#I can't really tell if it's poor writing or not honestly I'm trying to not let it bother me I did truly enjoy the dynamic of her and nine

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

there's dirt on my face from when they buried me alive; i'll show you how to kiss, teach me how to breathe through these soil-laden lungs.

jw60 x reader: what happens at the renaissance faire does (not) stay at the renaissance faire.

(warnings: blasphemous filth (it's honestly not bad), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), idk a little hair pulling, nothing too crazy (be proud of me!), but you should be warned about the insanity that is me writing slow burn. i know i'm forgetting a lot but all my usual suspects. (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: well, favorites, did someone say longest story yet? no, size doesn't matter, but this is getting out of hand. we're over 15k, now. next time i'm just gonna hand you a novel. happy valentine's day from the writer that loves you the most. where to begin? no, i don't know anything about faire culture or even that much about theatre, but i hope you like this anyways, because i absolutely loved writing it. i guess goalies are for the heartbreakers (and jw60 is for people who have been demonized because they're hot). this is for those of us with a little bit of a reputation, a little bit of a history. you deserve someone who thinks you look like a princess when your tits are falling out of your corset. yeah, the pacing's probably a bit off, and i got carried away with his big doe-eyes, but shh! don't tell anyone. oh, and you guys can pry bad kisser jw60 from my cold, dead hands. you know how i used to say i hope you watch the canucks and think, wow, qh43 definitely wants something that's just his? i hope you watch the leafs (when jw60 comes back) and think, wow, sweetheart doesn't know how to kiss! and with that stiff upper neck, too, poor baby! of course, please tell me what you think, because i love it when you do. what else? thank you a million times for all the love. try to spot the baby leafs in the supporting cast. and i'm about halfway done with frat!jh86 (it's fun, you'll love it). thank you for being patient with me. go canucks. until next time, all my love).

the corset was making it really, really hard to breathe. you swore, tonight, when you finally unbound yourself, there would be indentations of the small brass eyelets in your spine, perhaps that your back would slink and melt into the ground, having grown accustomed to the relentless support of the tightly-tied ribbon.

"i don't want to hear it," jenny, your best friend, said, holding a hand up to silence you before you even spoke. "you look unreal. you'll thank me for this, babe, i swear it."

you shook your head at her. "i just don't get why i have to dress like a medieval prostitute," you mused, gesturing to yourself, then her, "and you get be, uh, whatever that is."

jenny threw a hairbrush at you, which you dodged. "i'm a jester. you know this. you know how important this is to me."

you sighed, because you did. jenny had been a regular at the old renaissance faire every summer since she was little. you were about to be seniors in university, but this summer, jenny had insisted that you join her, some kind of last hurrah before you began to walk an intertwined path for what would likely be the last time.

and as much as you didn't really have any interest in jousting, or feudal society, or turkey legs, or whatever it was that people did at these things, you loved jenny enough to be grateful that she wanted to share her special place with you.

you didn't ask why she insisted on being a court jester ever year. maybe that was just her true form.

you walked over to where she sat in front of her mirror, put your hands on her shoulders. "and you're the hottest jester i've ever seen," you said, kissing her on the top of the head. "but i still can't breathe in this."

"that's the point," jenny replied, waving you off.

you had wanted to design your own costume, as costume design was quite literally your passion. you'd designed for every school play and musical since freshman year, wanted to pursue it further after college.

jenny had seemed so excited, though, and it was her day, so you let her take the reigns. the way this get-up fit you, though, the revealing upper-thigh slit, the abundance of cleavage you were sporting, the draping lacey skirts, it all had you hoping this specific faire had a strict no-men policy. you could practically already feel the weight of slimy stares on your exposed leg, the top of your chest. not to mention your face, but that was a bit of a constant, not just today.

you finished your hair and makeup, perfected the wench/heroine/damsel look. you knew yourself to be capable of all but shapeshifting, with your design and artistic abilities, but this old-timey seductress look was a spectacle, that was for sure.

jenny squealed when she saw the finished look. you cracked a smile at her ensemble, a straight-up court jester, down to the bells on her pointed hat, the face paint that matched the color scheme of her costume. "you look great," you told her.

"it's about letting my inner jest shine through," she said, "and that's why i dressed you up. so you have enough sex appeal for the two of us."

you were going to ask why there needed to be any sex appeal at all, but when you finally arrived at the sight of the faire, it became clear that that was simply part of the show.

you weren't even out of place in your revealing get-up, among all of the corsets and pants that looked like tights, not at all, although you had to give jenny credit. out of the many wenches and princesses and knights and pirates and such, your costume was especially lovely.

jenny linked her arm with yours as you passed under the tented entrance. it smelled like charcoal smoke and sugar, like wet leaves and musk.

"welcome to paradise," jenny said, a bright, genuine smile on her round face.

you couldn't help but smile, too. smile at this almost-hilarious display of the modern obsession with the past, of the unrelenting pursuit of entertainment, of the shared desire to be someone, somewhere, sometime else. this faire was just human, in a way that could be sort of somber, but in a way that you read as beautiful.

"where to first?" you asked your friend.

for hours, you let her lead you from place to place, from memory to memory.

"this is where my cousin, brett, bought his crush a leather-bound notebook," jenny said, while you perused a leather goods stand. she winced. "think she had a boyfriend, though."

you took pictures of her with different characters, let her take pictures of you with them, after. you smiled, big and cheesy, next to guys on stilts, jugglers, acrobats.

"you're gonna love this one," jenny said, pulling you into a barn that sold soaps and other handmade goods. you held a candle to your nose, inhaled, closed your eyes at the subtle combination of pine and something slightly floral.

you held it out to your friend. "try this one," you offered, picking up another one to test. you left the barn with two new candles and a hand soap for your apartment at school.

"we have to avoid archery," jenny whispered to you from behind a hand as you waited in line for giant pickles.

"why?" you asked, tilting your head at her serious expression.

"pretty sure my high school ex still runs it," she said, "and not the fun one."

you successfully avoided her ex, tried mead (honestly, how did people ever drink that), had your fortune told.

"my mom used to be the fortune teller at her local faire," jenny told you, a wistful sort of look in her eyes. "it's how she met my dad."

your heart flipped. you were a sucker for a meet-cute. "really?" you asked, "how romantic, jen. we have to do it."

jenny went first, the bell on her hat jingling with each movement. she walked away with a vague promise of new opportunities ahead and a new light to step into.

you smiled when she relayed this information to you, grabbed her hands excitedly. "a new light?" you said, "like a center-stage light? like a lead role?"

jenny's eyes widened. you'd met her freshman year in the theatre department, you a bit of a loner with a knack for a sewing machine and her a talkative actress with a beautiful singing voice.

still, after three years of productions, jenny had never had a lead role. she had a affinity for playing the side kick, the best friend, the assistant, the villain's love interest.

but no one had seen what she was capable of more than you, and you knew this year would be the year. you couldn't wait to watch her give the last bow on opening night, with you clapping from the wings.

now, jenny grinned at you. "this is the year, babe," she agreed. "now you!"

she gave you a gentle push towards the booth. the woman running it was probably somewhere between fifty and sixty. she had the face of a person who took advantage of sunny days, of someone who didn't deny herself simple pleasures, who had spent years laughing.

you felt at ease with her when she took your hand, ran her fingers along the ridges of your palm.

"rough hands, girly," she said, shooting you a lighthearted wink. "you workin' too hard, eh?"

you smiled. "just hard enough, ma'am," you told her, to which she patted your hand lightly in approval.

"you'll keep working," she told you, "but you'll find some new fun, too. sooner than you think."

you thanked her, bid her a good day. you never were one to put much stock into this kind of thing, but you'd take a little more fun any day.

when you told jenny what your fortune had been, she bumped her hip against yours. "hopefully that means a new guy," she mused.

you rolled your eyes. "don't need a guy for fun, do i?"

"'course not," she said, waving you off. "just know you, babe."

"you make it sound like i'm some depraved witch," you teased.

she laughed, pulled you by the arm to the big tent in the center of the faire. "c'mon," she said, "it's time for the joust!"

the joust was the main event of the day, you had known this coming in. it was fun, a spectacle of men on horses. you found yourself fascinated with the way they had dressed the horses up, the funny way all the actors were talking, so distracting that you barely noticed when the joust actually happened.

you still applauded and whistled along with jenny, listened to her tell a story about one joust in which the horse ran in the opposite direction, right out of the tent. you were holding your stomach in gentle laughter as you made to finish your day off at the tavern.

the sky began to melt from a blue to a burnt orange, the air hazy with heat. you could feel a day of standing in your thighs, a day of heeled boots in your calves. the makeup on your face had stayed put, but you could feel the weight of it like a halloween mask. your hair pulled at your scalp, a bit.

"hey, thanks for being such a good sport about this," jenny said as she brought you back a massive jug of beer, setting it down on the table with her own.

"what?" you said, scrunching up your face. "this is awesome, jen. thank you for inviting me."

she rolled her eyes at you, but her smile was obviously pleased. "i know it's corny, and kinda weird, but it's, i don't know." she trailed off, a misty sort of look in her eye.

you took her hand from across the table. you got what she meant. with senior year about to start, everything had a new, foreign sort of gravity to it, like it might never happen again. like you might miss it, if you didn't breathe all of it in. "i get it," you told her. "and where else am i gonna get to dress like this?"

she grinned at you as you took a sip from your jug.

"little jenny jester? is that you?"

you both turned to see an old, old man in magician's robes. jenny squealed. "magic jarod!" she said, before turning to you. "be right back," she whispered, "family friend."

"go 'head," you said, waving her on. you watched her approach the man, give him a big hug. you smiled. it was pretty cool, to know people at an event like this. to have people know you.

you sipped on your beer, quickly realized there was no way you were going to finish it. to pass the time, you people-watched, tried to guess people's relations to each other. you admired people's costumes, made mental notes of unique beading patterns or interesting pleats.

at some point, you were torn from your lulled observance by a polite cough. "is this, uh, where the plus-ones hang out?"

you turned your head to the side slightly to see the owner of that deep, pleasant voice. if you were the type to wolf-whistle, this would have been the time to do it.

something thrummed in your chest as you took in the man who stood in front of you, now. maybe it was the height, maybe the lean, working sort of bulk, maybe the soft-looking, just long enough hair. maybe it was the impossibly blue eyes that you could see even in the dim light of the tavern at dusk. maybe it was the careful, straight posture, the high cheekbones, cut jaw.

or maybe it was the fact that he was dressed in some sort of homemade prince outfit, a loose cream blouse, dark trousers, a dainty tiara-like crown atop his head.

he shifted back on his heels ever-so-slightly under your gaze, like it was something tangible, something that meant something.

in the misty, warm lighting of these low ceilings, among the dirty tables and scent of beer, he appeared deliciously out of place, like some fabled savior, some ancient temptation disguised as an angel.

you gave him a small smile, leaning into the table, just a bit. "did you also come with a jester?" you asked, teasing.

his mouth quirked, a beautiful flush blooming across his cheeks at the sound of your voice. he gave a shake of his head that shook the longer curls around his ears. "'m with the knight," he said, nodding to the person who was currently talking to a woman dressed as a pirate, who appeared very confused. to be fair, the person she was talking to was in full armor.

you gestured to the open spot across the table from you. "keep my friend's spot warm until she gets back?"

he stepped closer until he was just across from you. until you could see how long his lashes were, how big his eyes were, doe-like and boyish. how, ever since you'd first made eye contact with him, his gaze hadn't dipped to your chest even once. which was a feat, even jenny had gotten distracted a couple of times.

he made eye contact like a religion, like it was so, so significant. you took a sip of your beer. "what kind of prince are you?" you asked, leaning your heavy head on a palm.

he gave a low short of chuckle, and the sound was a rumble through your body, shook you up from the inside out. he clasped his broad hands in front of himself. "the boring kind," he said.

you shook your head, laughed. "okay, then, boring prince," you said. "what's your name?"

he licked his lips, and your eyes tracked the movement. your hands felt jittery. "joseph," he said, then asked for yours. you gave it. his kind eyes shimmered at this piece of you. "and what kind of princess are you, sweetheart?"

you laughed, bit your lip to stifle it, as you didn't want him to think you were making fun of him. but, really, in what world was this a princess costume? maybe in an adult film, but not here.

he didn't seem offended, though, just gave you a pouty look dripping with mirth. "what?" he said. you had a feeling he was rarely on the outside of an inside joke.

"it's just funny," you told him, feeling honest and open in the light of his polite gentleness. "that you think 'm dressed as a princess."

"oh, yeah?" he asked. his tiara shifted on his head. "what're you dressed as, then?"

something different wafted through the air between the two of you, something stronger than just the smell of grime and alcohol. something that felt sluggish, sparkly, seductive.

because even now, he didn't look away from your eyes. and that was, somehow, so much more intimate than some desperate once-over, one that would get caught on your chest, your thighs.

"how many princesses do you know who show this much skin?" you asked instead of answering his question. your voice had grown gravelly without your permission.

you had almost dared him to look away from your eyes, to take you in fully, in all of your corset-strapped glory.

but he didn't. which had you almost begging that he would.

"at least one," he said, a lopsided grin slanting across his face. "at least you."

"you know," you started, thought for a second. you sucked on your teeth, and his gaze flickered to your mouth for one single, almost undetectable second. a second that sparked a fire underneath you, had victory horns blaring in the distance. "you're pretty charming for a boring prince, joseph."

that pretty blush grew deeper, made his stark stature appear comfortable, warm. you wanted more of it. you wanted to know it deeply and personally.

when had you shifted so close together? the both of you leaning across the small table like it wasn't even there, breathing in the same air, sharing so politely.

you wanted to make his kind eyes simmer, make his blood run hot. you were close, you knew it, you could feel it in his exhales, in the slight tremor of his hands.

"don't think 'm the charmer between us, sweetheart," he said, low, a secret.

"we can share the title, if you want," you offered. "i'd share with you."

he hummed, shifted on his elbows, restless. "that's kind of you," he said. there was a roughness to his tone that flipped your heart in your chest, wrapped your legs up in coiling heat.

"what can i say?" you said, "you're a good influence on me."

there was a pause, during which you reached a hand up and gently adjusted his tiara so that it sat straight on his head again. you tried not to ruminate on how soft his hair was under your fingertips, pretended not to notice how his gaze draped over your face like a weighted blanket as you focused on the task.

when you withdrew your hand, he was staring at you. it felt like there was no one else in the room. "there," you said.

"straightened me out, did you?" he rasped, those doe eyes drowsy.

your mouth quirked up in a smirk. "oh, joey, i couldn't straighten you out," you said, tilting your head.

"no?" he asked, almost disappointed, not really. "what, sweetheart? 'd you be a bad influence on me?" he teased, twisting your words.

you knew you had him.

you knew you had him, so you forced aside any sensuality from your tone, your expression. "oh, fuck, i think my necklace is stuck in my hair," you said, clutching your hair, wincing like it hurt, watching concern flood his delicate features so gracefully. "know it's a lot to ask, joseph, but could you come to bathroom with me and untangle it, please?"

"of course," he said, practically before you could get it out, letting you take one of his wide, warm hands and tug him to the bathroom. once he was inside, just behind you, you locked the door, dropped your hair, both hands now free.

he appeared confused for a second. "your necklace?" he asked, but he trailed off as you placed a hand on his chest, felt the silken material of his shirt under your palm.

you peered up at him through your lashes, cocked your head. "'d you really fall for that, joey?" you asked, almost shocked.

his firm chest rose and fell under your hand, his exhales coming out shaky. "you're very persuasive," he mustered.

you hummed, relished in the heat that simmered between the two of you, full-bodied and palpable. "'m sorry i lied," you whispered, because you felt compelled to, because you had a feeling it mattered.

"'s okay," he breathed, immediate in his forgiveness, finally moving his hands from his sides to rest gently on your hips. this decision seemed to take a lot out of him, which made you smile. like his desire was heavy, like he just needed somewhere to put it down. like he wanted to touch you, so badly, but needed permission, needed someone to tell him how.

"can i be a bad influence on you for a second?" you asked him, leaned forward into his chest, "please?"

he nodded, leaned back against the door like holding his posture straight was suddenly too much to endure, let out some affirmative sound, halfway between a breath and a whimper.

you kept one hand on his chest, pressed him into the door, snaked your other hand into his hair and rooted it there. his grip on your hips tightened, now hard and strong, his own hips angling up slightly, involuntarily.

"can i kiss you?" you asked, suddenly soft, despite his sudden strength. because you had a feeling it mattered. that he mattered.

"please," he said, basically a whine, which had you fisting his shirt and tugging him down, his lips meeting yours in something like a fairytale, something heated and passionate and glutted with relief.

something heated, in the way you pulled at his hair, how his hand reached around you to pull you closer, right up against him.

something passionate, in the way your knees felt wobbly as swallowed down his sounds, swore you could feel his heartbeat under your palm.

something glutted with relief, in the way his tiara fell from his head entirely, only recognized by the dull clatter of plastic against wood, in the way neither of you pulled away, in the way it only gave you more access to him.

he tasted like mint and something slightly earthy, like peppermint candy and flaky sea salt. you much preferred this, you decided in a moment, to the taste of weed brownies and red bull that distinguished the kisses you had grown accustomed to, at school.

it was something like a fairytale, but not because it was perfect.

because it wasn't perfect, not at all. joseph was actually kind of a bad kisser, you realized. nothing crazy, nothing jarring, but the tell-tale signs of inexperience hung off of him like a too-big jacket.

moments of too-much teeth, unsure hands, a stiff neck, they made you smile against his mouth, because it was obvious he didn't let just anyone into his space like this.

so when his teeth would clash against yours, you'd simply nip at his bottom lip, playful, forgiving.

when his hands would still, uncertain, you'd just place a hand over where one of his rested, held it there, let him know you felt him, still, unwavering.

when his neck would stiffen, you'd rub at the knots with a knuckle, trace your nails over his hairline, feel a shiver erupt under your fingertips.

until he grew more comfortable in his motions, more brave in his want. desire flowed between you both like gasoline, sharp-scented and flammable. he let out an especially uninhibited groan when you brought your hand down to rest on his waistline, but the sound was engulfed by three swift knocks on the door.

"get outta there, guys," some authoritative voice called. "we're not that kind of establishment."

reluctantly, you pulled away from each other, chests heaving. the top of your chest glowed with warmth.

your prince looked delightfully disheveled. the top button of his shirt had slipped undone, his hair beautifully fussed, his cheeks ruddy, lips swollen, eyes glossy.

you knelt down, gently, picked up his plastic tiara, pushed up on your toes to place it on his head again. when you pulled back, there was something more dangerous than pure lust in his gaze.

as much fun as you knew you could have with him, and as much as you wanted to, you knew jenny would be looking for you, ready to go home. you knew joseph had his knight to attend to. knew this perfect moment that you had summoned was all but gone.

you knew the chances of seeing him again were very slim. the thought made your stomach drop, a bit. you exhaled all of your expectations, let them fall to the ground like sediment as you placed a hand on the doorknob.

he still hadn't said a word, almost in a daze. "you're going?" he asked, a husky rasp, and you could have pouted. it felt cruel, to be leaving behind such a pretty boy, one with such kind eyes.

you nodded slowly.

he just gave you a goofy sort of sad smile, tilted his crown to you like the brim of a hat. "until we meet again, trouble," he said, "you've been a lovely bad influence."

you smiled back at him, actually felt yourself blush. "and you've been a deviously good one," you said, "goodbye, joey."

and so you left him, walked away, but you could still feel his lips on yours, could feel the steadiness of his eye contact, the endearing uncertainty of his grip.

when the night ended, you had walked away from the dashing prince, the one you had pulled apart at the seams, but you knew you wouldn't forget him. your not-so-boring prince, who you couldn't even call a hookup, couldn't deem a fling, so you just knew him as your storybook kiss.

and you didn't forget him, even as the last summer days melted into early september, even as school started back up again, as classes came back into full-swing, as senior year and the countdown to graduation began.

you and jenny moved your things from your summer lease to your on-campus apartment, reunited with your friends who had been away for the summer, got all your classes and credits in order.

before you knew it, it was the first theatre department meeting, and you found yourself in the auditorium on a hot tuesday afternoon, slotting into a seat next to jenny and benji, the set designer who you had worked closely with during all your previous productions.

"good to see you, benj," you said, smiling at him.

he grinned, returned the sentiment, but tilted his head back in mock anguish. "another year of madness," he mused, "here we go again."

"our last go-around," you reminded him, elbowing him softly.

jenny made a noise, shook her head. "don't say that to me," she warned, "swear i'll start crying."

after welcoming everyone back, and building an adequate amount of suspense, the theatre director announced the fall play to be romeo and juliet.

"our department hasn't put it on since the eighties," the director exclaimed, "and i have the utmost belief that we will make it every bit the magical tragedy it is."

jenny was squeezing your hand so hard it hurt. juliet had been one of her dream roles since she was in middle school, since she had watched the movie with claire danes.

already, your head was spinning with visions of shakespearean headpieces, draping dresses, flowery imagery, blushy makeup.

beside you, benji groaned. "oh jesus," he lamented, "please, please, no castles."

you and jenny laughed. benji was one of the most talented artists you knew, and he always pulled it together before opening night, but he was a true procrastinator, tended to be a bit of a lazybones. the cast and crew loved him for it. what was an artist without a little bit of torture?

auditions were set for thursday morning, callbacks on friday, the final cast list to be posted on monday.

you didn't need to be present for any of the auditioning process, so, for the next few days, you enjoyed what you knew from experience to be your last moments of free time for the rest of the semester.

you went to office hours for your design professors, as you always did at the beginning of classes, just to introduce yourself, get yourself properly situated for academic success.

after jenny's audition on thursday, you went out, celebrated what she assured you was an astounding monologue delivery. between salted rims and blue-colored cocktails, jenny flipped her phone screen your way to show you the email that confirmed her callback tomorrow.

you squealed, shook her by the shoulders, pure excitement flowing through you. this was the year, you knew it. this was it.

nothing out of the ordinary, you let one of your friends set you up with some guy on saturday night. he was cute enough, kind of scummy, but, up until recently, he would have been exactly your type. you'd been known to go for the guys who looked like they'd been around the block, a little fratty, a little jocky. this guy, across from you, fit the bill, you could give him that.

all throughout college, you hadn't been the type to judge too harshly if a guy was a little too glued to his phone over dinner, if he had the distinct posture of someone who grew up with money, if he spoke shortly to wait staff.

for some reason, though, tonight, you felt itchy at the fact that he had a tough time looking you in the eye for more than a few seconds, felt a practically motherly concern at the way his fingers twitched towards his phone if he went more than a few minutes without looking at it.

for some reason, tonight, more so than nights before, the memory of a certain stiff-spined prince, blushing pink and thinking you were a princess, even dressed your sluttiest, danced across your mind like a waltz.

you sort of hated how his memory had kind of ruined what, a few months ago, would have been a satisfying hook-up, resented how someone you were never going to see again was dictating, to any degree, who you would go home with, but, regardless, you gave this guy across from you a terrible excuse for your need to leave, set a fiver on the table to cover your drink, hurried out the door and home.

jenny was sprawled out on her bed when you opened the door, watching some trashy reality dating show for the millionth time.

"watching it again isn't gonna make kaitlyn make the right choice," you reminded her as you set your bag down, recognizing the season from a single line of dialogue.

jenny groaned. "i can dream," she said, then fixed her eyes on you. "you look hot," she observed, "what are you doing here?"

you smiled as you began to take your makeup off. "went out with that guy chase set me up with," you explained, then sighed.

"what, did he lose his eyeballs on the way to the bar?"

you laughed, shook your head at jenny's characteristically odd wording. "nope," you said, "eyeballs intact. i just wasn't into it, i guess."

"fair enough," jenny agreed.

"it was so weird, though," you continued, "like, he was exactly what i usually go for."

"so he was a grimy slacker with a good face who has a concerning obsession with his mom?"

you gasped, feigned offense. "how dare you?" you asked, to which she giggled. "that was only twice!"

jenny rubbed at her neck. "for real though," she pushed, "what do you think is different?"

you bit your lip, thought for a moment, looked down at the cotton pad in your hand, now smudged with clumps of mascara and smears of blush. you swallowed. for some reason the sight made you slightly nauseous, some reminder of guilt or dirtiness or low self-esteem, or something like that, something you didn't really want to get into.

"you remember when you took me to the faire?" you said, still not looking at jenny.

"'course."

you exhaled. "well, when you were talking to that magician guy, i met this guy-"

jenny bolted upright from her horizontal position. "wait," she cut you off, excitement making her tone vibrate. "you mean to tell me that you met a guy at my faire, and i'm just hearing about it now?"

"sorry," you conceded, looking up to meet her eye.

"don't be," she waved you off, hugged her pillow to her chest. "i knew your costume would work!"

you rolled your eyes at her, pulled one of your knees up to your chest.

"so?" she asked, urging you on with her eyes. "tell me about him."

"he was just so fucking polite," you told her. "and so pretty. and when i made out with him in the bathroom it was like he didn't know how to kiss me, but he wanted to be good at it. so bad. like he was almost embarrassed about it." you sighed. "i don't even know why 'm still thinking about him," you told her, and it was true, sort of.

"i do," jenny told you, cracked a smile when you shot her a look. "i know everything."

"enlighten me, all-knowing jester," you said, gesturing for her to elaborate.

"you always take the scumbags, babe," she told you, "and they're fun, sure, but now you've had a taste of the teacher's pet, mom's favorite, goes to church on sunday. once you go 'good guy,' you never go back."

"i don't know," you said, skeptical, "i feel like i'm putting too much stock into this. feel like he probably doesn't even remember me."

jenny blew out a breath. "yeah right," she said, "let me tell you something."

"please."

"as much as you're feeling hooked on the good guy, right now," she said, "i can guarantee he's plagued at night by his glimpse of the dark side."

you hummed, smiled. "and i'm the dark side, in this scenario?"

"babe," jenny said, "you're not a 'bad person,' but you're a 'bad girl.'"

you pouted, but you knew what she meant. knew that you were kind, a good listener, a good friend, that you were trustworthy and patient and generous, but also that you weren't above the simple pleasures. that you weren't one to turn down a free drink, were always down to get your hands (and reputation) a little dirty, and until recently, that you were a one-night-stand frequent.

you also knew that people liked to label you as the bad girl simply because of the way you looked, the way you flirted, the way you dressed.

"whatever," you said, shrugging, acting like it didn't matter, wanting to change the subject, knowing just how to do it. "monday's the big day, right?"

jenny gushed about her callback, how that juliet role was practically hers, how she didn't want to jinx it. you told her the truth, that you couldn't imagine anyone else for the role, that they'd have to be stupid not to cast her.

and they proved to be not stupid, monday morning, when the cast list was emailed out to the department. on you way between classes, you received a face-time call from jenny before you even finished reading the full list.

"we did it!" jenny screamed as her jubilant face filled up your screen.

you couldn't help but let your face split into a grin at her excitement. "i told you," you said, "i told you! this is your year, jen. you deserve this so much." you almost felt misty-eyed. "'m so proud of you."

she looked like she actually was crying, now. "stop, babe, or you're gonna get me going," she warned. "fuck, i can't believe it. a lead role! i can't wait to wear your designs center stage!"

"i can't wait, too," you said, and you meant it.

"i know you have class, i'll let you go," she said, "see you at the meeting at four. okay, bye." she gave one last look. "our year!" she squealed as she hung up, leaving you laughing as you walked into class.

finally, it was time for the all-department meeting, your last commitment of the day, when everyone involved in the production met, now that you all knew the cast, from the leads to the directors to the stage managers to the last freshman painting sets under benji's direction.

"morrison's a night. mare," was the first thing that benji said to you as you slid into the seat next to him.

you hummed. "who's morrison?"

"one of my freshman," he explained. "his girlfriend's in the cast, said he wants to 'keep an eye on her,' whatever that means."

you scrunched up your nose. "gross," you said.

"and he sucks at everything," benji said. "'m half tempted to tell him to just stand in the corner and not touch anything."

you laughed as the director clapped his hands on the stage to get everyone's attention, launched into the typical congratulations speech. you felt jenny sit to your right with a deep breath.

"little late, eh, jen?" benji whispered.

"can it, benny," she replied, to which benji scowled. he hated when she called him that.

"and now, we'll do a full introduction," the director was saying, "from the back of the house all the way to the front. i can not emphasize enough how important it is that we, here in the theatre, trust and love everyone around us."

"i love you so much," you whispered to benji, who smirked.

"'m not interested, babe, but so flattered," was his response.

"why don't we start with our leads? jennifer and carlos, please stand and introduce yourselves."

"yeah, jennifer," you whispered, giggling into your hand. benji shook next to you.

jenny smacked you on the shoulder as carlos went. your production's romeo was a senior, too, had been in the department as long as you and your friends. you were a little surprised he had gotten the role, if you were honest, had always thought his acted grief came across as a bit shallow.

then jenny went, standing up, waving to everyone. when she was done with her introduction, no one clapped louder than you and benji, even whistling, a sound that echoed through the space.

the rest of the cast went, then all the directors and behind the scenes people. eventually, benji and his team went, followed by the costume crew.

"hi, everyone," you said, standing up, giving them all your name. "i'm the head costumer designer, and i can't wait to help all of you look like the best versions of yourselves and characters." you had used that line since sophomore year.

more people followed, eventually even the ushers went, followed by the orchestra and band.

you were friends with some of the music kids, so you tried to pay closer attention.

"'sup guys, 'm matt, on percussion," a stocky guy said, then gestured to the guy next to him. you laughed when you heard him grunt, "go, dude."

"yeah, i'm bobby," his friend, the blonde one, said, giving an awkward wave, "i, uh, play guitar."

"jesus, how does he look hotter than last spring?" benji said, putting his head in his hands, referring to the crush he had harbored on the department's guitarist for two years. you rubbed his shoulder in comfort, but a voice you recognized made your gaze snap back.

"hello, everyone, my name is joseph, i'm your new pianist, and i'm so excited to get to know you all."

the next person went to speak, but you just blinked, swallowed your disbelief down like a too-big pill.

it couldn't be him, but it was. there stood your boring prince, in a button down and khakis, this time, no tiara to be found. it made you wonder if he still had it, somewhere, maybe his bedroom, if his gaze would catch on it sometimes and he would think of you. if it would make him blush.

there he stood, hair just a bit longer, but the rest all the same as the dream boy who lived in your memory. so pretty, his words so naturally kind, you barely even noticed that he mentioned he would be the pianist for the production, too distracted by the fact that he was here, in front of you, right now.

hands on your waist, his soft groans muffled against your lips, wide doe eyes looking at you like he couldn't bear to look away, it all flashed across your mind, made you stiffen, your exhale come out short.

"you okay?" jenny whispered to you.

"that's him," you said.

"who?" her brow was furrowed, confused.

"that's him," you repeated. "the guy from the faire."

benji turned to you. "no way you let her drag you to that geek fest," he said, but you both ignored him, jenny's eyes going wide.

"that's your good guy?" she clarified. "the piano man is the bad kisser?"

"lower your voice," you warned, your voice low, serious.

benji leaned in. "you kissed bambi, over there?"

"yes, benny, keep up," jenny said, barely sparing him a look. "babe, you need to talk to him. this is fate." she snapped her fingers. "this is literally what the fortune teller was talking about, work and fun and all that."

you bit your lip, looked towards joseph again. your heart stuttered in your chest when you found him to be already looking at you. his lips quirked up in a shy smile as his fingers fluttered in a gentle wave.

you let a smile drape across your face at his recognition, his cordiality, then winked at him.

he looked at his feet, shifted lightly on his feet. you swore you could see his nervous blush from here. it made you feel like you were coated in glitter.

finally, the meeting ended with the promise of an email containing a review of all the information discussed. as everyone stood up and made for the exits, jenny gently shoved towards the front, where joseph was talking with his friends. she grabbed the elbow of benji and walked in the other direction as he muttered something about always being the last to know things.

you walked down the auditorium aisle, joseph's eyes lifting to meet yours as you got close. his smile grew boyish and bashful as he registered your approach, stepped out of his lean against the stage, brushed his palms against his pants.

there was a pause that you noted, because what exactly could you say, here? what exactly could you do?

could you say hey, matt and bobby, i don't know how you know joseph, but i made out with him in the bathroom of a ren faire tavern and haven't stopped thinking about him since?

probably not.

instead, you just smiled, asked matt and bobby how their summers were. they had been in the theatre band since sophomore year, so you were familiar with them, at least enough to know what place matt was talking about when he mentioned his vacation home and who bobby was referring to when he mentioned his buddies on the team (the both of them were on the club hockey team at school).

matt clapped a heavy hand on joseph's shoulder. "woller's on the team with us," he explained, "convinced him to fill the piano void we had after the seniors graduated."

you hummed, turned your gaze back to joseph, relished in the endearing awkwardness you found. "joey and i have met, actually," you said.

bobby shrugged. "you go to the same school, not all that surprising."

it was sort of funny, now that you thought of it, that in three years, you hadn't crossed paths with joseph one time. not once did he catch your attention in the dining hall, not once did he drop a pen in your vicinity during a lecture, never did he accidentally bump into you between classes.

you'd gone three years without seeing those blue eyes, and since that chance encounter, you hadn't stopped thinking about them.

matt seemed to be more perceptive than bobby, though, giving a slight nod in understanding. "we'll leave you to catch up, then," he said, grabbing his backpack, tossing bobby his. "see you 'round, guys."

then the auditorium was empty, except for you and joseph. like a universe that existed only for the two of you. the high ceilings seemed barely suitable to fit the mass of emotion you felt.

you kept a safe step's distance. "hi, joey," you said, softer than you meant.

his eyes shimmered at your voice, at the nickname. "hi, trouble," he said, in that tone that felt like winter sunlight, "how are you?"

of course he would ask that, hands shoved into his pockets, of course he would ask that and really mean it, really care.

"'m good," you said. "really good, now. didn't know 'f i'd see you again."

he hummed, and it felt like power, to know that you both were thinking about the last time, to know for certain he was thinking of you, pushing him up against a door.

"how are you?" you reciprocated, leaning back on your heels.

he thought for a moment, the pause fat with nostalgia, ripe with promise. "pretty nervous, if 'm honest," he told you, looked down.

you couldn't hide your delight. "like you honest," you told him, and his blush deepened. he wanted to meet your gaze, so badly, you could tell, but it was almost like he didn't trust himself to, like he might get caught there forever.

he gave a breathy sort of laugh. it made your head spin.

you stepped closer to him, which tore his eyes up to yours. his chest heaved in what might have been a relieved sigh. "do your friends know?" you asked, and your voice had grown husky, softer, only for him.

he shook his head, his eyes welling up with genuine truth, like he would never. "no," he said.

"really?" you asked, cocked your head. "don't kiss and tell, joey?"

his ears bloomed pink, like the word kiss was some kind of curse, like all of it was too much to hear aloud. it had you almost regretting saying it. almost.

when he spoke, his voice cracked, slightly. "no, uh, can't say i do, sweetheart." he said.

you gave him a smile that curled with smokiness. "did you just wanna keep it to yourself, then?" you asked, let your gaze grow hooded. "maybe keep me to yourself?"

his breathing was heavier, and he was so close, and all you wanted to do was kiss him again, knead your knuckles into that stiff neck, feel him against you, but you didn't.

you didn't and then he spoke again. it was breathy, wavering. "think, maybe, uh, we should," he started, "think we should just be, uh, friends, sweetheart."

and you could have been disappointed, offended, even, but you weren't. you just took a small step back, smiled at him gently. let his words settle. "do you, joey?"

he gave a slight nod. "yeah, um, just 'cause of the show, and we'll be working closely, and such," he said. "for the sake of the show." something permissive and almost regretful, something practically compunctious flooded his bright, blue eyes, the way oil sullies a warm ocean gulf.

"thank god we have a pianist so dedicated to the production, then," you said, eyes wide, watched him blush further. "we should probably exchange numbers, then," you continued, "so we can do things that friends do."

he cleared his throat, nodded, entered his information into the phone you offered him. "it'll be good," he said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.

"it'll be so, so good," you amended, retreating, now walking towards the exit. "i promise, joey, 'll make it so good, for you."

for the second time, you left him, blushing, disheveled, this time with much more hope in your heart.

"so, did you talk to him?" jenny asked you over lunch the next day.

"and can you get him to talk to bobby about me?" benji asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"yes, and no," you said, making benji pout.

jenny stamped her feet under the table in fast succession. "so, what did you say? what did he say?"

you shrugged. "he said we should be just friends." it even sounded funny coming out of your mouth.

benji winced. "ouch," he said, blowing out a breath.

"i don't get it," jenny said, appearing genuinely confused.

"said it was for the good of the production, or something," you said.

"what a load of bullshit," jenny said, now almost angry.

you shrugged again.

"why aren't you upset?" benji asked, skeptical. "in all the time i've known you, you haven't been friendzoned once. it can't feel good to be slummin' it with the rest of us."

you laughed. "i'm not upset because i know he doesn't want to be friends, he just thinks it's the right thing to do."

"what's the difference?" jenny said, "regardless, he set his terms."

"and i'll be respectful of them," you said, and you meant it. you were not one to break hard-set boundaries, to act in a forceful or disrespectful way. "i'm a great friend."

benji narrowed his eyes. "so, you're just gonna be totally platonic with this guy?"

you nodded, leaned back in your seat.

"just friends with the only guy i've ever seen you think twice about?" jenny clarified.

"exactly," you reiterated. "just friends, nothing more." your mouth quirked. "until he inevitably decides otherwise."

benji rolled his eyes. "of course," he said, almost bitter. "the elusive long game."

"won't be that long," you corrected.

"how can you be so sure?"

you smiled at the memory. "his eyes," you said, honestly, almost guiltily. "bit of a dead giveaway."

joseph had declared you just friends, so that's what you would be, for the time being. you trusted he would come to his own conclusions as time passed, so you figured there really wasn't any reason to rush things. there were much worse things than being friends with a very kind person.

so you texted him the next morning, sent him a hey :) it's your favorite new friend, followed by your name, followed by a what're you doing later?

and of course he was a prompt responder, getting back to you in a matter of minutes. a Good Morning, Sweetheart, followed by a We have practice until 6:30, but I'm free after that. What did you have in mind?

his texts read a bit awkward and stiff, in all of their grammatical correctness, but it made you sigh, because what was he, if not a little awkward and stiff?

wanna study at my place? you sent, followed by i could walk you back from practice.

I'd like that. was his response, followed by Just to clarify, you mean actually study, right? That wasn't an innuendo?

now he had you smiling at your phone. get your head outta the gutter joey you texted, followed by just to study, followed by pinkie promise.

you could picture his blush as if you wear standing in front of him.

See you at 6:30, Trouble, was his last response.

you sort of thought it was funny that he called you that, and maybe it should have been a little offensive, because maybe you were tired of being associated with that kind of negativity. maybe you were tired of coming with a warning label, tired of feeling like all anyone saw when they looked at you was a pretty face wrapped up in red flags.

what was funnier, you supposed, was that you didn't mind it when he called you that. you didn't mind it because there was something you liked about being trouble to him, in particular. you liked being his sweetheart, probably more than you would admit to yourself, but there was something addictive about being important enough, singular enough, powerful enough to be deemed trouble by a person like him.

a person who just oozed with goodness, with righteousness, without any of the arrogance so typically marring the quality, a person whose smile leaked sunshine, who was distinct in their genuineness, whose honesty and kindness you swore you could taste, the way marshmallow fluff sticks to your teeth, grainy and sweet.

maybe you didn't love being trouble, but perhaps you didn't mind being his trouble.

that was the sentiment at the forefront of your mind as you entered the ice rink that the club team practiced at, a few minutes early, let the chillier air cool your face.

the last of the team was on the ice, just a few bodies picking up pucks and cones. you scanned the ice, didn't spot his distinct profile, so you just took a seat in the bleachers, enjoyed the rare moment of quiet, breathing in and out.

a quiet thudding noise drew your attention to the glass, where matt and bobby were waving you down. you hopped down from the bleachers while bobby opened the door to the ice, which made a heavy clanging sound.

"hey, guys," you said, now standing in front of them.

"you missed the fun part," bobby said. you had to crane your neck to look at them. they were taller in skates, a little more intimidating in full hockey pads than when they were goofing off in the pit of the theatre.

you laughed good-naturedly. "not here to watch you trick pucks off the crossbar," you said.

matt laughed. "why are you here, then?" he said.

you didn't quite answer, sucked on your teeth for a second. "where's joey?" you asked, instead.

bobby rolled his eyes.

matt just nodded towards the other end of the ice. "i'll tell him you're here," he said, skated away.

your eyes followed him, then widened. "he's a goalie?" you asked bobby. you tracked the big number sixty on the back of the jersey, the slow, deliberate skating motions, the posture you recognized.

"yeah, why?" bobby asked.

"i don't know," you said, "forgot that was even a position."

"it's the position for freaks," he clarified, leaning against the boards.

you scrunched up your face. but, you supposed, you had never met anyone quite like joseph. perhaps that made him a freak, to some degree.

matt skated back over and told bobby they had to get off the ice for the zamboni, telling you that joseph said he'd meet you by the exit.

you hadn't been waiting for five minutes before the three of them emerged from the locker room, holding water bottles and backpacks. your eyes, however, snagged on joseph like a thread on a nail, didn't leave. he looked too pretty like this, damp hair curling at the ends, face flushed with exertion and cold, his body visibly tired but also more relaxed than you'd seen him.

your throat went dry when he smiled at you. "hey, sweetheart," he said, easy.

"hi," you responded, clasped your hands behind your back, scared, if left to their own devices, they'd reach up and push that rogue curl from his forehead.

"where're you guys headed?" matt asked you as you pushed the doors open into the dusky night.

"mine," you said, not thinking anything of it, because it was the truth, because there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

then you saw the blush that tinted joseph's nose, dainty, but there. maybe it had sounded a little suggestive, but you had nothing to apologize for, and his reaction sort of hurt your feelings, for some reason.

you both said goodbye to matt and bobby, who were headed off to the dining hall, and continued on the walk to your apartment. "are you embarrassed?" you asked, not harshly, just truthfully. because it mattered.

it mattered if he thought you were the kind of person it was embarrassing to go home with. it mattered if he thought there was some kind of reputation with you that would become his through association.

it mattered if he thought you were an embarrassing kind of trouble, instead of a beautiful kind.

he didn't answer for a second, exhaled, and you squinted. "are you embarrassed of me?" you amended.

his gaze shot to yours, eyes flooded with concern, genuine worry. "what? no," he promised, "no, sweetheart, of course not of you."

and this made you feel better, a little. "what of, then?" you asked, in step besides his large frame.

a pause settled in the space between his hip and your waist, side by side, stride by stride.

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "it's just that," he started, took a breath, then started again. "i know it must seem weird to you, how flustered i get." you wanted to cut him off, correct him, but mostly you wanted him to continue. "'m not as comfortable as you, as confident."

"it's not weird," you promised, "i like how flustered you get. i like your blush." your fingers twitched. "i can try to dial it back, if it'd make you feel better. i can try to be, i don't know, less-"

he did cut you off, then. "no," he said, his voice breaking, only a bit. "don't, uh, change." he cleared his throat, squeezed his plastic water bottle, making it crinkle. "please."

you stared at the side of his face, for a second, any words dying in your throat. "really? aren't you scared 'll bring you over to the dark side, joey?" you said it like a joke, but it wasn't, not really. "aren't you scared i'll turn you bad?"

he looked at you, then, big blue eyes drunk with truth. "'m not scared of you, trouble," was all he said, and that was that.

you showed him up to your apartment, gave him a short tour.

"where do you usually do homework?" he asked, gentle.

"bedroom floor," you said, almost sheepish. "floor's the best place for critical thinking."

he laughed, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. "lead the way, then," he said.

so you sat with him, on the floor of your bedroom, for a couple hours, until the night made time feel viscous and thick, until your throat was rough from lack of use, until your eyelids felt heavy.

hours of you, doing physics problem sets, and him, finishing history readings. hours of work that were made comfortable, sleepy, by the shared presence of each other, of exhales and warmth and shifting limbs.

hours of work cut with questions about his day, about your classes, about him playing the piano, about your friendship with jenny, about his with bobby and matt, about your mom and his siblings and your design dreams and his uncertain ones.

before long it was past midnight, and you felt your eyes lingering too long on his full mouth, and his gaze felt too honey-sweet on your face. before long, it was time for him to go, before the late hour made you want to see just how far you could push just friends.

out of respect, though, and because you cared about him, at some point, you cleared your throat.

"i should probably go to sleep, soon," you said, a rasp to your voice.

he made to grab his things, pushed his massive body up from your floor. "me too," he said. "'s getting late."

he swung his backpack onto his shoulder and you walked him to the door. he opened it, turned back around, leaned against the frame, facing you.

he looked down at you, and your heart surged, your mind clouded with deja vu. "do you still have your tiara?" you asked, nodding up to his head.

his lips split into a smile as he gave a rough, low laugh. "yeah, sweetheart," he said, his eyes growing foggy with memory. "that's, uh, a keeper."

and it probably wasn't how he meant it, but it almost felt like he was saying you were a keeper, and no one had ever thought that before. you squeezed your hand into a fist. "remember when you said you were a boring prince?"

he nodded.

it took every inch of your discipline not to touch him, hug him, tug him down by his shirt and kiss him dumb. "you're not boring, joey," you said.

he swallowed, his eyes welling up with meaning. "how can you be so sure?" he asked, soft.

"you can't be," you explained, "or i would've been able to stop thinking about you."

his hooded gaze caught on your lips, and it would have been so easy to push up on your toes, slot your mouth against his, but you didn't.

his simmering eyes met yours again. "goodnight, sweetheart," he breathed.

"goodnight," you said, your smile fluttery, shutting the door gently behind him.

and so began the most confusing friendship of your life.

the semester progressed quickly, the pace constantly being pushed by your busy schedule. your days seemed to pass in a blink, filled by classes and exams and rehearsals and theatre commitments, fittings and design meetings and movie nights with jenny, lunches with benji.

jenny's juliet grew more and more compelling, benji grew more and more annoyed with his set crew.

the more time passed, the more frequently you were making plans with joseph, until he just became a part of your schedule. two days a week, you would study at your place, a different two days, you would go to his, instead.

he lived with some guys from the team, so the kitchen was a bit messy, and the decor was seriously lacking, but his room was spotlessly clean, actually sort of comfortable, so you didn't mind. he had a desk, but you had convinced him of the magic of the floor, so the floors of your respective bedrooms had become something of a safe place, a tall, tall tower, away from everything else, away from reality.

you came to find that there was absolutely nothing more comfortable than the warm silence that settled between the two of you like a glittery fog when you'd both get into a working groove, perhaps not talking for stretches of time, but the presence of each other easy enough to fall asleep in.

here and there, one of you would slice through the silence like a warm knife through salted butter, asking about something that had happened that morning, or practice, or rehearsal, or something.

he'd ask how your exam went, and his gaze would melt a bit when you'd gush about how you knew you nailed it.

"that's great, sweetheart," he'd say, his posture more relaxed in the nighttime drowsiness. "'m so proud of you."

maybe you'd ask how the game last weekend went, and his nose would twitch, just a bit.

he'd shrug, and the muscles in his neck would clench, and you'd want nothing more than to ease the tension there with your fingers. "fine," he'd say. "could've been better."

and you'd roll your eyes. "you always think you could've been better," you'd say, and it would be true. you had come to understand that he was a real perfectionist when it came to hockey.

he'd smile, lopsided, and your stomach would flip. "'cause i always could be," he'd say, and it would make you frown.

"i don't know," you'd say, the words coming out slow, like molten chocolate. you'd meet his lazy gaze. "don't think it gets much better than you."

nights of studying and walking him back from practice, days during which, when you were lucky, you could sneak a coffee break with him, began to feel normal, but not in the sense that you didn't feel especially grateful every time you saw him. you couldn't imagine an instance that his eyes wouldn't make your knees wobble, that his voice wouldn't make your heart jolt, a time when making him blush wouldn't feel like a triumph, when making him laugh wouldn't pull the most genuine smile from your own mouth.

you felt as if he'd been an abrupt reset to your whole system, ever since that dusky summer kiss against a door, like a startling ice bath to your entire being. for him, though, you didn't imagine your presence to be as shocking, instead more gradual, like your attention, your thinly-veiled attraction was like ivy, slowly overtaking an old brick building.

miraculously, for weeks and weeks, you kept your hands to yourself. sure, there was the occasional hug goodbye, which typically left you speechless, the more frequent touch of a hand here and there, over a glass of water or across a spread of notebooks. once, and only once, there was a firm arm around your waist, the time when you slipped while walking next to him, his quick reflexes meaning his arm shot out to wrap around you, pulling you back upright in a single motion.

you tried your best not to lean into his embrace, mentally applauded yourself for a job well done. "thanks for that," you said, clearing your throat.

he didn't let go of you immediately though, his hand lingering on your waist for a split second, his gaze shadowy, like in a trance.

"joey," you said, and it came out like a plea, because he couldn't touch you, not like this. it wasn't fair, and you were being so good. "don't do this to me."

that snapped him out of his daze, as he gently retracted his arm, settled it unnaturally next to his side, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, now that his palm had laid flat against your hip. what do you do with something sacred? "sorry, sweetheart," he said, and his voice was rough.

for the first time, though, you realized, with narrowing eyes, you got the sense that he was lying to you. that he wasn't actually sorry, not at all.

then there was the time that he showed up at your place unannounced, on a day when you hadn't made plans. "coming," you'd yelled out in response to a knock, fresh out of the shower, only a towel wrapped around you. you opened the door, almost yelped when you saw him in the frame, looking straight out of a fairytale with his hair in his face.

of course, he blushed, looked down when he registered your appearance, clicked his tongue as you held your towel tighter around you. "d'you, uh," he said, "do you always answer the door like this?"

you could have laughed at his gentle humor, despite him being so obviously flustered. "only for you, joey," you said, winking at him, making him go red, which made your smile grow as you swung the door open wider, wordlessly inviting him inside. "kidding. one sec, let me get dressed."

eventually, matt and bobby got used to your presence in their kitchen, in the bleachers of the rink. you met their fourth roommate, a tall, lanky defenseman you mistakenly called simon the first time you met him.

"not si-mon," he corrected, "si-mone."

"like the girl's name," bobby said, trying to help, to which simon whacked him on the back of the head.

"aren't athletes supposed to eat healthy?" you asked one time, when you were steeping one of the tea bags you had begun to keep at joseph's place, just for convenience's sake. you had walked in on matt, bobby, and simon making ice cream sundaes.

matt just waved you off. "it's different for club," he said.

bobby scowled. "last i checked, you don't pay rent here," he said, "no rent, no opinion."

"yeah," simon said, his accent slight as he put the ice cream carton back into the freezer. "why don't you go back to your own house?"

"because i'm studying," you said, to which you were on the receiving end of a chorus of groans.

"swear you guys are practically married," matt said. "remember when i walked in on you putting that gray shit on his face?"

you rolled your eyes. "that was a face mask, and it's good for your pores."

"he has you over here more in a week than my girl has been here in a month," simon continued.

you scoffed. "maybe you should fix that, then," you told him. "nothing to do with me. me and your roommate are just-"

"don't finish that sentence," bobby said, "for my sanity, don't do it."

"what's going on out here?" came that deep voice from behind you.

"nothing," simon said, "your girl called us athletes, though."

simon's wording had you almost sad, about to correct him, but something in you stopped. because was it really all that much of a lie? joseph didn't correct him, either, which had to count for something. had to mean something.

"bein' nice, trouble?" joseph asked, a lazy smile on his face.

"you know me," you said, to which his eyes shimmered. because he did, because it was true.

you could almost hear bobby's eye roll. "we'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow," he said on his way back to his room.

as opening night grew impossibly close, your path began to cross with joseph's more in the theatre, too.

as you'd get final measurements in, make some last minute adjustments to skirt lengths and blouse widths, you'd hear that telltale melody from the pit, so smooth it'd put a smile on your face.

once, you were doing a final check of jenny's costume, the last one she would wear before curtain close, and the music began.

jenny's grin grew teasing. "such a sap, now," she said.

"don't," you warned, "i'm the one with all the pins."

she put her hands up in surrender. "not a bad thing," she said, "it's really cute, actually. just can't believe you've lasted this long."

you sighed. "that makes the two of us."

benji popped in from the wing. "so proud of you," he said, "but one of you needs to do something. it's actually painful."

it was sort of crazy, you realized, to be anything but completely grateful and satisfied with being one of joseph's closest friends. it was a privilege, you knew that. it just kind of made you wish you'd never kissed him in the first place, that you didn't know what he felt like, sounded like, tasted like. you could be so completely content if you didn't know that.

"dude, you sound like a dying cat." you recognized matt's voice, assumed he was talking to bobby. "opening night's in two days."

you could picture bobby's disinterested shrug.

benji took this opportunity to walk all the way out onto the stage, clear his throat. "i think you sound great, bobby," he said.

there was a pause. "uh, thanks, man," was the short reply. "what was your name again?"

you winced. jenny shuttered. "brutal," she whispered.

"bob, you know benji," joseph said from the piano bench, ever the polite diplomat. "he paints all the sets."

bobby looked around, took in the castles and gardens that benji had worked so hard on. "you did these?" he asked. benji nodded. "pretty sick, dude," he said, impressed.

jenny put a hand over her heart. "oh, benji, you're so talented and handsome," she said, loudly, drawing everyone's attention.

benji rolled his eyes. "oh, fuck off, jen."

you caught joseph's gaze across the space, him at the piano, you bent down, fussing with jenny's hem.

hi, he mouthed, and your heart stirred.

hi, you mouthed back.

because of the packed and overlapping theatre schedule, you became closely acquainted with the way joseph played the piano, nothing like matt's violent percussion or bobby's novice-at-best guitar abilities. he played with a gentle intensity, a passionate perfectionism, which you supposed was just the way that he was.

you swore you could watch him get caught up in the notes, could follow the deft movements of his hands for hours and not get bored, because he wouldn't get bored.

finally, it was the day before opening night, and after completing the whole last minute checklist as well as all the department's traditions and superstitions, you went back to your workspace for just a second to triple check everything. you wanted everything to go smoothly tomorrow, no surprises. a few minutes into your last checks, though, there was a soft knock on your open door.

you looked up to find a tired pair of big blue eyes. "what're you doing here?" you asked, gentle. "look like you're about to fall asleep, joey."

he shook his head. "wide awake," he said, and he sounded it. "know it's a late night, but it's still thursday. i understand if you wanted to skip tonight, but-"

you waved him off, lugged your bag onto your shoulder. "yeah, right," you said. "not gettin' rid of me that easy."

he smiled, held the door open for you as you passed him, as you both began the walk to his place. the air was chilly, refreshing, but you shivered, nonetheless.

"cold?" he asked, and you nodded, to which he started to unbutton his shirt.

"what're you doing?" you said, and you couldn't help the shocked sort of tone your voice had taken on.

he gave a light laugh, handed you his button down, revealing a t-shirt underneath. he looked at you, almost guiltily, eyes a bit dark, as you shrugged your bag off, put his shirt on, then your backpack. "'m always prepared," he said.

"thank you," you said, and it looked like the words warmed him from the inside out. you figured, maybe, you'd push your luck. "god forbid you show a little skin."

the silence rumbled. it was dark, but it was as if you could feel the heat of his blush, felt it on your own face like a creamy foundation. "easy, trouble," he said, and it was quiet, hoarse.

soon enough he was holding the door of his apartment open, as he had so many times before, then he was leading you into his bedroom, but it felt so different, for some reason, so much heavier, harder, more heated.

you took your spot on the floor, spread out your notes, planning to get a little bit of studying done, as you knew you wouldn't finish any schoolwork tomorrow, with all the running around you were going to be doing. he took his spot across from you, maybe a little bit closer, which you pretended not to notice.

time passed as it usually did, in this situation, at this hour, in his company.

but then you'd catch him looking at you, feel it like a blistering singe, would look up to meet his gaze, only to find it back down on his homework, like the movement of your head was enough to scare him back into routine.

and then it happened again, and he wasn't even looking at your face, this time, he was staring at your middle, your body, which he never did, and you wanted to throw something at him, tell him to stop, please, because you couldn't handle it. his longing was too much to take, the way it was seeping through the walls like a aphrodisiac. if it was a challenge to keep your hands to yourself under normal circumstances, it was almost impossible, now, when he was hiding his want so poorly, almost like he wasn't trying to hide it at all.

the third time it happened, you cleared your throat. it was making you sort of nervous, and it was definitely getting your hopes up. "you starin' at me, joey?" you asked, not accusatory.

"sorry," he said, immediately, didn't meet your eyes.

you tilted your head. "that's the second time you've done that," you observed.

he looked up, at that. "what?"

"that's the second time you've lied to me about being sorry."

he swallowed, and your eyes tracked the motion. his flush was that of guilt, maybe a dull sort of shame.

"why're you embarrassed?" you asked, shifting a bit closer to him. "you're allowed to look at me, you know."

his blue eyes swam with promise as he let out what looked like a soft sigh of relief. "i am?" he asked.

you nodded, felt a little mean. maybe it was the fact that it had been months since his lips had been on yours, and the memory still sparked a fire inside of you. maybe it was the fact that you'd been so patient, maybe it was that you had a feeling the sight of you in his button-down, a little tight in the chest and by the hips, was making his throat dry. "you're allowed, joey, because we're such good friends."

something like a grunt rumbled in his throat, involuntary, and you squinted at him. you were right in front of him, now, sitting on your heels, watching his indecision weigh on him like a boulder between his shoulder blades.

"what?" you asked, the picture of innocence. "what's wrong?"

"nothing, sweetheart," he said, breathy, "nothing's wrong, it's just that-"

"what?" you pushed.

he didn't continue, just swallowed around his words, rested his elbows on his bent knees, notebooks strewn to the side.

you gave a little pout, leaned forward, so close, now, you could see the faint gold in the blue of his eyes. "don't like being my friend, joey?"

"no, i do-" he rushed, but you cut him off again.

"'ve been so good," you said, because it was true, "and you're being mean."

this seemed to sober him up, to turn his words to steel, steady and honest. this seemed to tap into a well of confidence you didn't even know he possessed, because he leaned forward, too, reached a broad hand out, brushed his thumb against your cheekbone, making your breath catch in your throat.

"i like being your friend," he said, and the words were like a soothing balm to your scorched reputation. then his gaze rippled with heat, and you remembered how you had gotten that reputation in the first place. he gave you a knowing sort of look. "but i want to kiss you, sweetheart. so badly."

you could have cried with relief, could have slapped him in the face for taking so long, could have made him wait a little bit longer just to be cruel, but instead, you just wrapped your arms around his neck, shifted forward, let him make space for you until your knees straddled his hips.

it felt like something religious that he was the one that pulled you closer, by your hips, that he was the one to dip his head down and meet you in a kiss that felt, simultaneously, like opening a door marked do not enter and finally, finally, coming home.

you tugged lightly at his hair, just wanting him closer, just wanting him as close as you could get him. his grip on one of your hips grew firm, confident, as the other hand splayed out on the side of your face, rough and warm.

you sighed into his mouth, because he tasted like how you remembered, like cool mint, and because he smelled so good, and because you felt so perfect, so safe.

his teeth knocked against yours, and his rhythm was off, and you had the feeling he was holding back, a little, but all of that was so him, was exactly the imperfect kiss you had been fixating on, but this time with the added passion of knowing him so genuinely, so deeply.

you dug a knuckle into his neck, worked at the knots under your touch. your movements grew slow, languished, lazy, as you softly rocked your hips against him, relished in the groan you pulled from him, making you pull away, just a little, feel him breathe heavy against you, his eyelids heavy. "so stiff, joey," you said, "relax for me, yeah?"

"yeah." he nodded, whined, slightly, when you shifted back and forth again. when his eyes caught yours again, there was something new there, a deeper desire, a question.

you leaned forwards, pressed your mouth messily to his jaw, down his neck. "just ask me," you said, between kisses, "you're allowed, baby, just ask me."

his voice was dazed, like it was hard to focus with your lips on his neck, with you grinding against him. you could feel him, firm and hard, underneath you. "just need," he tried, "just need something, sweetheart, please."

you pulled back, slightly, rested your cheek on his shoulder, giving you both a moment to catch your breath. "don't wanna rush you," you said into his collarbone, because you meant it, because it was important. "but 'll give you anything you want."

it felt so odd to even have to say that, because it seemed that everyone you'd been with, before, had already assumed this of you, that of course you'd give them anything, everything, because you were you, with that face, with that flirtatious smile, with that history.

it felt so lovely, to feel compelled to have to clarify that for him. because of course you would give him anything, everything, every single part of yourself, if he'd only ask.

he clasped his hands behind your back, exhaled slowly. "thank you," he whispered, and it broke your heart into a million pieces. when was the last time someone had thanked you for offering yourself up, like this? why did it almost make you want to cry?

"what do you want, baby?" you asked, running your nails along his neck, after his words had hardened around your heart like crystal, somehow still silken-soft. "will you let me make you feel good, hm? can i?"

you felt him take a deep breath against your chest. "please, sweetheart," he rasped. "please, need you, so bad."

"yeah?" you asked, shifting up and off of him, now kneeling beside his lap. "can i touch you?"

he nodded, and the heat in his eyes burned you. "please."

you reached a delicate hand forward, palmed his cock over his clothes, gentle, found him so hard and hot, while he hissed at first contact. "makin' me wait so long, baby, and you've been needin' me, too?" you teased, a soft grin on your swollen lips as you pulled him out fully, ran your hand along the length of him.

"'m sorry, sweetheart," he breathed, and it seemed funny, apologizing, then. "just wanted t'do the right thing."

you hummed, pumped him up and down, slowly, spit onto his length, kept going. "right thing, hm?" he nodded. "didn't feel right to me, baby," you said, picking up your pace, your grip wet and firm. he huffed, and his thighs tensed. "know what feels right?"

"what?" he asked, eyes pleading, practically spellbound by you, your steady stream of words, so different from him, rendered basically speechless.

"your cock in my hand," you answered, and of all things, he blushed. you bit your lip, because you had a feeling your word choice was the reason. you were pretty sure that, despite the circumstances, the thing that had your clean-tongued prince flustered was your dirty mouth. you pulled your touch away, let his eager hands help you out of his button down, your shirt underneath.

when you looked at him again, he was looking at you, already, with a galaxy in his eyes.

"what?" you asked, your mouth quirking up.

he laughed, lightly, shook his head. "just so pretty, sweetheart," he said, "just so, so pretty."

you scrunched up your face, but didn't hide your delighted smile as you went to kiss him on the jaw, hoisting your leg up and over him until you hovered above his lap. "pretty enough to fuck?" you asked, against his neck, right by his ear, and you smiled at the jolt of his hips, the shake of his breath. "tell me."

his hand braced the back of your neck, gave the softest rumble of a laugh, like whatever he was about to say was above him, like it was incomprehensible. "can i fuck you, trouble?" he asked, and you laughed, too, because the curse sounded so foreign on his lips.

it was something lovely to be laughing, with someone you trusted wholly, like this. with someone who thought, all that time ago, that you were a princess.

"watch your mouth, joey," you teased, giving him a false look of depravity as you reached under you, gripped him again, angled his cock to your core.

"such a," he began, his breath hitching when you began to sink down on him, "such a bad influence."

you groaned at the stretch as you pushed yourself down further, felt the burn of it in your throat, in your toes. you sucked on your teeth, had to close your eyes for a second as you clung to his neck for support.

finally, all the way in, you stayed still for a moment, adjusting, letting him adjust to you.

"this okay?" you whispered into his shoulder.

there was a pause. "you're perfect," he said, so genuinely it hurt. "feel so good, sweetheart."

you smiled. "can i move, baby?" he surprised you, then, answering you by gripping you harder and angling his hips up into you, slow and deep. you groaned at the sensation, fluttering in your stomach. "so good, joey," you breathed, then smiled, your tone turning devious when his other hand rooted in your hair, hard, steady. "fast learner, hm?" you asked, "already know what i like?"

his pace stuttered, but you met him thrust for thrust, up and down. "show me," he said, almost whiny, a slight sheen on the high points of his face, a flush on his neck and nose. "show me what you like, sweetheart." his eyes flooded with meaning. "want this t'be good for you, hm?"

your chest could have cracked open, because you couldn't remember the last time someone had wanted that, never mind voiced it to you. who would you be to deny him that?

you kissed his shoulder, showed him just how hard to tug at your hair. "you're so good to me, baby," you said, "too good to me, yeah?" you placed your palm over his hand, on your hip, moved it to your clit, showed him how to touch you. the friction made you clench around him, forcing a whimper from your mouth, a throaty groan from his as you both picked up your pace.

time didn't feel real, you supposed it never had, in this room. it had seemed irrelevant when you were working on mechanics problems for physics while he drafted papers for eastern european history, and it seemed irrelevant now, too.

for seconds or minutes or months, you felt yourself spiraling closer and closer, heat building inside of you as his thrusts grew jerky, as his breathing heaved, as the friction of his hand against your clit made you delirious.

your thighs felt hot with exertion as you moaned. "gonna make me cum, joey," you said, at some point, dreamy, "so deep inside of me, baby, feel you here." you placed a palm on your lower stomach to show him, pushed down, relished in the pressurized sensation.

"'m so close," he breathed, "so perfect, sweetheart, right there."

"fuck, let me have it," you pleaded, so warm and wet around him. "want it so bad, baby, let me feel you. let me take it."

he came apart at your words, his muscles tensing abruptly under your palms as his orgasm triggered your own, so sudden and staggering you swore your teeth were chattering. your head collapsed onto his shoulder as your eyes squeezed shut and he wrapped his arms around your back, holding you tight against his chest.

his shoulder was just barely damp with sweat under your cheek, and the air felt humid, heavy, like you could cup it in a palm.

when you opened your eyes, your flighty gaze caught on something shiny, just next to his desk, which had been taken over with completed lego sets. hanging on his open closet door was his tiara, you realized, from all those months ago. from before all the friendship and pining and making kingdoms out of bedroom floors.

it was sort of funny, how something like a cheap plastic crown could mean so much. if he hadn't worn it, what then? would any of this have even happened? if you hadn't reached up to straighten him out? hadn't made some joke about not being able to?

you laughed into him, and you could hear his smile. "what?" he rasped, making you look up at him. he looked straight out of a classical art museum, some kind of angel in acrylic, painted by a god-fearing sinner, all blushy cheeks and big, forgiving eyes, corded shoulders and lips wet with spit.

you massaged the back of his shoulders with a careful hand. "remember when you thought i was a princess?" you mused, the memory at the front of your mind.

"'course," he said. "most beautiful girl i'd ever seen."

you closed your eyes, exhaled, opened them again. "i was dressed as a wench," you said, but the joking tone you'd aimed for sounded dumb, following his honest confession.

he just smiled, a sliver of perfect teeth through pink lips. "don't know, trouble," he said, "pretty sure i know i princess when i see one. i was a prince, after all."

you hit him lightly on the chest, laughed. "i guess you know what you're talking about then, hm?"

he hummed. "oh, yeah," he confirmed, rubbing circles with his thumb into your lower back, "'specially when i'm talking about you."

and you thought, for the first time in a while, that maybe, to have someone talk about you wouldn't be a bad thing. that, perhaps, to have this somebody talk about you would be something quite special.

tomorrow, it would be daylight, and it would be busy, and the world would speed up again. tomorrow, benji would be late, of course, and bobby would mess up the chords to the interlude, and jenny would absolutely nail her first lead role. tomorrow, matt and simon would make a bunch of crude jokes and benji's freshman would give him a fruit basket to thank him for his leadership, and the theatre director would cry, because of how wonderful the production went.

tomorrow, a lot would happen.

but, tonight, there was just the boring prince of legos and piano keys, holding the unbecoming princess of bedpost notches and pleats. tonight, they resided over the kingdom of bad influence and embarrassed flushes.

and tonight, the kingdom was finally quiet.

fin.

[ooffmlsorry]

Getting Drunk with One Piece Men

sabo, ace, law, zoro, sanji

A/n: Ngl writing drunk characters is my bread and butter. Idk man. It's just how I am.

Content: gender neutral except female pet names in Zoro's

SABO

Y'all become idiot 1 and idiot 2, honestly you might even fight over who gets to be idiot 1

Koala's so tired of y'all omg this poor woman deserves a vacation from the two of you

You can drink him under the table, he's such a lightweight

I'm so sorry to tell you your man's a wanderer. At least once you're going to turn around and say "where'd Sabo go????" Half of your night might be spent looking for him

Despite being drunk Sabo's still a gentleman, you two are gonna stumble down the street arm and arm, he'll walk on the outside of the sidewalk closer to the street to keep you safe, and he likes getting your drinks for you

He drinks sugary drinks and will have a HORRIBLE hangover in the morning

He's not necessarily an angry drunk but he is a loud argumentative one, when he inevitably wanders off you're going to find him loudly arguing on behalf of the revolution and shit talking the world government to anyone that listens and to anyone who won't

You're also going to give each other increasingly stupid dares and stunts throughout the night

Gets affectionate as the drunkness gets closer to tiredness and then he turns into a cuddly man baby

Y'all also both crash pretty unceremoniously. Hack is going to find you two curled up in a coat closet together with a random dog and a dick drawn on your face???

ACE

two words: GOOFBALL ALERT!! He's unserious normally but when he's drunk unless something really, really bad is going down, don't expect a serious response out of him

So LOUD!!

"Ace, why are you yelling? I'm right here."

"I'M YELLING???"

You're all of his impulse control for the night and if you don't have any either than good luck to Marco...

Will loudly brag about you to anyone who listens. Probably does a toast just because you exist and will probably say something he shouldn't

Please stay near him, he just wants you to be right next to him. If you're a wanderer you're gonna stress him out real bad and he's gonna start spiraling. He's just physically clingy, he's got his arms wrapped around you, his head resting on your shoulder, sitting on his lap would make him very happy. -10 personal space.

Lights a shot of liquor on fire and drinks it to impress you. Every. Single. Time.

Speaking of that he repeats SO MANY of the same stories he's told you before

Also wants to dance with you, you've got no option unless you absolutely hate it

Tells you he loves you once every 2 minutes. please say it back. Don't be surprise if he proposes to you a couple of times when he's drunk

Inevitably starts crying...the later it is the more likely it is to happen. Just be prepared to coddle him and be covered in snot before morning.

LAW

First of all, it's gonna take a lot to get this man to actually drink. He's not a fan of being out of control. But he would do it, especially if someone told him he couldn't or told him not to

He also doesn't have the highest tolerance, the fact that he's tall is the only thing saving him from being a lightweight

You know he's drunk because he gets really expressive and talks with his hands a lot more.

I'm telling you this man is going to start talking about his coins. Fucking coins. And Sora. He's gonna out himself as a huge fucking nerd.

He's the most self aware drunk you've ever met. For the entire night he's fully aware of the things he shouldn't be doing/saying and still does them.

"I've had way too much, Y/N-ya. This is going to be awful."

*Gets another drink*

This also includes being all over you. If your relationship was a secret it's not anymore because he can't stop staring at you and keeps finding his way back to your side. And he does this thing where he keeps inspecting your hands and fingers??? He's captivated by them. You think he's trying to hold your hand without looking like he's holding your hand??? But it's kind of unclear????

The more I think about it the more I'm certain that drunk Law turns into a little weirdo.

If you touch him at all he's going to turn into putty, like his face is just gonna look like 🥴

Might start telling you secret dumb thoughts that he has or recalling good memories with Cora.

If Luffy or Kid is there he won't say no to a challenge, he doesn't say no anyway but it's so. much. worse.

He's gonna have to drink enough to put him to sleep or he's going to sober up and recall the horror of what drunk!Law was like

Please act like none of it ever happened. Please.

ZORO

This man is gonna fall asleep.

Can Zoro even get drunk???

Well, hell froze over and he did. Somehow.

Drunk Zoro is surprisingly friendly, he even almost compliments Sanji which is WILD

Like he kind of has something nice to say about everyone worth saying something nice about

There's still something really intimidating about him especially if anyone makes you uncomfortable

Suddenly Zoro can't remember your name and only refers to you as "my girl" or "woman"

Honestly, he can't believe you're actually dating him and he'll tell you several times

Will probably say something like "damn, I keep forgetting how pretty you are. 'S fucking weird."

Teases you a lot. He's like a kid pulling your pigtails because he likes you. As soon as you do it back you're going to get a big reaction out of him though

"OI! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR???"

"NOT SO FUNNY NOW IS IT!!"

He might play fight with you lmao, be prepared to be manhandled because he's rough around the edges but man does he love you

Like I said...this man is inevitably going to fall asleep, hopefully you were done partying by that point because he's not letting go of you. You're stuck. Sorry. You're his new nighttime plushie.

SANJI

Oh Sanji *long sigh*

He thinks he's being smooth but he's boderline incoherent when he's really drunk

He's gonna hype you up!! A LOT!!!!

Probably the most normal drunk because he's already a perv and being drunk doesn't make it that much worse

He can be a little petty though lol, not towards you but you might hear him muttering something here or there

Wants to take a bunch of pictures with you

Unfortunately over half of them are gonna be a blurry mess

Absolutely wants to dance with you

He's not drinking nasty alcohol

Honestly, he's kind of giving Brittany Broski in the sense that depending on what drink he has he's gonna gag

Sidenote: he could theoretically stomach it, Zeff didn't raise no bitch(/j) but why torture him??

So excited you exist??? Like for a moment he's gonna get philosophical and be in complete awe that the two of you exist at the same time and met??? How lucky can he be!!!?

Actually, drunk Sanji gets kind of deep after a while, especially when the two of you are alone

He's not gonna cook drunk. Big no-no. That's a hazard. But if you were drunk and hungry or wanted to sober up he'll make you a cup of coffee and something that doesn't require fire or a lot of knife skills

Would rather whisk you away somewhere quiet to be alone with you after a while. Like, he's not a wanderer per se, but he wants to be alone with you

Leans on you a lot when he's drunk

He might definitely be the little spoon that night, he gets so soft by the end of the night just hold him, okay?

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.2

Prettyyyyy

Maybe John's not actually crazy for thinking Hey Jude is to him? “For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.” fool is, in my tin hat world, often a code name for Paul in their songs. And that description is certainly him to a t actually. I wonder why I've never considered it before. 

John: are you happy here, honey? Paul: I ain't happy here my honey, can you take me back? How many songs does Paul write from 1968 on about trying to go back? One day I'm going to make a list and it'll be a long one. 

And thus begins the phase of they just can't help it, can they? But they really wish they could. They make each other so so happy, but they really wish they didn't. It would hurt less that way. 

I love the comparison of Linda's pictures of everyone else and then of John. It just shows that it's not a her problem – that's such a lovely one of George, who Hates Yoko – it's how he feels about her.

John, coming up with every possible weapon to provoke Paul, finally has Yoko sing Paul's part in one of their songs. It really is such a slap in the face. But of course breaking the sanctity of their music is what does it best. And still, all he gets out of him is a look before he walks away. Whatever it is that John wants, I think Paul literally can not give it to him. 

Btw the white album is my favorite, probably. There's just such incredible diversity on it. It's so much fun, you never get tired of it, and it's an excellent display of their genius and versatility. 

He looks like an abandoned puppy. 

What do we think? John says Paul drummed on WDWDITR. Paul says Ringo did. Who is telling the truth?

“It was getting to be where he wanted to do it like that but he couldn't make the break . . .” So John thinks Paul doing his songs by himself means he wants to break the group up? I personally read it as him not wanting to annoy everyone with his bossiness, but that's just my take. 

John talking about how it's him and Yoko now, but before, it was . . .

George needs to send them a cease and desist notice or he'll sue them for breech of character the amount of times they drag him into things he's not a part of. Especially if they're not going to even fucking spare him a glance in reality. Please and thank you, Hare Krishna. 

Paul's epigraph on the two virgins cover. “Battles to prove he was a saint”? What kind of passive aggressive shit is that, Paul?

The eternal question: what happened in India? And does John really not know? Or is he just unwilling to tell what happened to rolling stone?

Somebody please engage with that poor little boy, preferably, you know, his father. Ugh, Cynthia must've had so much anxiety watching that footage, or really any time Julian was with John. And that footage is placed in the doc right after a pic of Paul already being Heather's dad just so naturally. 

But hell, if I've ever seen attention-seeking behavior, this is it. Singing about wanting to die while seductively undressing the closest thing Paul would've had to career competition at the time. 

I'm sorry but it will forever be hilarious to me that when John's singing his part of “I've Got a Feeling” with Yoko it's “soft dream” and then with Paul it's “wet dream”. How John and Yoko tricked everyone into believing they were too horny for each other to control themselves is beyond my imagination. 

On the day John plays their sex tape, “Unusually, Yoko is not present.” LMAO girl same. John: I'm going to play our sex tape for the band tomorrow. Yoko: oh was that tomorrow? Damn, I forgot, I have a thing. 

“Well that's an interesting one.” What did John honestly expect, though? Like I know he wanted Paul to be like, “that's it! Enough is enough I'm taking you home and doing you right!” Or whatever. But what did he honestly, realistically expect?

Always saying the same things at the same time, always on the same page, same word. About everything, it seems, except their relationship. 

Paul: but you won't say anything about it. John: I said what I've been thinking. Paul: Are you still thinking that now? What are you thinking now? John: I'm still thinking about it. Infuriating. Whatever it is John's been thinking, he doesn't want to talk about it in front of cameras. Is it quitting the band? I think it's something more complicated than that but I've no idea what. 

“John, John, joooooohn!” X “Martha my Dear” crossover my beloved. The fact that literally Everyone reacts and tries to get her to stop except Paul is so extremely telling. Yoko: joooooohn! Ringo: He's busy! Yoko: joooooohn! John: Stop that! (And he looks and sounds genuinely pissed) Yoko: joooooohn! Paul: (plinking and pounding away, definitely not thinking thoughts about what he would do right now if he was a girl that will come out of his mouth fifteen years later)

Everyone's trying to figure out the problem with George vs JohnandYoko and Paul's saying “and like with Yoko, they’re real. They mean it.” Linda laughs. “I don't dig that.” You don't, Linda? What about them isn't real to her, I wonder. Does she think they don't really love each other? Or what?

Linda: *Makes fart noise* Go away! Paul: continues to defend them. Neil: everybody cough. See and this is why it sucks that get back was so edited. Because it's important that Paul's defending them here not just going on and on where nobody asked. He knows he's hurt John, and he feels bad enough about it to let him have his mommy with him at all times if that's what he needs.

If what??? Someone needs to force them to finish their damn sentences. Because I feel like he cuts himself off here when (I swear!!) he's about to say what it is that's hurting John so badly.

Anyway, here's where (imo) he's kinda wrong. Where he says "if it came to a push between Yoko and the band, it's Yoko." I think I said it in my get back posts, but I'll say it again. Yeah, if it was Yoko or the band, it's Yoko. But if it's Yoko or Paul filling all the gaps Yoko is currently filling? It's Paul. You know? And I think that's what John wants so badly at this time, actually. Is “a push between Yoko and [Paul]” ending with Paul stepping up for him in some way that he wasn't before, you know?

He really does get it though. John wanting to be as close as possible with Yoko so he doesn't lose her and their connection. Don't forget he does put Linda in his band. He gets it because it was the same with him and John. 

I really do think it's a huge myth that they just never talked about feelings or anything serious. Look at them. This is how they talk in a crowded place with their girlfriends sitting right there. They didn't just get through fifteen years of one of the greatest collaborations in history never actually talking. They talked about deep stuff. And frequently. 

[bethanydelleman]

I saw a post you reblogged at some point about Fanny being stuck in a time loop and it got me thinking: if the main men (both protagonists and antagonists) of the different Austen novels time travelled back to the day they first met their love interest/the start of the novel - whichever is latest so wentworth, knightley, and Edmund Bertram would travel to the day the main events of their novels start - who do you think would end up changing the least of the events and the most (intentionally or not)?

Because I feel like Knightley would change the least and Henry Tilney and the three S&S gents would come next. But like Wentworth would immediately throw the entire novel off track and like Darcy and Henry Crawford would come in close second trying to change their truly awful first impressions

(Also I just want to add that I really love your Austen takes and discussions 😊)

Thank you!

This is a fascinating idea. Here are my thoughts:

Wentworth just marches into Uppercross Cottage and proposes again. Doesn't even wait to be properly introduced to the family. He's getting Anne back NOW. (She says yes, of course)

I can imagine Darcy having a tiny little crisis as he decides if he really wants to be married to Elizabeth, maybe he could just not accompany Bingley to Netherfield and his life could go the way he planned... nah, he can't resist. Off to Netherfield he goes and he lets Bingley introduce him to Elizabeth at the assembly ball. Things progress unimpeded and by Christmas there is a double wedding and Wickham's character is known throughout Hertfordshire. He skips town and Lydia is packed off to Pemberley to benefit from some better society. (Side note: Mrs. Bennet would push Mr. Collins on Mary if she had any inclination that Darcy liked Elizabeth).

If Bingley knew everything, he'd never leave Jane. He'd return from London and marry her, no matter what Darcy or his sisters said. (I wrote that once actually)

Does Wickham count as a main? Because I don't want him having the ability to predict the future. Yikes on bikes!

Henry Crawford is very interesting, because does he actually understand where he went wrong? I'm not sure he does. Can he resist a flirtation with two very pretty sisters? That would be a fun fan fiction to write. Because if he went for Fanny right off the bat and she knew nothing else about him... he'd probably succeed with her, secret Edmund love or not. And she certainly wouldn't have a leg to stand on in refusing his proposal.

Does Edmund come back in the same timeline as Henry? That would be so agnsty! If not, he'd probably be doing whatever he could to keep Maria and Henry apart, but he's shockingly ineffective in canon, so would he even be able to change anything?

Henry Tilney would probably just try to prevent Catherine being sent home alone. He could easily come back early.

Mr. Knightley's best move would be to tell Robert Martin to propose in person. I doubt Harriet could have resisted. Then he could just sit back and watch everything else play out.

Honestly, I don't know if Frank Churchill would change a thing, other than making sure his final letter was posted to Jane. He enjoyed the subterfuge.

Poor Edward Ferrars has to travel back while engaged to Lucy? I feel like he wouldn't even want to relive the novel, there is nothing he can do anyway.

Colonel Brandon would probably change a lot. He could immediately save Eliza and challenge Willoughby. He might even spare Marianne from a lot of pain.

Reginald de Courcy (Lady Susan) would likely act as well and save Frederica earlier than in the novel.

[hockeymenarehot]

Hiiiii your fics that I have read so far are literally AMAZING. Ngl your my new fav author on here my goodness those stories were making my stomach turn.

Could you please do a Tom Kaulitz 2007 smut, him and reader have to share a room unwillingly. The reader starts playing with his hair and he is low-key into it 😋 You take it from there queen because you are so creative it’s crazy.

THANK YOU SO MUCH 😘😘

"One Bed". Feat. Tom Kaulitz

YES! of course i can do this! i'm glad you enjoy my writing! i also kind of tweaked this a bit to go with another request for an enemies to lovers vibe w/ tom...honestly i love the one bed trope!! (sorry, this is coming out later than intended!!)

summary: not too long ago, you caught your (ex) boyfriend Tom at the bar with another woman. you were pretty pissed, and you still are. but you two agreed to travel together to see a mutual friend as long as you stay separated. however, you did not anticipate the room shortage...

warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, hotel sex, p in v, unprotected, slight edging, overstimulation, use of toys, degradation (slut, whore, etc.), praise, kinda mean Tom, he's sweet sometimes though?, cervix fucking, spanking, squirting, pretty much brat taming, creampie, you think he cheated but he didn't

"What the hell do you mean there's not enough rooms?! I paid for two!" your patience was wearing thin with the poor desk attendant who claimed there was a "room shortage for the holidays". Bullshit. "Ma'am, I've already explained this to you. We overbook expecting some cancelations. It's better for business this way." The woman at the desk was making sure to keep her distance from you. Your stance looked like you were about to leap over the desk and pounce on her at any second now. "Good for business-!?" You were cut short by none other than Tom Kaulitz, your cheating ex-boyfriend, lightly grasping your arm, afraid that if he put too much pressure you might seriously swing at him. You gave him the nastiest glare, he swore it pierced his soul. "Hey, there's no use in yelling at this poor lady. Let's just go to our room. It'll only be a night. I can sleep on the floor." He spoke in a gentle tone, this managed to ease your nerves a bit. You removed your sprawled hands from the desk, giving the desk attendant one final glare. You were also not too thrilled that he took her side. You grabbed your key and made your way to the elevator, Tom trailing behind.

You and Tom hadn't spoken a word since getting to your room. It truly was a small, one bed hotel room. Right when you set your bag down on the (quite hard) couch, you flopped down onto it with a exaggerated groan. "Okay I think you need to calm down. I get it, you would rather not be doing this. But can't you take a day to-" You quickly cut him off, still angry with him. You were angry he had the nerve to tell you of all to "calm down". This made your anger bubble back up. "Calm down? Calm down?! How am I supposed to calm down when you're here? How am I supposes to calm down after what you did to me!? I don't want to fucking hear it from you. Go back downstairs and sleep with the little hotel girl from earlier since you like to take her side so much. Not that you ever took my side." Okay, admittedly you were being pretty petty, but you didn't care. Not when the events that transpired were so recent. About 1 month ago you caught Tom at a bar giggling with another girl because apparently he hadn't realized that's the bar you were having your girls night at. You screamed at him, threw a drink at his face, and hadn't spoken to him since. Tom stared at you for a second, he was trying to let you be angry at him. Because truthfully, he shouldn't have been so sneaky when he honestly wasn't doing anything wrong. He was at that bar to catch up with his brothers wife, but mentioning that fact would probably make you begin to spiral even more. He really didn't want another drink in his face. So, for now he decided to let you scream and yell at him all you wanted, even if the words you spoke couldn't be farther from the truth.

It had been about 5 minutes of you yelling, and you were now laying on the bed quite literally sobbing your little heart out. You couldn't take it, all of your pent up emotions were bursting out and making an ugly mess of you. You thought about how this was probably the reason why he decided to cheat on you. Tom just sat on the edge of the bed, lightly stroking your thigh. You apparently hadn't noticed, but your body was subconsciously leaning into his touch. Once your rapid breathing had slowed and your tears dried up leaving dried makeup streaks on your face, he finally spoke. "I didn't cheat on you." You almost laughed, "What?" He drew in a large breath before he continued, still treading lightly. "You never gave me a chance to talk. But trust me, I don't blame you. Please hear me out on this." Once he had gotten your silent sign of approval, he slowly continued, "That woman? That was my Bills wife. She was just in the area, and I wanted the chance to catch up with her. Ask her how things were going. All I talked about was you, every single question she had, the answer was always you. She even recorded a video on my phone for you of her saying hi. Please, believe me. I know I shouldn't have been so secretive, I know that's my fault. But just please. Here's the video." Tom pulled out his phone to show you the video of who you now noticed was Bill's wife in that same exact bar saying hi to you, and explaining how she hoped all was well with you.

Right after the video ended, your heart dropped so low as you looked up at him it almost fell out of your ass. I mean, you had met Bill's wife before, but you hadn't gotten a good glimpse of her at the bar. Only of the back of her head. You knew she was a nice woman, and you were starting to realize that you probably should've let Tom explain himself instead of throwing a drink in his face. But when he pulled the "Baby, it's not what it looks like" line, you almost lunged at him.

This whole thing just added more on top of the emotions you were already feeling, and you began to cry again. "Tom," you shook out as you pulled him into an embrace, finally being able to feel him again "I'm sorry." You swear you had never held onto anything so tight in your life, and he was seriously about to crush you as well. But it didn't really matter. All that mattered was, yeah, you both fucked up but at least you still had each other. That night was a long night of exchanging explanations, and setting up boundaries as to how to deal with situations like this again. As well as how to work on managing your emotions...

It was getting pretty late, and you had just came out of the shower to find Tom laying down on the small couch. "Are you serious? You don't have to do that... Come sleep with me." Tom turned over to look at you, a bit surprised you could forgive so quickly. That had never been apart of your personality. But he was exempt from this, he assumed. "You sure? If you don't-" You stopped him, "I'm sure." and gave him a sweet smile. The both of you crawled into bed, and got into the position you normally get into. He placed the side of his face on your breasts and you used one of your hands to play with his hair, feeling him relax into you. He whispered out a small "I love you" that you almost didn't catch. To let him know you heard him, you craned your neck down and pulled him into a sweet kiss. Well, the kiss started sweet.

Tom had been left to just his hand, lotion, and some shitty magazines for way too long now. He missed you. A lot. What was supposed to be a simple sweet kiss now had your back to him and him aggressively thrusting his cock into you. You let out a string of moans, trying to stabilize yourself by putting your hands on his thighs. His chest was flush with your back, and his thrusts were relentless. "Tom!" He knew you loved this angle, it allowed you to feel every inch of him buried deep inside you. "Yeah? That feel good, y/n?" One of his hands came down to rub at your clit. "Think I've given you enough time to throw your little tantrum, gotta put whores like you back in their place." His minstrations had you a moaning mess, and you could already feel your orgasm flatly approaching. "Ah-! P-please!" Your pussy clenched tightly around him, a sign he knew you were about to cum. Right when your soft walls began to flutter he completely stopped all motion. "W-what?" You were confused, and you whined at the loss of stimulation. "You forget? Brats like you have to ask nicely to cum. Then I'll consider." He landed a harsh slap on both cheeks of your ass, causing you to his. "Im sorry! Please! Please make me cum!" He rubbed over both red marks, attempting to slightly soothe them before beginning his pace again. This time, he was impatient. He flipped you over onto your back, sprawling you out onto the bed before he pushed in and out of you at a fast pace. You could feel every vein on his cock at this angle, and his tip was practically brushing up against your cervix. The painful pleasure was almost too much, and you just barely remembered to ask to cum. "P-please, can I cum? Please, please please..." You were just babbling nonsense at this point, which made him laugh at the leverage he had over you. He leaned down, nipping the shell of your ear before he said "Cum for me, baby" and that was all the clearance you needed before you gushed all over his cock with a high pitched moan. All of your limbs twitched as he helped you ride out your high, your mind melting back down to earth. Your brain was still fuzzy, and you didn't catch how Tom leaned over to open the beside drawer, pulling out a small bullet vibrator. Once he waved it over top of you, your eyes widened. You obviously could think enough to understand what you were about to be subjected to, but not enough to question why it was in that drawer.

"Please" You mewled put, not sure if you were begging for him to use it on you or begging him not to. Either way, he turned it on, using it on the lowest setting as he rubbed it over your nipples. "Mh!" You let out a satisfied grunt at the stimulation being pressed to your nipples. Tom always worshipped every part of your body, and tonight he had neglected your nipples. The attention they were now receiving left you wanting more. You relaxed, parting your legs and letting the spread across the roughness of the hotel sheets. Tom trailed the small vibrator down the valley of your stomach, towards your already swollen clit. "Yeah, take it like the good slut you are. Just my cumdump, aren't you?" You nodded your head in agreement, making the best "Mhm" sound you could with how fried your brain was. You both knew this wasn't true. If you both were being completely honest, he was at your mercy. Tom pressed the vibrator up against your clit, and immediately started thrusting back into you. "Ah! Wait! T-Tom! Too much!" He laughed at you almost mockingly "You can do it. My sweet baby can do it." The way his tone could change at the drop of a hat only turned you on even more, and his sugar coated words coaxed you on to obeying him. "Ok... ok, just for -fuck- you." "Yeah, thats what I fucking thought." It didn't take too much longer for you to reach your high, and by the way you were squeezing him he knew, too. Tom decided you'd been through enough tonight and let you off easy this time. "My baby gonna cum on my cock? Come on, make a mess on me. Cum with me." Those words immediately flipped the switch inside of you, letting your pussy twitch around him and gush everywhere, making a mess all over his abdomen. Tom thrusted into you as deep as he could possibly go before cumming inside you. "Yeah, gonna take all the cum I give you." And you did, you took every last drop, squeezing him to milk him for everything he was worth.

The night ended with an exchange of soft kisses, giggles, whispers of sweet nothings, and a hot bath to ease your poor muscles. You might need a wheelchair for tomorrow.

Before you two left, Tom left a note on the bed thanking the hotel room attendant for bluffing for him, and left her some extra cash. He also apologized for the mess.

a/n: this was supposed to be released last night but I had other things going on! so sorry! but I hope you enjoyed! requests are still open, and if you've already sent one just know it's sitting in my drafts. remember to take care of yourself!

[moni-logues]

Dickless

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Genre: basically pwp but like, enemies to lovers if you REALLY squint

Summary: Your boyfriend won't go down on you and it is a Problem. Fortunately, your friendly neighbourhood fuckboy (or is he??) Taehyung is there to lend a mouth hand.

Word count: 11.1k

Content: oral sex (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, infidelity, some very poor communicating

A/N: it's another repost!!! because this just hit 2k notes on the old blog 🥺🥺🥺 I have a secret soft spot for this fic, ngl. I'm secretly (not so secretly) proud of the smut; I tried to do something a bit different with my writing and I like how it came out, at least those parts. I have not edited this at all due to the aforemetioned bottle of wine so, here it is as it always was

ETA: the sexual politics of this one are 🥴😬 because reader essentially won't accept the truth that sexual incompatibility is both real and a valid reason to not continue a relationship. No one should be pressured into doing something they don't want and that extends to her bf! It's not his fault! She should have dumped him months ago! And she didn't! And she's in the wrong for that!! To be clear: she is in the wrong!!!!

That said, she's not a total cunt; she is struggling with it and doesn't want to break-up with him because she does (did) love him and she feels like she should just be able to give up this thing because it's only her, it's only what she wants, it doesn't really matter-- except it does matter; what she wants does matter and she had to come to terms with that and the fact that that means she and her bf can't be together.

* * *

You remembered the first time you saw Taehyung. You were at a bar your friend had dragged you to because she knew he would be there; they had been sleeping together for a couple of weeks and she wanted to ‘casually’ run into him as he had stopped replying to her texts.  

“There he is,” Tara had hissed, pointing to a tall man across the room, dark curls bouncing on his brow, long fingers curled around a wine glass, and an intense look on his face.  

Moving further into the room, it had then been revealed that the target of his gaze was another woman and, despite your friend’s best attempts, Taehyung was not interested. She had dragged you to the toilets where she cried, real, huge tears. 

“It’s just been a couple of weeks, hasn’t it? Did you say you were exclusive?” you had asked, trying to be sensitive but shocked at the display of emotion. She wasn’t usually like this. 

“I’m not crying because I’m in love with him or something!” she had replied, her voice thick with tears. “I’m crying because he’s never going to sleep with me again!” 

“What?” 

“If he’s done with me, then that’s it. I’m done for. I’m done with sex.”  

She had fixed you with a wet, shining stare. 

“No one is as good in bed as Taehyung.” Her voice was hushed, awed. “He... You just don’t know if you haven’t slept with him, ok? He has ruined me. I can never sleep with anyone else, not knowing that he’s out there somewhere, not sleeping with me. No on-” 

“No one is that good at sex. Come on; it’s not like he’s got a magic dick or so-” 

“Yes, he has! He absolutely has. But it’s not just his dick – it's his everything. I’m telling you, y/n-” she had sniffled for dramatic effect, her tears were mostly dried- “he’s the best I’ve ever had or will ever have and, honestly, if he ever shows any interest in you, take it.” 

“I have a boyfriend.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Your mouth dropped open in shock; she knew your boyfriend; you had thought they got along well; but she interrupted you before you could argue. 

“I’m serious, y/n. This is a hall pass situation. Do not turn Taehyung down.” 

“So I can end up like you, crying over his dick in a toilet?” 

She had fixed you with a death glare but could not exactly say you were wrong.  

* * *  

That was months ago now. And, somehow, Taehyung kept popping up in your life. At the pub, at bars, at a party where you weren’t even sure he knew anyone – he just happened to be there. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him because you didn’t even know him, but you certainly had no interest in getting to know him. Men like him were ten a penny and, despite what you had been told about him, you were not convinced he was all that in the sack, because men like him never are. 

He was certainly handsome; you wouldn’t deny that. But attractive? No one that smug, that arrogant, could ever be attractive to you. Someone who thinks the world is at their feet, that everyone should fall to their knees for them, that other people exist only for their delectation... That was disgusting, not sexy. Even if you hadn’t had a boyfriend, you knew there was no way his ‘charm’ could work on you. All bluster and machismo and that quirked eyebrow and little smirk? No, thank you. 

“You know, I’ve been seeing you around a lot, but I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.”  

The voice came from behind you and you knew, without having to look, who it would be. You replied not even bothering to turn around. 

“No need. I know who you are.” 

“Oh? And who am I?” 

He was next to you then, leaning against the wall, your arms touching. 

“You’re Taehyung with the magical dick.” 

“Oh, is that what they call me?” 

“Well, I don’t-” 

“You just did.” 

“I don’t but rumour has it... Of course, I don’t believe a word.” 

“There are rumours going around that I have a magical dick and you don’t believe them... You know there’s one way to know for sure?” 

You turned to him, then, stared into his eyes – wide, innocent, as if he wasn’t just asking you to fuck him without even knowing your name – and scoffed. 

“No, thanks. I have a boyfriend.” 

“And does he have a magical dick?” 

You didn’t hesitate, not really, not for more than half a second, but it was enough. 

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s a real shame. You want my number so you can pass it on to him? Maybe I could give him some tips?” 

“Ugh, goodbye, Taehyung.” 

You pushed yourself off the wall and made your way through the room, but he followed after you. 

“Or,” he continued. “You could just take my number and not pass it on, maybe keep it for yourself. In case of an emergency or-” 

“Emergency? What emergency might I possibly ever have that I would require your assistance?” 

He leant down, so close that you could smell his shampoo and his drink on his breath. His cheek barely brushed yours as he brought his lips to your ear. 

“Maybe your boyfriend with the disappointing dick can’t get you off and you’re so on edge that you think, god I’d do anything, anything, to come right now, but you can’t. Then you’re lying there, hot and bothered and unsatisfied, yearning for something, someone, to come and sort you out, to show you the kind of pleasure you’ve not even ever dreamt of. And you think of me, and my magical dick, and you think, oh how I wish I’d taken his number; if I had his number, I’d call him right no-” 

You put a hand against his chest and pushed him back.  

“I’m not taking your number and I’m not going to call you. This-” you gestured broadly to him “this doesn’t work on me. You’re a fuckboy and I don’t fuck with fuckboys. Goodbye.” 

As you walked away from him for the second time, he didn’t follow and you had to stop yourself turning around to see if he was still looking at you. It didn’t matter if he was or not, but you liked the idea of denying the undeniable man, of being one person he couldn’t charm, couldn’t win over. You didn’t care if his dick really was magic or not because you knew you would never be finding out.  

* * *  

The next time you saw him was a few weeks later, at a party. He was on the sofa, slouching low, an empty glass held slack in his hand, dangling at the end of his wrist. He wasn’t talking to anyone, not making moves or scanning for prey; just sitting, staring into space. You turned away from him; you didn’t want to think about a sex god right now; you didn’t want to think about sex full-stop. You ideally wanted to not think at all. You left the room. 

Later that night, when you went back inside, you saw him again. He was still sitting on the sofa, empty glass (the same one?) in hand, still staring into space. You briefly wondered if he was on drugs and, if he were, whether that was deliberate or he’d had his drink spiked. Most people seemed to be ignoring him, or they hadn’t noticed him at all. You sat down next to him. 

“No conquest tonight?” 

“Nope.” 

“What? Not even one? You can’t be telling me your magical dick would miss an opportunity like this: all these people, drinks flowing, inhibitio-” 

“I said no.” 

He tipped his head over the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. 

“Are you ok?” 

“Yep.” 

“Are you lying?” 

“Yep.” 

You had to stifle a giggle and take a pause before you continued. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve had your heartbroken. Mr Magical Dick, Mr Fuck Anything That Moves, Mr Don’t Keep Anyone Around For More Than Two Weeks has had his little heart broken?” 

You could see his jaw work as he tongued at the inside of his cheek, as if deliberating whether or not he would confide in you. 

“In a manner of speaking.” 

The way you gasped was uncharitable, and on a different night, you might have been less callous, but misery loves company and you were delighted to find out that someone else – Kim Taehyung at that – was having relationship problems. You were just fixing on your best retort, tidying it up on the tip of your tongue when he spoke again. 

“Before you say whatever clever remark you’re currently labouring over, my fucking grandmother died, ok? So save it.” 

“Oh.” Surprised didn’t even come close. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

He stood and walked away but you followed him, up the stairs and into an empty bedroom where he collapsed on the bed. You followed him in and shut the door behind you, but stayed next to it, unsure what to say or do. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ventured. 

“No.” 

“Do you want to drink about it?” 

He lifted the empty glass in his hand as if he were about to take a sip and then held it out to you. 

“Sure.” 

“Ok, uh, stay here then and I’ll be back.” 

When you returned to the bedroom (bottle of unfortunately cheap vodka in hand), you thought he must have left: the bed was empty. Then you saw his feet poking out from the other side and found him lying on the floor. You took his glass, poured him a drink, and watched him as he knocked it back. He grimaced and looked at you. 

“This is horrible.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I figured it wouldn’t be missed. Sorry.” 

He held his glass up for more. 

You sat, drinking in silence. You didn’t know what to say to him and he was obviously not interested in conversation so part of you wanted to leave him alone, but he hadn’t told you to leave, and he was still holding his glass out for more, and you didn’t really feel like he should’ve been alone. So, you stayed. It was nice, actually. You hadn’t really been in the mood for a party – you had just wanted to get out – so you were enjoying the quiet. You were enjoying the way the vodka was making you warm, edges all fuzzy and soft, the noise far away.  

“She basically raised me.” 

His voice was quiet and thick; you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or just talking.  

“Yeah?”  

“She-” 

He looked at you then, his eyes not quite focusing, and stopped talking. 

“You can tell me about her, if you want.” 

He shook his head with a groan and drew his knees up to his chest, dropping his head between them.  

“I’m going to go home,” he said after another short while had passed. 

“You sure?” 

He nodded. 

“Can you get home ok? Did you need me to get you a taxi or call someone?” 

He shook his head and fished his phone out of his pocket, waving it at you, unlocking it to order a car. You almost didn’t reach out for it, but you knew you would feel responsible if something happened, so you took his phone and entered your number into it. 

“Please let me know when you have got home safe, ok?” 

He looks at you, suspicious, and then playful as that all-too-familiar smirk returns to his lips. 

“It was all a ruse, huh? Get me drunk and give me your number under the pretence of concern for me, huh? I knew you wanted me.” 

“What I want, Taehyung, is to not be the last person to see you alive and the subsequent subject of a murder investigation.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You’re the one who calls me magic dick...” 

He winked at you and then turned, waving a hand in your direction, stumbling down the stairs. You figured you might as well call it a night yourself.  

You were back in your apartment, washed and undressed, tapping impatiently at the side of your phone, not sure if you should wait to hear from Taehyung or assume that he’d forgotten and just go to sleep yourself. Then a message came in from an unknown number. 

A head shot, but with enough of his shoulders displayed to make it clear he was topless, his black hair splayed on the pillow behind his head. He had his eyes closed, his fingers in a V over his mouth. 

???: Didn’t die. 

???: Unlike my grandma 🙁 

You choked on surprised laughter. 

y/n: Glad you got home ok. Sorry about your gma 🙁 

* * *  

Your phone rang the next evening while you were making tea and you answered without looking who was calling. 

“Hello?” 

“What the fuck is this I hear about you and Kim Taehyung?” 

It was your boyfriend. 

“Uh, I don’t know; what did you hear?” 

“Apparently, you’re fucking.” 

“WHAT?!”  

“Apparently, when you were out last night, you and Taehyung went into a bedroom for a very long time and he came out looking very pleased with himself.” 

“Ok and? That means we’re fucking, does it?” 

“I don’t know; I’m asking you.” 

“Ok, well, no, we didn’t. We didn’t really do anything. We just sat and drank.” 

“What do you mean you just sat and drank? What even is that?” 

“I mean we literally sat and drank. I wasn’t in a good mood and neither was he, so I nicked a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and we sat in the dark, in silence, drinking it. That’s it.” 

There was an aggrieved sigh from the other end of the phone. 

“So, it’s my fault, is it? Is that what this is about? You trying to make me jealous or some sh-” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m supposed to believe it’s just a coincidence that, almost immediately after we have an argument about me not going down on you, you end up at a party with the most notorious fuckboy in the fucking country?” 

You could feel anger swelling within you, sweat pricking on your back and in your palms. 

“Believe what you want. I’m telling you nothing happened.” 

You hung up. You were not about to be accused of cheating by a guy who, frankly, already owed you an apology. As if you would’ve done that. Even if you had been single, you wouldn’t have slept with Taehyung – not ever, but certainly not last night. You had a little more decency than that. Hell, even Taehyung had more decency than that. You tried to push it from your mind; if you had been your boyfriend, maybe you would’ve thought it, too, or at least, felt insecure about it or unsure. You could admit that it didn’t necessarily look great – you were very aware of Taehyung’s reputation and maybe you should have considered that before shutting yourself in a room with him. But you also knew you hadn’t done anything wrong. So you were prepared to let it blow over.  

* * *  

Taehyung: You coming tonight? 

y/n: Coming where? 

Taehyung: Jimin’s party? 

y/n: 🤷‍♀️ not invited 

Taehyung: Ok, I’m inviting you. 

Taehyung: So you coming? 

y/n: Can’t. Have a date 

Taehyung: You dumped disappointing dick??!!! 😄😄😄 

y/n: No. 

y/n: He’s still my boyfriend. My date is with him. 

Taehyung: Boo 😒 let me know when you finally leave him 

y/n: Fuck off, taehyung 

* * *  

You didn’t see him for a few weeks after that, until you found yourself actually searching for him, peeking into dark corners in clubs and bars to see if he was there. You weren’t sure why you did; you weren’t friends and you certainly weren’t interested in him. But you were intrigued. You always assumed people like him were shallow – truly of the no thoughts, head empty kind. You hadn’t really considered that he might be a real person under there somewhere. Albeit a smug, arrogant, charmless, shameless person. Who may or may not have had a magic dick. 

You thought about what your friend had said, the first time you met Taehyung. How she had cried, not because she liked him, not because he broke her heart, but because she would never get to sleep with him again. You couldn’t imagine it, sex that good. Not that the sex you had was bad (it wasn’t), it was good, even, but you couldn’t imagine it being so good, so much better than now that it would inspire such a reaction.  

You began to think about it more and more as things with your boyfriend went from bad to worse.  

The club was hot and loud and you were happy to be drunk and dancing. Happy, that is, until you weren’t. Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times, four times. You knew it was your boyfriend and you knew it was because you were out without him. Which was kind of the whole point; you didn’t want to speak to him. 

You wandered outside to the smoking area, for some air, to scan your eyes over your boyfriend’s messages and see if there was anything worth replying to. And there was Taehyung. He hadn’t seen you yet and you knew you had only a few seconds before he turned around and noticed you. You realised, with what might have been clarity or might have been too much gin, that of all the people in all the world that you might speak to about your problems, Taehyung was probably the best: experienced, not your friend, you didn’t care about his opinion of you, and he didn’t think much of your boyfriend. 

“Hey, Taehyung,” you called as you approached.  

He turned and his smug, little smirk turned into a genuine smile when he saw you. 

“Y/n! It’s been a while. Still being disappointed in the bedroom?” 

You almost changed your mind. 

“Shut up, Taehyung. I have to ask you something.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“You have a lot of sex, right? Like, a lot of sex with a lot of different wome-... people? Right?” 

He shrugged. 

“Some, sure. Maybe a lot. Depends who’s asking.” 

“Whatever, you know what I mean. When you have sex with someone with a... with uh, a vulva, do you go down on them?” 

He looked at you as if you had suddenly grown another head and, when he answered, he spoke slowly, as if you were an idiot. 

“Yes, if they have a pussy, I go down on them.” 

“Always? Like, every time?” 

“Well, I guess probably not 100% of the time, but... I don’t know, 95?” 

This was not the answer you had been hoping for.  

“Why are you a-” He cut himself off with a gasp and looked at you, shock and glee in equal measure on his face. “Does Disappointing Dick not go down on you?” 

You blushed furiously, your face hot, and stomped your foot, shushing him viciously. 

“No,” you admitted, through gritted teeth. “No, he doesn’t. Not ever.” 

“Not ever?” 

“Not ever.” 

“Like, not even a little?” 

“I said not ever! What do you not understand about those words?” 

“Why?” 

“You mean why doesn’t he?” You shrugged, trying to appear more unbothered than you were. “He says he doesn’t like it.” 

“Doesn’t like it? Is he gay?” 

You rolled your eyes and turned away with a groan, intending to drop it, but he grabbed your arm and turned you back. 

“I’m being serious. If he’s not going down on you, he can’t be that into pussy. Is it just you or was he the same with previous partners?” 

“He says it’s everyone, not just me. He says he just doesn’t like it.” 

“Has he tried? With you, I mean?” 

You grimaced at the memory. 

“Once.” 

“And how was it?” 

“Awful. I couldn’t relax because all I could think about was how much he didn’t want to do it and he was so awkward and tentative and then he got annoyed because I wasn’t enjoying-” 

“He got annoyed?” 

“Yeah.” 

Taehyung’s brows came over his eyes and his lips pouted forward. He looked at you, thinking carefully. 

“Do you go down on him?” 

“Well, yeah, but I like doing it so it’s not an issue.” 

“But him not going down on you is an issue?” 

“Yes. I know I shouldn’t make it a big deal and maybe it’s not and I’m just being selfis-” 

He held up a hand to cut you off before you could even finish the word. 

“You’ve done things you aren’t that keen on in bed, right?” 

“Uh, wh- what do you mean? No one’s ever forced me to do-” 

“No, I don’t mean that. I just mean... There are some positions you like more than others, yeah? Or maybe he likes to fuck in the shower but you prefer not to or he likes morning sex and you don’t really, but you sometimes do it anyway, even though it’s not your favourite thing?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“So why do you do them?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well if they’re not really top of your list, why do you do them at all? Why not just say no and only do it how you want?” 

“Because it’s not just about me. It’s about them, too, and I want them to have a good time. And, ok, maybe we do it that way this time, and next time, we’ll do it my way.” 

“Exactly.” 

“I don’t see your point.” 

“My point is that, even if eating your pussy isn’t his favourite thing to do, he should still do it because it’s something that you like and that makes you feel good and he should care about that.” 

“You care, do you? About all the people you have sex with?” 

“Yes, I do.” His eyes were sharp, his lips almost sneering. He seemed annoyed but you couldn’t work out why. “Why are you asking me about this anyway? Want me to give you what you’re missing?” 

You punched him in the arm, a little harder than you’d intended, and he scowled, giving the area a rub. 

“No. Why would you ask me that? Of course, I fucking don’t. I have a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah. And maybe you shouldn’t.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

He lifts an eyebrow at you, disbelief and impatience clear on his face. 

“You know what I mean. And you know I’m always here for you.” 

For one second, you really thought he was being nice and thoughtful; you thought he might be treating you like a friend. And then reality came back to you and you realised precisely what he meant. You punched him in the arm again.  

“Fuck off, Taehyung. I’m not fucking you.” 

“That’s not what I offered. Come on, sweetheart-” 

“Don’t fucking call me that!”  

“Y/n, seriously.”  

He cradled your cheek with his hand and looked closely at you. His brown eyes were so warm, inviting, so wide and open and sweet that you couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth next.  

“What’s a little oral between friends? Let me show you your pretty little pussy’s worth wanting.” 

“Ugh!” 

You ripped your face away from his hand and stalked off, even as he called after you. The juxtaposition of that cute, teddy-bear face and his fucking depravity would give you whiplash. You told yourself that’s what it was; that he was confusing and you didn’t know how to take him, didn’t know if you could trust him. That’s why you could feel a cold stone of anxiety sinking in your stomach; you were discombobulated, that’s all. You were drunk. He had knocked you off kilter.  

You were fine. 

The next day, Taehyung messaged you. 

Taehyung: I’m sorry for overstepping, ok?  

You didn’t have time to read the rest before he was video-calling you. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“You haven’t even given me three seconds to read your messages yet.” 

“I know, but it said you read them so I knew you were looking at your phone and I wanted to speak to you.” 

“I don’t know if that’s smart or creepy.” 

You could tell he shrugged by the jolt of the camera. 

“What do you want, then? You’ve already apologised.” 

“I don’t want to apologise. Not really... Well, I do if I made you uncomfortable. I am sorry if I did but I’m not going to apologise for anything else. Not even this... 

“No partner should ever make you feel weird or self-conscious or bad or insecure or anything like that. If you are putting your trust in someone, if you’re literally putting your body in their hands, they had better make damn fucking sure that they’re treating it right, that they’re taking care of you, that you feel good, that you feel better being with them than you do on your own. That’s all non-negotiable. It doesn’t sound like Dickless is doing that.” 

“What happened to Disappointing Dick?” 

“I demoted him. He doesn’t deserve a dick.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“I’m fucking serious. You deserve better.” 

You hung up on him. You didn’t want to hear it because you didn’t want to admit that it did make you feel bad; that you were self-conscious now; that something bad was definitely happening inside your brain and you didn’t, somehow, feel like you had the right to blame your boyfriend. 

Taehyung, persistent as ever, sent a text. 

Taehyung: I’m sorry if you’re upset but I’m also not sorry. You deserve better. You deserve to be feel like your body is perfect because it is. Your body is a site of worship and if he’s not praying to you, sacrificing to you, he’s blaspheming. You deserve to be fucked by someone who will recognise what you are, will recognise how lucky they are to be with you, will make sure they let you know just how desirable and sexy and fucking perfect you are. That's all. 

Y/n: You mean someone like you? 

Taehyung: 🙄🙄🙄 

Taehyung: NO. I’m not trying to fuck you; you’ve made your feelings on that abundantly clear. This is not about me at all. How many times do I have to say I’m serious about this? Your boyfriend is a sack of shit.  

You did not reply. 

* * *  

It was a Monday morning, hardly the highlight of anyone’s week, when you next ran into Taehyung. As you entered the café, you could see him, waiting for his coffee at the other end of the bar. You ignored him and placed your order, hoping he would be gone before you had finished.  

No such luck. Worse still, he immediately started talking to you. 

“I just have one question; will you let me ask one question?” 

“What?” 

“Are you prepared to go the rest of your life with no one going down on you?” 

“What?” 

You could feel your face heat and you glanced nervously around, hoping no one else had heard him. You were furious with him for bringing it up here, in public, first thing in the morning, but you were also not prepared for that question and a cold feeling of dread slipped through your veins like ice. 

“You’re in a relationship with this guy; at some point, eventually, you’ll get married, right? And that’s it, then; you’re staring down the barrel of what, 70 years without it? You’ve already had your last time. Do you remember it? Was it even good?” 

You knew it wasn’t because the last time anyone did it was the first – and only – time your boyfriend had and that had been an unmitigated disaster.  

“We’re not that serious, Taehyung. We’re not getting married.” 

“Maybe not now, but if you don’t break up, that’s where you’re headed, isn’t it? Is it really something you’re willing to give up forever? For him?”  

Your coffee had arrived and you had hoped you could take it and run, but Taehyung picked up your cup with his spare hand and wandered towards a spare table.  

“I don’t even know why you care so much,” you hissed as you sat opposite him at the table. 

“I don’t know why you don’t. You asked me for a reason and you are apparently completely unwilling to listen to anything. Is what I’m saying so radical? What do your other friends say?” 

You couldn’t answer that question because you hadn’t told anyone else. It was too embarrassing.  

“Have you even told anyone else?” 

“No.” 

“Then why me? Because I’m just some disgusting, shallow fuckboy whose opinion you don’t care about except when it might benefit you? Because you expected me to say that I don’t go down on the women I sleep with? Expected me to make some crude joke or cruel comment about them? Because you think that, just because I sleep with a lot of people, I must not respect them enough to treat them right? All of the above?” 

The silence between the two of you was thick, untouched by the noise and bustle of the café around you. You couldn’t deny that basically everything he had said was true, but hearing him say it made you feel thoroughly shamed. 

“I’m not offended,” he continued. “Because I know that none of that is true, as does everyone who actually knows me. You haven’t bothered to get to know me-” 

“Yeah because all you do is try to get in my pants!” 

“How is that true? Did I not just tell you that I’m not trying to fuck you? That this isn’t about me? Contrary to your beliefs, you are actually not some kind of irresistible siren whom I will make it my life mission to bed. I can live without fucking you, thank you very much. And you think I’m arrogant.” 

“I don’t think I’m irresistible,” you protested weakly.  

“I’m not interested in arguing with you. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He paused to give you a dramatic, over the top, sexy wink and you couldn’t stop yourself rolling your eyes. “But, for the millionth time, I am serious about this. And you need to get serious about it. Here, enjoy your coffee, sweetheart.” 

He slid your cup towards you, stood, and left before you could tell him off for calling you that again. You were rattled and frustrated and couldn’t stop thinking about the rest of your life.  

You couldn’t stop thinking about it that day or that week or even into the next week. You saw your boyfriend three times and had sex that you couldn’t enjoy because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

It was the last time, with him pounding away inside you, that he finally noticed. 

“Hey, y/n.”  

He slowed, but didn’t stop.  

“Where have you gone? I feel like you’re not there.” 

You dragged your eyes back into focus, onto him. 

“Do you think you’ll ever like it?” 

He frowned, confused, and came to a stop, resting his weight on you a little. 

“Like what? What are you talking about?” 

“Oral.”  

He groaned and you knew, even though you couldn’t see his face as he rested his forehead on your clavicle, that he was rolling his eyes. 

“Do we have to talk about this again? I feel like this is all we ever talk about and I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I want you to give me a reason! Tell me why you won’t do it!” 

He rolled away, slipping out of you, and sat up and you pushed yourself upright next to him. He had never really given you an answer, other than that he ‘just doesn’t like it’ and you thought this little pause might be him finally deciding to tell you. 

“Tell me why it matters so much!” he countered and your hope deflated. “I get you off, don’t I? It’s not like I’m selfish. Why do you need me to do it so badly?” 

“Because I like it! Because I do things for you! Because... Because it makes me feel bad that you don’t.” 

“Oh I make you feel bad? All this time I spend trying to make you feel good-” 

“I don’t! I don’t feel good! I don’t feel good because you make me feel like there must be something wrong with me! No one else has ever had a problem with it-” 

“Now who’s making who feel bad? If everyone else you’ve fucked likes it so much, why don’t you just go and ask them to do it?” 

“What?” 

“Well, if they all love doing it so much and you need it so fucking desperately, why not ask them?” 

“Are you serious right now?” 

His jaw dropped as if you’d just hit him. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious! Are you joking? You’re my fucking girlfriend! As if I would let you do that! I don’t understand why you can’t just be happy with what we have.” 

He was standing and putting his feet back into his boxers and trousers. You didn’t want him to leave. Because you wanted him to stay and change his mind. You wanted him to suddenly turn around and say, actually, I was wrong, please allow me to go down on you for hours and hours... You knew he wouldn’t. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took your hand. 

“Do you love me?” 

At that moment, no, you truly didn’t. It took all your strength to look him in the eye and answer. 

“Yes, of course.” 

He kissed you and told you the same and then he told you to get some rest and sleep on it and that things would look better in the morning.  

You had had this argument enough times to know that it wouldn’t. Things would look the same in the morning. In actual fact, they looked worse.  

You still couldn’t get Taehyung’s words out of your mind, any of them. The idea of anyone worshipping you was faintly absurd, a rhetorical flourish you’re sure he didn’t mean literally, but he seemed so sincere and, well, they didn’t say he had a magical dick for nothing.  

You called Tara.  

“Ok, I need you to be really real with me and also to not ever tell anyone I asked you this.” 

“Oh my god, the intrigue... Go on.” 

“Just exactly how good is Taehyung in bed?” 

She cackled loudly down the phone and then sighed, suddenly wistful. 

“Still, by far, the best I have ever had. I still miss him.” 

“Ok, but I don’t know how good the other people you’ve slept with are. I need like, some objective measure-” 

“Why? Are you planning to sleep with him?” 

“No! God no! I just don’t believe that what people say about him can be true, so I’m … I don’t know... checking...” 

Her responding hum sounded unconvinced. 

“Well, he once made me come for like, two straight minutes. I thought I was going to die and I could barely walk the next day; every muscle in my body was sore.” 

“Is that... good?” 

“YES! I meant it when I said you shouldn’t turn him down if he ever offers. I have never had as many orgasms in one night as when I was with him. He just... He fucking loves it and he loves you when he’s fucking you. He kind of takes it almost weirdly seriously? But like, in a good way. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. I may have been drunk at the bar that time, but I honestly could still cry about how much I miss fucking him.”  

“Jesus.” 

“Not even he can help me, y/n.”  

“Ok, well, thanks. I guess.” 

“Did that help? I seriously think you should fuck him; I promise I won’t even be jealous because it is truly something I think everyone should get to experience at least once.”  

“I am not sure that’s a normal thing to say about someone.” 

“Taehyung is not normal.”  

* * *  

Two days. It was two days before you snapped. You took a deep breath, pressed call, and held the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Do you want to eat me out?” 

You could hear choking at the other end and a muffled ‘hold on’. You held on. 

“Sorry, what the fuck did you just ask me?”  

“I said, do you want to eat me out?” 

“Is this a hypothetical question? Because you know I have already made the offer.”  

“So you do want to eat me out?” 

“Again, is this hypothetical or are you asking me over right now?” 

Another deep breath. 

“I’m asking you over right now.” 

“Give me your address.” 

You paced up and down your living room, anxious, impatient. The sheets on the bed were clean; you’d showered and then done it again for no real reason other than an irrational fear of him thinking you were dirty; you hesitated over whether or not to light candles – it felt like too much, too romantic but would also mean you could turn out the lights, keep it dark... You were just about to find the matches again when there was a knock at the door.  

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” 

His grin was wide as he stepped over the threshold but it did nothing to put you at ease.  

“Do you want a drink or something?” you asked as you made your way to the kitchen. 

“Whatever you want. I am at your service.” 

He bowed, thrusting an arm elaborately to the side, his head dipping low as he bent deeply from the hips.  

“Please don’t be weird. Don’t make this weird.” 

“What’s weird about it? Like I said, what’s a little oral between friends? Platonic pussy eating, that’s all it is.” 

“I said don’t be weird! Why do you have to put it like that?” 

“Well, what is it if not that? I assume you don’t suddenly want to date me.” 

“God, no-” 

He raised his eyebrows at you, questioning, demanding. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.” 

He shrugged. 

“It’s alright. I know you still think we’re not friends, but, just so you know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

He was suddenly close to you, a little too close. He looked down at you, and you expected to look up and see that arrogant smirk, the quirked eyebrow that he thought was so sexy, but he’s just smiling, sweet, cute.  

“I’m glad you called, though. Glad you’ve finally seen the light and ditched Dickless-” 

“I haven’t. We’re still together.” 

His eyebrows shot up, his mouth a little ‘o’ of surprise. 

“You haven’t? And yet here I am... I thought you were a good girl.” 

“Shut up, Taehyung. Stop trying to flirt with me.”  

You moved away from him, towards the fridge, and got out a bottle of wine, more for something to do than anything else. You poured two glasses and held one out to him.  

“How do you expect me to go down on you if you won’t even let me flirt with you a little?” 

“You don’t have to flirt with me if I’ve already agreed to it. There’s no need.” 

“That’s what you think flirting is? Just a way to get into somebody’s bed? That is not what flirting is for – well, not the only thing.” 

He considered you carefully over his wine glass and you could feel yourself blushing all over; he kept his gaze steady, his face betraying nothing, and then he held his hand out to you. You didn’t take it but you moved closer to him, just close enough that he could reach out and grab you by the waist, pulling you up against him.  

“Just so we’re clear,” he began, his voice low, his eyes pointedly fixed on yours. “If we do this and you don’t break up with Dickless, I will consider it a failure.” 

You didn’t know what you felt. What would make this a success? What would make it a failure? Did you want it to be good? So good you ended your relationship? Or did you want it to be disappointing, maybe literally anticlimactic, so that you could stay with him and not feel like you were missing out? You had absolutely no idea. You didn’t even really know why you were doing it. Was it a good idea? What had possessed you? All you knew was that it had to be done. Now or never. For once and for all.  

He placed his wine glass on the counter and slipped his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers just lightly grazing your skin. Your stomach twisted and you squirmed out of his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, trying to stop your heart racing.  

“What are you doing? Did you or did you not invite me over so I could go down on you?” 

“Well, yes, I did, but that doesn’t mean all of... All of that.” 

You heard him chuckle behind you and you turned slightly, just enough that you could see him run his hands through his hair and roll his eyes, the boxy grin back on his face.  

“Y’know, I’m starting to think that maybe you are the problem. At least a little bit.” 

When you didn’t move and didn’t respond, he sighed again, lightly exasperated. 

“Come here,” he commanded softly, holding his hands out to you. When you didn’t move, he walked towards you instead. He took your face in his hands and made you look at him. “Do you trust me?” 

When you didn’t answer, he shook your head lightly side to side.  

“I don’t mean like, trust me with your family secrets, trust me to take care of your pets while you’re on holiday. I mean... Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” 

You shook your head and he moved his face even closer.  

“Do you think I’m going to do something you don’t want?” 

You shook your head and he lightly pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Do you think I’m going to make you do something you don’t want?” 

You shook your head and he kissed your other cheek. 

“So, do you trust me?” 

You nodded, dumb with anticipation and tension, shocked at the way your body was responding to this, just this: he hadn’t even kissed you on the mouth but you were trembling, warm, wet.  

“Ok, then,” he whispered and he moved his hands down your body, then back up on the inside of your clothes. His hands were cold and you shivered against him, closing your eyes. 

“Look at me.”  

Your eyes flicked back to him and he kissed your lips, just barely, still looking you in the eye, and a whimper caught in your throat. He closed his eyes and pulled you closer, his lips pressing against yours now. He removed a hand from your waist and gently pressed his thumb against your chin, opening your mouth to allow his tongue inside. His kiss was warm and sweet with wine; his tongue was soft against yours, slow as he licked into your mouth and retreated. You chased after his mouth when his lips left yours and you could feel him smile as he let you close the distance and kiss him again. He ran his tongue along your bottom lip and sucked it gently, a barely perceptible pressure that made your knees tremble. 

You could feel all the heat rushing through your blood, flowering on the surface of your skin in warm blooms as you let yourself relax. All the tension you were holding melted away, evaporating on your skin, leaving you soft and pliant. A deep, dark want blossomed in you, its petals unfurling in your core, arousal first like dew drops, then like a sudden summer downpour buffeting the pale heads of roses. You had thought this would be quick, frantic with need, with guilt, with anxiety, but all of that was held at bay by the gentle way that Taehyung ran his tongue over yours, ran his hands over your body, held you just close enough that you could feel him against you but not so close you felt trapped.  

He moved from your mouth and placed kisses on your temple, your ear, your jaw. As he sucked kisses down your neck, you were so distracted that you didn’t notice him unclasp your bra, only aware when he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples, already hard. He moaned against your skin, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he pulled your hips against his. You gasped, both at the bite, and at the feeling of him, stiffening, growing against you. He ran his tongue over the indentations in your neck and you shivered.  

“Can I take your clothes off?”  

His voice was raspy and low in your ear as he tugged at the bottom of your shirt. You sighed a yes and looked into his eyes as his fingers worked on the buttons of your blouse. His eyes were soft, liquid, the light glinting off them in gold and honey. He took his time, each button slow, his eyes never leaving yours. He nudged your nose with his, licked your bottom lip, sank his teeth into it, sucked it into his mouth.  

He pushed your shirt off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then he pulled the straps of your bra down and it fell, too. He finally dropped his gaze and took in the sight of your naked torso, nipples taut, goosebumps spreading over the swell of your breasts as he gently took them in his hands, massaging, squeezing your nipples between his fingers. He hummed quietly.  

“Shall we go to the bedroom now?” 

You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and walked backwards until your legs hit your bed, then you let him lay you down. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked again, holding the edge of your skirt. Again, you nodded and he pulled gently, the fabric almost burning against your legs as it dragged. He kissed your feet and you squirmed. 

“Ticklish?” He grinned and licked the sole of your left foot from heel to toe with the tip of his tongue as you squealed.  

“Yes, I am!” you gasped. He chuckled and relented, trailing soft, wet kisses up your legs. You held your breath as he licked at your inner thighs, anticipating him at your core.  

But he wasn’t there. He slipped his hands underneath at the hips and lifted the fabric so he could lick the crease of your leg and then pulled it down so he could kiss across the waistband from hip bone to hip bone, but he didn’t touch you. Your heart was racing in your chest now; what was he waiting for?  

He hummed against your skin and moved above you, his hands on either side of your chest. He looked at you, almost quizzical for a second, and then that look faded into a smile that – had it been anyone else – you might’ve called adoring. He lowered his face to yours and kissed you. 

“Relax, y/n. I can feel your heart beating from here.”  

Resting his full weight on one hand, he placed the other between your breasts, atop your sternum, your heart pushing back, thumping against your ribs.  

“But aren’t you gonna...?”  

He kissed you again, forceful this time, leaving you breathless as he pulled away. 

“Yes, I am. But we’re doing it my way, ok? Just relax; I’m going to take good care of you.” 

He shuffled downwards, lips everywhere on his path down your neck, across your chest. You whined when he took your nipple in his mouth, your back arching into him as he sealed his teeth around it, his tongue lapping at your tightened bud. 

Everything was so slow. You felt like a frog in a pan; you hadn’t really noticed it building, this huge, hungry desire, but now you were drowning in it, burning, melting. It enveloped you, held you, suspended, cushioned in its warmth but needled by its intensity. It sent its buds out from your centre to your extremities, your fingers and toes tingling, your body trembling, your breath catching in your throat. Flowers of want blooming all over you, petals falling from Taehyung’s lips, soft and sweet and warm.  

You let out a long, shaky whine when he finally locked his fingers around your underwear and tugged them down, his hands sliding against your legs as he pulled them all the way off.  

“Taehyung,” you whispered as he pushed your legs apart, crawling back towards you.  

“Yes?” 

You didn’t know what to say. You knew there was something, something inside you that you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words. Everything was obscured by the veil of your greed, your craven yearning for him. You wanted his mouth on you so badly, wanted to be wanted. You remembered what he said about worship and a sudden panic sliced through you with painful clarity. 

“I-… What if it is me? What if there’s something wrong with me?”  

He pressed a soft kiss against your inner thigh and then loomed over you.  

“It’s not you, I promise.”  

He rested his forehead against yours, your noses pressed together, his hand on your cheek. 

“You’re perfect. Perfect, you hear me? If you’ve changed your mind about this, that’s ok-” 

“No, god no,” you answered quickly, immediately, absolutely sure that you wanted this, your nails digging into his arms. “Please...” 

He kissed you, slow, even slower than before, and he lowered his body down on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. It’s only then that you realised he was still fully dressed. And you were completely naked beneath him, so exposed and so vulnerable. You pushed him back, a light palm against his chest, and he looked at you, frowning. 

“What’s wrong?”  

You looked at his eyes, somehow both shining and dark at the same time; his pouty mouth just barely open; his hips pressing into yours; his erection hot and hard against you, almost exactly where it needed to be, so you could just tip your hips and rub yourself on him, feel the friction you were desperate for. He looked at you so openly and it wasn’t like you expected it to be at all. None of it was. You thought he would be arrogant, cocksure, swaggering; you thought he would be rough, wild, frenetic; you thought it was all bluster and machismo, that he’d keep calling you ‘baby’ and asking how you liked it and trying to make you scream. You hadn’t even really believed that he would get you there. Whether due to you or to him, you had thought it probably wouldn’t happen. Your boyfriend had made you too self-conscious; Taehyung wouldn’t put the effort in or wouldn’t know what to do.  

But it wasn’t like that at all. He looked at you questioningly, searchingly, like he actually cared. And he had moved so slowly, so patiently; he was rock-hard against you, but hadn’t even mentioned it. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off. This was the first time he’d even really pressed his hips against you so you could feel him. You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing, tried to feel yourself in your body. You could feel the ghost of his breath over your face, his hand curled around your shoulder, fingers dancing lightly over your skin. There was the weight of his body, the warmth of it. You wanted to feel his skin in yours. 

“Take your clothes off,” you whispered, opening your eyes to look at him.  

He grinned and sat back on his knees, unbuttoning his shirt. You reached out to unzip his trousers but he batted your hand away. He unzipped them himself and stood to step out of them.  

“Better?” he asked, already making his way back to you, but shook your head. 

“No. Everything.”  

His eyebrows raised just a hair and he paused, considering you. 

“You know this is not about me, right?” 

“I know. I just want to see you.”  

He nodded slowly and hooked his thumbs into boxers, sliding them down and stepping out. His dick was wet with pre-cum and you couldn’t believe he could be so hard when you hadn’t even touched him, when he had barely touched you. He knelt at the end of the bed and grabbed your ankles, slowly pulling you down, down, down, until you were just barely still lying on it, your feet touching the floor until he spread your thighs to the side, as wide as they could go.  

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked, his words muffled as he kissed your thigh. 

“Yes, fuck. Yes, Taehyung. Please.”  

He was still slow. Slow as he pressed kisses against your lips, on your mound, back out to the crease of your hip, your thighs. You whined when he ran his fingers through your folds, hearing the slick of your arousal as he dragged up to your clit and down again, as he opened you up. He pressed a kiss to your clit and you jumped, swallowing hard, trying to catch your breath as he opened his lips and sucked. He laved over your clit with the soft, flat pad of his tongue and you sighed, having forgotten this feeling. 

“Talk to me,” he said softly, sprinkling kisses across your legs, your mound, your lips. “Tell me what works for you, what doesn’t.”  

But you couldn’t speak. You moaned and mewled and whimpered, but no words would come. You were swept away on a wave of pleasure, not in the room anymore, but somewhere else, somewhere nothing else existed – just you and Taehyung and this bed. You wanted to tell him yes, like that, more, yes, please, please, please, but the air was tight in your lungs, stuck in your throat, whipped away as it left your mouth in a strangled whine. 

He moaned loudly as he licked over your slit, drinking you in.  

“Y/n.” 

His breath was warm, brushing against your flushed skin. 

“You taste so good, y/n. I fucking knew you would.”  

He moved his mouth away again, biting down on the soft flesh of your inner thigh as he slipped first one and then two fingers into your wet heat. You whined, greedy, needy, grinding your hips, trying to feel some friction back on your clit. Taehyung hummed against your skin and you felt his lips stretch into a smile.  

“Don’t hold back, y/n. I love the way you sound.”  

And you didn’t. You let yourself go, let yourself fall into it, abandoned yourself to him. With his fingers still inside you and his mouth back, sealed against your clit, his tongue alternately flicking hard circles around it, then licking softly over it, you felt your body shuddering to its climax. You expected him to stop as your walls clenched hard on his fingers, to stop when your legs clamped over his ears, to stop when you writhed beneath him, fully overwhelmed as wave after wave swamped you with pleasure.  

But he didn’t. He thrummed his fingers hard against your front wall, not letting you squeeze them out. He kept his mouth on you, your slick and his spit mixing as you came, gushing around him. When you finally cried out, cursing him, calling his name, he slowed, but he still didn’t stop, and you felt your whole body convulse under him. With a flash of clarity, you remembered what Tara had said, and you couldn’t believe it, knew you couldn’t take it, knew this would kill you if it went on any longer.  

But it did. And you didn’t die. You felt yourself floating, your limbs weightless, your head dizzy as you climbed to your second peak, your, soft, weak body tightening, pulling in all directions at once, your skin burning, your heart like a hummingbird’s, blood roaring in your ears like the waves of the ocean. Your hands twisted in the bedsheets as you came, the noises you were making nothing short of animal.  

When you flopped, spent, melting into the mattress, you pushed your fingers through Taehyung’s hair and tugged, your body screaming with over-stimulation, your bed and thighs soaked. You could hardly see; nothing but flashing lights in front of you, stars shining and twinkling on your ceiling, swirling, disappearing and reappearing like a kaleidoscope.  

“Taehyung,” you panted, weak and quiet. “Stop.” 

He was immediately still, those wide, open eyes looking up at you. You whimpered as he pulled his fingers from you and you fell, slithering like a slinky from the bed and into his arms. He held you tight, pushed your hair from your face and kissed your forehead. 

“You ok?” 

You looked up at him, blinking hard to stop your vision swimming. He was shiny and sticky all around his mouth, all over his chin. Those deep, autumn eyes all dark now, swirling black, glazed and penetrating. You summoned what strength you could and crashed your lips against him. You could taste yourself on him and you knew he was right. You weren’t the problem. It wasn’t you. And it certainly wasn’t this.  

“Fuck me, please,” you asked, taking his face between your palms. “Please, Taehyung.”  

He started shaking his head, his lip bitten between his teeth. 

“That’s not what- you don’t have to- we don’t have to do that.” 

“I want to. I want to. Please.” 

You twisted in his lap so you were straddling him, his cock leaking against you between your bodies.  

“If you want to,” you added. “I... Only if you want to.” 

He laughed, deep-throated and rich – you could feel it rumble in his chest.  

“Oh I absolutely want to but this is... Are you sure you want to? I mean... You are still with Dickless and this-” 

“Don’t fucking talk about him. I don’t want to think about him. Please, Taehyung.” You pressed another kiss against his lips, insistent, urgent. “I want you. I just want you.”  

He moaned against your mouth, his arms encircling your waist, his tongue encroaching. Then he rolled and lay you down, the carpet surprisingly soft against your skin.  

“I just,” he said, his mouth wandering all over you, slowly making his way down. “I just want one more taste. Please.”  

He looked at you, waiting. He licked his lips and held the bottom one tight in his teeth. You could see him swallow hard, his breathing deep and heavy. You nodded and dropped your head back, keening as he licked through your folds, humming against your clit, smacking his lips as he raised himself back on his hands and knees.  

“I told you you were fucking perfect.”  

You moved backwards, out from underneath his arms and gave yourself carpet burn on your knees as you shuffled to the bedside table, rifling for the box of condoms you kept there. You grabbed the whole thing, crawled back to Taehyung and emptied it onto the floor. He laughed again. 

“Sweetheart, even for me, that is truly ambitious.” 

“Shut up.” 

You fell back, your chest still heaving, your limbs still trembling, as he tore one open and rolled it down his length. He paused, his dick in his hand, held at your waiting entrance and he looked at you. 

“For god’s sake, Taehyung, don’t ask me if I’m sure. Please just please just fuckin- ahh...” 

He didn’t wait for you to finish. He plunged into your soft, wet cunt and moaned. 

“Fuck. Please tell me that feels good.” 

“It feels fucking incredible.”  

He grabbed at the backs of your thighs and lifted, pushing them up and out, keeping hold of them as he began to move. Smooth and fluid, his hips rolled. Your cunt, wet and soft and sweet, held him tight, moulded to his cock, your walls fluttering around him. Heat radiated from your centre, a fire burning there, flames licking up your body. You were so sensitive, close again almost immediately, whimpering with every thrust.  

You grabbed at him, pulling him down, your hand around his neck to bring him closer and closer ’til you could kiss him. Your tongues tangled and the adjusted angle made you moan straight into his mouth. You could still taste the wine, still taste yourself on him and with a shock of remembrance, you whined. This was what you loved; this was what you had been missing. The proof of the pudding: your arousal all over his face made you hot with a sudden rush. Your boyfriend could never be enough. Because it wasn’t just about you and your desire; it was about his, too. And he didn’t have it, not like this. Not like Taehyung. The strangled moans and gutteral groans escaping his throat, the rumble in his chest as he breathed ragged and uneven made you shaky with feeling. Feeling wanted in your entirety. Wanted in your animal mess. Wanted from head to toe. Inside and out. No holds barred. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Fuck, y/n, yeah? Tell me- tell me...”  

He kissed your lips and your cheek, his hand skirting your body and grabbing at your thigh, pushing further, holding tighter, his thrusts faster now, harder, his pelvis tantalisingly close to your clit. You put a hand down between you, circling slowly, your third orgasm bubbling through your veins.  

“You feel so good,” you breathed. “Fuck, so, so-… ah... shit.”  

Already there, your toes curling, Taehyung hissing, cursing as you squeezed him tight inside you, pleasure blazed through you like a forest fire, every inch of you alight and burning, sparking, fireworks bursting all over you, inside you, filling your vision with dizzying colour. Taehyung was gasping, stuttering, his fingers digging into you, his teeth biting hard. 

“Come, Taehyung,” you whispered to him, your voice wobbling, shaking like the rest of you.  

“I w-wanna-” he stammered. “I wa- wan-” 

“No, just come. For me.” 

You brought your mouth to his, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth, sucking gently. 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He juddered, thrusting hard as he let himself go, gave himself to you, gave in. He let himself flop against you for a moment, just a moment, and then he pushed himself up on his hands, looking down at where you bodies met, still together. He rolled his hips one last time and you mewled, over-sensitive, overwraught. He grinned and pulled back, turning away from you as he took off and disposed of the condom.  

He crawled back to you and pulled you onto your side so you were facing each other. He knocked a leg between yours and traced the curve of your body; you shivered, even his hands feeling like fire against you. He kissed you, once, and then again, and then a third time.  

“You’re perfect,” he said, barely moving his mouth far enough from yours to speak, his words mumbled, muffled. “You’re fucking perfect. You understand?”  

You couldn’t look him in the eye, suddenly self-conscious, suddenly so embarrassed at what you had done. Embarrassed that you had needed this, needed him to tell you that, needed him to show you that you could be wanted how you wanted to be wanted, desired in the way you wanted, fucked like you wanted. You felt small and silly and stupid. That you had cheated on your boyfriend with the most promiscuous man on the planet just because you felt insecure. You shivered, but it wasn’t pleasure this time. You were suddenly cold and tired. Exhausted. Choked with emotions you didn’t want to admit.  

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he said, softly, his lips against your hair now. “You ok?”  

“I don’t know.” 

Your voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, hardly audible beneath the thumping of your heart. 

“Talk to me...” 

“I feel so stupid.” 

“Why?”  

You had to think it through, carefully, how to say it, how to express it. 

“Because... I needed this. I didn’t know that I-… I-” 

You crumbled, dissolved into tears, embarrassing you further. You wanted to be swallowed whole, to sink into the ground, to dessicate and turn to dust. You couldn’t speak, shame dousing you, drowning you, your hitching, heaving breath barely enough. He let you cry and you were grateful for his patience... again. 

“You w-want me,” you said eventually, your voice thick, choked.  

“Yeah.” 

“You want me and h-he doesn’t. And I- I want to be w-wanted. I'm so... Am I undesirable?” 

“Categorically, demonstrably, absolutely not.” 

“Then why doesn’t he want me?” 

Taehyung held you tighter, pulled you closer, kissed the top of your head and stroked your back.  

“This is why I’ve been telling you to leave him, love. You shouldn’t feel like this. I’m sure he does want you, but if he can’t want you in the way that you want, in a way that makes you feel good, feel desirable, and cherished, and loved, then he shouldn’t have you.”  

He pulled back, holding your face to his, wiping your tears with his thumbs.  

“I want you. Believe me, I want you. I’ve just had you and I want you all over again. You should believe that; you deserve that. Don’t let him break you down. Don’t let him do this to you.”  

Your bottom lip wobbled as your eyes filled with tears again and he placed his thumb over it and his lips over that. He swiped his thumb across your mouth and kissed you as slowly as he had the very first time, his lips so soft, his mouth so sweet.  

“If you don’t believe me,” he said, his lips just ghosting over yours, his breath washing over your face. “I will happily show you again and again and again just how desirable you are. Just how perfect you are. It’s not hyperbole; you’re fucking perfect to me. I’ll show you.”  

And he did. 

Not just that night or the one after that or the one after that. He showed you repeatedly again and again until you started to believe it. Until you realised that you didn’t need him to show you anymore, just wanted him to. Just wanted him.  

You broke up with your boyfriend two weeks later. It was horrible and he was surprisingly vicious and you were surprisingly upset. But you knew you were right to do it and wished you had just done it earlier.  

y/n: I broke up with him. 

Taehyung: FINALLY 

Taehyung: Guess this means you don’t need me anymore... 

y/n: I didn’t say that. 

y/n: Come over? 

Taehyung: On my way 

[insolentgod]

⚠️Attention:⚠️ very long post. It talks a little about: state of lack, take your desire off the pedestal, time it takes for a manifestation, get distracted about your manifestation , self-concept, and Cassies

one more night high and having crazy epiphanies about manifestations. and another day using a translator to translate my text to post here, because I haven't claimed to be fluent in English yet 😛 So, as I always warn, if there are possible grammatical errors, it's for this reason.

I'm here to bring you an analogy I created while discussing with a friend haha. (Yes, this time there's nothing about lana del rey!)

you know those people who humiliate themselves for others? Who do everything for someone specific to love them, try to talk to them even if it's unhealthy, or beg them to stay in their lives. (yes, it's quite depressing and sad)

i haven't been like that much in life, usually when someone didn't care about me, i cared even less about them. but I won't lie, there have been situations where I may have humiliated myself a little, but it's human.

anyway, going straight to my analogy, let's imagine that you struggling to manifest something is a friend "Cassie," and the manifestation will be her ex-boyfriend, okay? (i swear it will make sense in the end)

what I write outside the parentheses is Cassie's situation, and what's inside the parentheses is possibly the situation you're going through on your manifestation journey.

okay, you have this friend Cassie who keeps saying that her ex-boyfriend doesn't care about her, doesn't respond to messages, and shows no signs, and she's going crazy and desperate about it (just like you when you see no progress in your manifestation). so she does EVERYTHING to get him back (just like you when you try multiple methods non-stop and feel needy). and as Cassie's friend, you think, "poor cassie, she doesn't deserve to suffer like this" (and she really doesn't deserve it, just as you don't deserve to suffer for your manifestations). there are also moments when she sends a message for you saying, "I'll forget him this time, I promise." but after two days, she's there messaging him again (just like you affirm on the first day all motivated and trying to convince yourself that this time your manifestation will come true, but after a few days, you see no progress and start panicking), and then she gets very sad because she thinks they will never get back together and she will never be happy with him again (just like you think you can't manifest anything, that the universe hates you, that you will never get what you want, that the loa doesn't work). But meanwhile, there are other people out there getting back with their exes and you admire them, wondering what it would be like if it were you... (just like when you look at other people's success stories and think "why can't I do it?") spoiler: You can do it too, honey. If everyone else can do it, so can you. Wake up.

If I were Cassie's friend, I would tell her to STOP acting like that and start valuing herself and just distract herself. because let's be honest, men ALWAYS come back, right? 🤣 and many people may disagree with me on this and think that if she doesn't chase after the guy, he won't come either. but that's how it works for me, even before I started using the law. every time I started valuing myself and stopped begging for others' love, the person came to me. so let's agree with my thinking on this, okay?

and one more point that I think is worth mentioning is that if Cassie really doesn't want to do this alone, maybe a manifestation coach would be a good idea (if it were a real situation, I would suggest her to seek a therapist). There are nuances about "manifestation coaches," I honestly don't use them and I recommend working on your self-concept. but it's an option if you want, but please do thorough research and find a trustworthy one.

returning, what can you do to not be another Cassie? I'm telling you to stop doing whatever you're doing to try to achieve your desire? no. just get out of the state of neediness and desperation, like a Cassie. you don't need that, my love. you don't need to worry, "Is my manifestation coming?" You don't need to use a thousand methods because you don't think it's enough. whatever you believe will bring your desires, will indeed bring your desire. If you believe that jumping three times, building a castle, and kicking an elderly person will give you what you want, guess what? If you do all that, then you will get what you desire. and if you believe that affirming once in your life will get you a beachfront mansion, guess what? you will achieve that.

so, to not be a Cassie:

1 - trust what you're saying, please trust yourself. nnow that ONLY WHAT YOU THINK is the truth, and it will be. (my last long post talks about this exactly, I highly recommend it, okay).

2 - take your desire off the pedestal. your desire may be your biggest dream in life, I don't care. take it off the pedestal. the powerful person who can have anything they want is YOU, not your desire. tou are a thousand times greater than your desire. you don't chase after your desire, your desire chases after you. you know when manifestation coaches tell you to start manifesting just a blue butterfly or a candy? well, it's because for you, that's not difficult. It's something you find easy to manifest and know it's totally possible to have. but you can literally manifest a Porsche at the same speed as manifesting an ice cream, okay? take your desire off the pedestal; you are fully capable of having it.

3 - get out of the state of lack. In the law of assumption, some people talk a lot about states and some manifest just by being in the state of the wish fulfilled and ready, they succeed. but the state of lack is literally when you feel the lack, the absence of your desire. you don't feel like you have it or you don't feel worthy of it, so you probably fall into a spiral of despair with millions of thoughts like "what will I do if I don't achieve it?" "I don't see any progress" "time is passing and I don't have my results". Anyway,

- But what do I do to heal my state of lack?

just don't be in it 💐💐💐 yes, it's easy, okay. please believe that it's easy and it will be. I know it's very easy to affirm when you're motivated, especially after reading a success story. but motivation doesn't last forever and I don't think it's healthy for you to keep restoring your motivation by reading success stories all the time. there's nothing wrong with it, but you don't need success stories to heal. every time you feel like you're entering the state of lack, start trusting yourself. when it happens to me, I start affirming "none of this, I have my desires" "I don't care about what my 3D shows me" "I have what I want", I also imagine myself with my desire as if I really have it now. I'll admit, there are times when I start affirming this to avoid entering the state of lack and at first it feels like I'm feeling wrong, the feeling of hopelessness even. but regardless of how I feel, I keep visualizing and eventually start feeling strong and motivated again. in those moments, you have to be strong and disciplined with yourself, okay? you can do it.

4 - try not to care about time or the 3D reality. i know it's difficult, but please live in your imagination and believe that if you have it in your imagination, you have it now. about time, it depends, okay? Some people manifest in seconds because they believe they can, while others manifest in weeks because they think it takes weeks. if you're the second type of person, you can definitely manifest in seconds if you allow yourself to do so. self-concept affirmations help a lot in this aspect. Just don't worry about time in the 3D reality. If you know that in your mind you have your desire NOW, then you have it now. once you're fully living in your imagination, it will come in the 3D reality. I know it's difficult, but just trust yourself and your mind. I promise that if you live 100% in your mind, your desire can come very quickly.

5 - distract yourself! don't spend the whole day thinking about your desire. usually, the desire comes when you accept that you have it and continue living your life. I know it's complicated, especially when it's something you want, but distract yourself to avoid excessive and negative thoughts about your manifestations. and please get off tumblr for a while

6 - improve your self-concept, please. Just do that, and your manifestation journey will be much easier.

I think that's it for today. I talked a lot as always 😛😛

I usually don't respond to people asking for help here on my blog (mainly because I don't receive any requests) but if you're having problems, you can send me a message, and I'll respond ❤‍🩹 I just want to help someone like loa bloggers helped me when I needed it. good night everyone, and stay hydrated.

[obey-me-disaster]

Could you maybe write some headcanons for how the demon brothers would feel about an MC who has a service dog for anxiety?

If you don't feel like writing it or it's too difficult that's completely okay too don't worry.

(I'm a service dog user myself so I just thought it would be nice.)

I hope you'll like these headcanons and that I got everything right! If there is anything I need to correct let me know.

Also sorry for taking so long, I needed to be finished with a fic for a collab first!

Demon brothers x gn!MC

Warning: Belphegor's part has spoilers for lesson 16!

MC with a service dog for anxiety

Lucifer

Since he is one of the people in charge of the exchange program he made sure to also prepare everything for your dog. Anything from food to all the way to paperwork so you two can go anywhere without being disturbed.

He is a dog person so he got a soft spot for your emotional support dog. The dog is probably more spoiled than you, at least until he starts to actually like you.

Since you are in need of your dog he won't bother it. He knows the dog has its job to do.

Is honestly relieved that you got someone other than his brothers to rely on, especially that being dragged to a different dimeons is not good for your mental health.

Mammon

So not only does he need to take care of a human, but he needs to take care of their dog too now??

Before actually realizing that your dog is more than a simple pet he wanted to include it in one of his money making schemes. After you and Lucifer tell him off he actually gets it and backs off

He does a 180° with his attitude and is really glad that there is someone to be near you when he can't be there to protect you. Lowkey he and the dog have some kind of nonverbal agreement on how to help you with your anxiety.

Tries to spoil the dog and buy luxury items for it. You'll have to let him know what could distract your service dog or not. He honestly gets everything really fast.

Leviathan

Jealous that he can't take Henry with him the way you can do with your service dog...and looking at him he might need some service/therapy/emotional support animal outside of his fish.

He knows how bad anxiety can be, so he is both greatfull that you got some support and a bit jealous because of it too.

He is really chill with the dog, he even made a small spot where it can relax when you stay in his room.

He once saw Henry trying to get your service dog's attention and took it as a sign that both of your guy's friendship/relationship is made to last for a long time.

Tries to find animes where the protagonist has a service dog for anxiety so you could relate to more chatacters

Satan

He has only read about service/therapy/emotional supports animals so he was really curious of seeing one in real life.

Be prepared to be asked a ton of questions about your dog's training, routine, how it helps you manage your anxiety. He sees it as a way to both get to know you better and to learn something new.

Might use the way your service dog helps to convince Lucifer to let him get an emotional support cat for his anger. Lucifer, of course, denies his request.

Just because he is a cat person it doesn't mean he doesn't love other animals as well. He knew that service dogs go through some training to be able to adapt to different situation, but being dragged to hell might go out of what any service animal is prepared for. He will go out of his way to give him a bit of training and some protection spells.

Asmodeus

He adores dogs. He had to be told that service animals are not the same thing as pets, so he can't go around playing and dressing up the poor dog.

He will pout about it for a bit before getting over it but that just means he can focus in spoiling you even more.

Lowkey educates the Devildom by accident about service animals due to how many Devilgram posts he makes about you and your dog.

A/N: ok but there is one event where Solomon talked with a fish and apparently the god damn fish had better working conditions than humans...so yeah, I guess animals are really treated with respect down there.

He will make sure that your service dog always look at its best. His resoning? Seeing him be so cute and soft will help you with your anxiety. He does make sure to not really separate it from you.

Beelzebub

He was watched very closely at the begging by his brothers, so he wouldn't try to eat you or your dog. It didn't take long for things to settle and for him to start liking your service dog. Especially that he likes dogs.

He might or might not have tried some of your service dog's food...he felt really sorry and went to buy any and all snacks he could find. MC would probably have to remind him what their dog can and can't eat.

He sees the dog as part of the family and takes it upon himself to make sure that both you and your service dog are safe and sound.

If, by some chance, you have to be away from their service dog Beel will be the first one to volunteer to take care of him.

Belphegor

How the fuck did both you and your service dog sneak into the attic, more times than once?? The poor animal is acting uneasy the first time it sees Belphie.

Imagine if you decide to sneak into the attic alone for your visits and leave your service dog behind. Those would be the times when the dog is on high alert.

OK BUT imagine lesson 16. One moment the dog is with you and the other the dog is trying to understand how you suddenly got hurt and die...

If after the incident your anxiety gets worse, your service dog would put himself between you and Belphegor to try and distract you/put you at ease.

Outside of all the angst, Belphie is pretty chill with the dog. If he wants to cuddle with you he will even welcome your service dog in the cuddle pile. He is honestly relieved that you got some support system, especially after the whole lesson 16 affair..

Also a dog person, so he will be very fond of your service dog.

[dittaturamonegasca]

I think there should bé a fic where anyone from the grid would be third wheeling Landoscar, like, have you seen how these two interact.

So, I lack the ability and the time of f1writingbyme and LestappenForever to make this idea into a proper work like they did for "How (Not) To Third Wheel Lestappen" (check it out on Ao3 if you haven't already, definitely worth it) BUT BUT BUT, I can tell you how I think most of the grid would react in third wheeling Landoscar!

1) I feel like we should spare Checo, cause honestly this man has had enough as third wheel of Maxiel and Lestappen, I don't wanna give him extra traumas, SO –

2) Logan Sargeant: this one I really feel guilty about. Cause I like the narrative of him and Oscah being besties and still I cry over the sad edits of Logan just left behind. I think Landoscar with Logan has the most space for improvement?? I forgive Oscar even tho he definitely ghosted the poor Logan for the whole honeymoon phase with Lando (it's been almost two years, Osc, get a grip). I have a feeling Logan will speak up at some point and this would shake Oscar a little, so maybe he would be the more aware and more involved third wheel, possibly? They'll end up doing triple video-games championships with Lando and Logan mocking Oscar's gaming skills, mark my words.

3) Carlos Sainz: my man how does it feel to know you've wasted your chance (multiple chances, lets be real) for good? I have mixed ideas about this one, cause I think it would probably being more like Lando struggling to keep them both as close as possible resulting in Oscar being rightfully jealous 👀👀 so the third wheeling situation would be like Lando trying to involve a very annoyed and confused Carlos in their things (safe for work, ofc). I don't really see a way out of it.

4) Daniel Ricciardo: I mention him but I can't really explain cause honestly my idea of Daniel third-wheeling Landoscar is either him babysit them around Australia and bonding with Oscar over weird aussie habits OR OR OR something very NOT SAFE WORK so ( ... )

5) Max Verstappen: I love to think he'll remain an unbothered king, you know? Like he's well aware and a bit upset that his crepes companion invited someone else (beside from Daniel) to their dessert dates and that the two of them acts like lovebirds even without an actual physical contact. He'll probably send SOS texts to Charles and Daniel until a topic of (his) interest comes out and honestly at that point the power of maxplaining will win over pretty much everything and everyone. At the end of the day Landoscar turn out to be the real victims.

6) George Russell: poor thing was originally invited for a golf morning from Carlos (Landoscar were already supposed to attend), but Chili called off last minute so Georgie ended up with just the others two. LET ME TELL YOU he jumped off the golf cart cause he saw Lando placing a hand on Oscar's thigh and feared for his life. It took several minutes for them to notice he was aggressively walking behind. He was also hit by a golf ball because Oscar distracted Lando for a second too long, I guess you can figure out the rest.

7) Special mention to the PR and the McLaren team in general who's main job rn is having them to SIMPLY F O C U S outside the pit for like interviews and debriefings. I can picture Lando losing it after hearing a single compliment like "SO YOU THINK I'M PRETTY", cause ✨babygirl✨ energy hitting here and there, even tho he has tried to be somehow a model for Oscar, at least for what concerns work. Indeed I pity trainers and strategists bc ofc Oscar listens at them, but image them trying to explain a concept to him just for Lando to get there and rephrase it in the dumbest way possible and Oscar going like OHHHHH NOW I GOT IT, COULDN'T YOU EXPLAIN IT THAT WAY?

8) This is mostly a guilty pleasure but do we all agree they torture the entire f1 group chat with their subtle flirting?

IDK if this was what you had in mind but I really REALLY had fun writing it.

So let me know what you think in the comments down below, if you agree or if you want me to make it longer and/or more detailed or just to focus on a specific one in particular?

Again, my dms and box section are open to discussions, requests and any sort of (respectful) thing!

PEACE OUT 🤌🏻❤️

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

Hello again! I was chatting with someone and he said "someone should make writing style hcs for the mercs", and I instantly went "I know a guy" so now i'm here. How do you think the mercs would write? (note: he also said "Scout would write like Greg heffley" which is hilarious)

How Do the TF2 Mercs Write?

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I'm smiling like an idiot rn. This is so sweet, and the promt is very cool! (Your friend is 100% correct, btw.)

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I'm going to headcanon, whay they write about, how they write about those things, and some hand writing pictures of how I think they'd write! So be prepared for a long one 😭 Can you tell I'm an English nerd?

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Demo-

You'd think he'd have super messy handwriting, but he's actually a very neat writer. Has an ink and quill pen set, loves gold ink more than traditional black ink.

He writes about his mom and his childhood. He writes very vividly and with lots of detail. I feel like this man is a walking thesaurus.

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Engie-

He has very clean writing. I'm day to day life (he has the worst writing when working on his projects). Like he'll leave a note on the door saying that the gangs run out of milk and everyone's shocked. You'd think he'd have atrocious handwriting. Learned cursive in school and never really stopped using it.

When he's writing like this, he's normally sending letters to people he cares for or trying to order parts for his latest projects. He's very formal when he writes to anyone.

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Heavy-

Heavy is also blessed with very nice handwriting, but instead of the school system forcing him into writing better it was his mom.

He likes to write about animals and his friends. He keeps a small book by his bed to write little things he learns throughout the day. Not very descriptive, more along the lines of "I heard birds singing this morning, it was pretty." Or "Scout likes brownies more than ice cream." Normally, just mundane things. (Also, he writes mainly in english to improve his ability to understand English words but sometimes defaults to Russian if he can't remember or spell a word properly.)

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Medic-

Ugh. This man writes like a doctor nine times put of ten just to fuck with people. He'll give someone a note, and it just has gibberish on it. He likes to watch them try and decipher it. But when he's not being a menace to society. He has genuinely beautiful handwriting. While it can be overly fancy, sometimes it's also easy to read.

He has two journals, he has a leather-bound one where he writes about Germany, his experiences of leaving his country, when he had his medical license, medical school, etc. Loves to write about the past. He uses that journal as a therapist. And then, of course, he has his neon pink Claire's notebook that he uses to write down every single thing that could be used against someone he's ever heard, with matching glitter pens.

When he writes, he never leaves any details out and is pretty clear and concise. He uses German and English interchangeably. Using English mainly out of habit.

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Scout-

While I do agree that this man probably writes like Greg Heffley (and honestly, his handwriting probably looks the same too.) I'd be wrong not to mention that he writes out little :), :0, >:), and other little faces on his notes, and have almost graffiti handwriting. He practiced writing to look like that, actually. He used to have decently nice handwriting, but he likes this one better.

He doesn't write much, but when he does, this man writes paragraphs about the most random things. All horribly spelled. This man can't read or write very well. Dyslexic king. He makes sure to get help with spelling, though, so he can write to his mom at least once a month.

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Sniper-

Oh, poor, poor man. Can not write clearly to save his life. Not that he's big on writing to begin with. There was never really any pressure for him to have good handwriting, and he mainly only writes to write himself reminders.

Very nondescript and straight to the point. But has a little quirk of using different dots (like • ○ ● □ ■ ☆) for his notes. He has a little dark brown book for all his reminders.

☆eat (is a common note left in the book). He also has written poetry, but he'd rather die than admit that.

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Spy-

Pretentious motherfucker handwriting and style. Could just be writing a reminder to wish someone a happy birthday and will go all out. It normally takes him 15 minutes to write a small note. He writes letters frequently, with no reason in particular. I think he just really likes writing. Uses big words but not in the same way Demo does. Like Demo will say, "The food was horrific." But Spy will say some shit like "the meal I partook in was horrifically distasteful and..." So on and so on.

I think he can also switch his handwriting at will. If he needs to pretend to have messy handwriting for some reason, he'll do it. Not without sheding a tear at how awful it looks first though.

Writes exclusively in French. One or two words in English every 10,000 words he writes.

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Soldier-

He likes using all capital letters when he writes! He feels like every word he writes is important. It also helps him remember things. I also don't think his vision is the best, so it's hard for him to see any other writing.

He doesn't write often, but he's always listing things, marking things that have changed, and writing down random questions that he'll spend the day trying to answer. Very observation based writing. You catch him writing and it's just a piece of computer paper with a list like,

THE CEREAL WAS MOVED

I SAW A BIRD

WHY DO BIRDS FLY INTO GLASS

ARE BIRDS OKAY AFTER FLYING INTO GLASS.

Very simple writer.

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Pyro-

Scarily neat and beautiful writing. Somehow, they can write like this no matter what situation they're in. I definitely think they just rewrite things they overhear, facts that they like, good memories they remember, and just odd things. Has multiple quotes written down from books they've read. They write with glitterpens, too. They have a bunch of construction paper they use to write on.

They don't really write much for necessity. They only really write to make themselves happy. Can be simple or descriptive depending on what their remembering.

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AH! I HAD SO MUCH FUN DOING THIS ONE! Thanks again for the ask! I hope your friend likes the answers :D

[heizouwtff]

𝙠𝙖𝙯𝙪𝙝𝙖 𝙗𝙛 𝙝𝙘𝙨

𝘬𝘢𝘻𝘶𝘩𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘮'𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘱 !! (𝘪 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘻𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘢𝘻𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.) 𝘢𝘯𝘸𝘺𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘤𝘴 ~

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

⋆ kazuha is really clingy... i don't know why but i see him as someone who enjoys always being near his lover.

⋆ kazuha doesn't really get jealous easily - however, whenever he sees heizou flirting with you he can't help but want to pull you away! he never does anything like this though... he's afraid you'll be upset at him.

⋆ kazuha is not opposed to the idea of pda, as long as his lover is alright with it he really does not mind holding hands with you or giving you small little kisses in public.

⋆ kazuha is really protective of you - and even if you do know how to protect yourself the guy won't let a single harmful thing touch you. destroying every hillichurl that gets in yours and his way.

⋆ he loves when you read his poems to him, adding your own little comments as you go on with it. he just loves the feeling of resting his head on your lap as you read those cute little loves poems he wrote.

⋆ i feel like his love language would definitely be physical touch and words of affirmation. he simply cannot keep his hands off you - always feeling the need to hold hands with you... and along with that, he will constantly tell you he loves you.

⋆ since he was so busy with crux it was hard for him to make enough time for you - but finally, after lots of convincing, beidou let you onto the crux with your lover.

⋆ because you two are constantly out on the sea it's hard to have those cute little dates like all those other couples, but whenever you guys stop somewhere he always makes sure to take you out for a treat.

⋆ asides from having those big fancy dates... you two like to admire the sunsets together - this was much more convenient for your life out on the sea. and honestly, it was a whole lot better than stopping by some big-shot restaurant.

⋆ i think while you would watch the sunset together he would definitely try to use some cheesy pickup lines that beidou told him about.

𝘶𝘱𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 !!

⋆ kazuha is such a horny little guy sometimes... he can't help but want to do those dirty dirty things to you...

⋆ sometimes he would write poems about his undying lust... however, he kept them hidden because he was afraid you would judge him for those things.

⋆ eventually, you found these poems and just simply laughed at him.. not in a mean way or whatever but rather in a soft and loving way. kazuha still couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

⋆ since you two were out on the crux it was really risky... not like anyone would judge you two or anything - it was just it would be an endless embarrassment for the two of you. and beidou would definitely tease you guys.

⋆ kazuha didn't care though... he would lock you up in your room and immediately pin you to the bed.

⋆ i have a feeling he's a soft dom... however, he'll get a little rougher if you allow him to.

⋆ he likes to overstimulate you sometimes. like he'll be slamming his cock into your poor little hole while pinching your soft little nipples.

⋆ he also has a thing for calling you baby during these times like - "baby i'm close... ngh" DBIHDBWibocs

⋆ he also absolutely adores giving you small little bite marks... though he's not really that possessive he still likes to show people who you belong to.

⋆ definitely groans - and occasionally whimpers when he's cumming.

⋆ he can last for about 2-3 rounds... ya'll tried doing 4 once but he was exhausted, and so were you.

⋆ HE ALWAYS ASKS FOR CONSENT BTW !! LIKE AHOHIHQEWVJBFCDHCDVJS

⋆ aftercare with him usually just taking a shower or cuddling for a bit.... if you guys take a shower there's a 90% chance he'll fuck you there too ^^

⋆｡°✩

screaming this was my first time writing nsfw ahhhhh

[strangersteddierthings]

Are you interested in writing something billy is still giving steve a hard time at school like since max isn't there to keep an eye on him, maybe like in the locker rooms, something more privately, since Nancy would also probably say something and eddie walks in on the aftermath and he decides to help despite not thinking highly of steve yet

Eddie is returning from skipping class when he hears a clang! ring out as he passes by the locker room. A well-known sound, one of someone being shoved against the lockers. His first thought is poor bastard but better you than me and his second thought, because his uncle raised him right, is I better check this out, and if nothing else, I'm a witness.

"Not so tough without a twelve-year-old girl here to protect you, huh," Billy Hargrove's voice is unmistakable. Eddie's heard it enough this year, between selling him weed and setting between him and members of Hellfire. He's willing to admit some curiosity to the statement Hargrove just made. Who in the hell is he beating up that was saved by a twelve-year-old last time?

"She's thirteen, you jackass," groans a suspiciously familiar voice. Eddie knows he knows it but can't place it.

"You always seem to focus on the shit that doesn't matter," Hargrove sounds amused, like he's smiling while he talks. Eddie can see it now, the too big, too fake grin that spreads across Hargrove's face before he lunges like a feral dog.

What follows next is the sound of a tussle. It sounds more like a wrestling match than a fight, but the squeak of gym shoes against linoleum changes pitch, and Eddie is moving. Hargrove is dragging someone around in there and the little voice in the back of his mind that sounds like Wayne will not let him get a bit of sleep this week if he walks away.

It's a shock, to put it mildly, when sees Hargrove and Harrington, neither of which are wearing gym clothes, so Eddie has no idea how they ended up here. He watches as Hargrove tosses Harrington to the ground in the showers, whose head bounces off the tile. Ouch. Before he can say anything, make his presence known, Hargrove reaches over and turns the shower on, dousing Harrington.

"This seems... interesting," Eddie says, trying to play it cool, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the lockers to survey the situation. They both have bruising, days old it looks like, on their faces. Maybe they'd come here to try and finish what they'd started? "Who's winning?"

Hargrove laughed. "You've got a good sense of humor. Knew I liked you."

He tries to give back a shit-eating grin, but it probably just looks like a grimace. He's not a fan of either of these two and does really wish he'd kept walking. He's quickly trying to weigh the pros and cons of taking a side here. Hargrove's a jackass but he's also one of Eddie's best customers and he can't really afford to lose him; not with the amount Hargrove buys. Harrington, however, has become the more bearable of the two to be around, since Jonathon Byers rocked his shit last year, but he didn't buy his drugs from Eddie, so...

The water shuts off, catching Eddie's attention. He and Hargrove both turn to Harrington, who looks so pathetic using the shower walls to climb his way to standing.

"No, yeah, I can definitely tell who won," Eddie says, earning him another laugh from Hargrove, who claps a hand on Eddie's shoulder as he moves past, leaving the locker room without another word.

Harrington, meanwhile, staggers out of the slash zone and pulls his shirt off, trying to wring out the water from it. Eddie just watches. This is the easiest fight he's ever had to breakup, and while he doesn't know why it was so easy, he's not really going to start asking questions. Honestly, the less he knows, the better.

"Don't think that's gonna work."

"Helpful," Harrington mutters, even as he lowers his arms in defeat and frowns down at his shirt like it's the shirt's fault he's wet.

Eddie is not staring. He's not. Because that's the kind of shit he's learned to not do because it gets the shit beat out of you. So, it's not staring. It's... investigating. Categorizing the damage Hargrove has done. To make it known that is what he's doing, he asks, "how much of that was Hargrove?" as he gestures to all of Harrington with one hand.

Harrington looks down at his own chest, almost bewildered, like he can't believe he's bruised. "Uhh.... 73 percent?"

He doesn't want to laugh but his body makes an involuntary snort-giggle at Harrington's questioning voice. "Alright. What's the other 27 percent from?"

Harrington pokes at a bruise and then sways violently, stumbling himself backwards to slam into the wall. "Shit. Think 'm concussed again. Didn't think the first one was done."

"Shit, man. We need to get you to the nurse," Eddie might not like Harrington, but concussions are no joke. Eddie'd been in charge of waking his uncle every hour on the hour a few years ago, when he'd got knocked good on the head at the plant.

"Right. Sounds good," Harrington agreed, even as he slumped more against the wall.

Shit. Eddie's going to have to drag him there, he can tell already. "Alright, man, let's go."

Harrington doesn't protest when Eddie shoves himself under his arm and wraps a hand around his middle. Harrington and he are the same height, it seems, but the dude's been on every sports team the school offers, like not being involved in an after-school activity will result in his death or something. What he's getting at is that he certainly weighs more, what with the muscle mass he's got going.

Briefly he wonders if a concussed Harrington would let him get away with coping a feel at his abs or arms, but that's dismissed immediately. Stop being a creep, Munson.

"Why're you helpin'?" Harrington says, about halfway to the nurse.

Eddie shrugs, "my uncle always says to look out for the little guy."

"Hey. I coulda won that fight. If he hadn't brained me on the lockers before repeating the performance with the shower tiles."

"You're going to have brain damage."

"Mmmm think I've always had that," Harrington says it softly, like he's talking to himself and has forgotten Eddie is within hearing distance. "I think each blow to the head is making me, like, a better person. Un-brain damaged."

"Yeaaahh, not sure about that last bit, but you've been less of an ass since Byers got you last year, so I can't say for sure you aren't right."

They make it to the nurse. Eddie deposits Harrington into an empty chair and the nurse helpfully gives Eddie a note for his next class, should he decide to actually go.

"Wait," Harrington calls out when Eddie's half out the door, so he twists to look back, raising an eyebrow at him. "Thanks, Eddie."

"Don't worry about it, Har-Steve," Eddie replies, slipping out the door and closing it behind him. Since when does Harrington know his name?

[bloodbrown]

I'm gonna offer a little morsel to chew on that's been driving me insane😳 for your consideration, imagine on the off chance P manages to take an actual break at the hotel, not just a quick round of chats with everyone, or weapon/strength upgrades, but a full on extended break.

And during that break he discovers he's got a love of reading, and just so happens to gravitate towards the sweet and sappier type of books! (He of course reads anything that piques his interest, but for the sake of this thought I'd imagine that he keeps to these softer books as a sort of escape from the horrors beyond the hotel!🥺)

And in these books he keeps learning about all the ways in which humans and characters show affection: The plethora of darling terms of endearment or the meaningful warmth that comes from a special nickname, the endless tiny ways to show concern or care. It's the gentle kiss placed on the inside of a wrist, giving someone your umbrella/overcoat when the rain or chill is too much, looking into someone's eyes and being so whole heartedly lovestruck it makes your chest ache and heart thump a fierce pace.

(I think he'd get really caught up on the concept of when a couple is heading to bed one will often sleep on the side closest to the door, that even when asleep they want to shield their beloved🥺)

After his discovery I honestly think he'd become a bit of a mother hen, doting and even a dash fretful at that! He once saw you make your way down the stairs of the hotel without holding onto the railings, nearly tripping and straining your ankle. You try to pull that stunt after he's read his books? Right in front of lover boy? You are getting a glower and have a choice to make, either the railing or his hand, you have to hold one! >:(

I'm telling you, he may be made out of rigid cogs and unfeeling metal, has single handedly ravished droves of enemies and terrors, but this man has sugar glass ribs and a jelly heart, so unendingly sweet and warm, and if he could I bet he'd open his chest and give you his very own heart, hoping you'd see how the pace of its ticks speed up, just for you.

I have so so many more sappy sweet thoughts, and I hope it wasn't an annoyance to get such a behemoth of an ask, but from one P enjoyer to another I wanted to send something in! <:) I hope you're doing well, and have a wonderful rest of your day/night! ^^ (Oh and!! just wanted to say that I love all of the writing and hc's that you do for the mad lad, you capture him wonderfully!🥺)

I absolutely love the idea that P realizes he should get a day off like everyone else. He's worked to the bone every day, poor guy. And can't imagine Geppetto would be too happy about his Ergo-harvesting puppet realizing that he can take breaks lol

And P would totally take romance novels to heart, I bet he'd also take to writing little love letters and leaving them around for you to find... even if his handwriting is less than stellar 🥺

He is such a bleeding heart of a man, and I say this with the ultimate amount of affection.

Also I'm never annoyed by asks, even long ones, most of the time they make my day 🐸

[sunshines-bright]

note: hai, guys!!! :D i hope you all enjoy my writing. if you are insecure, just know that ur amazing!!! keep it up, woo!! go you! I'm really nervous aaa, but you only live once!

Warnings: Self depreciation (implied), insecurities, Chaz should have his own warning.

☆ requests open!

Chazwick Thurman x Insecure!Reader Headcanons

○ Chaz absolutely hated that you were insecure. What was there to be insecure about? Your sexy looks? Hot voice? Amazing skills? Sure, you weren't Chaz, but you were second best!

○ "Oooh, c'mon, babyy! We are like the hottest couple alive. Babe, you know it breaks my poor heart that you're feeling this way! I see men drool all over yoou. Lucky for this guy, you chose the Chaz option!"

○ Once you admit you're insecure, Chaz will take it upon himself to compliment you way more than he already does. AKA. he's absolutely smothering you.

○ You're insecure about your body? He'll let you know you have a hot body in anything new you wear. Height? He finds your height just fine. He'll tell you how much he loves it. Voice? Damn, does he ever think your voice is sexy! Skills? Every time you do it, he'll comment that you've improved, can't give up now!

○ Much to your dismay, Chaz is very PDA and will show you off and brag about you. It makes you anxious sometimes, but Chaz insisted that you were the best he's ever had! He has to show you off to random demons on the street!

○ Chaz will put up lots of pictures of you all around the bedroom. He doesn't understand how weird that may come off, but he's trying. The whole house his covered in pictures of him, but the bedroom is for you, baby!

○ This man will make sure you are never insecure and will honestly support you. You were amazing to him after all.

○ Chaz uses you for reference for painting a lot. He usually doesn't take long either, which makes sense. He says he's perfect at all kinds of arts, so it doesn't take him long at all.

○ Come on. Chaz has written songs about you. About your relationship, how he wants your body, how perfect you are. He improvs the lyrics almost every night. "I'm just singing what comes to my heart, babe! These things come naturally to me!"

○ "No one compares to you and I! We're those super gorgeous couples you see in romance dramas! You're so irresistible, and I'm like the prince charming!" Don't let him lie to you. He's not. You just can't help but giggle and nod.

[thefiery-phoenix]

Hi. English is not my first language so I'm sorry if I make grammatical mistakes. I read almost all of the marvel and viral hit series and had a lot of fun. The things you wrote are very nice. Could you please write yandere young seong hansu x reader? If you don't want to write, feel free to ignore it.

You know what, sure and thank you so much for liking my work, I really appreciate it

Hansu seong as a romantic yandere? It would be a blessing for you and a damn nightmare for the other people around you. We all know Hansu was the poster boy and the epitome of bad boy behavior, his son Taehun doesn't even match the rebellious things he used to do when he was younger. However he genuinely loves you and cares for you, too much rather to the point that he's willing to kill people for even looking at you for a second too long for his liking

Despite his stoic tough exterior he's a soft man at heart when it comes to you. He just wants to come home to you after a long day and melt into your gentle loving touch as he wraps his arms around you shielding you from the harsh realities and cruelty of the world. He's endured a lot and he'd rather burst a blood vessel than let you go through the same pain and burden as him. All he wants to do is just shower you with his love and affection keeping you safe from all those scumbags who dare to take advantage of you. He's had a lot of experience already so he's kind of justified with wanting to protect you and keep you safe, even if he has to wrap you up in silk and keep you all for himself that is

Hansu didn't undergo all that brutal and harsh training with his teacher for nothing you know. There's a reason even his friends Kim and Jincheol are a bit scared of him secretly, he's known to be a walking time bomb when he's enraged and coming from THOSE two, that's actually saying something. Alas, it's not like you'll be able to ask them for help either, they just want to see their dear friend happy with you and will do whatever the hell it takes to ensure that you remain with Hansu. So, congratulations, you also have two more soldiers with insane kill ratios and years and years of war history after you who're platonic yanderes for you now. Escape? From Hansu? Oh, you poor sweet innocent little one, how naive you are if you think you'll be able to escape from someone like Hansu. Clearly, you have no idea the extreme lengths he'll go through to get you back safely in his arms and when he does find you, he won't be too amused about the whole situation

Like I've said before, he values your safety and prioritizes it a lot. The idea of you being somewhere without him, your man, to protect you is enough to send him into a spiral of worry for you with his over protective tendencies skyrocketing through the roof even more if that's possible. He won't yell at you or anything nor will he ever hit you, he doesn't believe in hurting the one he loves. He'll just firmly tell you with a stern expression to never do such a thing again, it's like a parent scolding a child but don't worry, he'll shower you with lots of love and affection later on. He can't afford to be mad or angry at you at all, he loves you too much and before you know it, you'll be on his lap cuddling him while he wraps his around your waist possessively ensuring you'd never leave him. Oh, but don't think you're off the hook yet, he'll baby proof the whole house and lock the windows and doors and hide the key somewhere and there'll be a few secret cameras here and there without your knowledge of course, to keep an eye on you to make sure you're safe

I want to be sympathetic to the person who's trying to take you away from Hansu but honestly, they should just know better. If Hansu's icy cold glare isn't enough to send the other person running in the opposite direction screaming with fear, he'll have to get physical. We all know what happens when Hansu gets mad and gets physical, he's not above killing the other person like I've mentioned before. The only person he cares for and lives for is you, so if someone takes away the very reason he's alive, he feels like someone's ripping his heart out. You're his everything, his heart and his soul. No way he'd ever allow someone to lay their filthy hands on you, they better be praying to all the gods above and hope the fates are kind enough to ensure they won't get murdered or brutally attacked by a livid raging Hansu and wake up the next day in a hospital room. Actually, scratch that, they should be praying he even leaves them ALIVE in the first place

Of course, Sir Cho Pyunggyeon would know about you being Hansu's darling and he's amused that the stoic Taekwando obsessed boy who showed up at his bar years ago finally found someone for himself and honestly, he's impressed and amused. Oh, which reminds me, unless you want a whole freaking mafia group after you if you ever try leaving Hansu because Sir Cho will obviously come to his aid, don't try escaping Hansu. He just wants to love you that's all. Hansu would treat you like a precious fragile doll about to break at any second, he's so gentle and caring and kind towards you, you'll almost forget he literally kidnapped you

He can't bear to see you crying or scared or upset, you're his precious darling after all and seeing you in any kind of discomfort hurts his heart. He doesn't mean to be controlling and stern all the time but this one time he caught you reading a gory and dark and gruesome murder novel and his eyes narrowed at you as he demanded to know what you were reading. His jaw clenched as his fists clenched shut tightly that his knuckles became white. You could literally see his angry veins protruding and bursting from his fists however he forced a smile and gently took the book away from you as he tried to distract you with something else. Later on when you went to get back to the book, you found a pile of ash sitting where the book previously used to be there as you looked at Hansu in suspicion who just looked proud at what he'd done with no ounce of remorse or regret on his face. "Hansu...you're not supposed to burn books like this, they're an epitome of knowledge, it's wrong... and besides, I didn't even make it past the first chapter anyway and it was listed as a best seller" you pouted and looked at Hansu reproachfully. Hansu pulled you onto his lap as he looked at you with a love sick obsessive gleam of love glinting in his eyes as he gently caressed your cheeks and softly but firmly replied "This is for your own good my love... I will not have my sweet darling get corrupted by such dark and negative thoughts and acts like this. I don't want your innocent pure mind to be tainted by such dark material like this which will only make you sad and it hurts my heart to see you sad....'' as he kissed your lips softly and passionately

You're going to be babied and spoiled by him. He won't allow you to miss out on any meals and will ensure you follow a strict bedtime and sleep on time. With him, on the bed as you're in his arms, right where you belong. One stern look from him is enough to make you swallow down your protests. Oh, you won't be allowed to cook in the kitchen either, it's off limits for you since he's worried you'll hurt yourself but don't worry, Hansu can take good care of you and whip up some delicious meals for the two of you. Starving yourself isn't an option of course, he'd literally tie you down and make you sit on his lap and feed you and yes, he has done this before and isn't above doing this again, it's a matter of your health and well being after all

He knows you weren't too happy when he literally kidnapped you and you were angry and scared and honestly, he doesn't blame you for your feelings. He'd never hurt you or be mad at you whenever you screamed at him or just threw things at him demanding to be set free, he gets how you feel. However he loves you too much to let you go, he'd rather walk through hell than ever let you be in the arms of someone else other than him, your rightful husband. He knows and he's certain you'll love him one day just as much as he loves you, he's confident in it and when you finally do admit your feelings, he'll be over the moon with happiness and pure joy. He's such a soft man only for you though...you're his world and his heart, he'd do anything to keep you safe, you're HIS after all....

[n0vabug]

I never meant for this to happen

So basically this story is about the reader and Sam fighting because Sam wants to leave NY, and then she says something that makes the reader really upset and the reader tells Sam to leave, then Sam feels bad and tries to call the reader but the reader doesn't answer and Sam goes back, turns out the reader was attacked by ghostface and then there is more that I don't want to spoil 👍👍

This Contains: Fights scenes, blood, gore, angst, fluff, mentions of depression and mental illnesses, and more, if any of these make you uncomfortable, I recommend that you do NOT read this!! Also if I write in bold in the story, that means ghostface is talking. Words: 1573

Y/N'S POV "PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE SAM, WE JUST MOVED HERE AND BECAME FRIENDS WITH ANIKA AND ETHAN AND QUINN, PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE ME SAM, BY LEAVING NEW YORK, YOURE LEAVING ME, TARA, CHAD, MINDY, AND EVERYONE ELSE." Tears were forming in my eyes as I spoke, I was upset, I knew that I shouldn't have yelled but I did anyways. She was trying to leave again, but this time, I didn't want to leave, I wasn't going to leave and I told her that, she promised no matter what happened, we wouldn't leave again, I can't believe her.

"I HAVE TO YOU DONT GET IT, I DONT WANT TO DEAL WITH THIS ALL OVER AGAIN, I JUST CANT Y/N, YOU COULD COME WITH ME." Sam said, I honestly felt bad for her but why couldn't she just ignore it, I honestly was mad, but sad?? Idk I just wasn't happy about this, I also hate yelling and fighting, which made me feel even worse.

"HOW DO WE EVEN KNOW THIS HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH US, WE HAVE NO IDEA, ITS HALLOWEEN, PEOPLE ARE GONNA DRESS UP AS GHOSTFACE, ESPECIALLY SERIAL KILLERS, PLEASE DONT LEAVE SAM, I CANT LIVE WITHOUT YOU." Warm tears were streaming down my face as I spoke, my voice broke mid sentence and I was trying so hard not to just completely break down.

"Y/N, YOU DONT EVEN UNDERSTAND THAT WE COULD DIE BECAUSE OF THIS, YOURE TOO BUSY BEING DEPRESSED ZONING OUT ALL THE TIME TO EVEN NOT....ice, shit i'm so sorry I swear I didn't mean it." She paused when saying notice, she realized she messed up by saying that. But did she just bring up my fucking mental illnesses, wtf. The warm tears stopped as I looked at her with betrayal and sadness in my eyes, why would she fucking bring that up. I think she quickly noticed what she said too because she looked at me with pure regret and sadness.

"Get out sam." I didn't even hesitate to say that, I truly loved her and didn't want her to leave NY, but I needed her to leave my apartment, I couldn't be around her at the moment. "No, wait, I'm sor-" "GET THE FUCK OUT SAM." I know it was wrong of me to yell, again, but it worked because she walked out as quickly as she could. The second she slammed the door, warms tears were pouring out of my eyes again and I couldn't breath, I love my girlfriend so much, but why would she say that, I know she didn't mean it, but still. I walked out of the living room, and walked into my room, trying to calm myself down.

After 5 minutes, I get a call from an unknown number, I quickly try to calm myself so I sound like I wasn't just crying, so I pick up. "Hello?" I said "Hello Y/n" The voice is a bit familiar, too familiar, and not the good type. "Who is this?" I quickly asked. "Are you a little upset Y/n, poor sam, she was only trying to protect herself from getting killed, she didn't want to deal with this a second time, but you took it the wrong way. Shut her out. Didn't even give her a chance to apologize, now poor sam, she's out on her own, what if she gets butchered all because of you, y/n." Shit. Shit. Shit.

Next thing I know I'm running out of my room, towards the door. I can't let Sam die, she's one of the few people who stayed after finding out about my past and my problems. I had to get to her.

Next thing I know, a cold metal blade was pressed into my thigh, with a guy in a black costume and white mask. I screamed as blood dripped down my thigh and bled through my jeans. I then felt the metal enter my stomach 3 times, then get twisted, I screamed as loud as I could, hoping someone would hear me. "Any last words, Y/n" "Is sam ok?" I struggled to speak but managed to get those words out, I truly needed to know if Sam was okay. I needed her to be okay. The guy in the mask then stabbed me in the shoulder one last time. My eyes felt heavy and fluttered close until all I saw was darkness...

SAM'S POV I left the apartment, tears streaming down my face. I didn't mean it. I love her more than anything, and I did not mean what I said. She is the greatest person I know, even if she did have some problems, but so did I, and we were overcoming our problems together, she didn't leave me even after she found out about Billy, I didn't even think about leaving her after finding out about her mental illnesses, so after we moved to NY, I could tell she was happier and getting better, and I know me leaving, broke her heart, I could see the sadness in her eyes and the tears streaming down her face during the argument. I had to go back.

I started walking back towards her apartment and as I did, I picked up my phone trying to call her, even after arguments that we had, she always answered my calls, she was really quick at answering because she always had her phone on her at all times, but this time, she didn't pick up. So I called again. no answer. I was starting to worry, maybe she was just really mad and still wanted to answer, but I was still worried. I started walking quicker until it turned into me running. I had the key to my girlfriend's apartment since she had a spare, and since I practically lived there. I unlocked the door. "Y/n?" I look around until I see something that I wish was a dream. Her lifeless body. In a pool of red liquid. "Y/n?" Tears formed in my eyes. "Y/N PLEASE WAKE UP!" I called 911, as I talked on the phone, I broke down, tears streaming down my face. This is all my fault.

I tried putting pressure on her wounds, but the bleeding didn't stop and the paramedics were taking to long. I picked her up, her cold lifeless body in my arms, her apartment was on the fifth floor, I had to run down the stairs with her, as I ran down the stairs I yelled for help. "HELP" "SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!!" I kept saying, until I reached the ground floor, where I met with the paramedics.

They put her onto a stretcher, bandaged her wounds as much as possible, and then put her into the ambulance. I got in the ambulance with her, and held her cold but soft hand the whole way there. I felt terrible, I never meant for any of this to happen.

We arrived at the hospital and they took her in to get stitches since her wounds were deep, so I had to sit in the waiting room until they called my name. After about 45 minutes I got called to the back, "Samantha Carpenter, Y/n L/n is out of surgery, she isn't awake but if you want, you can go wait in her room until she is." "Thank you, I'll go wait with her, what's her room number." I'm glad she was alive, I still feel terrible, all I felt was guilt, if I didn't argue with her and if I just chose to stay in NY, maybe none of this would have happened. "314." Said the lady at the front desk, I walked to room 314, my footsteps grew quicker within each step I took.

I finally reached her room, I opened the door, and pulled a chair next to her bed. She was still asleep, I hated seeing her like this, I just can't help but think this is all my fault. I sat beside her bed, with my head down and one hand on the bed. After a few minutes, I felt a warm and soft touch on top of my hand, I look up, her beautiful y/e/c (your eye color), eyes were looking directly at me, while she was smiling.

"Omg, Y/n, thank god you're okay, I was so worried, I thought you weren't gonna make it, listen I'm so sorry, I never meant for any of this to happen, this is all my fault, I never wanted to leave NY, and especially leave you, I don't think I will leave NY now because I need to keep you safe, but I shouldn't have argued or even yelled, and I feel especially terrible for bringing up the mental health thing, I didn't mean it I swear, I promise you that I never meant to hurt you, I'm so sorry, ple-" I was ranting until I felt her soft lips press against mine, we kissed until we both ran out of breath. "I forgive you sam, I know you didn't mean it, I love you so much" She pulled me into a kiss again, this time a quicker one. "I love you more, I'm never leaving you again." I said, before I hugged her, I hugged her tighter than I ever have before, but also tried avoiding her injuries while hugging her, I love her to the stars and beyond.

A/N I wrote this whole thing while being half a sleep, and really distracted because my bsf was over while I wrote this and I kept pausing in the middle so we could talk to each other. I can't really tell if I like this or not, I don't 100% love the little fight scene at the beginning but idk, there are things that I could fix with both of them. Idk but let me know if you want anymore, also thank you to whoever reads these because I think these are shitty a lot of time and seeing that people actually read this makes me happy so thank you so much!! <3

UPDATE: I HATE THIS SM, THE FIGHT SCENE IS LOWKEY STUPID BC I DON'T THINK SAM WOULD SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT, BUT HERE IS ANOTHER ONE FROM WATTPAD THAT WAS MADE IN MAY😭😭