#like they just don’t like the idea of a man being a woman

[jinmindeulle]

vulnerable | k. mingyu, j. wonwoo (1)

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 kim mingyu x fem!reader x jeon wonwoo

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 3.3 k

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 angst, fluff | friends-with-benefits!mingyu, neighbor-and-highschool-crush!wonwoo | you decide! mingyu (pt. 2) or wonwoo (pt.3)

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 mentions about sex i guess?

when mingyu realizes that things are not going like he'd like between you two, he asks for some distance. lucky for you, your high school crush was waiting for you some doors away.

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

“I don’t wanna fuck tonight”

For how Mingyu plopped himself onto your couch as soon as you opened the door to your apartment, it was pretty clear that he had just come by to spend the night cuddling with you — and you weren’t complaining. You loved being engulfed by your friend’s bulky arms and how he couldn’t get enough of you, even when you were fully clothed and talking about Love Island.

“What’s got you so sulky?” you asked, kissing the top of his head as you walked past him on your way to the kitchen. “You’re lucky I just got started with dinner”

“My boss is a pain in the ass — by the way, those shorts look fire on you” after giving the longest sigh you had ever heard coming from him, the man turned his head your way and winked.

You looked down at your legs and chuckled. Those shorts were the oldest, most worn-out you had in your closet. “I bet they do. Wanna talk about that boss of yours?”

“Nah, work belongs at work. Whatcha cooking?”

“I was craving some japchae.”

“Remind me again, how are you just my fwb?”

A soft giggle escaped your lips, and you just turned around to get started on your dish, not noticing how serious his question had been. The truth was, he was your best friend, with benefits, of course, but that was a line that Mingyu had never wanted to cross when you first started fooling around. 

The first time had been your fault, and Mingyu was always ready to throw that on you whenever he had the chance. You were a little bit drunk, not enough not to remember what happened the next day, but far away from the perfectly reasonable woman you normally were. 

The thing was, even when you were in all your senses and could discern wrong from right, Mingyu had always been an attractive fellow. Aside from his obvious heavenly looks, you felt satisfied and joyful when he favored you over other plans and even other girls. Mingyu looked at you with a softness that you knew only saved for you, and that had gotten into your heart… just a little. 

The pint of beer he treated you that night for helping him set up his new wardrobe made it easier for you to lean a little closer and press your lips to his. 

He looked at you with extremely big eyes but a smirk that you rarely saw while alone with him. “Sorry. You wouldn’t stop rambling” you said, which was partly true. Gyu had just started working as the editor-in-chief of a well-renowned newspaper and liked to tell you all about his new co-workers.

When you took it back to your place, it was obvious that Mingyu was okay with the idea of you kissing him. Now, he was the one bringing his lips to yours after you closed the door behind you. 

“I wanna keep being friends” 

Though it broke your heart a little, you had to admit you were fine with his proposal — just because it meant you gained new rights with the one man you had shared most of your life with. In between hot kisses, you nodded and in a mutual agreement, decided to let it happen. 

“You cannot violate the contract, Gyu” taking the veggies out of the fridge, you reminded him of the spoken agreement you had come to that day. We can kiss, we can have sex. We are not exclusive, we cannot be jealous. We can make it stop when one of us asks to. Keep it private.

“We never said anything about the label” Mingyu got up from the couch and decided to help you out, chopping the carrots you had saved for later.

“What part of ‘We are not exclusive’ equals having a label?” you asked, too concentrated on measuring the right amount of sauce to see the look he gave you.

“But we act as exclusive” 

What was wrong with him today? He had never dared to question whatever thing you got going on after the ‘main event’, so him throwing so many daggers at you regarding your situationship was weird enough to trigger you.

“What’s on your mind? It’s been almost a year of our little fuck-buddies thing and you never asked such dramatic questions”

He sighed and stopped working on the carrots, pressing his left hip to the kitchen counter and leaning on it. After some minutes of silence, he crossed his arms on his chest. “I don’t know. I guess the not-exclusive part but quite literally being exclusive has been on my mind lately. What makes us different from a couple?”

As you finished seasoning the beef, you cleaned your hands and faced him, not sure if you were getting his troubles. “Are you worried that because we are not fucking other people we are becoming ‘a couple’?” 

“Don’t you think so? I mean…” he scratched the back of his head, avoiding your eyes as the thought of you being a couple started to become a reality in his mind. “We act like boyfriend and girlfriend when we are around, we have amazing sex, we-w-we,” he stuttered “We adore each other”

“What I don’t get is,” you came closer to his broad form, looking up to his eyes “Why are you so worried about that?”

“Because I-I” his stutters were not so common on him, and that made you arch an eyebrow. He was not being his usual self “I don’t want us to be a couple” He sentenced.

Bold of you to assume that he was falling in love with you.

Nodding with a lump forming in your throat, you took a step back and dealt with your disappointment as well as you could “What do you suggest, then?”

“Go out with other people. Reject me from time to time, tell me you’ve got plans even when you don’t. Share your bed with another man. Just… don’t let me be the only one around you.”

“Then leave. I’ve got other plans”

. . . . . . . . . .

You hadn’t seen him ever since he left your dorm that eerie evening — over a week ago. He had shot you some texts, but the realization that you were actually feeling things for him beyond what he was willing to offer put a restraint on your replies. They were shorter, emojiless, and a bit bitter. 

Mingyu had wanted to see you two times, Thursday first and Saturday last. I’ve got plans, your default reply to both, and probably to all the invitations that were to come from him. He was getting what he had asked for: no more couple behavior.  

As you finished massaging your night cream with the ‘miraculous’ gua sha onto your jawline, your phone buzzed. An unknown number had sent you a text. 

Hi, Y/N

I know this is weird, but I heard you recently moved

And I think we’re neighbors

What an idiot, this is Jeon Wonwoo

The heat that you felt creeping on your cheeks was not normal, but you were used to it. Jeon Wonwoo had been the crush of your teenage (and not so teenage) years, all the way through high school and even your part-time job at Mrs. Lim’s café right before starting college. 

The seventeen-year-old version of you would be giggling and running around your dorm at just the thought of him and his cute-ass rounded glasses.

Oh my, hi Wonwoo! 

That’s awesome! I moved here a month or so ago, but I never saw you around

I’m at 12A 

Wbu?

As you saved his contact, you thought about how bad in love you had been with him in the past. 

He was the type of guy you had fantasized about for many years, even after meeting Mingyu. Wonwoo was serious at work and even in high school — his responsibilities had always come before anything else and you loved that about him. You just knew he was going to be a successful man in whatever he decided to do in life. And he got all the girls ogling at him, no matter where he went. 

That had been about eight years or so ago. You couldn’t wait to see how handsome he had gotten with time. 

No way

I’m at 16B

You home now?

I’d love to catch up

Just finished preparing some bibimbap

Oh. Dear. Lord.

You entered your closet as fast as you could and discarded the pajama set you had on with the ease that not even Mingyu could master. Your eyes fell on a casual summer dress that was your go-to whenever you needed an easy but cute way out and quickly threw it on.

Before throwing your night skincare routine to the trash with some light makeup, you replied to Wonwoo’s texts.

Sounds yummy! 

Be there in 5

After combing through your (thankfully recently) washed hair, you sprayed your favorite perfume on and took a deep breath. 

“Okay, little Y/N, here we go”

Nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting for you behind the 16B door. 

Jeon Wonwoo was as painfully handsome as he had been as an adolescent. Years had perfectly sat with him and that made your gut relive that tingling sensation you hadn’t felt for a long time. His glasses were still there — a more modern version of his older ones, but they screamed Wonwoo. 

“Oh wow,” he smiled, eagerly blinking, as if he had a blurry vision “I-I didn’t expect you to be quite literally the same as in high school” he smiled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Should I feel offended by that?” you giggled, looking down at your feet to avoid displaying the same dorky smile you did when around him. 

“Of course not! You were always a sight to see. I-I mean, you look beautiful, Y/N. It’s so nice to see you again”

You couldn’t help but think about how many times you had wished for him to look at you like that. To tell you those sweet things and leave you a blushing mess. After what had happened with Mingyu, having your longest-to-date crush in front of you seemed like you were already using all the luck you had available in life. 

“Come in!” he interrupted your thoughts, moving aside so you could enter his place. 

What came after that felt like a dream. Wonwoo was a dream. 

His apartment was very similar to yours, and what didn’t surprise you at all was how well-kept it looked. Though it was all neatly white and gray, bits of his personality were spread around them. Some artwork hung behind the couch, in front of which stood a very big SmartTV. He had two shelves with a handful of PlayStation games and cutesy plants.  

But what caught your attention the most was a small cat scratcher in the corner of the living room.

“You have a cat?!” You asked, eyes sparkling with anticipation as you turned to face him.

“Well… I’m about to have a cat” he chuckled, signaling you to walk to the kitchen with his head. As you followed suit, he continued “I’m waiting for my brother to bring it home tomorrow”

“Oh my God, it must be the cutest thing ever!” you cried, holding your cheeks with your hands as he showed you a picture of the small creature on his phone “It’s so tiny!” you whined, feeling excitement for what was about to come for Wonwoo “Please invite me over when it arrives” you pleaded, taking his arm to emphasize the importance your request. 

“You will be here, don’t worry”

The security with which he delivered that statement sent shivers down your spine. That confidence was new to you — this Wonwoo was new to you, and you couldn’t wait to explore him.

His bibimbap was delicious, and conversation flowed effortlessly between the two of you. 

Wonwoo had been working as a corporate lawyer for quite some time. Just as you had predicted, he handled big responsibilities like negotiating contracts, dealing with lawsuits, and advising companies on legal matters. He even mentored younger employees and, in his words, was respected but not necessarily liked. 

“I don’t believe that” you shook your head, putting down the chopsticks after finishing the delight he had cooked. 

“That’s me at work. I have a hard time with stupid-ass people”

“Now that I think about it… you did have a hard time with stupid-ass people at the café too”

“See? Not much has changed” He smiled at you, taking the empty plates and putting them into his small dishwasher. “So.. how’s life?”

That was a hard one. Of course, you were not about to rant about how Mingyu, a guy he had never met, had decided to end whatever you had just because he didn’t like commitment. Wonwoo didn’t need to know the hardships of your recently deceased situationship, so you opted to open a door you were now comfortable with opening. 

“26, single, working from Monday to Friday, reading books, and watching reality shows from Saturday to Sunday. A great catch, huh?” the joke-not-so-joke was well-directed because it had the effect you had intended. 

“If you take into account that I’m 28, also single and working from Monday to Friday, playing video games and maybe working out from Saturday to Sunday, I surely think you are an amazing catch” 

But that left you speechless. Wonwoo had never been that direct, even when you had teased him about the long lines of girls drooling on him during high school.

“That job of yours did wonders for your flirting skills, let me tell you” you giggled, feeling the same old tingling sensation on your stomach. 

When it finally hit you that the following day was Monday and the clock was close to 12 sharp, you regretfully made your way to the door. “It was so good to see you again Wonwoo. Thank you for the delicious food”

“I had a blast. Thank you for accepting the last-minute invite. So.. ’ll see you tomorrow?” his gentle smile and glistened eyes made you want to kiss him right then and there. But it felt too rushed, too desperate. And Mingyu was still on your mind, no matter how much you hated him lately. 

“I get home from work at around 7. Sounds good?”

“Do you still like ramen?” 

“Hands down my favorite dish of all time” you nodded eagerly, excitement creeping around you.

“You will taste the best one as of yet”

“Can’t wait”

. . . . . . . . . .

You loved your high-pressure job. As expected when working in finance, your team usually makes big decisions about the company’s mergers, stock trading, and investments. It demanded a lot of strategic thinking, and thankfully you were quite good at it. However, that also meant that you would end up exhausted, literally collapsing on your couch every single day.

But that Monday evening could not be the case.

As soon as you went out of the elevator, you could see his tall frame resting on the wall beside your apartment door, clearly waiting for you. You stood still for a second and considered going down the hall again before he could see you in an attempt to avoid the awkward conversation that was about to happen. But Mingyu was faster and turned around just when the elevator door closed. 

“Are you moving anytime soon?” he crooked his eyebrow, waiting for you to get inside.

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to make up with you”

You felt silent as you opened the door, Mingyu’s gaze burning into you, his body too close for your liking. You could smell his manly perfume and that hit in places you would rather not. He had the same effect on you as he always did, and you hated yourself for letting him in so easily.  

“I have to leave soon, so make it short” you discarded your bag and waited for him to speak, hands on your hips. 

Mingyu stood by the door, studying your every move. You could see his brain making mental gymnastics to understand your new demeanor with him because you had never treated him like that. So crude, so direct, so painfully detached. But that was what you wanted him to feel — he had made you want that. 

“When I said that I didn’t want us to be a couple I didn’t mean to stop seeing each other. I suggested you start seeing other people and spending a little less time on our own. But you cut ties altogether” It hurt you to see him looking at you with glistened eyes, and even though he tried to hide it, you noticed how his lower lip trembling. That… you didn’t expect that “I love hanging out with you. I love what we had.”

“I don’t get you,” you shook your head when you finally wrapped your head around what he was saying “You were clear when you said that you wanted us to still fuck around but not all the time. And I understood. So, when I finally comply with your wishes, you tell me you loved what we had?”

“I don’t see what you don’t get” he took a step forward, reaching out to brush your fingers with his “I was happy with how things were going, but I just… I needed to make sure we were following the rules”

The contradiction was so clear to you that your head was about to explode. “You were happy but because we were not following one stupid rule, which you considered to be more important than what we had, you had to ruin it”

Mingyu opened his mouth to respond, but you shook your head and prevented him from saying anything else “You clearly have some shit to reflect on, Gyu. I love you and I had a great time with you, but I just cannot keep on doing this if you are worried about what we are rather than how we feel. Have you stopped to think about why we never slept around with other people? Why we were so comfortable with one another, no matter if we had sex or not?” you pressed your hands to his cheeks, taking in how vulnerable he looked. His eyes were fixated on yours, standing still in his place, listening attentively “The rule was there because we decided to create it at a time when we didn’t know where this was heading. It felt natural because we were transforming a friendship into something else… we thought we were going to stop on a middle ground between friendship and a couple's relationship. But by now you and I know we were exclusive, we were around each other all the time — we just were private.”

“I-I…,” Mingyu mumbled slowly reaching to put his hands on yours, still holding his face “I never realised it” The weakness with which he delivered it made your heart twitch. 

“I know. I think, deep down, we were aware of what we were — putting on the label was the scary part. But, Gyu…,” you smiled a little and decided it was best to end the conversation there “We don’t have to do this. You don’t want commitment, and that’s fine” 

“I don’t know what I want” he closed his eyes, slowly taking a breath. 

“Go home and take your time.” 

It felt like a farewell. You were sure he was not ready to commit with you, or any other woman. You loved him, yes, and you were willing to wait for him to decide, no matter how disadvantageous the situation was for you. But you also knew there was someone else waiting for you in 16B.

So you kissed Mingyu, taking his lips with soft care, sighing when he took you by the waist and pressed you against his hard chest. He hugged your lips with his in a desperate attempt to get all he could from this last one, and hopefully remember how you felt for the nights that he was about to spend all alone, wishing to have you by his side.

“Go” you whispered against his lips, taking him by the arms and pushing him away.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N”

• • ┈┈┈┈ ๑ ⋅ ⋯ ୨ ୧ ⋯ ⋅ ๑ ┈┈┈┈ • •

part 1 | you decide... mingyu (2) or wonwoo (3) soon!

please like and reblog!

[corroded-hellfire]

Hiii!! I had an idea for the As You Wish Series, what if Eddie and R are invited to their daughters kindergarten/elementary talent show. And she’s supposedly singing, and she comes on stage and starts belting out Twist by Korn!

I wonder what their reactions would be!

+ (Your writing is really really good ☺️)

Thank you so much 🥺

Apparently there are arguments that there are real lyrics to this song or if it’s just scatting. The proposed lyrics would not be child appropriate so I went with scatting, containing phonetic spellings that I found on Reddit lol

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Did she tell you what she’s going to sing?”

You take your seat in the hard plastic chair next to your husband. The cafeteria of Hawkins Elementary School is full of kindergarteners’ parents, milling about and having soft conversations as they await the talent show to begin. It’s a small room, and the stage is a single step up that might be able to hold one class at a time.

Both you and Eddie cleared your entire Friday to see your daughter perform and then take her out to lunch. Luke and Ryan grumbled about how they still have to go to school the whole day but your husband was quick to remind them that he did the same thing for each of them when they had their respective kindergarten talent shows. Wayne is back at the house, watching the twins for a few hours. The older man assured you he was able to handle the newly one-year-olds at the same time. Of course, you trust him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss your babies and hope everything is going well.

“She wouldn’t tell me,” Eddie answers you with a sigh. “I tried everything. Since when can Eliza not be bribed?”

You turn your head and cock an eyebrow at your husband.

“You tried to bribe our five-year-old?”

“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never done that.” Eddie’s cocky smile dares you to lie to him.

“What did you try to give her?” you ask, skirting around his response altogether.

Eddie heaves a deep sigh and drapes his arm along the back of your chair.

“Ice cream. Apparently, vanilla was a no-go, though.”

“Ah,” you muse, snuggling up to his side. “That was your mistake. She’s in her cookie dough period right now.”

Eddie lets out a soft groan and says softly so that only you can hear, “It’s going to be a princess song, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But she has an eclectic taste just like her parents.”

“She gets the good taste from me,” Eddie says.

“Sure, honey.”

A young woman in a gray argyle sweater and a calf-length cranberry skirt steps up on the stage and your attention turns towards her. The famed Ms. Berry you hear about almost every day after school smiles out at the audience and rubs her hands together before speaking.

“Hello! Welcome to our Hawkins Kindergarten Talent Show!” There’s a soft polite applause from the crowd before she continues. “First, we will start with my class. So, please welcome our first student from Ms. Berry’s class, Andy Arvano.”

The only downside of having a last name that starts with an “M” is always having to wait, being stuck in the middle of the pack alphabetically. The first eleven students perform a variety of “talents”: juggling, dancing, singing, jump rope, magic tricks, and even ventriloquism.

By the time it’s Eliza’s turn, Eddie’s about ready to fall asleep. But the moment he hears his little girl’s name announced, he’s wide awake and sitting up straight in his rigid seat.

The indigo curtain partitioning off the cramped backstage space is tugged to the side by a small hand with perfectly pink polished nails. Out pops your daughter’s beautiful face, her bright smile shining out at everyone as she steps out and makes her way to the middle of the stage, her magenta dress with white polka dots swaying with her movements. She looks down at her black Mary Jane shoes, before looking back up at the crowd. It’s impossible to keep a smile off your face as you watch her gently toss her head to make sure her ringlet curls fall just right against her cheeks. Without raising her hand higher than her waist, Eliza throws you and Eddie a quick wave. Giddily, the two of you wave back to her.

Eliza’s chest lifts as she takes a deep breath and you feel like you’re on the edge of your seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie beaming as he looks up at her. You reach over and slip your hand into his. He gives yours a gentle squeeze in anticipation.

“Twist!”

The belted-out word takes you aback. Without music accompanying her, you’re initially confused as to what song she’s singing.

After the first word, Eliza begins to jump up and down on the spot, thrashing her head from side to side. Her curls whip around, smacking her in the face with every turn. Her motions don’t stop as she opens her mouth and continues.

“You not ooh rah dah en dahp ooh rah daht endaht en dik ah poo ra ta teek a poo rah doo rah do dik oh mumblio dah dah dosa pa errah sa dey definitely ha to think about pa errah so ma et it heh uh uh rah nada no ob rah da sa oh rak ah you ma heh to bro rah de de eh ah is ah ra ray nah hear aned darayeah woo who rah eh pay pa do rah not to errraah.”

The approximation of words, which could hardly be called scatting in this instance, clues you and Eddie into where she got her choice of song.

You hear Eddie let out an irritated sigh under his breath. He leans in and whispers in your ear the one word conclusion that you’ve also come to.

“Ryan.”

Silently, you nod. Your eyes don’t leave Eliza as her jumping becomes even more frantic and her arms start pumping up and down with the action.

“Twist!”

Someone a few rows behind you lets out a soft snicker and it breaks your own resolve as well. You smile, pressing your lips together to contain laughter as you watch your five-year-old shout out a Korn song. Eddie chuckles next to you as well and the two of you share an amused glance before looking back at the performance.

“ooh e ooh rah daht endaht endaht endaht ooh rah sadah eh mah rah day huh pah tay who uh mah nah who nah peek a boo nah eh na ooh rah eh essimple he neh head a nerah.”

Coming up on the final word, Eliza ceases her bouncing. She poses with her feet spread, her arms reaching out, resembling a starfish as she throws her head back.

“Twist!”

Her little chest is heaving as she finishes. Both you and Eddie immediately break into applause, the crowd around you doing the same. It’s by far the most entertaining performance of the afternoon.

The proud look that graces your daughter’s face at the clapping warms your heart. She grabs the sides of her skirt and tucks one leg behind the other, dropping into a curtsy. Once she stands back up, she searches for you and Eddie in the crowd. You immediately blow her kisses and Eddie waves at her. She giggles and gives a quick wave back before skipping off the stage.

After she’s out of sight, your laughter comes bubbling out. You tuck your face into Eddie’s neck and he slings his arm around you, chuckling himself.

“Oh boy,” he huffs with a laugh. “Well…it could’ve been a worse Korn song.”

You pick your head up and press a kiss to his cheek.

“At least it wasn’t a princess song, huh?”

[inu1gf]

you bloom inside my heart

now playing: blooming day by exo-cbx

who: isagi yoichi

what: childhood friends to lovers, slight ooc (tag just in case but i know deep down in my heart that isagi is a yearning man when it comes to love)

the seed of you took root in isagi’s heart when you were both 4 years old.

meeting the new next door neighbors was something his mom wanted for everyone in the household to do. with him in between his parents, holding a tray of cookies, they waited patiently for someone to open the door.

“i’m coming! just a second!” a women’s muffled voice rang through the door slowly getting closer.

“hello! welcome to the neighborhood! we’re the isagi’s, your nextdoor neighbors. we wanted to come by and say hi and get acquainted. this is our child yoichi, if you do have a kid around their age we would love for them to be friends if that is alright with you?” isagi’s mom seemed to be beaming at the idea of having new neighbors and friends.

“hi we’re the [last name] and yes we do have a kid. let me call them over. [reader]! get over here! there’s someone who wants to meet you!” echoing through the home, the cute sound of pitter pattering foot steps seemed to get closer and closer, stopping behind the woman at the door.

peeking out from behind her legs, a small child with wide doe eyes that didn’t seem to stray away from isagi’s.

“isagi don’t you have something to say?” a little nudge at the boys shoulder, he moves forward and stretches out the plate full of cookies.

“welcome to the neighborhood. do you wanna be friends?” pink cheeks and wobbly hands, he wouldn’t have expected the next words to come out of your mouth.

“you have a bean sprout on your head.” isagi didn’t make the first move just to be insulted. he couldn’t help but lower the plate and loudly cry in front of the new neighbors. with snot and tears running down his face, he didn’t hear the scolding your mom gave you, nor did he hear reassurances from his parents. both not being able to take the situation seriously because it was one of isagi’s most prominent features.

and all that could be heard next was your cries and apologies. “m’ sorry. i didn’t mean it in a mean way. i promise. please forgive meeee.” oh if it weren’t for the eardrum shattering wailing from both youngsters, it would’ve made such a cute sight of a new friendship blooming.

but it didn’t stop the the small emotions that started to bud in yoichi’s heart.

from the seed started to sprout at the age of 8.

elementary was not for the weak. it took guts to survive everything everyday. sure isagi knew that at the end of the day, he got to walk home with you right next to him, but that didn’t stop the craziness around him to influence you and your whims. no matter how crazy they were or how ridiculous they sounded.

but nothing could have prepared him for your next thought process at hand.

with talks of kissing and hand holding going around, it didn’t bother the bean sprout at all. not when soccer was all he could think about… and you but that wasn’t anything special when you were always attached at the hip.

“do you ever want to know what kissing feels like?” the soccer ball that was in isagi’s hold was now on the ground rolling away for him.

“no, why would i want to know about that? that’s something you do when you’re older?” he sputters out as if the thought of kissing anyone disturbs him. if only you knew the red tinge that started to creep onto the boy's cheeks, just the thought of your face being so close to his face had his heart beating wildly faster than it normally does.

“every girl in class is kissing boys to see what it feels like. maybe i’ll try it out and see what they’re talking about. do you think if i ask who they kissed and ask them if they could kiss me, they would do it? shouldn’t be too much to ask for, right?” oh it was as if pins and needles were being used to squeeze poor isagi’s heart. he didn’t know why the thought of your face being close to another boys face made his heart squeeze out in pain, but if he could do anything to stop that from happening, then he’ll do it.

“i’ll do it!” red faced full of determination. he wasn’t going to let anyone else take this moment away from him.

“but you just sa-“ now you were confused. first he said he doesn’t care to know but now he does?

“i said i’ll kiss you!” why did you have to keep asking questions?! he thought this is what you wanted?!

even if it meant awkwardly placing his lips on yours….

that had you both reeling back because he accidentally put too much force that had you both knocking teeth together.

the full flurry of questions being launched at you both by your parents wasn’t something either of you wanted to happen right now (isagi’s embarrassment intensifying because he didn’t want to explain what happened and your nonchalant behavior toward this was not letting you admit that even though the kiss hurt it meant more to you that isagi was willing to do it for you cause your stomach to flutter).

leaves and petals didn’t start to grow out until the age of 16.

man was the second year of high school a whirlwind of emotions for isagi.

sure now he knew more about his feelings for you better than what he was questioning after almost making both your lips bleed after that failed first kiss (it still counted for him), but it didn’t make him feel any more secure when he heard all the locker room talk about girls. boys left and right asking him if he could ask you to meet them after school so that they could ask you out. all isagi did was nod, but he never did tell you.

not that you needed to know anyways. or when he noticed admirers slipping letters into your locker, he’d take them out and keep them in his bag. you didn’t need them and he especially didn’t need more competition. all you had to do was enjoy school life without any of these stupid guys trying to take his place (not like they had a chance when all you could think about was the new random last minute plans that isagi made for y’all to visit the burger joint after school).

that didn’t stop the whispers of rumors to linger around.

rumors of you being heartless.

rumors of you not caring for others feelings.

rumors of you leaving people standing alone.

sure they knew that you didn’t have to accept their feelings, but the least you could do was show up to reject them…

until they see the scene in front of them.

walking down the halls to your class, you didn’t pay any mind to the whispers and such that was going around, all you were focused on was giving isagi the attention and encouragement he needed for his most anticipated match this season. the prefectural finals.

ichinan vs matsukaze

you’ve told him time and time again. no matter what happens he’ll always be a winner in your heart, but you know that’s not what he needed right now. he just needed to know that you believed in him and that you know he can win.

and that’s what you did, ignoring the stares and giving your whole attention to him. nothing else mattered more.

and everyone could see that. that’s why no one bothered to confront you when they saw the scene of a blushing boy and his over enthusiastic friend throwing compliment after compliment at him. if they didn’t know any better, they’d think you two were already dating, just trying to keep it private.

and after the long awaited match and the devastating defeat, it was the walk back home that showed just how much he cared for you.

the silence was deafening, and you knew nothing you could say would make him feel better.

but to him, he couldn’t help but feel like he let you down. you believed in him but he couldn’t believe in himself to take the last shot on his own.

the only thing that brought you both out of this silence was the sound of him yelling out in agony, and boy was it soul shattering. here was the boy that worked hard no matter what, only to be stopped by his own what-ifs and uncertainties.

“i wanted to win…” all you could do was pat his back to soothe his pain.

it only lasted for a couple of hours until he got back home.

with the opportunity of a lifetime prompted itself, in the form of a letter, ensuring him that there’s more chances in soccer for him out there.

man he couldn’t wait to tell you about this (so much so that he ran to your house next door to share the news).

the flower of his love bloomed not too long after at the age of 16.

being invited to watch isagi play against the u-20 team with his parents warmed your heart.

you haven’t been able to keep in contact with him during his time in the blue lock program, but that didn’t stop you from continuing to support him with all your might from the outside.

seeing him zoom across the field, make plays you never got to fully see when he would play with his old team, and the all in all happiness that showed itself when he made the winning goal. you couldn’t have been more proud. watching him be interviewed and proclaiming to the world that he will bring home the u-20 world cup.

and it seemed that feelings were still running high because once he saw you he couldn’t help but run to you and press a deep heart filled kiss flat on your lips. with the whole world to see but not giving it a second to stop him from giving him a retry at a first kiss with you.

it meant a lot more when he could feel you pull him closer by his jersey.

letting everyone know just who you belonged to this whole time.

[juletheghoul]

If the General and Girlwife have 1000 fans, I'm one of them.

If the General and Girlwife have 100 fans, I'm one of them.

If the General and Girlwife have 1 fan, it's me.

If the General and Girlwife have no fans, it's because I'm no longer here.

(Ty for this wonderful story, and this is also a plea for a wedding night drabble please and ty 💜)

you cannot know how happy this comment made me, just laughing and giggling like a teen, here's your Drabble - I genuinely didn't even proofread this one- enjoy!

Warnings: fluff, implied sexy stuff, mostly just romantic wedding stuff. (took some liberties because I really have no idea what ancient Roman weddings were like)

Masterlist series masterlist

-

The house buzzes like a hive, attendants and slaves rush around the villa, finishing their last minute tasks for the wedding and despite there being months of preparation it still feels wrong to not participate. It feels wrong to be tended to. 

“May I know where he is?” You ask the older woman fussing at your hair, every second she spends on it weighs you down, flowers have been threaded through it, a crown of blooms that make you smell like a garden. 

“He is preparing for the wedding, Domina. Just now I imagine they are oiling his skin and dressing him in his finery for the ceremony.” She smiles, patting your shoulder, “he is eager, I can promise you that.” 

“Is he? I confess, my belly flutters and my nerves are shredded.” You huff out a nervous laugh, struggling to keep your cool in all of the layers. A fine dress draped with heavy, snow white fabric. Your arms are laden with the gifts he’d sent, heavy golden bracelets and intricate armbands coiled around three times over. Your ears are heavy with dark blue stones, a necklace to match at your neck. Your fingers press at the heavy thing just at your throat and you take a deep breath. 

You haven’t seen him since the night before, the two of you falling asleep, exhausted after a day of preparations. You’d hoped to see him in the morning, to gain some comfort to take with you through the day but he had been gone. The older woman had greeted you instead, a tray heavy-laden with food as well as a host of other women sent to bathe and prepare you for your wedding day. 

When you finally see him, he looks nothing short of regal, an Emperor dripping in white and gold and ordained by the Gods themselves. His eyes are soft when they land upon you, focused, and completely enraptured. He doesn’t look away. 

Everything falls away when you finally stand before him, when his hands grasp yours. You follow along, barely cognizant of anything except him, barely aware of the witnesses, of the people who cheer and clap and when he presses his mouth to yours, soft and sweet you smile and grip him tight. 

The feast after is a dream. It is a cloud on which you both rest and focus on nothing but each other. Perhaps as a girl, late at night in your dreams you imagined a wedding, a man who would choose you above all others and give you a home and a family. Never was it like this, even in the uncharted land of hope and romance where anything could happen, this felt like too much. This beautiful, loving, devoted man surpassed any fantasy you might have had.

Your face warms under his eye, nervous despite all you’ve been through with him. He smiles wide, his dimple on display as he feeds you from his hand, your heart races when he eats from yours. This is the happiest he’s been, that brutal man who’d kept to himself has been replaced with a man that laughs, someone soft and warm, a man that holds your hand to his chest, a husband, a protector. 

He whispers his devotion throughout the feast, he pulls your chair close to his, drapes his arm around your shoulder because he cannot be close enough. 

People you recognize, and some you don’t congratulate you, extol his virtues and praise the Gods on the good fortune that has befallen the house of Acacius. They offer to make sacrifices, that your house should fill with children and although your heart sinks, you thank them. Marcus squeezes at your shoulder, a wordless reassurance and he also thanks them for their kind words. 

When at last he takes you to bed, your nerves are calm. You smile brightly when he slips your robes off with practiced hands, the jewels and gold he must have spent a fortune on are taken off and placed within their box, his smile is smaller, but it warms you like the sun. Your hands join in, divesting him of his layers until you both stand nude, bathed in candlelight. He leaves the flowers in your hair when he loves you and you fall asleep amongst a storm of petals. 

-

[deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist]

Absolutely glorious - I am still cackling like a maniac at these two! These were my favorites, both angsty and hilarious:

“If She hadn’t really wanted him, Dean could’ve offered himself in all his broken, foul glory and She would’ve walked away all by herself. Dean never would’ve needed to worry about losing Her, because he wouldn’t have had Her to begin with. But She’d said Dean Winchester, I want you, and he’d fucking believed Her. He never believed people when they said that.” Oh, damnit Dean…you poor boy

“And him believing Her meant Dean could lose Her. Could truly let Her down and get her hurt. So he’d said no. He’d lied with practiced ease—through his teeth and with a flat expression—and told Her he didn’t see her like that. That She was his best friend, and he’d just never felt that for Her.” Damnit, Dean! I want to throttle him.

“And now he could only hold Her. Only rub Her thighs when he was thinking, only touch her face when he tried to brush Her hair away, only feel Her everywhere, every second, until he drove himself mad.” Oh, damnit….Dean…such exquisite angst!

“It didn’t really count. That wasn’t Dean’s body that he was feeling. But the touch felt real, and he didn’t really want to let it go yet, not if this was the closest to holding Her he’d ever get. Just a small, torturous reparation for his sacrifice of never really having her, where he got to memorize Her body and keep it in his head forever. “C’mon,” Dean said Her name, because he wanted a little more time. A longer chance to exist in this purgatory, because he’d never get the chance to fully enter heaven.” Oh, Dean…damn…twist that knife!

“And I’m you.” She raised Her brows, still holding him, and the fiery feeling got worse. “I’m driving.” / “He should’ve fought more. But Her hand squeezed him lightly, and his whole body grew molten.” Oh, Dean <snickering>

“He wasn’t in full control. When they parked, his body didn’t want to move until She helped him out of his seat, and Dean didn’t miss the look of confusion on Her face, like she wasn’t entirely certain why She’d done that. It was the same expression she had when She guided him inside, or when She opened the door for him.” Damn, Dean. I love this SO much!!

“Don’t test me, Winchester. I swear to god I’ll eat a salad.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take you for a run.” Bwahahaha!! Oh, Dean…damnit, you are so screwed!

“Some poor chick at the bar war probably getting hit on. The lady behind the counter seemed motherly. She’d handle it if it got out of hand, and Dean had bigger problems to deal with anyway. Problems like how if he didn’t have a milkshake right now, he might actually die.” Oh…oh, no…oh, damnit, Dean is about to learn a lesson about being a woman he is NOT going to like…

“He didn’t know what was happening, or why he was having such a visceral reaction to something that should’ve been passive and boring. Dean knew She got hit on all the time, because she was a fucking knockout, and his usual reaction to it was a possessive anger he had no right to feel. Not disgust, or a weird desire to retreat and hide-“ Aaaaand there it is - he still doesn’t get why her body is reacting to Dean’s body, does he? Bless…

“Dean was starting to like this curse less. To start, he didn’t appreciate the speed at which the idea of Her being his girl had been dismissed. He also wasn’t a huge fan of how She’d called him his girl, and he’d liked it. She’d been talking about how Dean was in Her body, and she probably didn’t want a random creep trying to get in her pants. / Dean’s body—Her body—loved the sound of Her agreement in his voice. It made him feel tingly. / It didn’t help how She was touching him���holding his arms as She glared at the man over his head—and it kicked the feeling from a soft, warm hum to fireworks. Dean wanted Her hand to meld there and never let go.” Oh, damn - SO well-done!!

“She crossed Her arms—Dean’s arms—and he wanted them to wrap around him and keep him warm and safe, maybe choke him a little or carry him around everywhere like he was the only thing She was meant to hold- Jesus.” <swinging and kicking my legs, giggling manically>

“Past Dean had been an idiot. That son of a bitch hadn’t needed to pee this bad, and he hadn’t spent months with Her just in reach.” Bwahahaha!!!

“Son of a bitch. She’d been manhandling him, and he was turned on by it. Her body was turned on by it. She wanted to Dean to jump in his own body and climb it like a tree, and Jesus, that ache between his legs was unbearable, and he wanted his own cock inside off him-They needed to fix this right fucking now.” Damnit, Dean - ROFLMAO!!!

This was AWESOME!! I am still cackling - this has elevated idiots in love into greater heights, and I am all for it! This totally wins the Internet for me tonight - Well-done!!!

Where Do You End Pt. 1

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, light angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, but your bodies don't seem to be aware of that. They keep trying to do what they always do.

And what they always do isn't really something either of you what the other to know about.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! On god I made it as weird as it could get. I'm proud of me. Also, we're once again looking at multiple parts. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.5k

This was fucking weird. 

Dean knew wasn’t exactly worth saying—it might be the most obvious statement in history—but this was so fucking weird. Weird in a way that made his brain feel a little fuzzy, that made his skin itch because there was no way this was real.

But there was certainly a way this was real.

And it wasn’t Dean’s skin that was itchy. 

She had nice skin. It was soft and comfortable to be inside of, the callouses on Her hands felt better placed than the ones on Dean’s, and there were scars that he’d sometimes touch on accident that felt more like art than stains. Her hair felt right whenever he’d brush his fingers through it. Her waist was perfect to hold whenever he’d brace his hands on his hips. And when Dean would reach up to rub his jaw, he’d be slammed with another reminder that this wasn’t his jaw. It was too smooth, at a different angle, and far too good.

This was the jaw he’d dreamt of holding and angling back. Of kissing a soft line across, sucking a small, dark mark on, or nipping at until everyone could see that Dean had been here. That his hand had wrapped around Her neck because she trusted him there, and he’d been holding Her chin up so She could look him in the eyes as they grinned at each other.

She had the prettiest smile. Her lips would curve up at the perfect angle, her eyes would shine like small stars, and every little line on Her face would serve as evidence that She was happy.

Dean hadn’t seen Her smile in a while. Not at him. Not like She used to. 

And he certainly wouldn’t see it now. He couldn’t.

All he could see was himself, across the room, rolling on the balls of his feet and sucking on his teeth as he thought.

As She thought.

This was so weird.

“I don’t like this.” She muttered, and Dean frowned. His voice sounded rougher, deeper, and heavier from outside. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, or how to interpret the small shivers up his spine and over his skin. 

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, in her sweet and musical voice, and he liked how it sounded. He’d always loved how She said her own name, like it was an answer to something or the only lesson Dean would ever need to learn. “Is it really that bad to be stuck in my body-“

“Yes.” She snapped, raising Her chin and glaring down at him, and now his heart was beating faster. “This feels weird, and I don’t like seeing you be me. You’re doing it wrong.”

Dean frowned, and Her hair fell over his eyes. “How the hell am I doing it-“

“You’re sitting wrong. Your legs are too wide, I don’t lean like that, and when I frown it’d not supposed to look like I’m trying to murder someone.”

Dean disagreed with that last one. Shit, for months the only expression he’d gotten from Her was a frown that told him She wanted him dead. 

He didn’t blame Her. He wasn’t all too happy with himself either, but it had been the only option. She wanted him. She said She wanted him, and she hadn’t been lying, and that had been the worst thing in the world.

If She hadn’t really wanted him, Dean could’ve offered himself in all his broken, foul glory and She would’ve walked away all by herself. Dean never would’ve needed to worry about losing Her, because he wouldn’t have had Her to begin with. But She’d said Dean Winchester, I want you, and he’d fucking believed Her. He never believed people when they said that. 

And him believing Her meant Dean could lose Her. Could truly let Her down and get her hurt. 

So he’d said no. He’d lied with practiced ease—through his teeth and with a flat expression—and told Her he didn’t see her like that. That She was his best friend, and he’d just never felt that for Her.

She nodded, and backed off. Smiling less and frowning more and still joking with him but never bumping their feet together under a table or leaning Her head on his shoulder. 

It was what he’d wanted. She was safer, and still within Dean’s reach to just see Her, to know she was okay. But he’d never expected to touch Her again. He’d made his peace with the fact that She’d always be just a stretch away, but never his to hold.

And now he could only hold Her. Only rub Her thighs when he was thinking, only touch her face when he tried to brush Her hair away, only feel Her everywhere, every second, until he drove himself mad.

He didn’t know if he wanted to thank the witch that had done this, or kill them again.

Right now he was leaning towards the later, if only because he really didn’t like seeing Her in his body. It wasn’t just weird. It was wrong.

“You’re not exactly acting like me either, sweetheart.” Dean raised his brows, and watched his own face drop into a further glower. “You’re standing too much like a girl.”

She scoffed. “What the fuck does that even mean-“

“You’re too relaxed-“

“Relaxed?”

“Yeah.” He tried to raise his chin, but Her hair fell in his face again. He didn’t know how the hell he was suppose to do anything when he had to keep it out of his face. “And you gotta walk slower. We’re not in a rush-“

“I’m in a rush! I told you, Dean, I don’t like this-“

“I’m not a big fan either!” He snapped. “But what the hell are we suppose to do about it? Every time we’ve tried to tell Sammy he hasn’t heard us-“

She rolled Her eyes. And they were Dean’s eyes, but that was Her eye roll. “That’s the curse, dumbass. We have to break it-“

“I got that, sweetheart, but I’m not seeing how you plan to do that without help-“

“I have you, Dean.” Her voice—his voice—was louder. Firmer. Commanding. It made his gut warm, and his body—Her body—sit a little taller of his own accord. “You’re on research duty, buddy. Let’s go.”

Dean scowled. He hated it when She called him buddy. He wasn’t Her buddy, he was supposed to be Her-

Nothing. Dean was Her nothing, because he’d been so very careful to make and keep it that way.

And that knowledge never stopped him from wanting Her. Wanting Her so bad that, when he’d glance down at her hands, now in his control, he couldn’t stop wondering if he’d ever get to feel them like this again. Rubbing against skin and tracing over the curve of his lips and trailing nails on his legs.

It didn’t really count. That wasn’t Dean’s body that he was feeling. But the touch felt real, and he didn’t really want to let it go yet, not if this was the closest to holding Her he’d ever get. Just a small, torturous reparation for his sacrifice of never really having her, where he got to memorize Her body and keep it in his head forever.

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, because he wanted a little more time. A longer chance to exist in this purgatory, because he’d never get the chance to fully enter heaven. “You don’t need my help-“

“Yes, I do.” She snapped, grabbing Her jacket from the bed and marching to the door. “Get up. We’re going.”

Dean didn’t want to get up, but Her body didn’t seem to agree with him. He pushed off the bed and gained an unsteady balance, because Her knees were oddly weak. She wasn’t weak—She hunted like an animal and had used this very body to knock Dean flat on his ass—but something was making him lightheaded and dizzy. 

He was probably just hungry. They hadn’t eaten since the curse hit. 

“If we’re doing this,” he grumbled, shuffling to put on Her shoes. “We’re doing it with food.”

“Deal.” She tried to shrug on Her jacket, froze when it didn’t fit around Dean’s body, and chucked it right at his face. “Wear that. I don’t want you getting me a cold.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but put on the jacket. She was already pissed, and this wasn’t worth fighting about.

“This is so weird,” She mumbled, shaking Dean’s head. “C’mon, Winchester, we’re fixing this-“

“Wait,” Dean frowned, patting his pockets—Her pockets—and scanning around the motel room. “Where are my keys-“

“You mean these keys?”

He turned to see Her holding up the Impala’s keys, a shit-eating grin on Her face. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, holding out his hand. “Gimme my keys.”

“No.” She shrugged, Her grin growing. “I think I’m good.”

“I’m not asking, sweetheart-“

“Okay. You take them, they’re yours.”

She walked out of the motel room, and Dean’s eyes widened. There was no fucking way She was driving his car.

“They are mine!” He shouted, sprinting after Her. “Just cause you’re in my damn body-“

Her body was faster than Dean was used to. He almost slammed right into Her back—His back—and an undignified sound left his when Her arms wrapped around his waist, catching him from a fall and holding him right to Her chest.

He’d never realized he was that broad. Or that strong. She was holding Dean like he was paper, and looking at him with shining eyes—he could see the real Her almost glowing in his body—and grinning with Her whole face. Dean’s whole face, with crinkles near his eyes he hadn’t known he had, and stubble on his jaw he’d meant to shave today.

Her hands were rubbing his waist. It was the small, careful circles he always dreamt of leaving on Her hips and arms. 

He wasn’t sure She knew she was doing it.

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat, because She needed to let go now. Her touch was burning on his body, and they hadn’t really touched since the curse hit, so maybe they weren’t allowed to. “Keys.”

She shook Her head. “This is my one chance to drive, Dean-“

“It’s my freakin’ car-“

“And I’m you.” She raised Her brows, still holding him, and the fiery feeling got worse. “I’m driving.”

He should’ve fought more. But Her hand squeezed him lightly, and his whole body grew molten. 

She needed to let go of him now. 

He tried to grunt Her name, but it just came out breathy and soft. “You crash it-“

“I pay for the repairs.”

Dean scowled, but gave in. Right now She was stronger and taller than he was, and Dean didn’t really want to lose any dignity trying to physically take the keys. 

And She didn’t crash it. Dean watched Her drive with careful attention—grumbling about what She was doing wrong until She shot him the deadliest glare he’d ever seen—and She never even came close to crashing. Her hands were big and firm and broad on Baby’s wheel, and Her arms would flex when she shifted the wheel, and there was a set look of determination on Her face that made her jaw look shaper-

That was not Her jaw. That was his jaw. And his arms, and his hands, and he wasn’t sure why the hell his eyes had been wandering over himself like that. He didn’t know why the hell he could feel his heartbeat in his throat and stomach. 

He wasn’t in full control. When they parked, his body didn’t want to move until She helped him out of his seat, and Dean didn’t miss the look of confusion on Her face, like she wasn’t entirely certain why She’d done that. It was the same expression she had when She guided him inside, or when She opened the door for him.

Those were things Dean always did for Her. He wasn’t used to a hand on his back, or how nice it felt there. Secure, like a tether that told him he’d be alright. He didn’t understand why his body leaned closer to Her’s as they walked, or why his stomach kept doing little flips when Her eyes would fall from scanning over the diner and land on his.

He felt so unbelievably safe and calm. Hell, he’d never felt like this. Like the sky could fall and it would be fine, because the body across from his in the booth would catch it. 

This was a really weird curse.

“You’re going to take notes,” She said, pushing a stack of books across the table that She must have pulled out of her ass. “I’ll look for something online.”

Dean frowned, shaking his head. The fucking hair was in his face again. “Why do I have to do the notes-“

“Because I have better handwriting, and you have my hands.” She handed him a notebook and pencil, and their fingers brushed, sending small sparks of electricity through Dean’s blood. “Tell me if you find something.”

“Nah, sweetheart. I think I’ll have some pie and do the online research-”

Dean had started to push everything back across the table, but he froze at the glare on Her face. It was downright domineering, and did weird things to his brain. He felt fuzzy. 

“You’re doing notes.” She grunted, and Dean definitely felt at least a little dizzy. “That’s it.”

His voice was high and almost bratty in his own ears. He didn’t like it. “But-“

“Don’t test me, Winchester. I swear to god I’ll eat a salad.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take you for a run.”

Dean tensed. “You wouldn’t fuckin’ dare-“

“You wanna bet?”

She’d won the argument again. Those were the arguments Dean was supposed to win. He was supposed to be able to talk his way out of anything with Her. To smirk and wink and tease Her until she broke rank from Sam’s side, and Dean didn’t have to do the stupid parts of the cases anymore. He hadn’t taken notes in years. He hated taking notes, and he wanted to keep pushing until order was restored and She was doing the notes—she usually loved doing the notes—but Her body had other ideas.

His mouth couldn’t figure out how to open and snap at Her. His body was molded and frozen into the seat whenever She’d look at him, and something kept humming in his chest whenever She’d talk. He was taking notes because he couldn’t remember how not to—how to grab the laptop or point at Her with a stern finger—and Dean’s was writing fast and neat, and his hand wasn’t cramping.

His foot kept aching to inch forward and press on Her calf. His fingers kept wanting to reach out and trace Her jaw. Dean wanted to sit on Her lap—he could never say that one aloud—because his body seemed to think it would be comfortable. 

This curse was insane. He didn’t need to try and act like Her anymore, because his body—Her body—still seemed to remember how She was supposed to move. He found his hands spinning the pen between Her fingers like he’d seen her do a million times. His legs were crossed on the booth instead of spread under the table. He ordered a burger, but he couldn’t eat it. It was too greasy and heavy, and he already felt a little sick from just one bite. 

She’d ordered chicken nuggets, and put Her usual disgusting amount of ketchup on the plate, but barely touched them.

They smelled really good. Dean was starving, his mouth watering as he couldn’t stop staring at them—or Her, in his body, but he didn’t really want to dwell on that—and when She glanced up at him, Her eyes flicked to the burger in front of him.

They traded plates without a word. And Dean had never seen himself eat before, but he finally understood why Sam was always so annoyed with him. She inhaled that thing, chewing loudly and wiping Her mouth with the back of her hand, licking her fingers clean and making disgusting smacking sounds-

The sounds should’ve been disgusting. Instead they settled in Dean’s gut, lighting a small fire he didn’t know how to stop feeding. He couldn’t figure out how to not stare at Her, arms braced on the table and brow furrowed as she read something on the laptop screen. 

He had to excuse himself to go get more drinks. 

“One beer.” He muttered, then immediately cringed. Beer sounded foul to his mouth. “Actually, make it a milkshake.”

“Hey, darlin’.” 

Some poor chick at the bar war probably getting hit on. The lady behind the counter seemed motherly. She’d handle it if it got out of hand, and Dean had bigger problems to deal with anyway. Problems like how if he didn’t have a milkshake right now, he might actually die.

“What flavor, sweetheart?” The server asked, and Dean frowned. Being called sweetheart was weird.

He responded with Her usual order—hopefully that would satisfy his unwelcome craving—and someone off the side cleared the throat.

“You gonna answer me?”

A hand landed on Dean’s arm, and he flinched. It felt clammy and wrong on his body. Like a weight that settled into his bones and sent a creeping, itchy feeling over his skin.

He turned to see a fairly tall, well-built man grinning at him with an almost predatory smile. It made his body go rigid, almost shrinking in on itself.

“Are you, uh,” he frowned. “You talking to me?”

The man laughed. It was too loud, with not warmth, and echoed like a gunshot in his skull. “Course I am, sweetheart. I don’t see any other pretty girls ‘round.”

Oh.

Dean was the poor chick being hit on. 

And he hated it. His body hated it. Not only was this man’s touch wrong, his voice was wrong. It slithered over Dean’s gut and chest, making everything in him recoiled and balk, because that was not how he was supposed to be called sweetheart. 

“I, um,” he glanced back to the booth, frowning when he realized She was gone. “Listen, dude, I’m not-“

“Dude?” The man laughed. “We can do better than that, baby-“

Dean might have visibly recoiled. He hated baby, only one voice felt like it was supposed to call him baby, even if it never had-

He didn’t know what was happening, or why he was having such a visceral reaction to something that should’ve been passive and boring. Dean knew She got hit on all the time, because she was a fucking knockout, and his usual reaction to it was a possessive anger he had no right to feel. Not disgust, or a weird desire to retreat and hide-

“What’s going on?”

That was Dean’s own voice. And there was a large presence behind him that felt reliable. That his body wanted to lean back into.

When Dean turned, She was right there with narrowed eyes. 

He didn’t love how he immediately felt better, and softer, and a little light-headed.

“Hey, man, you gotta wait your turn-“

“My turn?” She snorted. “Walk away from hi- her, buddy, or I’ll kick your ass. I can do that now.”

She puffed Her chest, and—as soon as his brain remembered how to not be static warmth—Dean would have to talk to Her about not abusing his body for unapproved bar fights.

The man scoffed. “Bro, there ain’t no way this is your girl-“

“She is.” Her voice was dry, her face flat. “In more ways than you can imagine. Go.”

Dean was starting to like this curse less. To start, he didn’t appreciate the speed at which the idea of Her being his girl had been dismissed. He also wasn’t a huge fan of how She’d called him his girl, and he’d liked it. She’d been talking about how Dean was in Her body, and she probably didn’t want a random creep trying to get in her pants. 

Dean’s body—Her body—loved the sound of Her agreement in his voice. It made him feel tingly. 

It didn’t help how She was touching him—holding his arms as She glared at the man over his head—and it kicked the feeling from a soft, warm hum to fireworks. Dean wanted Her hand to meld there and never let go. When the man walked away and She started talking, he never wanted Her to shut up.

“You-“ She swallowed, shaking Her head slightly. “Never mind. I found it.”

Dean blinked at Her. “It?”

“How to tell Sam.

“Oh.” He paused, mostly staring at her as the words sank in, and letting out a long breath of relief escape him when they did. “Awesome.”

She raised Her brows. “You’re pro switching back now?”

“I’ve always been pro switching back-“

“You said it wasn’t that urgent.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I changed my mind, sweetheart. What’d you find.”

She gave him an odd look—Dean couldn’t tell if it was hurt, annoyance, or absolute indifference—but continued. “We have to work around the curse.”

“What the hell does-“

“We can’t tell Sam that I’m you and you’re me. Every time we have the call gets dropped, or something loud has drowned us out, Sam’s literally fucking hangs up-“

“I know,” Dean drawled Her name, giving Her a flat look. “I was there for all of that-“

“Shut up. My point is every time we’ve tried to explicitly tell him, he hasn’t heard us. So what if we just don’t?”

Dean frowned at Her. “Your solution is to just freakin’… give up? Like we’re a kiddie soccer team that lost one to many matches, and we’re gonna quit and cry about it?”

“No, Dean. My goal is to not say it, but let Sam figure it out himself.”

“How-“

“Think of something only you and Sam know about. Something you’d never disclose to anyone else.” A wide, broad grin was stretching over Her face. Dean’s face.

He couldn’t keep living like this.

“We’ve got a few of those kinds of secrets, but I’m not-“

“You don’t have to tell me. You have to tell Sam, in my voice. Just like I’m going to say one of our secrets in your voice.”

It was a smart plan, and it would probably work. Sam knew She and Dean were being so annoying and weird about each other, so they wouldn’t be spilling deep, dark secrets anytime soon. Sam would hear them, and he was smart, so he’d figure them out. 

But Dean was mostly stuck on the last part of that sentence.

“You and Sammy have secrets?”

She rolled Her eyes. “We’re friends. Of course we have secrets.”

“About what?”

“It’s not a secret if I tell you.”

She crossed Her arms—Dean’s arms—and he wanted them to wrap around him and keep him warm and safe, maybe choke him a little or carry him around everywhere like he was the only thing She was meant to hold-

Jesus. 

“Whatever.” Dean muttered. He needed to get away from Her now. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She frowned. “Can you hold it?”

“Yeah, but why the hell would I-“

“I don’t want you peeing in my body.”

Dean snorted. “Are you freakin’ serious-“

“Yes! You’ll have to wipe-“

“I know how to wipe, sweetheart. And you’re gonna need to take me to piss eventually-“

Dean could swear She blushed. He blushed. Goddamnit. 

“I’d hold it.” She snapped, standing a little taller. “You can go back at the motel, where I can go with you.”

“Why would you need to go with me-“

“I don’t want you touching me there, Dean!” Her voice was a low, hushed shout. “It’s- You don’t get to- I’d need to wipe, and make sure you didn’t look!”

“It’s just a pussy,” he said Her name slowly, and She looked like she was going to kill him.

His horrible body—Her body—wanted to either give in or push harder, until She snapped him in half. 

It seemed to like the idea of Her giving him anything at all.

Dean could work with that.

“Dean, I’m fucking serious-“

“So am I! It’s just a body, ” He sneered, and really wished She was taller. It was hard to be firm and authoritative when She was bigger. 

When this was over, he’d probably respect Her a little more. She shouted and him and Sammy all the time without ever flinching.

“Look, I get that this is weird as hell, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before-”

 “You haven’t seen it before. It’s my vagina, Dean, and you don’t get to see it now. Hold your piss.”

Suddenly, it clicked. She cared that Dean would be touching Her. If it was Sam, She wouldn’t give a shit.

But Dean had lost the right to touch Her there when he’d decided he could never hold Her.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. Past Dean had understood that She deserved better, and She shouldn’t have to live Her whole life with a target on Her back. Past Dean had known that She’d find better, and he’d be forgotten in a few years, and it was better for his to have another good thing slip through his fingers rather than hold it and break it. Past Dean just wanted Her to be happy and safe, and She’d never be both as long as She was attached to him.

Past Dean had been an idiot. That son of a bitch hadn’t needed to pee this bad, and he hadn’t spent months with Her just in reach. 

Dean opened his mouth to say something—not an apology, because he’d make that choice in every life to keep Her safe—but before he could, She was moving. Grabbing the hook of Dean’s arm and pulling him out of the diner.

“That’s my body, Dean.” She snapped. “You’re peeing at the motel.”

Dean grumbled an agreement, and didn’t fight all that hard. He had bigger worries. She was pulling him through the parking lot, and he was letting Her. Shit, he was trying to jog a little to keep up with Her, maybe fall into her side. Just fall into Her. She opened the Impala door and he scowled, but let Her help him inside. Her hand touched his lower back again, and it set off fireworks around his ribs and through his intestines.

He felt weirdly warm and gooey, his skin was tingling again, and when he shifted slightly in his seat he could feet something wet between his legs-

Son of a bitch.

She’d been manhandling him, and he was turned on by it. Her body was turned on by it. She wanted to Dean to jump in his own body and climb it like a tree, and Jesus, that ache between his legs was unbearable, and he wanted his own cock inside off him-

They needed to fix this right fucking now. 

End Note: Brace for incoming smut and silliness and angst. Brewing a perfect storm over here.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@and-i-wish @jsudsgf

[gingerteafairy]

𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 (𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

♪ highschool sweethearts - melanie martinez ♪

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ warren lipka had a thing for danger.

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, yandere!reader, song!fic, coquette!reader, porn with plot, language, defloration, rough sex, jealousy, insecurity, toxic relationship, unprotected piv, edging. word count: 5.3k. masterlist

Warren couldn't take his eyes off you while you were on his lap. Blinking felt like too big a risk while you were so effortlessly enchanting. The truth was, he was always a little on edge around you—a nervous energy that could easily be mistaken for butterflies. The thing was, Warren had never met anyone quite as reckless as he was, let alone a woman. Misogyny teetering on the edge, maybe.

He first saw you at the store, wrapped in the disguise of a sweet little dress, your doll-like eyes shimmering like glitter under the fluorescent lights. You were trying to steal a candy bar, but you weren’t very good at being bad. At least, that’s what he thought when he made the terrible decision to help you.

"Hey, you're being too obvious,” he whispered, stepping closer to you to avoid suspicion—something he was already used to doing. “you want some candy?"

"What kind of candy?" you asked, a playful smile curling on your lips, your gaze sweeping over his broad frame like you were sizing him up.

That should have been the first sign to turn around. But Warren Lipka was a man infatuated with danger and the delusion that he could break every rule in the world. Maybe it was the thrill of corrupting someone, being a bad influence—not just on Spencer, but on anyone who crossed his path.

"Whatever you want, doll," he flirted back, amused by how easy this was.

Without hesitation, he stuffed an assortment of candy into his jacket—he had no idea what you liked, so he opted for variety. The element of surprise was key to Lipka’s charm. Judging by the wide grin on your face, it worked.

Outside the store, Warren's gaze drifted downward, shamelessly tracing the way your legs were hugged by thigh-high white socks, ankles tilting in red Mary Janes as you turned to face him.

"Thanks for saving me in there," you said, your smile just as dazzling as the glitter around your eyes. "I was broke."

"Anytime," he replied, raising an eyebrow at you. Up close, you really did look like a porcelain doll. It was... intriguing. "But I gotta say, it’s a little weird seeing a rich daddy’s girl shoplifting."

"Daddy’s girl?" you echoed, laughing as you glanced down at your own outfit. "Oh… this? It’s just how I dress. Costs more than my paycheck, though."

"I bet it does," he chuckled, stealing a glance at the dark, empty street around you. The fact that you were wandering around this late, dressed like that, struck him as even stranger. A flicker of something protective, almost territorial, settled in his chest. "Hey, uh… look… you seem like a cool girl, so before I try anything—tell me. You underage? ‘Cause if you are, I’m so screwed."

"You’d be screwed either way," you teased, another red flag he should have noticed—but didn’t, because your sweetness had already numbed his senses. "But no. I’m grown. You?"

"I mean… this face kinda gives it away, doesn’t it?" he joked, grinning when he heard you laugh—the kind of laugh that hit him right in the ribs.

"So… we’re both adults. If it’s not too weird, wanna go for a drive?"

"A drive?"

"Yeah, in my car," he said, tilting his head toward the only vehicle sitting in the desolate parking lot. "It’s a mess, smells like cigarettes, but I swear I’m a decent guy. Promise."

"Promise?" you repeated, eyebrow arching as your eyes flickered between him and the car.

"Scout’s honor."

"Well… if you say so," you murmured, a teasing glint in your eye.

"Great." He smirked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets to fish for the keys. "Fuck—man, that was rude of me." He shook his head. "Sorry for cussing in front of you, by the way. I’m Warren. Lipka."

"Don’t worry, I’m worse than I look," you shrugged, introducing yourself as you strolled toward his car, your presence somehow making the cold air feel heavier.

Warren got in, rubbing his hands together for warmth before starting the engine. He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, raking a hand through his messy curls before pulling the stolen candy from his coat and handing it to you.

"Weirdly enough, you picked all my favorites," you mused, unwrapping one and popping it into your mouth.

As the heater finally kicked in, he shifted gears and steered the car away from the lot. "Fate, princess," he smirked, stealing a piece of candy from your hand.

"Hey! You gave these to me," you protested, laughing.

"Shipping fee, princess. Gotta keep up with the economy," he said with a smug grin, tearing open the wrapper and popping a piece of gum into his mouth. He tossed the wrapper into the backseat, hands gripping the wheel lazily. "Not sure how you can still afford to dress like that, though. What, is it for cosplay or something? ‘Cause, uh… I think that’s kinda hot."

"Oh, yeah?" you mused, resting your elbow on the window, eyes glinting as they studied him. "How hot?"

"Hot enough to make me wanna steal from your body. What do you say?" he flirted, sparing a glance away from the near-empty road.

"Interesting."

As much as Warren was enjoying this, there was a nagging pull in his chest, something that felt eerily like a trap. Maybe it was love. But love, to him, felt a lot like being backed into a dead-end street.

"I think I’m falling for you," he confessed like it was a joke. And maybe it was. Deep down, it felt like a joke.

But not to you. Your expression turned serious in an instant. "Pull over," you ordered, taking a deep breath.

"What?"

"The car. Stop it. Now." Your voice was firmer this time, your fingers pressing against your temples.

Warren swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as sand. Without another word, he veered onto the shoulder of the nearly deserted road, killing the engine. He ran a hand through his hair, restless. His mouth felt parched, like he'd downed a shot of something too strong, burning all the way down.

"What?" he asked cautiously, glancing at you. His grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles turning white. "Shit, did I say something dumb? I—fuck, sorry, I just… I say dumb shit sometimes."

You looked like you wanted to get out of the car. That’s what he thought, watching your fingers twitch toward the door handle. But then, you hesitated. Instead, you pressed your hands against your face for a few brief seconds before letting them drop to your lap, turning to face him.

"Are you willing to go far with me?" you asked, your brow creased in frustration. "Because if you’re not… you’re wasting my time."

There was something raw in the way you said it, and Warren felt a strange kind of kinship in that moment—like maybe you were just as terrified of this as he was. His thoughts raced. He exhaled sharply, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. This felt... perfect.

"Okay," he muttered, lifting his head to look at you. "You already know I’m not a good guy. Not the type you take home to your mom. Jesus, definitely not."

He rubbed his fingers through his greasy curls, blinking like he was trying to wake himself up. Then, before he could stop himself, he blurted out the dumbest thing he could’ve said: "But I’m in. Shit, I don’t know… maybe this isn’t a coincidence."

You didn’t respond right away. Your gaze drifted downward—to the floor of his car, littered with plastic wrappers, cigarette butts, and dust. The silence made Warren’s stomach clench. Were you judging him? He wouldn’t blame you. But dammit… he was willing. He was so willing to dive headfirst into whatever the hell this was. To prove that maybe—just maybe—he’d been wrong about love.

"First," you finally broke the silence, dragging his anxious eyes back to you. "You should know I’m not exactly sane."

"Neither am I," he cut in quickly, voice low, heart hammering so hard it was almost audible.

"Second," you leaned in slightly, like what you were about to say was meant to be a secret. "If you cheat me, I'll kill you.”

Red flags flashed in his head. Run. Run as far as you can. Leave this girl behind. But how could he? You were so goddamn beautiful, and you'd gotten into his head in under an hour.

"I’ve always liked danger," he murmured, and somehow, it felt like the most romantic thing he had ever said.And judging by the way your lips curled into that sugary-sweet smile, it worked.

The mood settled after that, the tension melting into something softer. Warren decided—despite the madness of it all—that he should at least take you home. After all, if he was gonna be your boyfriend, he figured he should at least be a gentleman to his princess. You were too damn cute to be just another one-night mistake.

Watching you disappear behind your front door with a little wave, Warren exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he pulled away. His fingers drummed against the wheel, his lips twitching into a dazed grin. Holy shit.

His heart was still doing that weird thing—like it was too big for his chest, like it had just run a damn marathon. The moment you were out of sight, he floored it. He needed to tell someone. Now.

Spencer.

By the time he pulled up to his friend’s house, it was stupidly late. But Warren had never really given a shit about social etiquette, and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna start now. When Spencer finally cracked the door open, eyes barely half-open, his face scrunched up like a pissed-off cat.

"Dude, it’s almost three in the morning," Spencer grumbled, rubbing his face.

"I met the mother of my kids," Warren announced, slapping both hands over his mouth like he had just let out classified government intel.

Spencer stared at him. Expression blank. Tired. Then, without a word, he shut the door in Warren’s face.

Warren shoved it open before it could lock, pushing his way inside like an overexcited dog. Spencer groaned but didn’t fight it—he just sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and begrudgingly locked the door.

By the time they got to his room, Spencer was already collapsing onto his bed, yanking the blanket over his head. Warren, meanwhile, was buzzing. He couldn’t sit still. His feet kept pacing, his hands flailing as he talked to himself under his breath, laughing every few seconds like some lovesick idiot.

Spencer cracked an eye open and groaned. "Alright. Talk. Get it out of your system so I can go back to sleep."

Warren beamed like he was about to tell him he won the lottery. "Met her at the store. She was tryin’ to steal candy."

Spencer blinked. Then, deadpan, "Wow. Congrats, Warren. You found someone just as fucking dumb as you." He yawned, rolling over.

"She’s not just like me," Warren scoffed, plopping onto the bed beside him, hands in his hair, like he was still processing what the hell had just happened. "She’s… crazy. In a good way. But I dunno, man… she’s just—fuck—she’s unreal."

"Loyal and nuts. Amazing. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Warren wasn’t even listening. "She’s got this whole doll thing goin’ on, like those girls you see in aesthetic blogs. Big glittery eyes, knee-high socks, tiny skirts—whole vibe, man."

Spencer peeked out from under the blanket, unimpressed. "So, she dresses like a Bratz doll and you're horny. Noted."

Warren ignored him. "She told me if I ever cheated, she’d fucking kill me, you know."

Spencer froze. Slowly, he turned his head, squinting at Warren like he was waiting for the punchline. "Dude…" His voice dropped, serious now. "That’s not good. She sounds actually insane. You could get into some serious shit."

Warren just grinned. "The crazy ones are the best, man," he said, standing up and stretching like he hadn’t just dropped a major red flag into the conversation. "I’m gonna marry her. Mark my words, Spencer."

Spencer groaned, rubbing his face. "Jesus Christ, Warren. You can’t just go around deciding you’re gonna marry a girl after—what—one date?"

"Three months and we’re naming kids," Warren corrected. “I think I'll name our daughter with her name, what you think?”

"That’s not better."

"Listen, man," Warren sighed, turning back to him, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. "She’s not like other girls. She’s not like anyone. I can fix her, man. I'm telling you, be positive about it.”

The way he said it made Spencer’s stomach turn. A thick silence settled between them. Warren’s hands were shaking—just slightly, but Spencer caught it. That wasn’t normal. Warren was always antsy, always reckless, but this?This was something else.

Spencer exhaled slowly, bouncing his knee. "Alright." He didn’t like this, but he also knew Warren. If he told him to back off, he’d just double down.

So, he settled for, "As long as you’re happy, man."

Warren’s face lit up. "That’s what I’m talkin’ about!" He yanked Spencer into a hug, practically squeezing the life out of him. "You’ll meet her soon. She’s gonna love you."

"Yeah, can’t wait," Spencer muttered, already over it. He flopped back onto his bed, curling under the blanket. Warren grinned and shoved in next to him.

Over the next few weeks, things with you and Warren were… weirdly perfect. He was all in. Skipping classes. Ignoring his friends. Finding any excuse to be around you.

You seemed to know everything about him, his tastes, his likes. You were perfect, but you never let him come to your place. Never went to his alone. Always had rules. Boundaries. And at first, it was fine. But three months in, Warren needed more.You were everywhere in his head. Every fucking second. And every time you fought, it felt like his whole damn world was ending. So, after a particularly nasty argument with Spencer, Warren decided— Enough was enough. He was gonna find out what the hell you were hiding.

But Warren couldn’t just walk up to you and start demanding answers about why you were so damn secretive about your privacy. He needed advice. A second opinion. So, he made what would turn out to be his worst mistake. He went to meet up with an old friend—a girl—at a coffee shop.

And you? You were standing right across the street. Watching.

Watching the way he leaned in, nodding, hanging onto every word she said. Watching the way he smiled at her like she was solving all his problems.

"You gotta understand," the girl said, her voice soft with patience. "Maybe she's just a little shy, that's all."

Warren nodded, his brows knitting together as he tried to process it. "Could be, yeah… but she talks to me about everything. It’s just this one thing about her house. I—I love her, y'know?" His voice dropped, like the weight of those words actually scared him. His friend reached out, touching his hand. Just a small, reassuring gesture. And Warren smiled.

That was the last straw.

You didn’t even think. Didn’t care what they were talking about. Didn’t care about what kind of harmless little pep talk she was giving him. You just walked straight through the café doors, right up to him.

“Princess? What—” Warren’s lips curled into a smile, but before he could finish, you grabbed his wrist—the same one she’d touched—and yanked him out of his seat.

“Sorry!” he called over his shoulder.

“It’s fine! Good luck!” she shouted back, but Warren barely heard her. You were already dragging him toward his car.

“Unlock it.” Your voice was clipped, sharp. He let out a sigh, clicking the key fob open. You both climbed in. “My place.”

“What? Wait, really?” He blinked, caught completely off guard. But he didn’t question it again. Just put the car in drive and headed straight there.

The ride was silent. Thick. Like neither of you could breathe properly. When he pulled up, you got out fast, slamming the door behind you. He followed as you unlocked the front door and stepped inside, giving him just enough space to enter before shutting it behind you.

Warren barely had time to look around before your hands went to your hips, eyes burning into him. “Who is she?”

He sighed, already knowing where this was going. “She’s just a friend.”

“Didn’t look like just a friend.” Your voice was tight, words dripping with something sharp.

“What? Jesus, she’s just my friend! I was asking her for advice—about you!” His frustration spiked, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to get ahead of the spiraling misunderstanding.

“Oh, and why not ask me?” you snapped, throwing your hands up. Then, suddenly, you let out a short, bitter laugh. A humorless thing. Cold.

“Wait—I get it now. You’d rather go talk to a whore since you can’t handle being with me.”

Warren froze.

“What?” His face twisted, voice raising. “Are you insane?!”

He took a step toward you, but you shoved him back. Hard. He stumbled onto the couch, wide-eyed. You straddled on his lap, thighs covered on the knee socks he loved on each side, eyes threading to go down and watch your panties.

“Don’t you dare call me crazy,” you growled.

“Okay. Okay.” He exhaled, hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—look, you’re right. I should’ve asked you. That was dumb.”

“Dumb as hell,” you muttered, fisting his shirt in your hands.

And that’s when he saw it. That flicker of something deep in your eyes—something that made his stomach drop.

Beneath the anger, beneath the jealousy, there was hurt. Real, aching hurt. The faint shimmer of tears forming, threatening to spill and smudge the perfect eyeliner framing your eyes.

“Is it sex, Warren? That's what you're craving? Can't fucking keep your dick in your pants?” You hissed, your voice broken. “I'm a virgin. That's it. That's the fucking reason we never had sex. I'm fucking insecure and i can't stand seeing you with another girl, smiling that way, so confident and perfect. It 's all for me. It's supposed to be for me. You're mine.”

"You’re a what?" Warren blinked, like he wasn’t sure if he heard you right.

"I’m a virgin," you repeated, slower this time. For a second, he just stared. Then, he laughed.

"And I’m a good person." He shot back, grinning. Classic Warren—deflecting, making a joke out of everything. But when he saw your face—dead serious, no hint of sarcasm—the smile faltered.

"Wait, hold up—you’re serious? You… you’ve never—?"

"I don’t waste my time, Warren." Your voice was calm. Matter-of-fact.

Your shoulders relaxed, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His chest rose and fell a little faster than before.Warren couldn't take his eyes off you while you were on his lap. Blinking felt like too big a risk while you were so effortlessly enchanting.

"Nobody’s ever made it far enough," you admitted, voice quiet, but steady.

Warren’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what the hell to do with them.

"Then—why are you telling me?" His voice was different now—lower, a little rough around the edges. Like he was bracing himself for whatever you were about to say next.

"You said it yourself, Warren." You pressed your palms against his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch."You were willing. You proved it and I'm ready for you, I've always been."

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. This was too much. Too fucking much.

You—this girl, this crazy, perfect, impossible girl—you were real. And you were straddled, open for him, offering yourself like a secret he wasn’t supposed to know.

Warren exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for half a second. His hands itched to grab you, pull you in, prove he wasn’t dreaming.

Then, he crashed his lips against yours in a deep, breath-stealing kiss—one that felt less like affection and more like a deal being made, a contract being sealed.

His hands found your waist, fingers pressing in like he needed to memorize the shape of you. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the raw, reckless certainty that he had to have you.

And in that moment, with your lips tangled and his breath mixing with yours, Warren knew—there was no going back.

The contact became more desperate, your nails ran on the back of his neck, pulling his curls. He shivered, humming against your soft lips, hands roaming all over you, the places you never allowed anyone but him. He felt so proud, worthy, a sense of value consuming his body when he felt your breathy moans vibrating on his mouth.

This was too good. You were too good. And Warren had never been the type to say no to something this good.

“Fuck, I need you so fucking much,” he murmured, hands tugging under your shirt, breaking the kiss to pass over your head and throw carelessly on the floor.

Coming back to your lips, his fingers hid under your skirt, on your ass, palming the flesh, with a softness he had never seen before, pulling it closer to fit on his pelvis.

You unclipped your bra, letting it fall on the floor next to your shoes, your fingers worked on unbuttoning his flannels while he moved you back and forth on his erection. He left your waist to pass the fabric from his arms, shoving to the ground. His hands came back to your waist, pulling you to his chest to feel your breast skin to skin, while he grasped your thighs, marking with his fingers violently.

“Warren,” you breathed, his name escaping from your lips felt like heaven. He needed more. “My room.”

It took him a second to process what you just said, his brain clouded with heat and adrenaline. For a moment, he just stood there, feeling a little stupid for being so damn desperate.

In a blink, his hand drove to your ass cheeks, grabbing it to support your body as he walked towards your room on his lap, laying you on your bed.

“Fuck,” he panted, running his hands through his hair, as it was a good way to keep the senses.

“Thank you,” You smirked, even if your face showed confidence at its peak, you felt shy, pampered by his unsaid praise. You snaked to the bed to make yourself comfortable. “C’mere.”

Warren bit his lip, nervous, as it was his first time and you were the girl showing everything about this world. No, he was the one supposed to deflower you if it wasn't weird to say.

“God…” he panted, blood boiling as he peeled off his jeans and crawled on the bed, drinking the sight of you on those damn white knee-socks, you taking off the matching cotton panties, transparent with your arousal, shoving it away.

He supported his body on his veiny hands placed on each side of your head. His muscular frame sent chills on you, being moisturized wasn't a difficult task with Warren Lipka being illegally hot in that disheveled state. Shit, he didn't even start anything.

“Warren,” you began, pushing his face closer to yours to whisper. “I want you to fuck me, hard. I don't even care about anything but this. I need you, raw. Now.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, looking at your determined eyes. “How can you be so fucking cute and say things like that? You're… shit.”

He gave up on saying anything else, devouring your lips, hands on the small of your back to pull you, his hand exploring the path to your soaked pussy, massaging your sticky folds with his fingers.

“Holy shit, you're so fucking wet,” he groaned, palming to feel it, just to get his one finger inside, facing a surprisingly small resistance to the touch.

You mewled, body shivering with his rough finger setting a pace on your cunt, curling on your sweet spot. Your hands gripping on his biceps, curling your toes. If was so fucking better than you did on yourself.

“You wanted it so much, didn't you?” He muttered, finger fucking you, chuckling at wet sounds coming out of your pussy. “Bet you fingered yourself thinking about it, didn't you?”

“Yes, yes, i did,” you confessed, groaning louder when he inserted another one, this time, the resistance increased, yet, forcing him to slow down the rhythm.

“You're so tight, suga,” he grunted, licking his lips to ghost on yours. “You saying you saved it all f’me? For your boyfriend to ruin? You're so cute doing this for me. I'm really happy, you know?”

“Yes, I did it for you, Warren,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as his fingers continued to abuse your spongy spot, the knot forming on your stomach. He took off his fingers, licking them. “No, why did you do this? Warren, I was so close.”

“Yeah, I know,” he smirked, hovering your thigh on his waist. “But I'll tell you something, doll. I'm still angry about the coffee shop, you know? You just showed up like a brat, then straddled on my lap like a fucking needy whore. Let's just say I'm punishing you.”

“No, please. I'm sorry,” you begged, nails digging on his strong shoulders, teary eyes, devastated.

“You don't seem so dominant now, right?” He laughed, leaning to kiss you roughly, nipping your lips, pushing back to gaze at your messy face. “If you want it so much, beg for it.”

“Please, Warren.” You pleaded, kissing his face to convince him, submissive.

He loved the sensation, he wrapped his cock in his hand, inserting his length slowly. He felt he could cry at this moment because, shit. He never felt so good in his entire life.

“You're so fucking demanding,” he muttered, hand dancing all over your thigh to slap your ass, sound echoing to your room. “Think I could forget everything with your pretty pussy?”

“No, Warren. No, i swear.” You cried out, arching your back with his hips swaying back, his cock coming out, only the tip resting on your tight entrance.

“You swear?” He repeated, pushing inside. Your velvety walls being heavenly tortured by his cock coming back inch by inch. “Hnnng, your pussy it's so good. I can see why you never shared with anyone.”

Noticing you were getting used to his stretch, he set a pace, resting his face on the crock of your neck, nipping your skin. Your nails scratched his back, trying to dissipate a part of the intensity of the pleasure. Useless. Warren had a way to use his cock.

“You angry of me?” you purred, hands moving to grasp his hands, forcing them to go to your throat. “Choke me. Bite me. Take out on me, make me your one and only.”

He hesitated, but then fingers wrapped around your neck, thumb on your soft jaw, the grip enough to cause a momentary loss of air. Soon the hand softened, but the rhythm was still impetuous, strong. Warren reached down to crash your lips to his, yanking between his teeth as he cupped your face with the same hand, squeezing your flushed cheeks, turning to the side to give him access to your immaculate neck, ready for him to mark.

“You want all the attention for yourself, don’t you? You want my friends, my time, my—uhmmm—life. You said you’d kill me but here you are, asking me to choke you.” He panted into your ear, biting the earlobe, the sound of skin clashing echoing in the room. “Then take my full attention. Everything for you.”

“Warren, I love you,” you confessed, panting as you wrapped your legs around his hips, breasts back and forth to his sight. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Fuck, I love you too,” he muttered, brushing his lips on yours, hips swaying faster, his hand securing you in place while the other mantained his position. “Shit, I'm gonna cum.” he warned, his thrusts beaming sloppier.

“Yeah, me too. Fuck,” you purred, body convulsing, shivering by the know sensation becoming even more touchable, til you came undone. “Fuck, I'm cumming—Warren, fuck.”

“I'm cumming so hard, fucking sorry—shit,” he groaned, burying his cock on you while he painted your walls white, slow pumps til he was finally finished. “Shit. I came. You're—shit, you're so good to me.”

He planted kisses on your face, laying by your side, pushing you to rest your head on his chest. He wanted a cigarette, but it could wait, you were panting and needy for him, anything could wait.

“If you never did it, why did you choose me?” He inquired, eyeing you, the quest for answers didn't finish, but it felt right on time.

“Warren, i need to tell you something,” you began, plopping on your elbow to see his face, hand coming to your hair. “You know, when we met at the market…”

Warren’s lips curled into a lazy grin, his eyes flickering with amusement as he leaned back against the pillows.

“Oh, that day,” he mused, a nostalgic warmth settling in his chest. He could still picture it—how you looked, how you smiled. But then you spoke again, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

“That wasn’t the first time I saw you,” you confessed, your voice light, almost nonchalant—like it wasn’t about to change everything.

Warren’s smile froze. His brows furrowed, and his body went rigid before he suddenly jolted upright, sheets rustling as he turned to face you fully.

“What?” His voice cracked slightly, his throat suddenly dry. “What do you mean that wasn’t the first time?” His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.

You hesitated, biting your lip, fingers twitching as you smoothed the fabric of your shirt. Your gaze flickered away before you forced yourself to meet his eyes. “I mean… I’ve been in love with you for almost five months. I’ve been watching you.” A nervous laugh slipped out, but it didn’t soften the weight of your words. “I’m sorry.”

Warren’s breath hitched. His eyes darted across your face, searching for any sign that you were messing with him. “Wait—what?” His voice rose in pitch, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. “That’s— that’s crazy. You’re joking, right? Like, this is a joke?” He let out a nervous chuckle, but it died in his throat when you didn’t laugh with him.

His fingers raked through his hair, his legs shifting restlessly under the covers. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His words came rushed, frantic. “And what about the whole act in the car? The way you acted like—like you were just some normal girl?”

You tilted your head slightly, your lower lip jutting out in a subtle pout. “I’m just… shy.” Your voice was soft, almost delicate, as if you were afraid he’d push you away. Your shoulders curled inward, making you seem smaller, vulnerable.

Warren exhaled sharply, pressing his hands against his face for a moment before dragging them down, exasperation twisting his features. He opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head as if trying to reboot his entire brain. His knee bounced anxiously under the sheets.

“This is insane,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking between you and the door like he wasn’t sure if he should run or laugh.

But then you took a slow, tentative step closer, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze from under your lashes. “You’re not mad, are you?” Your voice was almost a whisper, laced with something sweet, something that pulled at the frayed edges of his nerves.

Warren blinked. His heart was still hammering, his stomach still twisted in knots, but when he looked at you—really looked at you—something in him cracked.

A breathless chuckle slipped past his lips. Then another. And suddenly, he was laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” He let out a long sigh, as if surrendering to the absurdity of it all.

“I never lied about that,” you murmured, eyes wide, innocent—too innocent.

Warren groaned, rolling his eyes before reaching out and pulling you against his chest. “You’re gonna be the death of me literally,” he muttered, but his arms stayed wrapped around you, holding on like he wasn’t planning to let go.

[disgruntled-detectives]

Some ramble that has been on my mind lately.

I’m a huge fan of John Finnemore’s writing and sketches. If you don’t know who he is, he’s an English comedy writer. He’s born and raised in the UK. And he has a radio sketch show called “John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme” it’s a hilarious show and I highly recommend it. It’s made me laugh and honestly been a bright spot in dark times.

Occasionally, he has what he calls “meta sketches” where one person from the cast (there are five comedians in the JFSP cast) will address him about something in another sketch or make fun of him or something. And in one sketch, he pokes fun at Christianity. In the following meta-sketch, a cast member asks why he always makes fun of Christianity but not any other religion. And John responds with that Christianity is the religion he knows. He was born and raised in it and while he’s not a Christian, he recognizes how Christianity shapes British culture and always has. And it wouldn’t feel right to make fun of a religion he isn’t part of, and knows nothing about.

Then he says “actually the only other religion I know anything about is Judaism. And actually I’ve been thinking of a sketch idea based on a man I saw in London on a Saturday at a crossing patiently waiting for someone else to press the button so god wouldn’t he cross with him for working. And he’s perfectly right to believe that, but you can’t pretend there isn’t something a little funny about that.” And the sketch moves on.

This is the thing I’ve been thinking of. He said “the religion I know anything about would be Judaism” and then immediately in the *very next sentence* demonstrates a fundamental lack of knowledge about Judaism. In that “god would be cross with him for working” in that one sentence, he demonstrates so *clearly* the cultural Christianity that permeates western culture.

Because mostly…Jews *don’t* (can’t speak for all Jews obviously) believe G-d would be “cross at us” for violating the laws of Shabbat. We follow the laws out of a place of love. Not fear. We follow the laws because we believe they are part of the covenant G-d made with the Jewish people. We don’t believe in divine retribution. Like an orthodox Jewish woman I used to follow when I had TikTok said in a video, “if we break a commandment we don’t believe G-d is gonna strike us down or anything. We just acknowledge that we broke the commandment, say sorry, and then move on and try not to do it again.” And she has answered that question *numerous times* in numerous videos.

And Christians and former Christian’s have demonstrated time and time again that they fundamentally do not understand this. I was raised Christian. Catholic to be exact. And let me tell you, it’s fear. Not love that drives a lot of their rule following. Fear of going to hell and spending eternity being tortured and separated from g-d is a very real thing. They legit have something called “mortal sins” and missing Sunday Mass is one of them.

Because Judaism is a religion of orthopraxy. Not orthodoxy. In Judaism, what you do matters far far more than what you believe. You can be an atheist and an Orthodox Jew. Hell, I don’t eat pork. Do I think G-ds gonna be mad at me for eating bacon? No. Of course not. I don’t even really know if I believe in a G-d like that. I sorta flip flop between agnosticism and like a pantheist view. I don’t eat pork because I am a Jew. And it’s a commandment I chose to take on. Because I love being Jewish. Not out of fear.

Now I’m not saying this to hate on John Finnemore. Like I said. I am a huge fan of his work. I absolutely love Cabin Pressure, and JFSP, and Double Acts and just about anything else he’s written. I’m just saying this because it is clearly demonstrates the cultural Christian lens through which that people here in the west, including former Christian’s and now atheists like JF see the world.

So basically what I’m saying is that just because Judaism was the religion that Christianity sprang from, and you grew up Christian or even just in a Christian country in the west, does not mean that you know anything about us. It’s so easy to think you understand what Judaism is about because you’ve read “the Old Testament” and seen Fiddler on the Roof or something. And yet get even incredibly basic facts about Jewish worldview wrong because you haven’t grasped that Jews see the world completely differently. (Not to mention that 2000 years separate the split from Judaism of Christianity and Judaism developed and evolved on its own ever since. It’s a total and separate religion. But Christians tend to think we’re the exact same we were 2000 years ago. Which is why their minds are *blown* when we say that to us, Jesus is as irrelevant as Thor is. We literally do not care about your special boy. He may have been a Jew, but like…he’s a dude that lived over 2000 yrs ago.)

So basically what I’m saying is that if you are not Jewish, or at least put in serious work to learn about us, from us, you don’t actually know about Judaism like you think you do. Cultural Christianity permeates everything here in the west, and it’s a lot to unpack and unlearn.

[monster-disaster]

I had a brain rot idea I wanted to share with you!

Imagine a hyper feminine human woman who finds herself in a relationship with a hyper masculine monster man. Due to their opposite interests and tastes, their shared home is quite the spectacle. For example…

1. A pink leather couch

2. Black velvet curtains

3. Wall paper with barbed wire hearts as the pattern

4. Bedazzled skull flower vases

5. Etc.

Needless to say, decor shopping is always a fun activity for the couple. Also couple outfits can always be fun…

1. Pastel gym clothes gifted to the monster from the woman

2. Black latex dress with studs gifted to the woman from the monster

Thoughts? I just feel like this would be such a cute coupling to see

How do these two even meet? Maybe at the gym? The monster is either with his bros, lifting heavy weights, or alone, grunting through his intense workout. Reader, on the other hand, is there for a yoga or pilates session, focused on balance and stretching. Or perhaps they meet at a music festival? Or, maybe it’s at an animal shelter. Reader is there to adopt a cute, fluffy cat she saw online while the monster is volunteering. He is more of a dog person, but hey, if Reader wants a cat, so be it. Before she leaves, he hands her his number, telling her to text him if she has any questions.

Soon enough, her occasional cat updates turn into casual chats. Reader sends him pictures of her new feline friend, sharing their quirky behaviors or adorable outfits. He is always short with his responses, but he never discourages her from messaging him. Over time, those updates about the cat shift into little glimpses of Reader's daily life: her morning coffee, the chaos of work, and her favorite places to eat.

And then, one day, out of nowhere, he asks her out. It catches Reader off guard. He isn’t sure why, either. She is so different, he’s seen the pictures. The cat already has more clothes than he does, and the accessories? Don’t get him started. When Reader agrees to the date, he is surprised.

And it just clicks, you know? Despite being complete opposites, they find themselves drawn to each other. They have different tastes, different opinions on almost everything. He prefers heavy metal, while she swears by indie pop; he enjoys spicy food, she sticks to mild. But somehow, it all just works. They are both open to seeing things from each other’s perspective, finding that debating taste is futile when there are bigger things that matter. Who cares if their comfort movies are not the same compared to wanting or not wanting kids? Over time, these little quirks become less about compromise and more about appreciating the contrast. So much so that, before long, they move in together.

Things get interesting pretty quickly after they move in together. Their new home becomes a delightful, chaotic mess of contrasts.

At first, Reader thinks she nailed it; the bookshelves are perfectly arranged with her favorite novels, colorful knickknacks, and little plants adding life to the space, but soon enough, her monster's things start creeping in: heavy metal figurines, dark leather-bound books, and a random skull-shaped bookend. Then, the curtains. Reader proudly hangs the most beautiful white, flowery ones, letting sunlight flood the room, but the very next day, she comes home to find his blackout curtains layered behind them. The pink couch she adores, piled high with fluffy pillows in soft pastels? Yeah, he balances it with his own things in black and dark green. And her adorable fruit-shaped plates? They somehow find themselves stacked beside his sleek, matte black dishes in the kitchen. And it doesn’t stop there. His ultramodern, shiny black coffee maker claims a prime spot on the counter next to her vintage floral tea set. The wardrobe? It’s almost comical. One side overflows with Reader's colorful clothes, blouses, skirts, and soft cardigans, while the other is a stark contrast of black leather jackets and plain tees.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, ridiculous mess. But somehow, it feels like home. Their home.

But of course, as time goes on, their styles begin to blend in the most unexpected ways. Reader finds herself experimenting a bit, picking out a pink leather dress one day. It’s bold, flashy, and a little out of her usual comfort zone, but when she steps out wearing it, her monster takes one look and practically falls to his knees. The stunned, hungry expression on his face makes the purchase more than worth it. And slowly but surely, the monster starts to change too; just a hint of dark gray here, maybe some muted green there. The progress is slow but steady. And Reader loves watching his monster lifting weight in the almost light blue sweatshirt she bought for him. She doesn’t even try to hide her grin, and he pretends not to notice, but the faint smirk on his lips gives him away.

And, of course, the fluffy cat that brought them together often struts around the house in her pink tutu and tiny leather jacket.

[cute-little-fly]

I will put this in a more hot take way…

I think that believing that a woman can’t be bad for herself is the thing that is sexist.

We are fully formed beings, if we are capable of doing good deeds even after suffering because we decide that, we could also decide to do the opposite. We can also be psychopaths or have low empathy, those are conditions and mental issues not present exclusively in men.

I hate the take: “She is like that so Stolas is seen as good”.

Well, the point of Stolas behaviour is that he is a victim of abuse. His escapist fantasy of being romanced, loved and RESCUED are there because he is being constantly belittled and abused, because he never had any glimpse of those things in his life. Stolas is who he is as a result of being in the rigid Goetia family and being subjected to norms he doesn’t fit, so Stella that is completely aligned with them constantly insults him. I think things would have been better for Stolas if she was more flexible and willing to make the best she could of a bad situation. But she is not like that, and that’s fine.

This plot is carried by the characters. If Blitzø wasn’t like he is (an ambitious imp) he would have never dared to enter Stolas’s palace and steal a very powerful artifact, and also, the plot would never happen, and also the themes of overcoming societal expectations and limits. The plot happens because each of them are how they are, including Stella. They all serve a purpose in the story.

Believing that a woman can become evil only when she is hurt or traumatized by a man is a belief that for me does a lot of harm even in real life. Because then, people are less likely to believe a child that is being neglected or abused by their mom, or male victims ooor even other woman that are victims in same sex relationships. This is a hard topic I know because a lot of time female victims are also silenced and ignored.

This is not that I am proud of woman being evil, but I like to see that in Stella of Helluva Boss. Because usually, other female baddies even if they are villains are not shown as so irredeemable evil as Stella.

I think that people in general are not used to see evil female characters like this. Because, then, why they don’t have problem with Crimson? That guy is evil just because he is, too. I think is the closest counterpart to a Male version Stella that the show has, because he also killed his wife like Stella wanted to do and is from the Mafia family. I don’t see anyone saying that he is like that to justify Moxxie’s behaviour.

I always enjoy the episode when I see her on-screen (of course I hate everything that she does to Stolas and Octavia and think she is the worst, but I love to hate her). HB finds a way to make her so unapologetically evil and silly at the same time that she is fun to watch on screen. The same as Andrealphus. I want to see more of her and to have an idea of why she was like this even since they were children.

I think it might be spin-offs and adaptions like Maleficent and Cruella that caused people to think female villains aren't allowed to be completely irredeemable and heartless without a worse male villain influencing them or else it's "sexist". Which may explain the defense of Stella from Helluva Boss. Some of her defenders probably watched these films and think women are either innocent saints or only evil because they were treated badly, and just plain old nasty women don't exist. But that's what I LIKE about Stella. It's hard to find pure evil women in fiction nowadays, she's like a bird version of Mother Gothel. (Only not nearly as intelligent.) Give me more unshamedly vile and heartless female characters! Especially ones who's actions can hit pretty damn close to home for those who have experienced abuse or awful parenting from people like Stella!

[explanationpoint]

note to self: if you’re a trans woman and you become famous, tell people some bs about how you’re not actually trans despite transitioning. it’ll make everyone like you more.

[loveguts]

i’m not a transandrophobia truther in the slightest don’t get me wrong, but i think some people on here really need to realize and comprehend the fact that cis women, way WAY more often than not, hold extremely significant social and political power over trans men the vast majority of the time in our day to day lives

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[gothteddiesdotcom]

oh my god re: your recent post... the 'girl dinner' shit. omfg. idc if it's 'not that deep' you're still reinforcing terrible shit!!! and also the like 'boys when they see a stick/cool rock' and 'girls when they time travel vs boys when they time travel' wojaks. the gender-fication of barbie vs. oppenheimer. why the fuck is the recent internet zeitgeist hyper stereotypical cisnormativity. like. i thought we had collectively outgrown this.

exactly. And that’s all just some parts of it too. People pretend they’re so on top of things but it’s just because they don’t want to seem out of touch and offensive. It’s wild watching people barf out gender binaries with new terms and new ways to categorize trans people as not their gender and new ways to reinforce the same gender roles on ourselves but in “good” ways now. It’s just….really frustrating and pretty terrifying at the same time

[lesbiansanemi]

Google how to make peace with the fact that you will always be vaguely to extremely uncomfortable (depending on the day) with your body and how others perceive it until the day you die and nothing you do will ever change that

[cetoddle]

every woman on earth is the most beautiful show stopping incredible gorgeous person alive and 90% of men make me go ewwwwww…what is that..

[daydreamerdrew]

I genuinely think that if Bucky had survived WWII (and ignoring Gretchen for a moment) that he wouldn’t have succeeded in forming a strong, lasting relationship with a woman that hadn’t been in combat at all and lived an ordinary life for an American woman at the time. I think it was necessary for him to be with someone like Natasha who could be his partner at home and in work, specifically the kind of fantastical violence and espionage he was involved in. I don’t think he would have actually been able to relate to and understand and be emotionally vulnerable with a woman otherwise. I don’t think he would have expected his work to become his life, but it would. I think about the way Bucky was raised, so embedded in the military and with girls as a distant ideal, the scene in Captain America and Bucky (2011) #620 where Bucky bribes a sergeant into taking him to a dance off-base, which he jokes is like going to heaven. Bucky was a casual, charming flirter for fun during the war in the short periods of time when he was around women, say nurses, but then afterwards to everyone’s shock he wouldn’t have been able to make something last, or if it did last it would have been eventually been begrudging and unhappy. women are nice in concept, he’s attracted to women, but it would have been hard for him to understand someone with such a different life experience, specifically as not having the skills that he values and that impress him, as a full human being. it was Natasha being both an amazing and intrinsically feminine fighter, like a ballerina, that made that work so well, that made him so attracted to her while also genuinely respecting her.