest, and you look up at him coyly, your lip caught between your teeth. Joel groans like he’s in pain, and squeezes along the underside of one of your breasts before leaning down to close his mouth over the nipple while his other hand gives attention to the other, squeezing and pinching. Your hands find purchase in his damp hair as low moans tumble from your lips. 

When he’s deemed one nipple adequately appreciated, he moves onto the next. Licking, revering, his dark eyes peering up at you while his peppered hair is fisted in your hands. The sight has slick arousal pooling in your underwear.

Eventually he pulls back and his hands clamp down on your hips. He guides you along the muscle of his thigh, your clit pulsing at the contact. 

“Want you to come on my thigh, baby.” His voice is a ragged slur of words against your ear, warm and paired with a kiss to your cartilage. 

“Fuck…yes, Joel,” you whimper, sparks flying through your nerves with each roll of your hips.

His fingers grip your chin, tilting your head so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with him as you rut against his thigh. He’s grinning, eyes heavy lidded and deep, dark like wet tar. They suck you in as if they were quicksand.

You’d let him drag you under a million times over. 

Your best friend.

“Joel,” you moan, feeling yourself grow close. Standing at the cliff's edge. His eyes bore into yours, his grin slipping as he focuses on you. Focuses on making you shatter atop him.

“Come on, baby. You can do it. You can come,” he says encouragingly,  fingers stroking the skin of your hip. You feel tears prick your eyes as the waves crash, spreading from your throbbing clit along your muscles. Filling you with warmth, stronger and deeper than the buzz from the wine.

“Good job,” he praises gently. “Did so good.”

“Shut up,” you huff.

He laughs, and despite yourself, heat floods your body, throbs between your thighs. His words caress a deep, carnal animal inside of you, and the hunger takes over.

You frantically pull at his shirt until he has to tell you to slow down, and takes it off himself. Your hands run along his chest and stomach the moment they’re able to and down to the waistband of his sweats. You palm his hardening cock through the soft, gray fabric. Joel groans deep and heavy, his lashes fluttering as he stares you down. His hips thrust into your palm automatically. Involuntarily. 

God, that makes you light up like a firefly. Makes your nerves sing and your cunt flutter and your mind go numb.

He tugs down your shorts and underwear and sets you on top of the granite, but before he can strip the underwear from your ankle to no doubt pocket this pair like he did the other, you flick it off your foot across the kitchen. It lands somewhere near the door to the dining room.

He can’t steal all your underwear, or you’ll have none left.

“I wanted those,” he drawls, expression on the edge of a pout.

“Yeah, well I need them. It’s not common to come across a good pair of panties in this world.” 

“But I’d give ‘em back.” He’s full on pouting now. It is, unfortunately, very cute, but you’re used to it.

“Sure… like the pair you took from me the other night that I have yet to receive.” 

“How else am I supposed to get you to come over?” 

“I dunno? Maybe ask?”

“Should I leave a note on your door? Is that good enough for you?”

“At least be classy. A letter delivered in my mailbox with a wax stamp, please.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Princess.”

He finally peels off his sweatpants, free of underwear beneath them, and you watch with barely concealed hunger as his cock springs free. 

And while you like the idea of him fucking you on the counter, you’d much rather him fuck you against the counter, so you hop down and turn so your back faces him. Your hands curl around the granite lip of the counter top, and you push your ass out and back, peering at him over your shoulder.

This way, it’s easier for him not to kiss you. Easier for you to turn your head and deny your lips to him. 

“Look at you…” Joel hums appreciatively at your show, at the wiggle of your hips as his palm smooths down your back and over your ass, squeezing at the plump flesh. 

You moan quietly, and Joel’s eyes darken, watching you intently like you’re the only thing in the room. 

His fingers drift down to your cunt and your slickness coats his fingers fully. You’re so wet for him. So ready for him to bury himself inside you and call you his.

It’s funny, you’ve lost all your heat from a few nights ago. All your sharp edged words. Now, you’re soft and pliant.

He swirls his soaked index and middle fingers along your clit, punctuating your sensitivity, before sliding them back inside you to the knuckle. You keen and push back, desperate for more. His fingers are so much longer than yours, thicker, and yet you crave more.

“That’s it, Joel,” you huff. “Fuck, feels so good. Need more.”

“Yeah? Tell me what you need, baby girl.”

Shame lights your cheeks, but you push down the embarrassment. “Need…need your cock inside me.”

He lays a kiss on your neck. “Still a bit desperate aren’t we?”

“You’re the desperate one, Mr. Panty Stealer. You’re a fucking creep.”

He chuckles against your neck, but he squeezes your ass in retaliation. “Be nice, would you?”

“You like it when I’m mean.”

“Wanna see how much I like it?”

“If you’re willing to show me and get on with this, sure.”

He huffs in amused frustration. “God, you’re annoyin’.”

You just smile innocently at him.

Your legs tremble, slick running down your thighs when Joel pulls his fingers out. He replaces them with the hardness of his cock, of which he runs along your wetness, readying himself.

“I think ‘bout you way too much,” he says into your back, pressing a gentle kiss there. “D’ya think ‘bout me too?”

It’s an odd question. One you’re not expecting. One that has your heart stuttering in quiet confusion from this sudden switch in tone.

“Of course I do.” Obviously. You told him as much. Three weeks. Three weeks you thought about him.

“Good… wanna be the only thing on your mind.”

A high pitched keen hisses through your teeth as Joel eases himself inside you with a long, slow stroke and a low moan. Your fingers white knuckle the countertop, gripping it tightly.

He presses in close, burying himself all the way in before he withdraws slowly, his cock sliding inside you torturously. 

“Joel,” you moan.

“I know, baby.” He presses kisses to your shoulders. 

Joel’s hand gravitates to the back of your knee, and he slowly pushes up to lift your leg until your knee is resting on the counter. 

And then… with this new angle…he starts fucking you in earnest.

His hips snap against your ass, the sound deafening in the kitchen, and you crumple against the granite with a moan.

“Shit,” Joel grunts. “Yeah.”

Each of his heavy thrusts punches the air from your lungs, and your fingers slip on the countertop, scrabbling for purchase every chance you can get. He’s hot, thick inside you, warm as he folds over you, his hand on your tummy holding you upright, the other keeping your leg up to continue hitting you at that pleasant, delicious angle.

“H-holy shit—oh—“

He breathes heavily at your neck, low grunts and moans escaping his lips from his efforts. “Could spend eternity inside you, darlin’. Fuck, you’re mine.”

Your heart stutters, the words uttered in a lust filled craze, likely meaning nothing. But to your traitorous brain, to the hope lingering in your chest like a persistent cough, they mean everything. 

“All…” you’re losing your train of thought, fucked into blissful nothingness. “All yours, Joel.” 

It’s too difficult for him to kiss you from this angle, which you’re relieved about. But a part of you longs for it, longs for the feel of his mouth moving against yours. 

Joel’s strong arm wraps around your chest, and pulls you up so you’re flush against his back as he pounds up and into you. Keens and whimpers and breathless pants escape you with every thrust.

“Please, Joel,” you cry, tears pricking at the edges of your swirling vision.

“What, baby?” He huffs. “Need’a come?”

You nod crazily. “Yes—need to—“

“Shhh okay… I’ve got you,” he murmurs gently, the hand wrapped around your tummy inching down to circle at your clit steadily.

Your legs buckle beneath you but Joel keeps you upright as the pleasure soars through you, sudden and strong. He strokes you through it, groaning praises into your ear before he comes inside you a moment later. 

The two of you hiss in tandem when he pulls out, but he smothers it when he lays his mouth over yours. You’re hardly coherent enough to remember your rule, and for a moment you let him kiss you. You kiss him back, chasing the heat of his mouth with your own, moaning against his lips when his tongue dips into your mouth. 

Then, you remember.

You pull back panting, cheeks a flame, “Joel.”

“Hm?” He murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw before moving back up to pull you into another kiss. You move away before he can. His brows furrow in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t… I don’t think we should kiss anymore.”

He blinks. “What? Why?”

Your eyes flit across the kitchen, catching on labeled jars and wooden spoons and spices, anything but his own. “It’s too intimate.” 

It’s a lame excuse. Joel sees through it immediately.

“And my cock inside you ain’t?”

You sigh heavily, avoiding eye contact. “It’s different.”

“How? Enlighten me.” His tone has gone rougher. Hurt swirls in his eyes, and you feel worse than you did the other night.

Because you and I are friends. Because I don’t think I can pretend like that’s the truth when all I want is to call you mine. Because when I kiss you it’s like my world finally starts to make sense. 

“Please, Joel. Just…I don’t want to do it anymore. Can you respect that, please?”

He runs a hand down his beard, his hurt expression hardening into a stoic one you haven’t been on the receiving end of in years. Fuck. “Alright, I’m sorry. I won’t kiss you anymore.”

You expect relief but all that comes is a deep longing and sadness that you try to push to the depths of your conscience. Though, like a buoy, it keeps popping above the surface. 

“Thanks,” you say quietly.

The cleanup is awkward. He watches you silently as you pick up your underwear and slide them and your shorts back on. He seems far away, here and gone all at once. It makes you worry, makes you wonder if what you just said was the biggest mistake of your life.

But you have to do this. You have to hold him at arm's length because if you admit to him…if you tell him how you really feel… maybe he really will leave you. He’ll realize you’ve gone and fucked everything up, and the friendship you’ve kindled, the trust you’ve built, will all be for nothing.

You can’t lose him, even if it means you can’t keep him close.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say eventually, when he’s walking you out the front door.

He smiles at you, faint and untrue. It’s like the one from the other night. Like that laugh he forced out for you. You feel like a Joel from the past has teleported to the present, with his thin smile and his hard eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

“You okay?”

Joel frowns, shifts on his feet. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno. You just seem… I don’t know. Never mind.”

“I’m good.” 

“You sure?”

He nods. “You need me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum. A moth circles the porch light. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment. He looks as if he wants to say something, but thinks better of it.

“Okay,” is all that he says. 

“Okay,” you repeat, feeling empty. A waif, a lonely white flag waving in the wind. “Um, I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Night, darlin’,” he says, squeezing your arm, like he’s trying to be normal. It doesn’t work. His hand is cold. “Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Joel.”

It’s raining by the time you reach your house, and you curl under your blankets after a shower, your hair cold and wet against your scalp, listening to the droplets splattering against your window.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

part 3

[jungkookstatts]

Massage Envy

[Summary]: Jungkook’s been stressed these days. What’s a better way to relax him other than a massage?

[Theme]: Established relationship!AU

[Rating]: 18+, explicit content, blow job, slight ass play, fluff if you squint, lots of making out, very sensual lovin’

[Word Count]: 4,939

[Author’s Note]: This is so descriptive 😀. I wanna say this was one of the first fan fics I wrote…at least of JK. So, bare with it. I tried to edit my terrible writing as much as I could ㅜㅡㅜ

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

“Feel good?” you question as you dig your thumbs into your boyfriend’s shoulders. You sigh happily, knowing that the man beneath you is receiving some form of release, as your fingers circulate into his honey skin. The knots in Jungkook’s muscles completely unravel beneath your fingertips, and you’re determined to unravel every last one of them for the rest of the night. He deserves it, anyways.

You wanted to give your boyfriend relief after the hell he put himself through this week. Jungkook knew it too – his body was too spent to deny help at this point, and the only person he is comfortable with seeing himself this way is you. So, of course, he readily gave himself to you, allowing you to rub away at the damage and replace it with your tender touches.

Jungkook groans in response to you, languidly nodding his head against the pillows. Sitting just below his ass, you press his body further into your shared mattress as you continue to work your hands lovingly into his skin.

Your boyfriend lies face-down on his side of the bed; his long, black hair is fanned out across the silk cover of the pillowcase, creating a little black halo of hair around his skull. The room is somewhat dark, only Jungkook’s table lamp lighting up the small corner of your shared bedroom. The light perfectly reflects the shine of his hair, and you can’t help but admire how well taken care of it is as he shifts his head into a non-verbal “yes”.

“I lovfe yhou sooooo much, bahbe–” Jungkook muffled against the pillow, his face totally smushed in the depths of the fabric. He sounds completely relaxed – voice scratchy and spent – as he allows himself to completely surrender to your touch.

Flustered at his confession, you work your thumbs harder into the knots on his shoulders, loving the way he immediately tenses and then relaxes as you smooth out the tightness within them.

Jungkook came home from practice today tense as a board. His muscles were rock hard, he couldn’t seem to sit still or take the time to breathe correctly, and he had a headache so frustrating and annoying he looked as if he was going to cry.

For the past few days, the man’s been training nonstop, working his body to the breaking point on one day and then working past that point on the next. You knew telling him to just “calm down” or “take a break” would fly right past his head – in one ear and out the other. It is not very useful advice, either. But you’re not good with words, and you didn’t have the right ones to say at the moment, either.

Your boyfriend is stubborn and is probably the most meticulous perfectionist you know; finding a way to comfort him when he is like this is not easy. He almost always goes his own way to get things done, refusing to allow anyone to interfere or help. Jungkook has told you before that it is like receiving a punch to the face when someone notices he looks off or thinks that he needs help with something he has been working on really hard on his own. He wants to appear strong and capable, regardless of his condition. Especially to you.

It has gotten better over time, though. The longer you explore each other, the better he feels about reaching out to you for comfort or help. You love seeing the transformations the two of you have overcome within yourselves since starting a relationship all those years ago. You two have really changed so much.

The smile on your face as Jungkook willingly slumped against you at the mention of a massage reminded you of that change. How, if you were to ask him if you could give him one because of his state a few years ago, he would have totally missed out on the opportunity. But now, he completely embraces your help, your concern, all of you, and all of himself – flaws and all.

“Love you, too,” you chuckle before leaning down to kiss his shoulder affectionately. Reaching for the peach-scented body oil on his nightstand, you quickly pop the lid open and tilt the bottle over his back. The oil slowly trickles onto his skin, the shallow lighting making the liquid on his honey skin all the more self-evident. It tempts you as it slides down his back in slow, thick drops.

“You need to take better care of yourself, babe,” you reprimand him as you spread the oil down to his lower back. “You can’t continue to improve if you don’t listen to your body.”

You watch the pinkish oil smear between your fingers as you touch his skin. The intimacy of the moment and the low lighting of the room makes something within you stir. Giving each other massages isn’t a foreign task between you two. In fact, they’ve developed into small mannerisms of affection in your relationship. They usually shift between gentle rubs on the shoulders while waiting for the other to finish up some online work, a hand massage whilst holding hands, or a tummy rub after eating one too many king-sized spicy ramen bowls. They are small gestures that both you and Jungkook admire.

But something about this massage – right when he needs it the most – makes the butterflies in your tummy relentlessly flutter their wings. The fluster it creates within you prompts you to circle your thumbs deeply along the outer muscles of his spine. Judging from the way he physically jolts as you work the area, you assume that the muscles there were abused the most over the last few days. You keep that in mind as you continue kneading his back.

“Mmhmmm – ahh jagiya — right there,” he groans, dismissing your earlier statement. The way your hands have found nearly every sore spot on his back has Jungkook completely blissed out. It feels so good – almost orgasmic, even – when your fingers rub away at the tension he ignored for so long. It has him thanking the heavens for your wonderful hands and simultaneously cursing at himself for not acknowledging them more in the past.

He must worship them later, he’s decided.

Listening to your boyfriend, you move your fingers firmly down near the lowest parts of his spine, which evokes an even deeper moan from his throat. You can hear it loud and clear, even though the front of his body is pushed like a brick against the sheets as you work your hands on him. It’s so deep, it sends heavy shocks throughout his entire body (and yours).

Sitting on top of him, you can’t help but blush. You aren’t a rock – of course, his moans would spark the dirtiness within you to flush your cheeks into a dark hue. No matter the innocent intent you had prior to the massage, you can’t deny your boyfriend’s reactions to your touches make your pussy ache for more.

He sounds so sexy and raptured. The way he groans when you hit the spots he can’t reach, and the way he whines when you massage the spots that are the tensest – all of it has your cheeks hot and your thighs feeling like jello. You wonder if he can feel the pool between your thighs grow with each moan that physically vibrates through his body and straight to your core.

But this massage is not about you, and these dirty thoughts have no place here. Especially when you’re trying so graciously to knead his muscle-y, hot, tense, sexy back with domestic care. Yep, they have no place here. No place at all. Even though the angle you sit at gives you the perfect view of his toned ass. In fact, you have the perfect view of his entire backside. With every massage against a sore spot, his thighs flex underneath you and unknowingly lift you higher until they relax again.

It’s all too much…his back, skin, ass, thighs, arms… the way he whimpers and moans and tenses from your fingers alone. How can you stay innocent when sounds so sweet underneath you?

You can’t help but want to please him in a different way now – still with your hands, and still to bring him to the pit of relaxation. Just…in a different area…for a different part of the brain.

Your stare wanders around his back. His broad shoulders are wide and stretched out for you, his forearms resting just underneath his pillow while his biceps poke out from the pillow like a triangle, supporting his head from underneath. The skin of his shoulders teases you with memories of when they had the reddest of scratches and the purplest of love bites covering the large surface. You have to make him feel that kind of good tonight. Maybe even better.

Challenging him, you lift your ass off his upper thighs and bring your lips to the very base of his neck before kissing the skin there softly. It’s feather-light, testing the waters before you dive in. You can feel the goosebumps appear under the hand that still works his muscles at his lower back. The other slowly slides up the side of his chest with ease. With the help of the oil, your hand against his warm skin slides like silk underneath your fingertips, feeling his body underneath you slowly and sensually.

Jungkook shivers as your mouth hovers above his skin, waiting for what you’ll do next. He gulps as you make your next move, sucking on the skin you just kissed. Your tongue is so hot and wet, lapping and sucking at his skin with slow passion. He whimpers underneath you, loving the way your touch turned from moral to intimate.

Jungkook would be lying if he said the whole experience wasn’t just as sexy for him, too. You turned him on from the moment you sat on the back of his thighs and dripped the hot oil onto his back. Your heat is so obvious to him – your heartbeat thumping through your pussy, gathering more heat against his thighs with each garbled moan and whimper that left his mouth. You are basically dripping through your night shorts. Although, he cannot tease you for it, because his own cock painfully pokes against the fabric of the mattress as you sit on his ass.

Your hand pressing on his lower back parallels the motion of your hand on the opposite side, just underneath his arm. Both glide to his upper back with the help of the oil as you begin to kiss down his spine. You manage to find a place between a few pecks against his spine to whisper, “Turn around for me,”

And he does in a heartbeat, immensely determined to feel you on his lap. Jungkook doesn’t know if he can wait anymore. He wants to feel you brushing against his length as you spread oil all over his chest and abs. He wants your hands on him again, to feel your fingers torture his skin and keep him begging for more. The thought alone has blood rushing straight to his already straining cock in his tight boxers.

Once settled, you softly plop yourself right on top of his dick, sending him a smirk whilst his jaw tightens at the feeling of his cock resting beneath your core. Jungkook looks at you with need, his bottom lip tortured underneath his front teeth as he watches you start to move your hips tremendously slow against his.

You can feel the way his dick twitches when you place your oily hands firmly against his lower abs, slowly moving up toward his nipples. You rest your hand flat on his chest, trapping his nipples between your index and middle finger. Jungkook lets out an airy grunt as you leisurely bring the two digits together, gently pinching the sensitive buds between them. Jungkook’s breath hitches in his chest as you start to move your fingers with his nipples trapped between them, the sensitivity exciting him beyond belief.

Your hands leave his nipples and continue their northern journey up to his clavicles, then to his neck, and finally his jaw. Softly holding his face in your hands, you lower your face to his. Jungkook’s eyes close in anticipation, his face gently pressing up towards yours, expecting to be kissed. He whines when you antagonize him with just a light brush of your lips against his.

Jungkook breathes deeply against your mouth, exhaling in torment and inhaling with the highest level of self-control he can muster.

“Please,” he begs just above a whisper.

Eyes closed and a tortured wrinkle between his brows, he waits for your lips to break the tension. He is so patient and willing tonight, so you decide to reward him with a firm press of your lips to his, moving against his soft mouth surely.

You can feel the vibration of the moan he lets out from his lips smacking against yours. His voice travels straight to your core, prompting your hips to circle his own faster in search of friction.

Jungkook swipes his tongue against your lips, feeling the desire for your tongue to dance with his own. His hands come up to your jaw, holding you in place against his mouth as if you’d run away if he didn’t hold you there himself.

Jungkook grunts at the way your hips harshly grind against his. He wants more of you – he always wants more of you – but his head is too fuzzy with pleasure to think straight. You’re kissing him stupid.

His body acts on its own, his large hands moving from your jaw to under your night shirt. Hot palms follow his desire to feel you as he cups the area just under your boobs, thumbs swiping back and forth against the skin underneath them. He can feel your heartbeat thumping rapidly underneath his palm, prompting him to lightly circle his thumb over the aroused area of your breast. Jungkook’s mouth still moves in tandem with yours as he tweaks your nipples in between his fingertips.

Jungkook groans at the way you gently bite on his lower lip before trailing your kisses down to his neck. He only gets louder when you find his sweet spot before he can even process the fact that you’re sucking on his neck. Jungkook’s head falls back onto the pillows as his hands move down to grip your ass in his hands. Groping both cheeks firmly, he pulls them apart before grinding them down harshly onto his bulge, giving one of them a harsh smack out of his pure arousal.

You attack his neck, forming bruise after bruise on his precious skin. Your boyfriend flushes his body into yours from pleasure. You want to wreck him so badly. Feeling evil and lustrous, you bite his sweet spot hard, overcome by the man underneath you. Jungkook’s mouth falls open at the feeling, head pressing further against the cushion of the pillow.

Still kissing his neck, you reach for the bottle on the nightstand, pop the lid open with your thumb, and tip the bottle over his chest. The oil runs all over his tanned skin, slowly covering it with a teasing glow over his chest and abs. Raising your head, you stare down at the man beneath you lovingly, looking into his eyes with lust as you continue to grind on his cock firmly.

Your hands venture from his chest to his clavicles, shoulders, arms, and hands, and then back to his pecks, stopping briefly to play with his nipples again.

Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat as you roll them between your fingers, his eyes fluttering slightly as he tries his hardest to keep eye contact with you.

Impulsively, his hips buck into your own when you come down to suck one into your mouth, licking and biting at the sensitive area of his chest. Jungkook tries to control his breathing, he really does, but it feels so good. Too good. And you haven’t even touched his dick yet.

Grinning at the way his chest uncontrollably tightens from your mouth, you reach for more oil before dripping the liquid down his abs. It trickles over his pack, the six defined rolls acting as hills when the oil attempts to slip over each one.

Picking up the pace, you move your hips faster against him. You watch his eyes flutter closed, enjoying the way your thinly clothed core rubs against the front of his Calvin’s. His cock is completely hard and throbbing against you. You’re driving him mad with everything that is you. He could cum right now if you’d let him, but he knows better.

Fingers spreading the oil across his abs, you enjoy the way your boyfriend’s eyebrows fuse together in pure satisfaction. Jungkook’s head feels dazed and light when you begin to kiss him on the skin just below his ear.

“Look at me, Jungkook,” you whisper against the cartilage of his ear.

Jungkook shivers at your voice in his ear, listening to your breathy sighs against his skin, feeling your wet lips kiss him from his ears to his neck, to his chest, all the way down to his clothed dick behind his black boxers. He stares at you like you asked him to, watching you intensely as you rest between his thighs, lightly kissing his covered shaft.

Jungkooks fists ball the sheets beside him, his head falling back at the feeling before quickly returning back to your gaze.

“Please,” he begs you again, cheeks flushed, ears red, and breath heavy from the teasing you have given him. He tries his best not to buck his hips at you, channeling the desire in his throat instead, swallowing harshly and waiting patiently to be touched.

Jungkook groans when he watches your mouth lick from his base to tip on the thin fabric, tongue teasing his cock.

“Nghhh–” he whines, briefly tilting his head back again in an effort to keep his control. “Fuck, please, baby. I need you so bad.”

Wrapping your lips around his clothed head, you hum deeply against him, sending shocks of ecstasy throughout his entire cock. Jungkook’s thighs tense at the feeling, trying to direct the pressure to his legs instead of having it tempt his vision from falling back again. He needs you, and the only way you will give him what he wants is if he does what is asked of him.

“Okay, baby,” you finally give in, chuckling a little when he sighs loudly in relief. He truly doesn’t know how long he is going to last in your mouth, but he knows for a fact he’s probably going to have one of the best orgasms of his life from just your mouth alone.

Hooking your index fingers under the waistband of his boxers, you slowly and gently tug them down his legs and onto the floor, watching his cock spring up in excitement.

The sight has your mouth watering immediately – dick red and angry, just asking to be sucked on. Licking your lips, you softly cup his balls in one hand and grip the base of his cock in the other. Jungkook’s head falls back, biting his lip so hard he swears he will bleed. His fists scratch at the mattress, trying his best not to release from finally being touched in the area he’s been begging for release from.

“Watch me, Jungkook, or I’ll stop,” you command, giving his balls a squeeze.

“Okay–ffuckk–o-okay,” he moans, quickly bunching up the pillows behind his head to get a better look at you. Jungkook gulps at the sight: your lips are so wet, basically drooling on his cock. Your hands grip his dick in the way he loves best, your face so determined to give him pleasure. He’s never seen anything so goddamn sexy before in his life. And to think you’re all his…the fact makes him go absolutely insane underneath you.

You lick at his tip teasingly, keeping eye contact with him to make sure he’s not taking his eyes off you. Jungkook stares back at you with drunken eyes. He’s flushed and obedient to whatever you do to him, ready for you to play with his pleasure.

You can’t help but give in, teasing him again with your tongue along his frenulum, lapping it up and down on the sensitive fold.

Your hands slowly pump the base of his cock, palms gliding well with the help of the oil from earlier. You don’t go all the way up to his tip, just to edge him further.

“G-god, you’re so fffucking mean,” he laughs tightly in his chest. He’s struggling, but it only makes you smile, loving that he knows that you’re the one in charge tonight.

Looking at his chest as you move your mouth from his frenulum to the tip of his head, smiling at the way he tries to keep his calm when you slick your tongue up and down across the most sensitive part of him. Lips wrapping around his angry tip, you suck him harshly as your wrists flick slowly up and down the rest of his cock, twisting all the way up to your mouth and back down to the base.

“A-ahhh, j-jagi,” Jungkook whines, hands trapping your hair tightly in his fists.

You stare at him the whole time, watching his face go from frustrated to pure euphoria as he struggles to keep his eyes open. After a few more strokes of his cock, one of your twisting hands leaves his dick to skim your fingertip across the skin connecting his balls to his shaft.

Your tongue delves further down his dick, your mouth following afterward, sinking down onto him completely, your nose nudging the skin of his pelvis.

“Nghhh..!” he nearly shouts, legs tensing – almost kicking – against the bedding.

Jungkook’s eyes come back and forth between the back of his skull and your face a few times before you swallow his top at the back of your throat. At this point, his grip on your hair is so tight, your own eyes start to roll back in pleasure.

Jungkook moans so loudly into the empty air of your bedroom that you feel your own slick start to uncomfortably drip down the side of your thigh. Your cunt is pulsing and hot, begging for friction as you deliver pleasure to your sweet boyfriend.

He is just so sexy like this, struggling to follow your demand whilst receiving euphoric pleasure. Your pussy can’t take it anymore, and you suddenly find yourself reaching your free hand down past your night shorts, circling your clit as you trace the outer rim of his ass with your other hand.

Swallowing a few more times around him, you bring your mouth back up to his tip only to sink back down on him again. Gathering a semi-quick pace to fuck him with, you watch his face and thigh muscles contort in euphoric unison. The finger gently plays with his ass coming back and forth between his balls, shaft, and ass as you bob your head up and down on him, your tongue swirling around him altogether.

Jungkook is going absolutely mad, whimpering and moaning as you continue to wrap him around your pretty little finger, watching your beautiful face fuck him with your mouth willingly. Just cause you want to.

It takes everything in him not to say "fuck it" and buck his hips violently into your mouth. He fights his pleasure and your set rule in a bloody war between obedience and desire. You can tell with the way his eyes struggle to not find purchase at the back of his head, and the way his dick twitches in your mouth every so often. His reactions have you rubbing at yourself harder, and before long, you moan into him as your slick gathers around your fingers.

Jungkook hadn't noticed you started touching yourself until now. The slick from your pussy snaps in the air as you harshly rub your fingers against yourself. Jungkook's eyes trail from your face to your hand, circling yourself fast and hard between your legs. At the sight, his thighs tense harshly against you, threatening to close around your body and trap you tightly between his legs. His toes curl at the sight of you touching yourself, the scene so sexy that his cock twitches uncontrollably in your mouth. Pushing a finger into his ass from the loss of eye contact, you watch his eyes and head go back completely, giving up on your request as your finger finds his prostate.

"Ahh, ah—mGHhhh, ba-baby...gonna cum. I'm gonna cum—" He moans euphorically. Jungkook pushes your head down onto his cock quickly, his hips bucking upwards into your throat.

He thrusts into your mouth now, completely disobeying himself and your word. But after seeing you touch yourself just from sucking him off, he can’t listen to anything else but his desire.

You choke against him, tears forming at the edges of your eyes. Jungkook's head seizes deep into the cushion of the pillows, neck tense and strained as he completely empties his balls into your mouth, the hot thick ropes of his release filling you up. You take all of him, refusing to waste a drop.

You keep trailing your finger in, out, and around his balls and ass as you suck his cum into your mouth for what felt like a full minute, watching him pant and moan your name incoherently as he does so. You take it all graciously, enjoying the way his gratefulness for you shows in the way he continues to release himself.

Lifting your mouth from his cock, you rest your forehead against his upper thigh as you whimper and gasp against him. Not soon after, your cunt gushes all over your fingers, letting it soak your panties and shorts. You moan against his thigh while your fingers work through the last few waves of your orgasm.

The two of you breathe harshly against each other for a few minutes. Your bodies sink into the mattress heavily, allowing yourselves to take the time to catch your breath. That is until you break the silence with a shy giggle.

"What's—" He rasps, clearing his throat before continuing. "What's so funny?"

You hum, kissing his thigh lovingly before looking up to his fucked-out face. "You made me cum my pants."

"Heh," He smiles, leaning his head back against the pillows again, giving you a sickeningly hot view of his neck. You watch his Adam's apple move up and down from his next words "Yeah, well, I think you gave me the best head I've ever received in my life. Didn't think sucking cock would make you cum that hard, though."

"I always feel like that when I suck your cock," You smirk, to which Jungkook eyes you, telling you not to make him horny again. You chuckle before climbing up his body to kiss his lips.

Jungkook can't help but smile against you, though still completely dazed from his orgasm. He doesn't care in the slightest that he can taste himself on your lips. He only cares about the way your lips slowly tuck into his in soft, drawn-out motions.

"I love you," You mumble against his cherry lips.

"I love you, too," He smiles sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Thank you for taking care of me. I know I can ignore self-care sometimes, but I'll try to be better. For both you and me."

Smiling at his words, you kiss the tip of his nose before nuzzling your face into his neck, breathing his familiar scent deeply.

"Although, if I get that kind of treatment every time I go overboard..."

You pinch his shoulder, eliciting a sexy chuckle from his chest.

"Shut up, loser. Acknowledge my massage."

Jungkook turns himself into you, pulling you closer into his chest whilst laughing deeply in your ear, his breath lightly tickling the side of your neck.

"Your massage was wonderful," He whispers, kissing your forehead sweetly. "Let me give you one next time, yeah?"

Taking a deep breath against his chest, you tightly wrap your arm under his, hand coming to grab at his shoulder. Jungkook hugs you as you tighten around his body. His fingers gently trap your chin between them, moving your face up to his.

Jungkook stares at you questionably, waiting for a response. He looks at you with one eyebrow raised, and the other relaxed. The tiny mole underneath his bottom lip is extremely visible from where you stare up at him. His cherry lips tempt you yet again, swollen and red from harsh tugs delivered against them earlier this evening. You watch his dark brown eyes stare down at your own puffy lips. He gives in first, letting his lips feel the velvet of your own. Jungkook sighs into you, rubbing your back soothingly as he swipes and brushes his lips against yours like honey.

Pulling away, you look at his face, feeling an overwhelming amount of love surge through your entire body. He keeps his eyes closed, basking in the feeling of your body so close to his.

"I'd like that," You whisper against his cheek. Jungkook opens his eyes again, tugging his lips upwards as he slowly nudges his nose against yours.

After a few more moments, he gently scoops you into his arms, lifting you up in his strong hold, before carrying you to the bathroom to clean you two up.

----

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

[heartbrkr]

a hindrance to peace

SUMMARY You remembered at an inconvenient moment that you weren’t your boyfriend’s first kiss, nor lover.

PAIRING kim sunwoo x gender neutral!reader

GENRE idolverse!au, established relationship, fluff, slight attempt at humor

WORD COUNT 1.6k

WARNINGS a jealous reader and an even more jealous sunwoo, they have a playful argument, two swear words, sunwoo is reader's first bf, nct's haechan mention (you'll see LOL), dialogue heavy

AUTHOR’S NOTE my first tbz/sunwoo fic inspired by this tiktok.. honestly, i'm a bit nervous to post this, but i loved writing it! feedback is greatly appreciated! ☻

MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN!

In between the adrenaline-filled moments with Sunwoo comes its fair share of soft and lingering ones that remind the memory of each other’s outline. Tonight was time for the latter, finding peace in the way your bodies intertwined on the sofa and words exchanged about anything and everything. At least, that was the initial plan.

He was talking about his latest project, accepting an offer to produce another group’s track. You were trying so hard to listen to him describe the vibe of the comeback, but the only thing you could feel was your overflowing pride for him. As a perfectionist, your boyfriend works very hard. You’re beyond delighted to find out that his talents and efforts have been paying off.

Out of excitement, you grab his face with the intention of giving him a congratulatory kiss. You both lean in, prepared to stop talking for the next few minutes, when all of a sudden, a revelation pops into your head:

Remember when he kissed people who weren’t you?

Your eyes are now wide open; you won’t let that slide. Though, you wonder why you’re only realizing it at this very moment. 

Sunwoo’s parted lips hover over yours, but they never meet. Your palms no longer squish his cheeks. Simultaneously, you glare down at his mouth.

“What? What’s wrong?” You see his lips move, but his words don’t process for you.

One of your eyes involuntarily twitches, vividly imagining how Sunwoo’s perfect, plush lips have moulded against ones that aren’t yours, sighed names that don't belong to you, caressed others’ skin with his bare hands. Held his past lovers closer with the intent of never letting go (he eventually did, though, obviously).

He can so clearly see your face morphing deeper in distress with every unpleasant thought that makes its way into your brain; hiding your facial expressions wasn’t exactly your best suit.

“Hey.” He sternly tries to call out, yet you’re still stuck in your sulk. For about a minute, he thought you were pulling a prank on him. But with every passing beat that you don’t acknowledge his attempts to pull you out of your state, he starts to feel dread seep into his body.

Gradually losing his cool, he pats the side of your thighs, face, and eventually finds his hands in your own. He shuts his eyes briefly in relief when he feels you return his touch. However, you still aren’t verbally responding.

You’re trying, though, and Sunwoo catches your mouth opening, only to release a deep breath. As you look for the words to verbalize what’s plaguing your mind, you don’t think you can do it without sounding stupid and petty. You know exactly how he’ll react, and you’re unsure if you’re mentally ready to handle that.

Fuck it, you think to yourself after a bit. Might as well say it now than let it get bigger than it actually is.

“Nothing.”

…Is what you weren’t supposed to say.

As you hesitantly look at his face, his features start to grow with impatience, one of the many things you were avoiding. He cuts you off before you could even sound a letter out of defense.

Sunwoo sighs out exaggeratedly. “Well, it must be so unimportant that you deprived me of a makeout, hm?”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at his tone. “What I meant to say was, I remembered something,” he hums back at you rather impatiently, but you dismiss it, merely raising an eyebrow at him, “that I’m not the only person you’ve kissed.”

“Well, yeah. We have talked about this before. Why are you thinking about my exes when we’re about to kiss?” The plural term he uses only adds a prick to your already agitated nerves.

“But you’re all my firsts. Like, we were made for each other, and you were out there fucking around with people who weren’t me? It isn’t fair.” As you say each word aloud, you’re slowly realizing how unserious this was, but you’ll keep stringing the problem along. That’s what he gets for kissing other girls.

He laughs at you in disbelief with his eyebrows furrowed, just as you expected. “You aren’t serious, are you? Sounds like a you problem that you have zero game.”

Sunwoo tries to steal a teasing peck, but you’re faster to block him with a throw pillow, halfheartedly offended by his comment. “But when I bring up the fact that you shoved Changmin just because I said he was attractive before we were dating…”

Pushing the cushion away from his face and to the floor, he looks back at you with the biggest pout you have ever seen. If it weren’t for the context of your current banter, you would’ve already whipped out your phone to take a photo. “That’s because you aren’t supposed to look at men— and women— who aren’t me!”

“Why are you allowed to get jealous and I’m not?”

The raccoon-resembling man in front of you pauses for half a second, lacking a logical argument to counter you. So he says whatever comes to his mind next: “...Because!”

“Changmin didn’t deserve that, by the way.” “Stop that!”

“Not before you tell me why.” 

He shakes his head violently and laughs, which eventually turns into a series of cut-off whines. “‘Cause my eyes are only on you! You’re the one I think about, no one else. The only time I talked about my exes was ‘cause you brought the topic up, not me!”

Ignoring the fluttering in your stomach, today marked the day that you decided egging a jealous Sunwoo was the best form of personal entertainment. “But if you hid them any longer, wouldn’t you have been lying to me?”

Your boyfriend rubs his hands over his face and dramatically reclines over the sofa’s armrest, his torso gone from your sight. “Yah! You’re insufferable.”

“Someone has to keep up with you somehow.” You tell him before rising from your once comfortable spot. He feels the couch shift when you stand up to get away from him, only furthering the playful argument the both of you are having.

You purposefully pass his line of vision, but it backfires when his hand latches on your ankle, making you jolt in surprise. “No… Get back here…” Trails out of his mouth breathily from the awkward position he’s in.

A few forceful jerks of your leg isn’t enough for him to release you, so you resort to squatting to pinch his arm, which surprisingly works. However, you don’t get far when running away to a Sunwoo-free area, because he’s already right behind you.

He grabs you from your waist, dragging you back to the sofa. You resist his grip but the warmth of his arms is too comfortable to get out of. Intentionally, you make a weak attempt to escape. “Let me go!”

“No.”

“Okay, what if I told you Haechan from NCT was also handsome?”

That was enough for Sunwoo to loosen his hold and turn you around to face him by the doorway of the kitchen, no expression present. You try hard not to laugh at his face, but at the same time contemplating if you were taking this too far.

With the flattest tone he could muster, Sunwoo says to you, “Be serious.”

You couldn’t hold in your laughter any longer, your arms wrapping around him due to cute aggression caused by the man himself. He hugs you back tightly after failing to keep his arms to himself, pretending he’s still upset. Not being able to see his face due to your position, you could only imagine the sulkiest expression gracing his features.

When you pull away from the long embrace, you see the pouty face you visioned. With his cheeks back into your palms, he leans into your touch and you guiltily smile at him. “I’m sorry! I love you, my Sunwoo.”

He smirks at the emphasis on my, feeling the pace of his heart quicken. Of course, nothing gets past you, deciding that a simple mouth twitch was enough to bring up your fresh “fight”.

“Now you apologize. And don’t ask what for, unless you want another round of me pestering you?” His hand flies up to the back of your neck and lays your head on his shoulder, forcing you into another hug. “Nope, no more talking about exes and how you find my friends attractive.” 

There’s a pause between his first and next statement, leaving you patiently (loosely used) waiting for the apology that was asked for. To your surprise, his words were spoken sincerely instead of the sarcasm you anticipated.

“I’m sorry for not taking your existence into consideration when I had other partners before you. Won’t happen again. I love you, I promise you’re it for me.”

Your fondness for him multiplies by the thousands, so you show it by squeezing and swaying him to the fullest. Eventually, you start littering pecks all over his face and Sunwoo catches a glimpse of how your eyes are brimming bright with love. He indulges in the feeling, thanking everything and anything that he has you all to himself.

But you abruptly stop to look at him with an undecipherable expression and he resists letting out an irritated groan, thinking you still haven’t dropped the bickering from a few minutes ago.

Faux confusion appears on your face as you look up to the ceiling, index finger rhythmically tapping your chin. “Actually, I can’t really tell that you like me. Could you show me?” You make eye contact with him again, tilting your head with a pout.

Oh. He can do more than that.

[auras-moonstone]

hi ursula! would you be up to writing jack x reader where she wears his shirt for the first time ever and he’s just mesmerised by her, and kisses her face all over? i think that’d be cute!

sweet nothing — jack champion

word count: 661

pairing: jack champion x fem!reader

summary: jack goes home to his girlfriend and her sweet nothings.

JACK LEFT THE SET WITH THE FEELING OF EXCITEMENT INVADING HIS CHEST. It was an unusual thing to feel after long hours of shooting, but that day was different because Y/N was waiting for him at his house. They were both free the following day so Jack told her to sleep over and spend the next day together.

As he drove towards his home, he could picture her perfectly in his head. She was probably making his favourite food—because she loved to spoil him after tiring days of work—while humming some Taylor Swift song and dancing around the kitchen like a little kid.

And once he parked in the driveway, he sprinted towards the entrance door with a big smile, eager to see his girl. He was instantly hit with the smell of pizza and the sound of her sweet voice. When he reached the kitchen he leaned against the doorframe, and took his time to admire the sight in front of him.

Y/N was standing behind the counter, eyes furrowed in concentration as she carefully put cheese on the pizza—her perfectionist ass wanted the squares of cheese to be even and perfectly cut even though they were going to melt—, her hair was in a messy ponytail and strands fell in front of her eyes which made her sigh in frustration—something that made Jack smiled like a love-sick fool because he couldn’t believe the adorable girl standing in his kitchen was his.

And finally, the last thing that capture his attention was what she was wearing. The short sleeves of the plaid green shirt reached her elbows, and when he got to see her full body he noticed it ended by her upper thighs. She had never looked more beautiful.

Jack wanted this to be his everyday sight. He wanted to found himself running home to her warm smile, to her little rumblings about her day at uni, to her easing laugh and creases in her eyes, to her cozy arms and awful singing voice: to her sweet nothings.

“Hey” she spoke once she noticed his tall frame leaning on the door. His eyes were on her, but he appeared to be in another planet. “Babe?”

Jack blinked as he got out of his trance. “What?”

“Nothing, I just said hey” she laughed. “What happened?”

“You. In my shirt” he answered, eyes filled with adoration.

“Yeah, sorry. I spilled tomatoe soup on mine so I stole this one”

He took a step closer and cupped her jaw “It looks so much better in you. Hell, you know what? All my clothes are yours now, you should wear mine everyday from now on”

“But I like my clothes” Y/N laughed.

“I’ll burn them so you’ll have no choice” he joked. “For real, you look so beautiful. I never want to take my eyes off you” he started kissing every inch of the skin on her face, making her giggle.

“I missed you a lot” she said wrapping her arms around his neck as their foreheads touched. “How was work?”

Jack pressed a kiss on her nose “It was okay. Been looking forward to this all day, though. It was hard to concentrate” he admitted, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of their hug. “Missed you too. It was excruciating.”

“I made pizza, is that okay?” she asked. Jack looked down and smiled when he saw the pizza had the shape of a heart. “Saw it on Pinterest, and I just had to do it”

“You’re so cute. I love you.” he pressed his nose against hers, his heart pumping in his chest. He never thought how good being in love with someone felt like.

“I love you too, J.” she smiled lovingly.

And to have that someone love you back? It was priceless. He would take every exhausting day at work, every industry disruptor that made a bad review on his performance or movies, every soul deconstructor that threw hate comments at him, as long as at the end of the day he would have Y/N’s love and support.

[sxmplysimmys]

SimplyLuxx Lepacy Challenge

By SimplySimmys and @luxximscc

We worked very hard on this challenge for almost a year and we’re super excited to finally be sharing this with everyone! We wanted to create a challenge inspired by the Sims 3 Lepacy challenge because we loved it so much and decided to write one ourselves! 

Basic Rules for the challenge: 

Use cheats mildly (there are certain generations that require you to have to cheat and we understand the sims can be difficult for some so we don’t mind if you cheat a bit)

No money cheats! You can use freerealestate if you’re required to move and can’t afford the home

If you don’t have certain packs, you can skip those generations! ALL GAMEPACK GAMEPLAY IS OPTIONAL!

For an extra challenge, start gen 1 with 0 simoleons

Most important rule of all… it’ll ruin the challenge if you don’t do this… use the tag #SimplyLuxxLepacy to show us how your gameplay is going!

BASE GAME

Generation 1

You're a young adult fresh from Sunset Valley and looking for a new start. You happen across a small town and decide to settle there. This is the perfect place to start your dream family and achieve all of your goals but can you balance out family life with a hectic work schedule?

Must have family oriented and materialistic traits, you decide the other

Complete at least one base game career

Complete at least one base game aspiration

Have at least three children. (you don't have to have your sim give birth, you can have a science baby etc)

Have at least level 5 in one hobby or at least level 3 in 3 different hobbies. (eg. gardening, gaming)

Get married to a townie in the opposite base game town from you

Visit one of the hidden worlds at least once

Complete the MySims collection

GET TO WORK/DINE OUT

Generation 2

Your parents valued their careers and tried to balance family life as well, but you noticed at a young age that their ambition to succeed in their career is what inspired you to become successful in everything you do, especially your career. You put 100% into your work and 0% in everything else because your job is your life. You become obsessed with working, as well as pick up a special interest about aliens that borders on obsessive. In fact, you want to have a baby with one! (Generation starts as a young adult.)

Must have the perfectionist trait, you decide the others

Reach level 10 in at least one interactive career or own a level 5 retail business/restaurant

If you join the scientist career, visit Sixam at least once

Have at least one child and an alien baby (you can cheat this)

Have a poor relationship with children because of work

Always go to work (either with your sim or alone) if they are in a career

Must complete the elements collection

OPTIONAL: Master the cooking skill (if you take the Dine Out route)

GET TOGETHER 

Generation 3

You're tired of your workaholic parents! You escape to Windenburg the day that you become a young adult and you never look back. You want to live life in the party scene, hopping from bar to bar, dancing to your heart's content. You desire a carefree life and you want to experience all that the beautiful Windenburg has to offer. But all that freeness comes with a lack of responsibility when you find yourself having a baby after one crazy night!(Generation starts as a teenager.)

Must have the dance machine trait, you decide the others

Complete the leader of the pack aspiration

Get a job as a barista as a teenager

Move out of home as a YA

Live in Windenburg

Start your own club and meet once a week

Try for baby with a one night stand and take the kid in when they’re a child (this will be your only child)

Have at least two partners before falling in love with one of your club members

Master the dancing and the DJ mixing skill

CITY LIVING/OUTDOOR RETREAT

Generation 4

Your parent was fun but you take yourself just a little bit more seriously. You want to be known as someone responsible and trustworthy, despite being in the most untrustworthy profession. You move to the city as a young adult because you think that you'll find yourself there alas, it isn't all that people say it is. You escape to Granite Falls every chance you get and when you meet someone that helps you realise that the city life isn't for you, you run away to Brindleton Bay together. (Generation starts as a young adult.)

Must complete the city native aspiration

Live in a TLC Apartment until you are an adult

Complete the snow globe or posters collection

Join the politician or social media career

Master the singing skill

Go camping at least 5 times over your lifetime

Meet and befriend the hermit in Granite Falls

Marry a sim that loves the outdoors (you can cheat this)

Leave the city for Brindleton Bay before you're an elder but have at least one child before you do

Must have at least one child

CATS AND DOGS

Generation 5

You've always loved animals, and begged your parents to get you a pet since you were a toddler, but were always met with resistance because of the apartment you lived in not allowing pets. Fortunately, once your family decided to move up to Brindleton Bay, a town that loves cats and dogs, your family finally decided that it was time for you to get your first pet! Your love of animals only grew as you did and after your first pet passes, you learn where your true passion lies. (Generation starts as a child.)

You must have the loves cats, loves dogs or animal lover trait as their first trait. Adult traits can be whatever you want

Adopt your first pet as a child (if you have my first pets stuff, this can be a small pet)

You must care for the pet by yourself without your parents interfering

When your first pet passes, this is when you decide to become a veterinarian

Have a level 5 vet clinic and master the veterinarian skill

Marry a sim that loves animals as much as you

Have twins (this can be cheated)

SEASONS/STRANGERVILLE

Generation 6

Ever since you were a kid you loved exploring Brindleton Bay. Your grandparents left you with a love for the outdoors that only grew as you did. You began gardening as a child and experimenting with flower arranging as a teen, and your curiosity only blossoms further. When you become a young adult you hear about a strange town filled with the most peculiar plants. Strangerville is your next adventure and you can't wait to see what curiosities sprout from its red soils. (Generation starts as a child.)

Have a good relationship with your grandparents if they are still alive

As a child, start a small garden (Achieve mental skill level 6)

Must join scouts as a child until teenagehood

Begin flower arranging as a teenager

Master the gardening skill

Reach level 10 in the gardening career

Celebrate every holiday with family

Have at least three kids

Move to Strangerville as a young adult

Complete the Strangerville mystery

Befriend the mother plant

Complete the Strangerville mystery aspiration or the freelance botanist aspiration

Marry a sim in the military

GET FAMOUS

Generation 7

You grew up with a seemingly normal life, your parent was a gardener,  your other parent was in the military, your siblings were normal, there was never really anything interesting about your family, until you went into the attic and saw the old newspaper clippings of your parents being hailed the heroes of Strangerville. Immediately, you feel enraged. Your parents? Famous? Laughable. All they ever did when you were a child is dig dirt and force you to participate in lame family activities. You’ll be a real star unlike your lame parents, but your bad attitude towards people may make it rough. (Generation starts as a child.)

Join the drama club as a child and stay until you are a teen

Must have the Self Absorbed and Mean trait

Complete Master Actor Aspiration

As soon as you’re a young adult, move to Del Sol Valley

Join the acting career and reach level 10

Master the acting and writing skills

Get married as a YA

Make enemies with other celebrities

Have at least one child from your first marriage. You may also have kids in your other marriages

Get divorced and remarried, twice and stay with the third spouse

Must cheat on every spouse

ISLAND LIVING/SPA DAY

Generation 8

Your childhood was chaotic. Your parent always remarried, you rarely got to see your second parent and your name was always in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons. Your life was under a magnifying glass for the world to pick apart and judge. All you wanted was a moment of peace and quiet where no one knew who you were. So one day, you asked your parents for a loan so you could move to Sulani and start your life anew. 

Move to Sulani and live on the beach

Place a spa nearby on any lot

Master the wellness and diving skill

Reach level 10 in the conservationist career

Complete the beach life aspiration

Complete the underwater picture collection

Must marry a Sulani local (you may make this sim)

Teach a yoga class every Sunday

Must have at least one child

HIGH SCHOOL YEARS/DISCOVER UNIVERSITY

Generation 9

Your parents were quite strict and always made sure to pay attention to every little thing you did, but despite that you grew up quite well rounded and loved. You always valued your education. From the moment you were a child you knew that you wanted to be a teacher and shape young minds like your teachers shaped yours. What is a better way to do that than to become a college professor? However, you are still a teenager growing up in the digital age with social media, so why not be an influencer by night and a teacher by day? Can you manage good grades while also managing your social media lifestyle? (Generation starts as a teenager.)

Create a social bunny profile

As a teen, complete one teenager aspiration 

Earn either honours or valedictorian in high school

As a teen, be a part-time social media influencer and continue career throughout university

Master the research and debate, and the entrepreneur skills

Once you graduate university, quit the social media career and join the education career

Move to Copperdale

Must have at least one child

Must help child/children with their homework a few times every week

ECO LIFESTYLE

Generation 10

Your parent really made a positive impact on people's lives. As a child you'd hear stories about how important it is to make a difference in the world and that really stuck with you. You'd make a difference, too, just not with kids. You'd prefer to help the environment and be one of the reasons why it blossoms… pun intended. (Generation starts as a young adult.)

Move to Evergreen Harbour as a young adult

Must have vegetarian trait

Live "off the grid" (lot trait) and fabricate some of your household items

Complete the eco innovator aspiration

Master the Handiness and Fabrication skills

Join the civil designer career and follow the green technician path

Be sure to achieve the "green footprint" status in your neighbourhood

All appliances must be upgraded to be eco friendly

Don't start dating until you're an adult (You've simply never had the time to before since you were busy saving the planet)

Have one child

COTTAGE LIVING/HORSE RANCH

Generation 11

You grew up enjoying a simple life without the luxuries of utilities as many of your friends did. Kids always bullied you for the way you lived, despite being well off, your clothes were thrifted, your furniture was handmade and your meals were all organic. However, instead of resenting your parents for their peculiar upbringing, you decided to embrace it and take it a little further by living on a farm growing your own food and raising animals on your ranch! (Generation starts as a young adult.)

Move to either Henford on Bagley or Chestnut Ridge

Play with the simple living lot trait

Must earn all money from ranch/farm life (sell produce, baked goods or crafted items)

Master the Gardening and Cooking Skills. If you have Horse ranch, master nectar making as well

Must have at least one of each farm animal* (one Llama, one cow, one chicken, one rooster)*if you have “horse ranch”, one horse, one goat and one sheep

Have a minimum of 2 children to help out on the farm once they are old enough

Become good friends with 3 different sims who live in your town

GROWING TOGETHER/PARENTHOOD

Generation 12

You were raised to be farm tough, and although that upbringing seemed to shape your siblings into nice responsible Sims, you never really grew up. Your parents always scold you for pulling pranks and being mischievous but you never took anything seriously. As you got older, your parents pressured you to act your age, but you didn’t see that for yourself. You decided you were better off someplace else putting your goofy antics to work in being an up and coming comedian! Where's a better place to start new than a progressive area like San Sequoia where everyone seems to be starting new chapters in life, just like you. But, as time goes on you get married and have a big family, you didn’t realise that you’d end up raising children who turned out to be just like you. (Generation starts as a young adult.)

Move to San Sequoia

Must have the goofball trait

Master the parenting and comedy skills

Complete the super parent aspiration

Reach level 10 of the entertainer career (comedy branch)

Must be jokesters with all your children

Must have 5 children

Achieve 10 different milestones with each child throughout their adolescents

Attend the wedding of your first child and be there when your first grandchild is born

Have a great relationship with your grandchild until your death

OPTIONAL: SUPERNATURAL

Generation 13

Generations of your family have come and gone. You've collected money, trophies, and memories and with that have created a great dynasty but a darkness has been growing this past few hundred years and now it has caught up to your family, it has caught up to… you. You're now a supernatural being and have to come to terms with your new lifestyle, or do you? (Generation starts as a young adult.) 

Become a Werewolf, Vampire or Spellcaster

Must complete one branch of supernatural skills

Create a coven or pack of your supernatural

Make enemies with rivals leader (Vampires vs Werewolves Vampires vs Spellcasters)

If you are a spellcaster befriend werewolves and vice versa

Depending of your supernatural ability, complete the required skill (Vampire/Werewolf Lore, Spellbook)

Don’t have any children, your family is your coven or pack 

Become the master of your supernatural ability (Master Vampire, Virtuoso, or Apex)

After mastering your skills, pick an heir to takeover for you and train them

Once you have trained a successful heir, you must sacrifice yourself as you are no longer needed (If you are a vampire, step into the sun. If you are a spellcaster, overload your magic, if you are a werewolf use the telescope until the meteor comes for you)

Yay! You completed the challenge, I'm so proud of you! Use the #SimplyLuxxLepacy to share your experience with us! Depending on new release of expansion and game packs, more generations will be added in the future. 

[the-xolotl]

What I think your Hazbin Hotel fav says about you

Pt. I ; Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor, Lucifer, Angel

A/N: these are entirely my opinions based on what each of the characters have meant for me. i’m a psych major and like doing lil analysis of things so it’s for funsis nothing else XD and i’m writing these with adult personalities in mind ! just fyi

it’s kinda long, fair warning, lots of text.

—• TAGS: none, completely sfw

ᯓ፥Charlie ꪆ

Starting off with the MC herself; I can see her being a fav bc you are the sunshine coded individual that likes to do things diplomatically first, handles situations with words first and foremost as well as enthusiasm and optimism. You’ll always see the bright side of things and like to see the good in people.

So probably relate a lot to her.

You have a tendency to put others way above yourself and your own needs, most of the time unconsciously so.

Maybe you’re the mom-friend of the group. You’re the most caring and giving out of your surrounding friends or family.

Which kinda makes me think you may have a mix of daddy and mommy issues.

However sometimes your kindness is taken for weakness and naivety when that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re not unaware of the world around you, in fact you’re probably someone who understands a little too good, so you choose to give positivity to the sea of negativity.

You’re highly emotionally intelligent, mature and likely find yourself always taking the reign in things. You’re a doer, determined to see everything you put your mind to to completion, lots of initiative in many aspects.

A WORKAHOLIC. Completely unaware of that aspect tho. Or just unintentionally so. Bc you are so determine on projects you give 120% and don’t stop until it’s completed.

You probably find comfort in her character in some ways; either bc you see yourself in her or strive to find a person like her who will see your redeeming qualities when you can’t, and want to help you grow as a person.

You aren’t a strict planner or someone who sticks 100% with a plan but do like to have an outline at least. Even if you have to improv further down the line at least you have an idea of wtf you’re doing.

So you can also roll with being spontaneous, you can easily think of a loose path to follow and roll with it whenever.

You’re very enjoyable company !! Smile and laugh is contagious, it’s impossible to not feel good around you.

ᯓ፥Vaggie ꪆ

You struggle a lot with imposter’s syndrome so let me be the one to tell you; you deserve good things, you belong in good places and with the people you love and love you back.

You’re likely the person everyone turns to for a voice of reason.

You’re very headstrong, you’re the decision maker in whatever circle you run.

Ms./Mr./Mx. Hyper-Independent™️

You’re likely also the mediator. Are you the middle child in your family?

You’re a perfectionist to a fault, and fear failure. Sometimes you need a little reassurance.

However, you’re an exceptional lover. You’re loyal, attentive, your love language might be acts of service and/or words of affirmation.

You greatly value those around you and just want to help them be successful.

Sometimes you’re too strict with yourself, even with others but you mean well.

Despite anything though, you have a pretty firm grasp in your sense of self, you know who you are and what you want in life.

You stand up for yourself, you don’t let anyone push you around; you’re the scary dog privileges.

And even if you sometimes come across as hard around the edges, you’re quite soft on the inside. You still choose to act with kindness even if someone doesn’t deserve it. But you’re good at killing with kindness.

You give me Taurus energy. And despite the bullet-point above you have made grown men cry. You’re kind but you are capable of hurting with your words if you so choose.

ᯓ፥Alastor ꪆ

I’ll just get it out of the way: raging daddy issues

But the kind of daddy issues that come from resentment and anger at a fatherly figure or men that remind you of that fatherly figure.

You neither want fatherly comfort nor find someone that is a good fatherly figure. You don’t need it, you’ve been this long without it so what’s the point ?

Maybe you’re likely even the type of person who comforts others but don’t want/let others comfort you. You don’t need others, others need you.

You value your privacy, very reserved about your personal life. Keeping everything close to the vest do to the load of trust issues you carry.

Definitely into older partners (more specifically older men)

Unless you don’t do dating or physical relationships. In this case you maybe find yourself being the older friend of a group of friends.

You don’t have a parental bone in your body but you have this innate need to make sure others never feel the way you did; alone, helpless. This whether you admit it or not.

Much like our resident Radio Demon you have an appreciation for the entertainment and may take some sadistic pleasure in watching the people you don’t care for fail (especially those who have wrong you in the past).

But if not giving a fuck was an olympic sport you’d be a gold medalist. You are winning the 'idgaf war' every time, bc you don’t need to retaliate immediately when someone does do you wrong either, remaining unbothered knowing that person will do themselves in.

You like to play the long game in some situations, waiting for the right time to make a move.

You don’t have time for bullshit, time costs and yours comes at a high rate. You rather get to the point than run circles. And the biggest pet-peeve is getting lead on in any way just to ultimately waste your time and get nothing out of it.

In most circumstances you don’t do anything without receiving a benefit from it unless it’s the people you truly care about. Everything has a price, a lot of things you do are for self fulfillment (Not in a negative way. You value yourself and know your worth)

You’re also a go-getter. Not waiting around for opportunities to just fall on your lap you go and make your own opportunities and open your own doors.

However one of your biggest flaws is overestimating yourself which ultimately leads you to feel like you failed at something when really you didn’t, you didn’t reach the intended goal even if the outcome was fine. Pride comes before the fall, for sure (And you’re trying to work on it. Kinda).

But you do have an issue with feeling like you’re absolutely invincible no matter what.

You have your own skeletons in the closet. Things you don’t like looking back on, decisions you regret to this day bc they shaped more of your life than you intended. But here you are persevering in one piece. If maybe a little jaded to the world around you, but in one piece. Good job.

ᯓ፥Lucifer ꪆ

You and Alastor fans are two sides of the same coin but with marked differences.

Daddy issues here too, but the ones who actually want a good fatherly figure. One you often find from a mentor or someone to give you affection and/or guidance.

You’re less likely to seek these out in romantic relationships as really what you want is to heal your inner child.

You heard More Than Anything, cried bc it’s a beautiful song than cried harder wondering why couldn’t someone love you like that.

More than anything (ba-dum-tsss) you crave to be protected, you can do it yourself, you have been. But you’re tired. You want someone else to do it for a changed, see you for who you are and love you unconditionally.

I have the feeling you’re the oldest child of a broken home that had to be a 3rd parent at a young age to your even younger siblings and it hurt like a bitch having to leave them once you were able to get out of your parent’s house. But you couldn’t stay there a second longer.

It’s also likely in your upbringing you were seen as the black sheep of the family, whatever the reason may have been. That’s something that still hurts to this day even through the no-contact you’ve likely established.

You have a lot of love to give but often don’t know how to express it or measure it. In the sense that you love too hard or too little, but you care so much. You really do.

And this is why you probably have a lot of people coming to your for a shoulder to cry on, because what you will do is protect the ones you care about the way you wish someone did you in your worse times. This is where your over abundance of love comes the most handy.

BUT behind all of this there’s also a high spirit that can be the life of any party. You have a unique magnetism and easy going personality despite anything that makes people gravitate towards you.

ᯓ፥Angel ꪆ

You have likely been through some awful shit (I’m sorry you had to go through that, me too 🫂) and that has shaped you a lot as a person today.

Probably came out of those experiences a hyper sexual that has to constantly advocate for those of us who don’t cope the same ways others do.

Angel is like a breath of fresh air because for once you get to see a representative whose bad experiences aren’t romanticized or glamorized.

The level at which you relate to him when he yelled “It’s not an act! It’s who I need to be!” was spiritual and it left you a little broken bc you likely use your persona as a shield bc if you don’t laugh you’ll cry

You don’t like letting your past define you but the line between who you are and who’s the persona built for the public keeps thinning more and more.

The trust issues you carry are so deep sometimes you accidentally push people you care about and who care about you away.

Because you do care, so much but it’s hard to let people in not knowing who’s truly going to treat you well.

Sometimes the only was you let in are the ones who go above and beyond to climb the tall thick walls you’ve put around yourself.

But life has made you strong, resilient. You know how to defend yourself and you take no shit from anyone.

You either want Angel’s rambunctious confidence or you have it and know how to work it. (work it 💅)

Don’t forget you’re more than what you can offer people. There’s genuine value in you as the person you are, not for what you can offer.

a/n: thank you for reading. i’ll probably take a while to upload the next parts tbh !

—

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[foliosriot]

LOVE’S THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND ♱ PART ONE

noah sebastian x reader

SUMMARY!!

you and your best friend, noah, messed around a few times. then bad omens releases their third album, and certain songs and lyrics hit a little too close to home.

WARNINGS!!

none.

masterlist. tdopom masterlist.

You’d slept longer than you would have liked. Waking up at 11:30AM was completely unexpected, but you could care less, especially since you don’t have work today.

With a full-body stretch and dramatic yawn, you slide off your bed. You wobble on your feet for a moment, then find your balance to walk into the bathroom.

What the mirror shows you is awful: dark bags under your eyes, tangled hair, creases along your cheek from where you had been positioned against your pillows. Your reflection makes you cringe. But you don’t do anything to remedy your appearance as you do your business. (You do, at least, rake your fingers through your hair in an attempt at taming it.)

When you’re finished, you shamble back into your room and promptly flop down onto your bed. You’ve been working like crazy recently, so the exhaustion that has tightly gripped you is warranted. But you are not enjoying it, even if you’re the one that has been picking up extra shifts. This one is on you, not the universe.

You groan inwardly as you push yourself upward. You reach for your phone that’s plugged in on your nightstand, then shift into a sitting position against your headboard as you begin your morning social media routine.

Your Instagram is flooded with posts upon posts about Bad Omens’ new album. You immediately curse yourself for forgetting the album’s release date had been much sooner than you’d initially expected.

As you continue scrolling through your feed and swiping through stories, you keep seeing the same image. It was a woman, completely nude, hunched over on a bench of sorts. The red scenery was almost too much, but you couldn’t stop yourself from loving the album art choice. It was simple yet beautiful but eye-catching, and it stood out in a way you knew only Noah would have seen.

Oh god.

Noah.

Noah, your best friend, worked so fucking hard on this third LP. He is too much of a perfectionist to not get every little detail just right. You witnessed him do vocal takes over and over countless times. You saw him scrap samples that you had personally loved. The pride he’s feeling at the media’s response must be overwhelming for him, but in the best way possible. He deserves the recognition.

However, you know that the lead up to the release date had been memorable for both of you. Just not in the way of songwriting or mixing tracks.

It had started roughly a month after your ex broke up with you, about a year and a half ago. You were hanging out with Noah at your apartment, music playing from your speaker as you were drawing on your iPad and Noah was, undoubtedly, writing lyrics for a song he was working on.

He had been singing along to the song was that had been playing, his voice distracting you from whatever you had been doing. If you remember correctly, it was Science & Faith by The Script, a song you love dearly. And the way he had sang along — at first soft and quiet, almost absentmindedly, then using his entire chest like a live performance — captured your attention completely.

You’d watched him until the song ended, his gaze never leaving his journal. Then he was reaching out for his mug of tea and he caught your eye.

“What?” he’d asked.

A small smile. “Nothing,” you told him. “Just really love your voice.”

Noah had continued singing along to the songs that came on, and you just kept watching. The air became charged and vibrated with a tension you had never felt around Noah. But then that tension had snapped when your eyes had met, Give by Sleep Token wrapping around you both.

Suddenly your lips were on each other and previous tasks were forgotten. You had gladly let Noah have his way with you.

Afterwards, you agreed that such an intimate experience wouldn’t tarnish your friendship. And it didn’t! But then it happened again. And again. And again.

The last time you two had messed around was six months ago. Your constant texting and phone calls dwindled over those months, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it. And apparently, neither could Noah.

Something in your friendship had changed, but neither one of you had wanted to acknowledge it. You had simply decided that putting distance between each other would fix whatever happened. But it didn’t fix anything; it just made you miss and crave him more as the days went by.

You have wanted Noah more than anything for years. You had thought there was something between you, but had been ultimately proven wrong.

Shrugging off the memories, you close out of Instagram to open up Spotify, and you are immediately met with THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND. You nibble on your bottom lip for just a moment before you’re tapping play, keeping shuffle off.

As you listen to the album you remain sitting in bed. You can feel the energy and excitement that overtakes you as you’re enjoying CONCRETE JUNGLE, then going slack jawed by the sheer talent present in Nowhere To Go. The sudden melancholy and regret that you’re met with from Take Me First takes you by surprise, but you’re loving the lyrics too much to dwell on those feelings.

The fourth track is the album’s namesake: THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND. The instrumental intro is awfully beautiful, and you’re nearly taken aback when the first verse begins.

Noah’s voice is gorgeous. It is so soothing and comforting, and then you’re closing your eyes to take it all in. For a moment, you think you’re somewhere else.

Different bed sheets beneath you. Heat radiates from every pore of your body. The curtains are drawn together and the only lights are the strips of LED you’ve always found a bit tacky. There are familiar hands grasping at your thighs and hips, hot breath against your skin. Lips on your neck and teeth biting—

You’re in the walls that I made, with crosses and frames

Hanging upside down

For granted, in vain, I took everything

I ever cared about

I miss the way you say my name

The way you bend, the way you break

Your makeup running down your face

The way you fuck, the way you taste

Your eyes fling open. You had been taken back to a memory, one you fear may never leave your mind. The pre-chorus has your heart racing uncontrollably, and you’re frozen in place as you continue listening. You have no words. There’s a sliver of you that knows Noah wrote that about you. But you aren’t completely certain when the next song starts.

The way What It Cost bleeds into Like A Villain shakes you out of your frozen stupor. The transition is beautiful and you find yourself falling for the lyrics.

Then bad decisions catches you off guard. It’s mellow compared to the front of the album, and even the entirety of Bad Omens’ discography. Still undeniably beautiful, you think.

Just Pretend has you reeling. You knew Noah had written it a few years before but did not expect him to actually use it for any upcoming records. There are a few lines you remember him telling you about from way back when, and you smile small at their presence in the song.

The back of the album is just as perfect. You find yourself resisting the urge to jump along to the addictive nature of What do you want from me? and the sucker punch that is ARTIFICIAL SUICIDE. And then Miracle, the closing track, is simply perfect in every way possible.

When the music stops, you suddenly feel all weird on the inside. There’s an overhanging sense of emptiness, but the weirdness coiling into a knot in the pits of your stomach prevents that void from sinking in fully.

THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND is a phenomenal record, front to back. It is beautifully produced, the instrumentals and lyricism working together in a way you’ve never heard before. You have no qualms about making it your album of the year (at least until Motionless In White’s new record in a couple months, that is).

But the beauty of the songs and lyrics does nothing to calm your nerves. The boys had been working hard on every single detail when you and Noah had messed around that handful of times. There was no denying the obvious inspiration Noah had derived from you.

You sit in silence for several minutes, debating on what to do. You know you need to text your friends and tell them how proud of them you are. It takes a bit to finally scrounge up that courage, then you’re finally closing Spotify and going in to your messages to text Noah first. But your thumb is hovering above his contact, almost as if you can’t find it in yourself to simply congratulate your best friend on such a huge success.

It’s embarrassing, really. You can’t ignore your own selfish feelings to just admit you’re fucking proud of him? Because you should be proud of your best friend.

So instead of messaging Noah, you search for the rest of the bands’ contacts. Maybe, this way, you can actually convince yourself to eventually applaud him if you do the same to his fellow band members, your mutual friends, first.

You: CONGRATS ON THE NEW ALBUM!! It is so beautiful and I’m so fucking proud of you! Your drumming is insane and I can’t wait to hear you fuck it up live 🖤🤯 I LOVE YOU!!!!!

Fisherman Folio🎣🥁: THANK YOU! Your support over the years means everything to us, and I can’t believe you’ve been here since the beginning. I love you too!!

You: CONGRATS ON THE NEW ALBUM!! I’m so fucking proud of you guys and it is soooo beautiful! The bass lines are incredible 🖤🖤 I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!

Nicholas🐱🩶: Thank you so much!! I’m so happy with how it came out and I’m happy you like it! Your support means everything. Love you <3

You: CONGRATS ON THE NEW ALBUM!! You went all out on the production and I could not be prouder of this beautiful record! The guitars are amazing (especially in artificial suicide like wtf?????) 🖤🖤 I LOVE YOU!!!!!

Jolly🎸☀️: Thank you! We worked super hard on it and the feedback has been so positive. Thank you for being here from day one. If it weren’t for you and Vincent we would not be where we are. Love you!!

The guys’ messages all bring tears to your eyes, but Jolly’s is the one that has the dam breaking. You smile at your phone as tears streak down your cheeks. Your heart is aching with the urge to hug them all.

A couple minutes later, when the tears have subsided and you’re wiping away the last few stragglers, your phone buzzes. From where it’s laying face up beside you on your bed you can see that it’s another text from Jolly. Your eyebrows pinch slightly in confusion as you pick up your phone.

Jolly🎸☀️: You haven’t said anything to Noah yet, have you?

The singular sentence has you swearing softly then biting your tongue. Jolly is basically your big brother, and he didn’t have to say anything before you were telling him everything about what had happened between you and Noah. He cares about both you and Noah too much to see anything come between you two. Especially considering Noah has been your best friend since he met Nicholas, and thus met you.

But the text bubble seems to be glaring up at you as you stare down at it. It’s not quite a secret that you and Noah haven’t talked in a while, so it’s almost as if Jolly’s text is mocking you. You hardly even react when you see those three little dots pop up and bob as Jolly types.

You sigh through your teeth. You hesitantly begin typing out a response, watching the dots pause and disappear.

You: No not yet

Jolly🎸☀️: Why?

You: Idk, doesn’t feel like my place ig

Jolly🎸☀️: You’re kidding right? Noah has been asking me if I’ve heard from you, if you’ve even listened to the album. He wants your feedback and attention and it’s getting really fucking annoying hearing him be mopey. He wants to hear from you ok? So for my sanity I say you at least text him a quick congrats, maybe your favorite song while you’re at it…

You: Fine, now fuck off and enjoy your huge accomplishment

Jolly doesn’t reply; all he does is like your response in acknowledgement. Which leaves you anxious as you hold your phone limply in your hands.

You breathe deeply. The phone in your hands is practically screaming at you to talk to Noah, to just let him know you listened. And you’re not sure what finally gets you to swipe away from your conversation with Jolly and opening yours with Noah. But you’re already typing and hitting send before you can take it back.

You: Congrats on the album! You’re insanely talented and you should be so proud of yourself! I’m torn between TDOPOM and Miracle as my favorite song :)

You toss your phone to the side, like it’s a bomb that is about to detonate. Having it in your grasp felt too dangerous. Letting it sit a couple feet away from you made you feel a bit better, you suppose.

The phone is silent for awhile. You remain sitting in the spot on your bed, terror bubbling in your chest as you wait for a notification of any kind. But the screen remains dark, and you keep chewing anxiously on your lip and tongue.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, you’re about to give up on waiting for a reply. Noah’s phone is probably blowing up from people congratulating him and the band, so it doesn’t seem worth idling by.

Then your phone vibrates. The screen switches on, and your screensaver is lighting up the singular notification present.

You already know who it’s from.

With shaking fingers, you unlock your phone and open up your messages. There’s one new text. Then another comes in when you press the contact.

Noah: Your love and support means the fucking world. I’m glad you were able to find some favorites lol

Noah: Ok look, I’m sorry if this is crossing a line or whatever but I just wanted you to know that there are a few songs and lyrics about you, if you didn’t catch onto that already. I miss you x

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

♱ foliosriot 2023