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#and im not rly a fic reader either

janitorhutcherson · 6 months

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i'm totally NOT touch starved so IM TOTALLY NOT asking for peeta mellark and touch starved reader... totally NOT. (i love your writing sm ☺️)

i am FINALLY giving the people what they want!! i know this isn't a whole fic/imagine but instead headcanons, BUT! it is finally peeta. i promise there will be more peeta content in the future. im working my way through the movies again and im about to reread the books, i want to be accurate about his portrayal so y'all feel like its more realistic, but here is a lil taste of what is to come! i rly hope you enjoy <3 btw!! this takes place after EVERYTHING in the books. ur basically katiness.

• Peeta is a huge softy, he's cuddly, loving, affectionate, and definitely touch starved himself. He's the type of guy to mostly have his own contact with you in some way. Sometimes he will grip onto your arm, he'll have his arm around your shoulder or your waist, or even just grip onto your shirt. When you're sitting on the couch, he opts to sit hip to hip even when the entirety of the couch is empty. When you're not cuddling in bed, you're facing opposite sides, sleeping butt-to-butt. Even with that being said, sometimes Peeta needed some space, his own bubble. You, however, did not love that.

• This is exactly why it was somewhat difficult for Peeta to understand touchstarved!reader. Regardless of how close you were, you needed more. Anytime you're walking in the district, rather it's to pick up some ingredients for the bakery or simply a leisurely walk, if he opted not to hold on to you in some way, you'd freak a little. You'd grip onto his hand, either squeezing it in yours or holding onto his larger fingers.

• Whenever dishes were being done or chores were tended to, you would wrap your arms around his waist from behind or follow him at the heel. You were desperate for his attention, his affection, his touch. Without it, you felt cold and disconnected. His touch pleased the ache that prickled against your skin from years of desperately wanting to be held.

• At night, you'd squeeze up under his arm. Your head would be tucked into his armpit, your arms wrapped around him as you tugged him close, closing your eyes and taking in his smell. When you'd fall asleep facing away from each other, Peeta wouldn't even notice you flip over to face him once he was fast asleep, curling up against him, squeezing him tightly like your life depended on it.

• In all honesty? It felt like your life did depend on it. You were a tribute alongside with Peeta, you'd both been through hell and back together. You had nightmares and he was the only one that could ground them. Part of your touch starved desperation came from the times you were alone, afraid, for yourself, for your lover. It was difficult.

• A lot of nights Peeta would ensure he'd hold you close, all too aware that he was the cure to your nightly insanity. This made you feel better, softer, warmer. On days when you were simply cuddling in bed together, you felt like you couldn't get enough. Your legs would be tangled with his, your foreheads touching, arms wrapped around one another. But nothing felt good enough. In instances like these, you would climb into his shirt, sticking your head through the hole for his own head, one that was stretched out from the many times you'd done this, one he specifically designated as his lounge shirt for this reason. Other times you would both strip your clothes off, cuddling skin to skin while Peeta would stroke your hair, pressing soft kisses to your forehead.

• All in all, Peeta is a gentle and caring lover, understanding of your needs. He'd do his best to meet them, even when it meant staying glued to your hip. He loved you, the history you two had, the stuff you'd been through, and he'd do anything to ensure your happiness and your safety. After all, you were who saved him, who kept him grounded as well, the love of his life... but, his thoughts are for another story.

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 9 months

Text

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech.

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air.

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips.

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping.

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door.

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes. His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming.

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught.

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene.

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech.

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming.

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest.

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall.

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death.

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see?

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle.

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly.

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother.

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him.

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound.

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk.

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise.

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all.

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?”

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling.

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out.

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about.

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head.

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface.

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water.

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in.

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it.

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone.

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error.

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided.

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once.

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch.

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory.

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake.

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten.

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter.

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone.

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know.

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to.

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone.

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it.

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death.

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too.

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was.

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed.

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go.

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer.

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know.

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go.

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go.

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone.

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two.

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice.

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’”

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you?

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right.

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been.

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare.

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you.

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms.

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater.

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels.

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea.

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off.

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature.

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once.

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit.

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick.

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck.

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples.

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him.

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker.

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection.

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin.

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down.

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear.

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip.

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple.

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch.

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy.

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides.

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed.

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow…

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure.

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch.

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd.

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider.

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt.

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin.

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans.

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever.

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely.

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him.

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other.

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second.

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out.

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him.

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness.

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek.

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world.

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole.

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly.

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan breech #on the edge #jonathan breech x reader #jonathan breech x reader smut #jonathan breech smut #cillian murphy x reader smut

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httpsuniverse · 1 year

Text

ILLICIT AFFAIRS | gr63, mm19

an ig au preview of the fic i’m currently writing >.<

PAIRING: george russell x fem!wolff!reader ; mason mount x fem!wolff!reader

DETAILS & WARNINGS: angst, accusations of cheating (i’ll add more once i release the main fic!)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this will be my very first fic (but i’m still working on it, i made this post as a little preview hehe) and i hope once i finish it you guys will like it >.< i can’t say when it’ll be posted cuz i’m only halfway through the story! anyway... here ya go!

this work is purely fictional. names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. © newuniverse, 2023. do not steal, repost in other platforms, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

ynwolff

liked by masonmount, cmpulisic, kaihavertz29 and others

ynwolff life lately with masey ♡

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masonmount MY hottie ;)

ynwolff no U are MY hottie 😘

declanrice you two disgust me

masonmount stfu

user1 damn toto raised a baddie 🥵

user2 she’s sooo damn pretty 🥹 i miss her in the paddock tho!

user3 she used to visit the paddock? 🥲 i’m waaay too late to know that i like her sm :(

user2 yes! she’s pretty close with lewis cuz she was often with toto during race weekends before she went to uni in ‘19!

masonmount

liked by ynwolff, f1, redbullracing, declanrice and others

masonmount got to see some fast cars this race weekend 🏁🏎️

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ynwolff dads gonna be disappointed masey 🫤👎🏻

masonmount he wont, he loves me too much

ynwolff im calling dad to ask him that

user1 mason mount, dating y/n wolff (mercedes’ princess), joined redbull for the weekend 😭😭😭

ynwolff ikr 🙄 i’m questioning my love for him

masonmount BABY YOU DONT MEAN THAT

masonmount NOOOOO

masonmount SILVER ARROWS FOR LIFE

dramaformula

liked by fan1, fan2, fan3 and others

dramaformula [SUBMITTED ANONYMOUSLY] toto wolff’s daughter, y/n wolff spotted today with george russell! anon said that the two are close and a little touchy with each other 🤨 what’s happening between these two? are george and carmen still together? mason’s been real quiet on his socials, did he and y/n break up? 👀🍵

user1 maybe they’re just hanging out 😭 ffs can’t a guy and girl hang out with each other as friends without y’all making any baseless rumours about them?

user2 they can hangout ofc but with the presence of their s/o’s in the place they’re hanging out...

user3 are you suggesting that they’re cheating on their partners? 😟 user2

user2 uh,, yeah?

user4 oh god grow up !! we don’t know these people, they’re adults, they know what they’re doing let them live their lives 🙄

user2 EXACTLY. we don’t know these people yet y’all keep on defending them

user5 NOOO not y/n 😓

user6 GET BEHIND ME BABY ynwolff

user7 jesus , people rly can’t respect one’s privacy these days... all this for clout...?

masonmount

liked by ynwolff, susie_wolff, cmpulisic, declanrice and others

masonmount i love you so much pretty girl

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ynwolff i love you baby 💗

susie_wolff stay in love, you two!! 🤍

georgerussell63

liked by f1, mercedesamgf1, carmenmmundt, alex_albon and others

georgerussell63 i couldn’t ask for more

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carmenmmundt ❤️

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#george russell x reader #mason mount x reader #george russel imagine #mason mount imagine #f1 x reader #football x reader #f1 instagram au #football instagram au #f1 imagine #football imagine

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rabbitsrams · 10 months

Note

Omg you HAVE to further elaborate onto that inexperienced reader x inexperienced schlatt fic omfg that shit drove me UP the wall it was too good. You have made my year

oh anon i love u sm <3 yes im obsessed w this idea esp speaking as a barely experienced virgin gal :D

nsfw under the cut, minors dni!! 18+ only.

(also PLEASE lmk if u want more i love writing these!!)

so you and schlatt met in a calculus class. it was required for his major while it’s just a general education class for you. because you sit near each other in the lecture hall you're often paired together for quick discussions (those 'turn to the person next to you' talks that i dread lmao).

he always thought you were really hot but was too shy to ever say anything, mostly just thinking about you in every way imaginable while he jerks off.

and you too, your size kink rly went brr seeing his tall ass like...

you once made the mistake of looking at his hands for a little bit too long and then that was all you could think about for a week.

you eventually became friends slowly over the course of the semester which was how u started fooling around in the first place.

both of you opened up that u were both virgins and not that experienced. and this mf was really like 'oh wouldn't be funny if...'

"how am i attracted to you?"

it starts with some making out. you've both kissed people before so you were a bit familiar with it. and it's nice!

you starting to kiss down to his neck and omg his fucking reaction when you leave a hickey for the first time. he's flaunting it so everyone can see, his roommate and friends are gassing him up sooo much.

while in class he's reading on how to give a hickey and ends up giving you so. many. all over your body. did he just awaken a marking kink?

also like once you guys start you just can't get enough of each other.

he's just so. obsessed with your moans. he's watched porn loads before, he knows how exaggerated those moans are. but somehow your more subdued noises turn him on even more. AND THE WAY YOU SAY HIS NAME???? he loves it.

his face going all red when you touch him anywhere. he whimpers so much, it's like you have him under a spell.

like i said before, he's super vocal. he usually can't help himself, especially when you're on your knees sucking his cock. because duh <3

once you started sucking him off, you can't get enough. and he can't either.

blowing him under the desk in the library. oh lord help me.

wearing one of his sweaters (the harvard one came to mind particularly) for the first time and he's just. jaw dropped.

the prettiest girl ever is wearing his clothes???? if he doesn’t have you right then and there he’s jerking off to you as soon as u leave.

and also you wearing his sweaters when walking around campus and he is just so proud like wow. you're all his.

falling asleep together after your first time and waking up to his morning wood‼️ he’s so needy in the morning he’s practically humping ur leg as soon as he wakes up. thank god your roommate was out.

lazily riding him while he just gushes at how beautiful you are in the morning. fuck. me.

whenever he spends the night at your dorm or vice versa you always help him out in the mornings <3 whether it be a blowjob or a handjob or turning to your side so he can slip it in and fuck you :D so what if you've been late to class a couple times?

you call him ALL the pet names. angel. sweetheart. darling. baby.

and his for you? oh. all the ones you call him and more. toots (thats a major one). doll(face). princess. bark bark bark.

you sending him nudes for the first time one night when he's home visiting family. what starts off innocent enough, you in one of his t-shirts without any pants on turns to pics of your tits, your fingers in your pussy, then VIDEOS OF YOU MASTURBATING!!! he's ripping his jeans off as he slams his bedroom door shut and dials your number into facetime.

SKIPPING CLASS JUST TO HAVE SEX SJKLFBHEDDJKLSJK

HE DRIVES TO SOME REMOTE PLACE ON CAMPUS!!!! AND U HAVE CAR SEX FOR THE FIRST TIME OMG

it's SO awkward at first😭where do you go? the back? stay in the front? go into the trunk?

you're glad he wanted to stay in the front because OMG. RIDING HIM IN THE CAR SEAT. he tries sooooo hard not to cum too fast bc ur tits are literally in his face and your pussy is squeezing him so well fuck fuck fuck he's obsessed with you. wow.

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt smut #jschlatt fanfiction #jschlatt imagine #schlatt x you #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #jschlatt headcanons #got REALLY carried away but i have so many ideas i might make a third one sksedfhbdsjlfv

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wooahaes · 1 year

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Hi, hope you’re doing well. If possible, I’d like to request #1 “I’ll be there in 10” and #6 “Be more careful” with Seungcheol, please and thank you! I hope this prompt list helps you get out of your funk. Take care! ❤️

stormy weather

pairing: non-idol!s coups x gn!reader

prompt: 1 + 6 from these prompts

word count: 0.7k

warnings: storm w heavy rain mention!! worried cheol. implied shower together post-fic but its not rly written to be sexual. intentional lowercase + no proofreading!

daisy’s notes: im doing ok!! kinda trying to fix my sleep schedule a lil rn since i can afford to now lol its been helping a lil when i can sit down and write! you take care as well <3

seungcheol had reread your last text to him about twenty times over the past half-hour: i’ll be there in 10!!!

of course, that was sent almost thirty-five minutes ago, and seungcheol was starting to worry. it was raining hard outside, so he’d eased off at first since public transit could take longer when the weather was bad. he texted you a few minutes after your estimated arrival time to ensure that you were in your bus to zero response. seungcheol had started pacing near the entryway to your apartment, eyeing up his own raincoat. he knew where your stop got off... he could at least go wait for you so he knew you came home safely.

seungcheol let out a long sigh and could already hear your playful nagging. that you’d be home soon enough, that he worried too much over you (he never saw it that way: it was dark, the weather was awful, he worried the right amount about you getting home safely), that it was just “a little rain” and that you wouldn’t melt from it. the elevator ride down to the lobby of your building was enough for him to start planning: he’d just go to your stop. if he found you walking home, then that was fine. either way, he’d be there waiting for you.

except he took maybe three steps into the lobby before he watched you talk in through the front door and immediately slip upon trying to dry off before you trekked too much water into the building. seungcheol quickly made his way over to you to steady you.

he’d already begun scolding you for not texting back, and then frowned when you fumbled with your umbrella. “be more careful,” he said, fingers fiddling with the buttons on your raincoat. “i was about to go looking for you--why didn’t you answer me?”

“my phone died,” you looked up, “and you took my portable charger.”

that he did. he frowned again, wiping away a drop of water from your face. he took your hand, holding it tight within his own to keep you steady as he guided you back to the elevator. soon enough, he’d leave you within the front door of your apartment to find towels for you. when he came back, you were pulling off your soaking wet shoes to put them away. he merely threw a towel over your still-wet head, beginning to dry you off despite your whine.

“i can do it myself, you know,” you reached blindly for his hands, pulling them away. he watched as you pulled the towel back, leaning in for a kiss that he dodged. “cheollie....” you pouted, “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

“what happened?” he took your hands, guiding you with him. “was your bus late?”

“the traffic was bad so i got off early and decided to walk,” you said with a shrug. “the street was empty, it didn’t take that long. i was only off the bus for maybe ten minutes. the traffic was bad.”

“how long after did you regret it?”

he watched the way you sucked in your lips, fully caught in your regrets. “like. three minutes later, but the bus was already gone so i decided to commit.”

“i would have paid for your taxi,” he pouted, before leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “go take a shower or you’ll get sick.”

“then join me and i will,” you teased. you looked up to see seungcheol, unimpressed, and staring back at you. “oh. cheol,” you frowned, the weight of his worries finally hitting you. “i’m sorry--”

“it’s not your fault--” he immediately said, pulling you in to rest against him, “i just want you to be safe. okay? it’s my fault for taking your charger, too,” he shut his eyes.

you reached up for one of his hands, just to curl your fingers around it. “i’m home now. and you saved me from busting my ass downstairs--”

he chuckled softly. “go turn on the water,” he said, letting you go. “i’ll be there in a moment.”

you’d laughed after saying something that, on a good day, would have made him blush and whine at you. the idea of cuddling with you in the shower (and, maybe, cuddling with you in bed, too) felt better once he let go of the worries he’d been carrying still. you were home now, after all. now it was his turn to make sure you didn’t get sick after your rainy adventure home.

if that meant staying in the warm water with you for a few extra minutes, just to hold you close? then so be it.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune

#wooahaes.fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #s coups x reader #s coups x you #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you

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starwarsbian · 22 days

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answer all the star wars questions!

1. i think rey is the most controversial character because people are fucking losers and no one hates star wars more than star wars fans she’s my babygirl i love her

2. my most unpopular star wars opinion is i honestly… do not watch the prequel trilogy i’ve seen attack of the clones twice and rots like three times?? ill watch ep1 tho

3. favorite fandom pocket is tumblr but i love my tiktok star wars mutuals

4. if i lived in universe i think it’d be coruscant i wish i was cool enough to live somewhere else

5. i suppose x reader fics of din djarin or anakin idk 🙏 i like dinluke too or skysolo or reyrose <3

6. my favorite star wars story element/arc is the purposeful parallels between vader and luke

7. i have one for anakin and one for rey!

8. i laugh at anything with yoda i saw a drawing of yoda talking to luke and it was something like “i must get to know my father there’s still good in him” and yoda says “no, crazy he is. put down he must be”

9. all time favorite piece of content is return of the jedi !!!!! i love every part of that movie

10. i get most of my star wars merch at 5 below tbh i think a lot of star wars merch is UGGO especially figurines so i have quite a few star wars funko pops and one single star wars shirt that was my gf that’s almost as old as me

11. i suppose i relate most to luke i too have a terrible father who i want to know and believe there’s good in but im delusional or rey bc my dad left me too bae! it’s funny laugh

12. my comfort character is luke!!!! have u seen him? he is my baby angel i would die for him he’s so precious and he makes me laugh

13. my hot take on the sequel trilogy is i like it and no one can change my mind i prefer the og trilogy but if i could erase reylo from existence i would love it much more

14. i like a lot of the fandom except where the fuck are the gay people i’m surrounded by hets ???

15. i don’t have a star wars blog i wish would follow me! i’d actually prefer if the ones i rly like didn’t follow me because im annoying as fuck

16. i fell in love with star wars after i watched anh for the first time it was 100% luke being endearing from the beginning although i did watch the mandalorian first and really liked it!!! it’s what made me watch everything else

17. i haven’t been at an opening night 💔 im much newer to star wars than id care to admit

18. i .. do write fanfic for star wars.. so far it’s just smutty modern aus 💀💀 and i have like half a whole fic of oc x din djarin that’s entirely self indulgent and she is based on me and i keep that to myself for funsies

19. favorite spin off series is either the mandalorian or the book of boba fett!! i just think they’re neat i also love rogue one

20. he’s han solo..yeah he shot first when has he ever kept his mouth shut and his blaster down fuck greedo

link to original post!!

#thank you for asking #personal post #cam yaps #star wars questions

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lovedazai · 5 months

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hi mai mai!! hope you missed me 🤭 i rly rly feel like starting to write a short fic abt dazai x reader (either angst or smut) and i’d really appreciate if you had some tips for me! like what gives you motivation ^^ also, if you agree (since i’m not planning on posting it maybe) i could send it to you and you could give me some notes!! totally understand if you’re not up for it <333 have an amazing day/night and plspls eat a yummy meal, mwah ^w^

- 🎧

nikiii (꜆꜄ ˃ ³ ˂)꜆꜄꜆ !! i feel like im not going to be v helpful w this cus i kinda do whatever :< its rlly difficult for me to focus on one draft at a time so im always bouncing around (highly advise against doing this, its the worst habit) & i feel like i only get super motivated to finish something if i rlly rlly like how its going or if its been a long time since i posted something & i feel a little guilty. sometimes reading / watching whatever im writing for gets me giddy & makes me want to write !! or reading other fics gets me inspired sometimes !! but if u need any other help pls dont be scared to ask, i just have the worst writing process / schedule ever :<

OMG STOP ID LOVE TO PROOFREAD WHATEVER UR WRITING <33 !! my messages are always open, pls send it whenever ur ready !! or i can give u my discord if that’d be easier, just lmk <3 !!

#valentines #signed by 🎧 ⟡₊ ⊹

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arsenalgbt · 11 months

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can i ask you your top 5 arsenal ship? 👀

(love your blog and works btw!)

CAN YOU---OF COURSE YOU CAN ANON, PLEASE, FINALLY LET'S GOURrr

it's so long grab a snack~

1.a. Aaron/Martin like, sorry I coined 'martindale' you saw it you heard it here on my tumblr FIRST. writing martindale? will be there. reading martindale? I will be there. screaming crying at their interactions caught in 4k? will be there. discussing with my fellow martindale believers? I'm in.

blame everything on Aaron mucking about Martin being the el parchio of the squad and my gunnerinnas' tags whenever Aaron says sth about Martin.

and how we all are a bit 👁👄👁 about our captain's behaviour around men 😋😋😋

1.b. Benjamin/Willo. anon I can write an essay........... but long story short, it's cuz they're such opposites!!!! visual wise and personality wise they're sooo chef's kiss.

this ship is just so VIVID in my fucking mind. older, kinda bitchy, secretly funny, definitely slutty, very cool benjamin/scary, menacing aura but looks about 5 y/o when smiling, actually younger, hilarious willo? obsessed!!! 🥰🥰🥰

(also I'll just say it again with my whole chest; I hailed willo as a babie way way before gunnerinnas began gushing about him. it was me and the thirsty twitter men. I did it. I love that now my gunnerinnas have come out supporting the babieliba agenda!!)

2. sakanelli 😭😭😭 ik I'm not too vocal about them but I rly rly rly like them, they're so precious to me hence they're second on my list. two starboys?????? imagine such iconic power couple, giggling, cuddling, nelli improving his English picking up Londoner accent because of his bestie B???---except I can and will only write G rated fics about them. sometimes soon, I hope. I remember one of my moots' tags, something along these lines; "it's so important to me that they both actually like each other" under a sakanelli post AND TRUST ME. oh the possibility. oh the 'started from the bottom now we're here' trope. they're my babies. I read a sakanelli fic on ao3 but it was so sad 😭

3. reiss/either Aaron or Jorginho....... I know. I KNOW IM SO QUIRKYYY CRIES. listen; aaron/reiss size difference? DELISH. jorginho/reiss being opposites (infuriating old man/calm, confused boy toy) PLUS reiss' babygirlism from one (1) video

literally I haven't stopped recycling this gif as my motivation to continue writing sugar daddy jorgi/confused reiss lol

tldr; it's reiss' face tbfh. he's so pretty... like... i CAN'T let such a pretty face go to waste (not writing fics about him lol).

fuck I think that's it?? cuz I like these three equally:

xhakarteta; BUT eye think eye am just a reader. it's so hard to get their characterisations right (for the standard I set for myself lol). thus, I'm afraid/lazy to get my hands on writing actual plot for them 🫡

Aaron/benjamin; again, amazing, time proven, OG friends to lovers trope, etc etc but I'm just a reader for them I guess!!!?????? same excuse with my view regarding xhakarteta. them fics I read??? LOVE THEM. Aaron is soooooooooo whipped, so golden retriever coded. spoiler alert; I'm writing an Aaron/Benjamin/Martin threesome as we speak :O

ZINNY/GABBY OH GOSH!! Zinny is clearly so into gabby but gabby is this sexy workaholic who is never aware of the attention he gets from men (multiple). iktr.

honorary mention, I used to and still have a soft spot for giroud/ramsey. like... goddamn rambo was thirsty... and granit/ramsey as well ngl... OH ALSO; nelli/fabio lmaooo gawd these twinks...

PSA; in my hc, Aaron Ramsdale had a crush on Leno 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 OKAY NOW TELL ME YOURS! thank you for reading thanks for liking my works!!!!

#lmao one thing about me; I will write an essay to answer a question #je suis #fic material #martindale

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cosmobrain00 · 8 months

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the *pikachu face* i made when i just read motr and got the hiatus update… objectively a bit heartbreaking for me BUT!!!! all love n respect for u, just wanted to lyk that i read this whole series in a span of like 24 hours? which is insane bc yes it’s sooo long but oh well. i was hooked. as one writer to another i totally sympathize w ur reasoning for leaving it alone as well haha. also wanted to say that even tho the byler was rather scrumptious in a tortured way i was indeed looking for will&max friendship fics so obv coming across ur series was mind blowing for me. i was brave and read it all in order too.

anyway i just wanted to heap praise on u even if u are unsatisfied. as a reader i Did think holy fuck this is really long but the will & el & jonathan siblingism and will & upsidedownism and will & max bestieism was everything to me. and i was rly impressed by ur horror n descriptors of monsters/possession/manipulation/BODY HORROR! i do be thinking abt the car scene w will’s eye so thank u. i feel like for a series like stranger things i don’t see a lot of fics that rly delve into how fucked up this could be so i was pleased to see this work!

anyway that’s it just wanted to say thank u n share my love for this work n for your efforts as a writer. the plot twists i did get to experience were very twisty n my heart is tattered n bruised. your max lives on in my heart forever like seriously i’m obsessed w herrrr

i’ll leave this message w a post i made as soon as i finished reading this lol: “like seriously when you're reading a ship fic but it's more like the most insane take on an au/character study that has ever been.......... i'm not above admitting that i was hooked”

THANK YOU!!!!! SO MUCH!!!!!! screaming crying possibly throwing up ovr this PLEASE this is quite literally evrything i love to hear how did u know??? im soso incredibly glad u enjoyed all of these bits specifically bc these were all of my absolute fav things to write n I hope u know im going to cherish this forevr n evr no matter a lot of my personal opinions on my series<3 cant express how grateful i am either tht u took time to tell me all of this mwah ur a star🫶🫂

#this response feels so inadequate but I hope u know this gen made my day<3 #like trust me I have re-read this at LEAST 5 times n evry time I gotta freak out for a sec LMAO #cosmobrain asks

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slytherinshua · 10 months

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Hi there! I just read your So Mun docs bc I was scouring on tumblr to see if anyone has written anything for The Uncanny Counter because I’m so hooked and there is nothing anywhere it’s literally just you carrying this fandom’s writings on your back. I have a request and it might sound stupid so you can delete it or not write it, anyways could you write a fic of either So Mun meeting or dating reader who is like Spiderwoman? She isn’t a counter or anything just someone taking care of criminals, (she has the iron spider suit from that is shown in No Way Home worn by Tom Holland’s Spider-Man bc that suit is so cool with the spider legs anyways) The reader spots the counters beating up an evil spirit and thinking it’s a criminal joins in on the fight with her webs and webs up the evil spirit for them (she has webbing, supper strength and ‘spider senses’ just like Peter’s in the Spider-Man films) and the counters are just like ‘???who are you and how did you do that???’ and like maybe while fighting non spirit fights she joins the counters as well sometimes on fights or if they need her (she hasn’t shown her face to them yet idk where you wanna do that in the fic) and you can take it from there about what happens between her and So Mun or how he sees her face for the first time etc again if this sounds dumb you don’t need to write it but I just wanted to get the idea out of my head haha🫶🏻🫶🏻

oh my god????? OH MY GOD??? I ACTUALLY LOVE THIS IDEA SM!!! im a big fan of spiderman even tho i haven't watched any of those movies i read sm peter parker fanfic and know the plots of basically all the tom holland spiderman movies (ive ever written a spiderman au for beomgyu cause it is my fav superhero to brainstorm with). i'm def def gonna write this i think its such a fun idea and the idea of like superheroes being in the same universe as counters is so cool!!! i just wanted to respond immediately and let you know that i love the idea since u seemed uncertain :( but its such a great idea and i can't wait to write since im rly hooked on writing a lot of so mun fics rn!! (i hope ppl don't mind but i am quite literally like you said, feeding the entire fandom and i am the ONLY one 😭 but i like doing it and i just hope my fics are good enough to satisfy everyone <33) thank you so much for the req and hopefully i can write it and put it out asap!!!

#zanna answers the inbox!!#anon ⌦ .｡.:*♡#im obsessed with this req

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mostlymaudlin · 1 year

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Hiii I hope you’re doing well! 🤍 1, 2, 20, 21, & 26 for the ask :)

i am doing GREAT, having a lot of fun procrastinating multiple things -- i hope you are having a good day!

so, i answered 2 here!

1. where do you typically get your ideas?

mostly i just wanna put a guy in a situation hahaha. lately its a lot of "i have this belief about andrew and im gonna PROVE it to everyone." so, i guess the real answer to this is i get my ideas by thinking about characters, and then i find the appropriate way to show what their deal is!

20. What is your best piece of advice for writing smut scenes?

i made this post once, which i think is my main advice! i guess my only other thing is just that writing smut is the same as writing anything else, in that you'll have your own way of doing it. i think sometimes theres a tendency to put smut in a different category of writing skills -- and yeah, there are things that make it unique, and there is some universality to sex scenes just bc of like... human biology and anatomy hahaha. but also, it's still just your writing! so there's no need to compare yourselves to others/try to write smut the same way your fave authors do. the best sex scenes, imo, are ones that feel like the author felt comfortable writing.

21. What is your best piece of advice for writing romance scenes?

hmmmm. probably that romance looks different for everyone. romance trademarks are like, big confession scenes and passionate kisses and dates and saying "i love you." and those have their place, but maybe not for every character, and not for every story. romance is also, "i call you when im freaking out," or "i make sure you go to bed on time," or "i tell you this secret bc i trust that u won't turn it against me." these are actually examples of scenes id consider to be romantic climaxes of some of my fics haha. i kind of squeak and hide over traditional romantic stuff, and my versions of characters aren't rly that type either, so i never try to smoosh them into the archetypes.

26. How do you go about world building?

same as everything else -- i just kind of structure it to whatever makes it easiest for me to show the things im trying to show abt the characters. i mostly write in contemporary settings, so i don't have to do that much big picture work, but i try to fill the world around the characters with things that feel consistent and non-distracting. i think that setting is one of the most powerful ways to control mood, too -- like, no turning back is kinda angsty at its core, but the world includes a board game bar, which adds some whimsy to the story lmfao. and i like to think that story is kinda fun overall, because all the emotionally heavy stuff is happening in a fairly upbeat world.

in we can live forever, they're in high school, so the world is populated with things from my own experiences of being a teenager and also being a high school teacher. they have homework, they have parents who give them rules, they have shitty cars that they have to share with siblings. these things build the boundaries that remind the reader that these are stupid, besotted teens, and that's why they are being so foolish bahaha.

#my writing #long post #got long-winded here lol

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cummin-n-cryin · 1 year

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I hope you fellas like the camping fic I know it took me like 2 million years to post smth im sry lmao ;-;

I haven't rly been looking at my inbox but I know some people sent in requests I'll be looking at them tomorrow and I'll update my WIP section accordingly.

Also if you could send in more requests that are smut related and are maybe about the nrc teachers that would be cool!

Its just so sad to look at the Crowley x reader tag and nothing new having been posted for like months. I know not everyone wants to fuck the teachers but look at em! Look at Crowley's stupid little beady bird eyes or look at Sam he's hot and I bet he knows how to treat you right!

Mostly I just wanna try to write smut more because I get kinda awkward when writing it and I rly wanna improve. Idc how nasty or weird your asks are send em! Like I'm a dark content blog for a reason. Get into my inbox, slap that anon button if you want and send me your dark depraved thoughts!

Obvi you don't have to! Feel free to send me whatever you want and I'll try my best to write it! Either way thx for supporting me and stuff mwah (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥

#thiccy talks #sry if this post is a lil long lmao #cummings in the name we need more smut on this blog

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wooahaes · 9 months

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for that game maybe baeseung and forbidden love??? 💕💕💕

hiii ursa <3 isnt that just me @ baeseung irl?? /j

hmm ive played with a forbidden love idea before w a different golcha member (where readers royalty and hes a servant basically) so... i can either do another serious one like that or do a sillier one...

so anyway seungmins family owns the restaurant across the street from your own and, for unknown reasons, his family hates your family. like... they'd straight up argue in the street. which is weird, because you swear you used to be friends w seungmin as a kid??? and then one day ur parents were like 'nope :) not anymore' and straight up transferred u to another school for it.

and now the two of u are like. older. out of college. working in the restaurant. u fuck something up in the kitchens by accident and get kicked out for the night when trying to fix it, and so you go to a nearby park where A Guy sits at the other end of the bench ur on and hes like. "did you get kicked out too?" and hi seungmin bc of course u both recognize each other immediately. y'all catch up, both express confusion over w/e happened with ur families, and decide not to let it affect ur friendship bc ur adults, u can do that.

and then both of ur families get Pissed bc hey!!! not that one!!! u cant be friends w that one, insisting that both of you know what the other did. ur both literally left out of the loop. despite tht, the two of you keep meeting up after the restaurants close and ur families go home, and u enjoy the nightlife of the city together. something something kiss kiss fall in luv. you tell seungmin u feel like ur romeo and juliet at this point. he says he doesnt rly care all that much for the restaurant and tht hes just working there now to save up money while he figures out what comes next.

anyway something something parents find out, u find out there was some fight between them all. it probs ends with reader being the one whos like "ok first of all. this is fucking stupid. second of all im not running the restaurant so bye!! i quit!!! im gonna go hang out w seungmin!!" and seungmin saying hes also quitting as he walks out with you. the two of u probs just hide out at his apartment until ur families get their shit together. heart to heart??? deciding to travel together with the money u two saved up??? fic ends with the two of you leaving together happy and ur families seeing u off and deciding that u guys' happiness is more important than a feud

#wooahaes.ask #ursa 🐻#idk where this one went. i just wanted dramatic restaurant fights.

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saetoru · 2 years

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tee i saw tobirama, hashirama, and GENMA AND DEIDARA all mentioned in one post.... you are the loml for real i think

LIV FUN FACT when i watched the chunin exams for the first time i rewatched the episodes like 3 times just to get genma crumbs BC I WAS LIKE WHO IS THIS MAN ??? WHY IS HE SO GORJUS ??? and then i went to ao3, realized he was a VERY MINOR character, had a devastating crisis, and then proceeded to read every OC fic with him even tho i don’t rly read OC fics just so i could pretend the OC was reader

SAME WITH DEIDARA i was searching fanfiction.net for him 😔 i was at a low point okay 🥹 tobirama and hashirama were slightly better but there wasn’t too much there either i was like WHY does the world insist on torturing me so much :,)

BUT THE WAY YOU LOVE ALL FOUR OF THEM FKSJFSK IM GETTINF DOWN ON ONE KNEE AGAIN TO RENEW THE WEDDING VOWS

#those are so good like when they’re childhood friends to lovers #♡ — message from: liv <3

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