collapsedglasshouses - Tumblr blog

collapsedglasshouses · 2 days

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the unbearable weight of tenderness

pairing: jolly karlsson x f!reader

cw: unprotected p in v sex, soft dom jolly, reader is a little bossy and jolls is a perfect bb angel, kind of hurt/comfort but mostly just comfort, all sweet tings

word count: 1.6K

author’s note: the first of my jolly requests for the baby boy’s birthday ❤️ this one for my dearest hedy @darksigns-exe who wanted something nice and soft and comforting. thank you @circle-with-me as always for the beta!! i hope i did it justice <3

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥀

It’s all been too much today — your heart hasn’t returned to its normal rate in hours and you can’t seem to stop the trembling of your hands. You don’t know how much more of it you can take, how many more of these days you can stomach.

You wait outside the door, unsure if you should go inside yet. He’s probably had a nice, relaxing day with you out of the house. He hardly gets the opportunity, and he deserves it. You don’t want to ruin his mood and bring him down with you.

But all you want is your bed and Jolly.

You imagine the welcoming sink of the mattress, the hold of your sweet boy, the weight of him on top of you as he kisses away all the bad. You just need him to fix it.

The immediate look of concern you’re met with when you step through the door and let your bag thud to the floor does little to soothe you, but he’s at your side in a moment, holding you to his chest as you allow yourself to slump into him.

“Bad day, darling?” he asks, but he doesn’t need to. He always knows. He’s long been able to read you perfectly, sense every little shift in your moods.

“Yeah,” you whine pathetically into his chest. He places a kiss to the top of your head and you feel as his lips curl into a smile. It isn’t mean-spirited. You can tell his gears are turning and he’s thinking up a solution.

Just like always.

“Why don’t you get comfortable while I order us some dinner. Does Chinese sound good?”

All you can bring yourself to do is nod, still feeling miserable, but hopeful and comforted as he separates from you and heads into the kitchen.

The thudding of his heartbeat beneath your ear soothes you. You’re still shaky, but at least if you can’t stop the trembling of your hands, you can place them on him.

But there’s something more you need. It’s usually just right, a lazy night in with him, but you can’t seem to settle. Even resting your full weight on him, his hands running through your hair, there’s a nagging buzz beneath your skin.

He notices — enough time spent squirming and unsettled on top of him has him fixing you with a look not quite of agitation, but a mix of impatience and pity.

“Are you doing all right, doll?” he asks you, and it’s almost teasing. You know what he needs from you before he gives you what you need, but instead you find yourself whimpering, squirming more until he stills you with a strong hand gripping your side.

“Joakim,” you whine, your eyes meeting his with a plea. “Please.”

“You have to tell me what you need,” comes his immediate response, stern and unwavering, but the edge of softness in his tone lets you know he isn’t angry with you. “I’ll give you what you need but you have to tell me what it is.”

“I just need you,” you beg, burying your face in his chest. You know he needs more from you, but it’s all so much. “Need you to get me out of my head, Jolly, please.”

You watch as the pity flickers back through his expression. There’s an undercurrent of desire, but it’s overwhelmed by something more tender as he traces a finger along your cheek.

“Do you want me to take you to bed?”

You feel as the ease floods through you, grateful he takes it easy on you just this once. You gaze up at him and nod, pleased and relieved as a grin spreads across his face.

The anxiety slowly seeps out of you as his body weight presses you into the sheets.

The welcome sink of the mattress is nothing compared to the burn, the sizzle under your skin everywhere you’re touching him — everywhere.

“Baby,” you gasp, with hardly a grasp on what you’re asking for, but it doesn’t matter. He knows. He always knows, as kisses are trailed from your lips, to your cheek, down your neck, over your collarbones. “Jolly.”

A soft shh is pressed into the skin of your chest. You vibrate with it, still trembling but in a way that’s so very different, a pleasant disquiet inside of you as he kisses away all the bad, like you knew he would. Just like he always does.

“I always take care of you, don’t I?” he asks. A rhetorical question, but you find yourself nodding nonetheless, your skin hot and feverish as your shaking hands find purchase on his bare shoulders.

It’s always so much with him, overwhelmed completely as you’re naked in your bed and bent to his will.

It should always be this way.

The angle is awkward, cramped and a little wrong, when he slides his hand down through your folds, brushing a finger over your clit and smiling into your chest as he draws a gasp from you.

“Do you want me to get you off like this?”

You consider it for a long moment, losing yourself in the feeling of his rough hands on you. The callouses juxtapose with his ultra-gentle touch and it dizzies you. It’s enough.

It could be enough.

He could touch you like this for hours, his full weight resting on you as he draws orgasm after orgasm from you with practiced ease, but —

“No,” you gasp, grappling with his shoulders and pulling him back up to you. His pupils are blown when his eyes meet yours. He could do this for hours, too. You can’t help but pull him down to your lips, grateful for the way he always takes such perfect care of you. “Can I have your cock?”

He’s been so good for you, so patient, so polite — focusing entirely on you rather than his aching hardness. You knew. You felt it pressed into your thigh, saw him grinding his hips into the mattress as you felt the shift of the bed beneath you.

It’s for you, too, as much as him, when you ask for it. “Please.”

He nods, out of sorts, burying his face in your neck once more. Every part of you is covered by him. He’s so affected that he doesn’t make you work for it and you’re so thankful.

It’s with one languid move, smooth and practiced, that he lifts his hips and slides himself into you.

The stretch burns — always does for just a moment — but he’s right there to soothe you with kisses when you find yourself gasping.

“Be good for me, love,” he breathes into your open mouth, accompanied by the steady, shallow rock of his hips. It’s your favorite thing, being wholly surrounded by him, being picked apart and pieced back together.

You’re adjusted before long, lost in the slow drag of him inside you and his lips on your skin as you relax into the mattress once more, letting him take care of you.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, nipping ever so gently at your bottom lip. Your mouth curves involuntarily into a grin. He always fixes it.

There’s a long while spent like that, his spit slick lips never parting from you, finding a home on your skin.

Your mind shifts to the realization you could spend your whole night like this, your whole life like this, when he lifts his torso off yours.

“Hey, no,” you complain, grabbing at his sides to try to drag him back down to you. The hand that had been moving towards your center stops its descent, and he stops moving, and you feel a little bit like you want to scream. You can’t have him stop.

“You don’t want me to get you off?” he asks, and the sweet look on his face would make you soft for him, if not for your complete displeasure with the space he’s put between you.

You shake your head, dragging him back on top of you. Your hands find purchase on his lower back, fingers digging into his skin, moving his hips for him. You know you’ll leave marks with how hard you’re gripping. You can’t wait to admire the marks for the days to come, knowing you did that.

“I’ll cum like this,” you tell him. He places a smile to your lips. It’s just the right amount of pressure, of friction. When you pull your knees up, wrapping your legs around him, it’s just right. “Just stay.”

It’s so much for so long that you can’t help yourself. You throw your head back but he follows, hands in your hair moving your head forward again to meet his gaze. “Eyes on me, darling.”

It’s out of your power when you feel yourself tumbling over the edge, gaze remaining on him, just like he asked. You knew he wouldn’t be far behind and you feel him stilling inside of you, bringing his mouth to yours to quiet his gasps against your lips.

And it’s everything you needed from him.

The moments pass and you’re so content to have him stay like that, resting on you, softening inside of you.

“How’s a bath sound? Need to get ourselves cleaned up,” he says into your neck, but not making any moves to get up. You’re not ready yet.

“Just a little while longer?” you ask — the question not even finished before you swear you feel him rest more of his weight on you, sinking further into the bed, intent to keep fixing it.

Whatever you want. Just like always.

tags:

@concretenoah @circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @ladyveronikawrites @cookiesupplier

@bngurngheart @agravemisstake @iknownothingpeople @anameunmusical @sitkowski

@abiomens @baddestomens @collapsedglasshouses @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

#jolly karlsson fic #jolly karlsson fanfiction #jolly karlsson rpf #jolly karlsson smut #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #bad omens smut #joakim jolly karlsson fic #joakim jolly karlsson fanfiction

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collapsedglasshouses · 3 days

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got the boy on the brain today

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collapsedglasshouses · 4 days

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Oli Sykes

Sydney, April 2024

📷: Sam Neill

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collapsedglasshouses · 4 days

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Chapter tags & trigger warnings: nightmares, implied ptsd, angst, fluff, comfort, Noah being the perfect boyfriend best friend | Word count: 2.1k | Cross posted on AO3 | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

"Sometimes, it amazed me how easy it was to make her happy, how simple life had to be to get her to genuinely smile."

Lia’s hands were dirty with wet soil.

The day before, at the grocery store, she had picked up gloves and a few gardening tools. Today, she was planting the seeds she had picked up and that she had added to the pile of items I had to carry in my arms. When I had complained again, Lia had just shrugged her shoulders and pointed out that I had long arms, so I’d have to deal with it. I just rolled my eyes.

That early morning, she did wear the gloves when she started working in the back garden of the house, but soon abandoned them because she said they dulled her sense of touch, preventing her from feeling the soil, the plants, or the petals of the flowers.

I stayed close by, engaged in a conversation with her for a while. I was curious about her gardening choices, observing her focused efforts as she worked in different areas of the garden. It was refreshing to see her absorbed in the task, providing a temporary respite from the worries that plagued her day and night, especially at night.

After pouring us each a glass of orange juice and having a little argument with Lia because she asked me to bring her a beer can instead, I settled into one of the hammocks on the porch, sunglasses and headphones on.

As usual, time seemed to slip away whenever I lay there, under the sun. I was granted a rare moment of peace for the first time in weeks.

Lia continued her gardening nearby, moving from one end of the garden to the other with dedication. Despite my music, I caught snippers of her conversation with the flowers, which brought a smile to my face. It was such a tranquil morning, marred only by the lingering shadow of Lia’s past with Mitch.

When a sudden black cloud obscured the sun, I removed my sunglasses and headphones, standing up to assess the changing weather.

Lia sat cross-legged in the center of the garden, crafting a flower crown, triggering memories of that day in her mother’s house, when I was fifteen and she was fourteen. I recalled that day, when we were just teenagers and I had had to explain to her why I had decided to drop out of school. With her sad eyes looking straight into mine, I suggested she could move in with me and Mike when she turned eighteen. I had stayed the night with her, and we had woken up together. A slight blush kept up my cheeks as I remembered what had transpired that morning between us.

Trying to shake off the memory, I called out to her.

“Hey, princess.”

Lia’s head snapped up, a smile playing on her lips as she seemed to be recalling the same memory, the moment I placed the daisy crown on her head more than a decade ago.

“How does it look?” she inquired, motioning towards the flowers she had planted in clusters around the garden.

“I might just hire you as my private gardener,” I quipped, though the garden truly seemed rejuvenated, as if life had just brought by a sudden miracle.

I found it ironic how Lia, navigating through her own struggles, had this knack for bringing life and light to her surroundings, including me.

“I must tell you, my services are quite expensive,” she teased, rising and brushing soil from her knees.

“I’d pay with my soul,” I replied, eliciting a tender smile from her. The sunlight illuminated her face, lending her a healthier glow as the bruises on her skin seemed to be fading. I hoped her heart would heal as her body did.

When it came to my split lip, it still hurt, but it was also getting better.

“I’m serious. It looks amazing,” I told her, surveying her handiwork. “How’s the crown coming along?” I asked, nodding towards the floral creation in her hands.

“Hmm,” Lia’s smile flattered momentarily as she focused on the string of flowers. “I’ve lost practice,” she admitted. I could feel the sadness in her voice.

“Need a hand?” I offered.

Lia raised an eyebrow skeptically. “You’re not exactly skilled at making flower crowns, Noah.”

Raising my hands, feigning offense, I replied, “All right, Flower Queen. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“I wasn’t teasing you,” she clarified. “It’s just a fact.”

“I know…” It was true. I had no freaking clue as to how to make a flower crown, not even after so many years of having a flower enthusiast as my best friend. “So, what’s on the agenda today? What do you feel like doing? Do you want to go to the Botanical Gardens?” I suggested. “We could spend some time walking around, grab a hot chocolate from the café, and maybe pick up a few more plants.”

“Aren’t you tired of flowers?” Lia questioned, probably concerned about me.

“Who could ever tire of flowers?” I exclaimed, swinging my leg over the hammock to stand. I collected our drinks, ready to return them to the kitchen. “Flowers are fucking pretty. I could never get enough, even if I’m hopeless at making crowns.”

“You’re just saying that to keep me happy,” Lia countered. She couldn’t hide the tiny smile peeking from her lips, though.

“I’d say anything to keep you happy, but no, I actually mean those words. Flowers rock. Now go take a quick shower, and let’s go to the Botanical Gardens. I’ll see if Jesse wants to join us.”

The botanical garden adventure turned out to be a more delightful experience than I expected. A new section had recently opened, and Lia’s excitement bubbled over as we explored it thoroughly. She was so fascinated by the new multitude of plants that she left Jesse and me trailing behind her, lost in our chatter about work and music.

When she ventured further ahead, Jesse lowered his voice and asked me about her well-being. I hesitated before responding because the truth was that I wasn’t sure. At times she looked… okay. Other times, I would hear her or catch her crying. I had no clue if a pain like the one she carried could ever disappear; if a wound like that could ever be mended.

During our time there, I noticed Lia occasionally drifting into moments of distraction, her smile fading as troubling thoughts crept in. Sensing her vulnerability, I made a point to stay close, wrapping an arm around her shoulder whenever I sensed her faltering. Redirecting her attention, I guided her to the next exhibit, peppering her with random questions about the flora, to which she surprisingly had all the answers. Lia's depth of knowledge was captivating, and I wasn't the only one to notice. Jesse, too, was struck by Lia's genuine passion for nature and flowers. It was heartwarming to witness how she retained that childhood love amidst her life's challenges.

Standing outside the cafeteria, positioned on the elevated area overseeing the gardens, I waited for Jesse to return from the restrooms and for Lia to pick up her hot chocolate from the counter inside the café. As I glanced at the sky, latte in hand, I felt grateful for the brightness of the day. Suddenly, Lia’s arms wrapped around me from behind, squeezing me tightly as her head nestled against my back. Some coffee spilled from my cup, and a bit of chocolate dripped from the one she held in her left hand.

“Lia, Christ,” I exclaimed, turning around to face her, taken aback by the sudden unexpected affection. With a sheepish grin, she released her hold, cheeks flushed.

“Sorry, that was… awkward,” Lia mumbled, her apology hanging in the air.

“No, not at all,” I reassured her, reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It was rather lovely,” I added, a warm smile gracing my lips. “You feeling alright?”

Her response came accompanied by a slight shake of the hot chocolate cup in her hand. “Now I am, yes,” Lia replied, her smile returning.

Sometimes, it amazed me how easy it was to make her happy, how simple life had to be to get her to genuinely smile.

Before long, Jesse joined us, his hand ruffling through his hair as he adjusted his glasses. “You’re all set?” he asked, casting a glance at the drinks we held.

“Yep,” we replied in unison.

“Great. My mom’s birthday is coming up. I thought I’d browse the shop for some plants before we leave,” Jesse announced. “Maybe Lia can give me some advice?”

“Sure,” she agreed readily.

“She’ll do that gladly,” I mumbled. “She’s going to give herself some advice, too.”

“And pick out a few more plants for the garden,” she added, a playful grin dancing on her face as she strolled alongside us.

Sure enough, Lia ended up selecting a couple of pots of pelargonium, gardenias, and some bamboo sticks, envisioning how they would complement the minimalist aesthetic of my room. As Lia and Jesse explored the shop, leaving me behind to wonder why the fuck some plants were so weird, they discussed which flowers would be best suited for Jesse's mom. Lia shared her expertise on which blooms would last longest indoors and explained the symbolic meanings behind each flower and color. Jesse listened attentively, deciding. He finally selected a thoughtful assortment of white and orange plants that he hoped his mom would like.

Later that day, back in the comfort of the house, the three of us settled in to tackle some work. Jesse attended to his band obligations, handling a few phone calls and online meetings while Lia and I retreated to the studio.

The gentle sound of pencils scratching on paper and crayons on textured surfaces served as a comforting backdrop to the tunes I was playing on one of my guitars. Having Lia nearby, even in her quiet presence, felt good; I definitely preferred her close where I could sense her mood rather than distant and out of reach. I didn’t want to find her locked in the bathroom crying her eyes out and feeling guilty for what had happened to her.

It hadn’t been her fault, and while I didn’t mind reminding her of that as many times as necessary, I didn’t want her to dwell on those thoughts alone. I believed it was healthier for her to externalize her feelings and emotions through lyrics or drawings.

Midafternoon, I took a brief break to make coffee and grab a snack, taking the time to check the messages on my phone —a few from Jolly, another bunch from other friends and work— and give Matt a call.

Lia joined me in the kitchen just as I was in the midst of the conversation, gesturing for me to pass her the phone when I was finished. In the meantime, she retrieved a beer from the fridge.

When she spoke with Matt —and I entertained myself chewing on chocolate-chip cookies—, her tone seemed overly cheerful, which was odd. Somehow, she decided it would be a good idea for all of us to meet on Saturday night, grab some pizzas, and spend some time together as we used to do. With Jolly’s return scheduled for Friday, Lia asked for my approval. I could only shrug and reply with a casual “yeah”. If it meant she could relax and enjoy the company of our friends, then I was fully supportive.

As the day melted into evening, the house overflowed with tranquility. The strumming of the guitar filled the air, punctuated by the occasional recording breaks to capture snippets of sound for an on-going musical project. Meanwhile, Lia was deeply engrossed in her creative zone, sitting on the sofa facing the desk where I was sat at. She was working with a pen and a worn-out notebook in hand, sketching designs and penning songs’ lyrics with a focus that made her bit her lip. Every once in a while she would lift her head and make a comment about the sounds coming out from the speakers, complimenting the music I was creating. There was something so undeniably comforting about being in this creative bubble together, just doing our thing and enjoying each other’s company.

We vibed off each other’s energy effortlessly. It was like we were in sync, riding the same wavelength of inspiration. It felt like home.

At quarter to seven, Lia rose from the sofa, stretching her arms and humming, and placed a few sheets of paper on the desk beside the keyboard.

“There. Take a look. They’re not my best work, but I think they might work for a t-shirt design," she casually said, enthusiasm lacking her tone.

The sheets were filled with new drawings —roses, daggers, demons—, potential additions to our merchandise lineup.

Before I could respond, she left the studio, mentioning something about grabbing another beer and preparing dinner.

__________________________________

PLEASE, REFRAIN FROM CONTINUING YOUR READING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO GET SPOILED WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT HAPPENS IN THE 2-3 CHAPTERS THAT ARE MISSING.

I'M WORKING TO GET THEM UPLOADED BY THE END OF APRIL.

#noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction

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collapsedglasshouses · 5 days

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I like this too much, too. 🩷

i think i’m in love

author's note: hi all ! something short and sweet for our boy folio :) inspired by “i think i’m in love” by taylor acorn, so listen to that if you wanna get a feel for this. really loved writing my last piece for him and i adored his relationship with reader, so i wanted to expand on that a little. i may continue writing in this universe if more people want it :) as always, please enjoy !

pairing: nick folio x reader ( fallingforyou universe )

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 1k~

cw/tags: fluff, literally nothing but tooth-rotting fluff, feelings realization, nick is so smitten soooo in love, 18+ minors do not interact

Nick feels like he can breathe much easier again the second he's off that damn plane.

It was a full flight, incredibly fucking stuffy, and he had been anxious the very second the plane took off. He was counting down the literal seconds in the air until they were finally on solid ground again. Flying wasn't one of his favorite things, never had been, but especially when he was anticipating something much more exciting upon his arrival. You never left his mind, even when he tried to sleep, the moment his eyes shut you were the first thing he saw.

Being excited about going home and sleeping in his own bed for the first time in weeks is one thing, but being even more excited just because he gets to have you in his arms again... it's a whole other feeling.

He never expected this to happen - you and him. Relationships are never easy, especially being in the road majority of the year, and most people run when he even utters the words that he’s a musician. You didn’t, though. You stayed, and the two of you learned how to deal with the distance together. It was hard at first, trying to get the times just right to FaceTime, even a quick phone call. It got easier as time went, but the ache in his chest grew more and more as the thought of you passed his mind.

And you were on his mind a lot.

He sees you before you see him and his heart soars out of his chest, lodging itself in his throat. He swallows it down with a smile and his legs move before he can think about it.

Holy shit. He missed you so much.

It's right when you're just barely out of arm's length that you finally turn around and see him, and he watches the exact moment relief washes over you. Your eyes widen, lips stretching out into a smile, and you barely get a word out before his arms are slipping around your waist.

"Hi." You squeak before settling in his arms, wrapping your own around him.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, emotions running high, and he just holds you closer to him. This is what he was needing - craving. Having you in his arms was something he had thought about the second he left you, and to finally have that again after almost three months is... a lot. A new feeling he can't explain, but there's been a lot of new things when it involves you.

"Hey." He says quietly, pulling back just enough to get a good look at your face.

You're smiling, eyes crinkled at the end, and that’s when he sees the first tear fall. He laughs, reaching his hands up to cup your cheeks to wipe it away.

"Sorry." You mumble, clearly embarrassed, but the tears don't seem to stop. "I just missed you a lot. Really glad you're home."

"I missed you too, darlin'." He hums, thumbs stroking over your cheeks before letting his arms wrap back around you, pulling you into his chest. "And I'm really fucking glad to be home."

You fall into him naturally, face burying against his shoulder. The two of you stand there for a few moments of silence, soaking up the embrace, and Nick realizes why it's hard to have someone at home. These reunions are rough - emotional, almost too emotional for him. And maybe if this had been Nick from a year ago, he'd run. He could never put himself through this, you through this, because it hurts so much to be away from the person that you love.

But coming home to you, knowing that you'll be here waiting for him... something inside Nick's chest squeezes, his stomach swirls, and he thinks it might be worth it. It's too early to say if this is for the long run, if he and you were end-game, but maybe you were. Maybe this was the real deal, and maybe he actually was in love with you. He can't seem to find a justifiable reason to break this off because it hurts too much. He's willing to put himself through this, if that means he has you.

And who knows, maybe one day Bad Omens could get big enough to where he can support you both, bring you out on the road with him. The thought makes him feel giddy, even if it may not become a reality anytime soon.

"Ready to head home?" You finally speak up, pulling away from him.

Your eyes showed no more tears, which he was thankful for, and the softness in your gaze has him wanting to just kiss you right in front of everyone. At the mention of home, which would involve a bed - hopefully yours - he nods, before yawning loudly.

"Fuck yeah." He says mid-yawn and you laugh, reaching out to pat his chest. "Yours? I like your bed better than mine."

You wordlessly grab his suitcase, waving him off as he tries to take it from you before sliding your free hand into his, gently tugging him with you.

"I think you've slept in my bed more in the last 6 months than you did your own." You tease, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Like I said, I like yours better than mine." He shrugs. "Also, it's just... very you. And I like you. So, I like sleeping in your bed."

"Didn't realize you liked me that much, babe."

"I like you too much," He hums. "It's concerning."

Your cheeks flush and he watches you turn your head to try and hide it, but he sees it. He always sees it. He feels giddy, hand squeezing yours as you turn your head to look at him again, lips stretched into a wide smile and a slight pink coloring to your cheeks.

"I think I like you too much, too."

Your eyes meet and he realizes there's something else under those words, and the smile the two of you share is one in understanding. He won't say it now, thinking he'll wait a little bit longer, but his chest twists in a way that he knows that you feel the same. He gently tugs you closer to him, lips finding the side of your head.

"Let's head home."

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fic #nick folio fan fic #bad omens fic

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