#the kiss goodbye thing has me reeling

[antivanlights]

While Rook was trapped in the Regret Prison for weeks, do we think that Lucanis prepared himself a cup of coffee one evening and just stared into the brew for a long time? Remembering the first time he flirted with Rook, comparing that blend to a kiss goodbye. His drink getting cold in his hands. Bitterly thinking that he didn't even get that.

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Series [Masterlist]

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?.

Type: Drabble Series

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"  

Alternatively, 

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: extreme angst, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of depression, so much pining, unrequited love au, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

A/N: here is the masterlist. the story is gonna to back to the past and then come back to the present. hence, I have classified it. Hope it makes things easy to understand. also, this is gonna be very fragmented. I will not go into detailing much - as in the details of their jobs, family and stuff like that. this story will mainly revolve around Yoongi and reader's feelings towards each other and their bad decisions. That's all. AND please tell me if I have missed anyone's name in the taglist despite being requested. thanks <3

Taglist requests are closed for now

One time for the present ~

1. Slide - The Beginning

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

2. Slide - The Ultimate Decision

Worst decisions are always driven by anger and alcohol; but sometimes those are also driven by Love.

3. Slide - The Other Side

No matter how much Yoongi had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you.

4. Slide - The Consequence

You are no different than the cigarette between his lips - half-burnt and waiting to be turned into ashes bit by bit with time.

5. Slide - The Dream

You have been so selfish and as a result - you get punished.

6. Slide - The Regret

For the first time in his 31 years of life - Min Yoongi is regretting.  And the reason behind his regret circles around you.

7. Slide - The Trial

You have some questions and Yoongi has no answer.

8. Slide - The Vacation

Yoongi finally finds an answer to all of his questions.

9. Slide - The Realization

Yoongi dreams of you... dreams of a family with you.

10. Slide - The Reconciliation

“There was never a time when I wasn’t yours.”

11. Slide - The Finale

Tonight when he kisses you, it’s not a goodbye, rather it’s a promise of forever.

Two times for the past ~

1. Slide - The Prequel

You would never think twice before picking Yoongi up from streets even if it means losing your own sanity in return.

2. Slide - That Night

You would give yourself up willingly again and again if it means Yoongi will stay close to you. for whatever purpose.

Special Chapters ~

1. Slide - The Christmas Gift [Meant for Patreon only]

The third Christmas with Yoongi turns out to be something unexpected.

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @purpleanchorcrown @armystay89

Requested Tags:

@ktownshizzle @ilys00ga @marihoneywk @yoongisoftface @sugaslittlekookies @joonwater @geminiml95 @ramicherie @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @avawants2havefun @artemisdoe @jimintaemin @cuntessaiii

[mxigo]

i remember everything (wish i didn't, but i do) | part 1

SERIES SYNOPSIS: logan saved the timeline, but the consequence is that he doesn't remember anything after 1973. now back in 2023, he has missed 50 years of history. including any history of your relationship with him.

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, swearing

WORD COUNT: 2.02k

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER

“Well, Logan, I guess it would be a bit more efficient if I were to just show you.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow, and Logan felt the presence of his telepathy around his mind, waiting just on the edge. He stood straight before giving a single nod, letting his mind relax around the gentle intrusion.

In an instant, the past fifty years that had changed flooded his mind. The sentinel program never happened, and human attitude towards mutants changed for the better. Jean got the help that she needed early on to completely control her powers, which also meant that she was able to safely get herself and the jet out of Alkali Lake when the dam burst. She never killed Scott, and never joined Magneto when she was consumed by Dark Phoenix. So, Logan never had to kill her. The school was still here, and mutants were, for the most part, able to live peacefully.

Although, there was a blip of a memory that had him stumbling back from Xavier’s desk in shock, the professor slipping from his mind. His mind was reeling, trying to make sense of what he saw.

“Now, Logan—”

“Wh-Who was that? How long ago was that memory?”

Xavier sighed. “Her name is Y/N, but she goes by Halo in the field. The memory that I just showed you happened just a week ago before she left for the mission that she is currently on in Texas.”

A beat passed as the memory played out in Logan’s mind again. It was from Xavier’s eyes, but he could see clearly how he had his hands resting on the hips of a woman he had never seen before, but she was dressed up in an X-Man suit, and he looked at her with such warmth and tenderness. She was also holding onto his biceps as they made their goodbye in the jet’s hangar, but before she stepped away, Logan had tilted her head up for a kiss.

“Is she, I mean, are we—”

“You and Halo have been together for the past four years. If I recall correctly, it was actually you who made the first move, Logan.”

Logan’s head snapped over to Xavier, his eyes wide in disbelief. His vision blurred as he unfocused for just a moment, trying to grasp on this bomb of information. Five years he had spent with a woman that he has no recollection of spending time with, let alone having feelings for, while at the same time he just saw Jean in the flesh and every feeling that he had harbored years ago came rushing back, still as fresh as that very first day.

His mind flickered back to Xavier’s memory, and he knew that the way he looked at her was different than he had ever looked at Jean, but those feelings for this other woman was nonexistent.

Charles sighed. “I understand this is a predicament, and obviously, there is no way for me to just erase old memories and force you to experience the new ones. She and Colossus aren’t due back for a couple more days, but I’ll make sure to speak to Halo once she returns. Please feel free to use the empty room at the end of the same hall should you feel the need for it.”

And just like that, Xavier just rolled out of his office, leaving Logan to deal. He didn’t linger in the office. Instead, he made his way back up to the room that he woke up in, pushing the door open. Now with the urgency to see if he had changed the past gone, he took the time to really take in the room.

The first thing he noticed were the picture frames lined up on the dresser, each one displaying photos of Halo, him, or both. As he walked further into the room, he saw that one of the nightstands had items that would belong to a female, such as hair ties, a tube of fruity chapstick, and some jewelry pieces. The other was nearly spotless, save for a watch and a book titled A Game of Thrones. As he took a deep breath, he picked up a scent that smelled like his own, but it was intermingled with another softer scent, one of vanilla and lavender. There was even an incense holder on the dresser.

The adjoining bathroom was more of the same; feminine haircare products that smelled like the woman’s scent in the bedroom along with a tower of various makeup items in the corner of the sink counter.

He went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, letting his head drop into his hands as he tried to make sense of his new present. When he volunteered to go back to ’73, he didn’t consider that there would be more personal changes to his life. Yes, he was ecstatic that Jean and Scott were alive, and that the school was still here, but now he was stuck in a timeline where he was seriously involved with someone that he had never met before.

Besides, that was this Logan’s life, not his. He still had all of his memories from the previous timeline. He was sure he was a completely different person from this one’s. She may not even like this Logan. He may not even like her.

~

You groaned as you walked up the stairs leading to the bedrooms floor. All of the aches and pains of the mission finally made themselves known as you pushed yourself up each step, causing a slight limp in your cramped legs. You were thankful the mission was over and couldn’t wait to sleep in your own bed. While it was by no means a very long mission, any mission away from Logan felt like an eternity.

Piotr climbed the steps next to you, completely unfazed and unharmed from the mission.

“What do you think they have whipped up in the kitchen for tonight?” he asked as you both reached the top of the stairs.

“Doesn’t matter. Logan and I always go for Mexican when we get back from missions. There’s a frozen strawberry margarita and a bowl of queso calling my name from Louie’s,” you answered, tilting your head up and gave a large, excited grin.

It was tradition after four years, and there was nothing that was going to stand between you and that queso.

“Sounds like you might love Mexican more than Logan.”

“It’s a tight race,” you giggled, meandering down the hallway towards your room. “I’ll see you later Piotr.”

The X-Man dipped his head in farewell as he continued down the hallway towards his own room, disappearing around the corner. With a sigh, you turned the knob on your door, pushing it open. You were only able to take a single step inside before you saw a figure out of the corner of your eye in the dark. With a flick of your fingers, you sent a ball of light at whoever it was, stopping it right in front of their face.

“Halo, welcome back. I hope the mission went smoothly.”

“Professor,” you gasped, immediately flicking on the bedroom light. “You scared me.”

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You stepped further into the room, brushing hair out of your eyes as you began taking the first pieces off your suit. “What can I do for you, Professor?”

Xavier rolled over from his corner of your room, stopping just behind you.

“I’m afraid something has happened that affects you, Halo. You may want to take a seat.”

You look at him weirdly, anxiety starting to settle in your stomach. He gestured towards the bed, to which you complied and sat on, letting yourself lean forward to rest your elbows on your knees. You tried to recall if anything was amiss on your walk up from the hangar from the jet, but you couldn’t recall anything, and not even Piotr was disturbed by anything.

“Is everything okay? Is everyone okay?”

The professor’s face turned grim for a moment before taking a breath.

“To even begin to tell you about what has happened today, I need to tell you about what happened fifty years ago in 1973,” he started. “In my youth, I was a different man, an angry, sad man. For some time, I had closed the school and subjected myself to pity and a downward spiral of hate towards myself. Hank was the only friend I had, and he stayed with me here at the mansion. Until one day, Logan came and practically burst through the front doors, demanding to talk to me.

“He claimed that he was sent back in time to find me, and to change the future, or rather, his consciousness was sent back in time to his then current body. I didn’t believe him at first. It wasn’t until I’d looked into his mind later that he was telling the truth, and there was a horrible future that awaited the world if I didn’t help this man. If I didn’t help break Magneto out of prison and help stop Mystique from killing Trask, then mutantkind would cease to exist. While we did save the world, we also changed the future to what it is now, and the Logan that I met in 1973 was sent from the old future of what would have been today’s date.”

Your heart was thundering in your ears, not believing what you were hearing, but you couldn’t move. Something happened to Logan.

“Well, nothing exactly happened to Logan, dear. But our Logan that we have known since the beginning, is the same Logan that I met in 1973.”

You shook your head, not understanding. “What do you mean, Professor, if nothing has actually happened to him?”

“Halo, Logan does not remember anything since that day in DC in 1973.”

Your world stopped, and your brain froze. “What?”

“Logan has no recollection of anything from our current timeline. In his past, Jean and Scott are dead, the school and the country had been obliterated, and you, my dear, he never met.”

You took a stuttering breath as your throat began to tighten, and tears welled up in your eyes. You looked around the room frantically, searching for something you didn’t know what. The picture frames of the two of you stared hauntingly from the dresser now, and your heart shattered further.

“You-you mean that Logan doesn’t know who I am, at all?” you all but whispered, a stray tear dripping down your cheek.

“He does now, after I showed him what he has missed, but just showing him memories from the outside doesn’t erase his memories from his old past. I’m sorry.”

“So, what do I do now? Just forget everything and pretend that the last six years that I’ve known him just don’t exist anymore?”

“What your next steps are, are up to you, my dear. I would suggest potentially talking to Logan, once you are ready to see him, of course. He may be different, but he is still Logan.”

“But he’s not my Logan,” you whispered, before the dam broke. Gut wrenching sobs ripped from your chest, forcing you to curl in on yourself in front of the last person that you wanted to see you like this.

In a flurry to protect yourself, you rushed past Xavier and into the bathroom, slamming the door. Slowly, you slid down the door and wrapped your arms around yourself, letting the grief take over.

Unbidding, every memory of Logan played through your mind. The first day was when Jean brought you to the mansion, and the first person to officially meet you was him, all cold exterior, but you could see the soft looks that he gave to his friends and the other X-Men. Ultimately, your thoughts ended just over a week ago when he bid you goodbye before your mission. You could still feel his hands holding your waist and the kiss he gave you before the jet took you away.

And you may never have that again.

[choso4u]

AN IMPORTANT LESSON. ft. gojo satoru

cw: fem!reader, smut, age gap, voyeurism, exhibitionism, squirting, overstimulation

a/n: consider this my christmas gift to y'all

"C'mon, no one will see." Your boyfriend coos. You're currently in your boyfriend's house, in your boyfriend's room, in your boyfriend's bed with him hovering on top of you, coaxing you to have sex. You push his hands away from where its settled beside your head as you sat up. "Not now, not in the mood." You smile at your boyfriend, who was now pouting at your response. You giggled and pulled him up, sitting beside you. He huffs and pulls you in for a slow, deep kiss. But there was something you weren't telling him. It's that... you don't get satisfied with him fucking you. I mean, the both of you are still 19, naturally, he doesn't have that much of an experience. You understand that. But of course, you have needs. And it's frustrating that your boyfriend can't help you with those. Another reason was... because you were attracted to his dad. Your boyfriend was the most attractive man you've ever seen. Tall, white locks, blue eyes. That's what you thought— until you saw his dad, Gojo Satoru. You now saw where his features came from. It was disgusting because the first thing that popped in your mind when you saw Gojo Satoru was "Fuck, he's hot. Certified dilf." The both of you have interactions, yet brief only. Such as curt nods, polite smiles, small chats, and that's it. But you were hungry for more. You wanted his attention. Scratch that. It was him you wanted. Ever since, you started wearing crop tops, mini skirts, and extra tight shorts. But it just doesn't seem to get his attention. And it made you even more sexually frustrated. You pulled away from the kiss when you heard Gojo calling your boyfriend downstairs. He tells you to wait as he goes downstairs. He comes back, telling you that his dad has sent him on an errand to pick up something from the mall. You walk with him to the living room where there was Mr. Gojo Satoru himself, manspreading elegantly on the couch, giving you a nod and turning his attention back to his phone. Your boyfriend bids the both of you goodbye and you watch him get in his dad's car and drive away before you closed the front door. Then it occurred to you. You were all alone with only Gojo for company. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Your mind was reeling with the many possibilities that may occur. You were so lost in thought, staring at the door and got snapped back to reality when you head Gojo calling your name about four times already. You turn around and was met by his scowling face. "You inlove with the door or somethin'?" The man asks. You laugh nervously and shook your head. "N-no I was just thinking about something." You reply sheepishly and started your way towards the kitchen when he calls out "Like— what could happen between me and my boyfriend's dad?" You froze in your steps and looked at him with wide eyes. Gojo stands up and heads to his room. When he didn't hear your footsteps, he stops, turns around and casually says, "Follow me."

Clothes scattered on the floor, but that didn't matter anymore. His attention was now in between your legs, lapping your pussy like a starved man who hadn't had a meal or a drink. Ravishing it in a sinful yet heavenly way. Your inner thighs now littered with hickeys. He's made you cum two times with just his mouth, but he just keeps going. You feel yourself getting closer and closer but this time, the knot felt tighter. What with the awfully skilled tounge sucking on your swollen bud and three fingers going in and out of you in a fast pace. "Daddy— gonn—" You didn't even get to warn him when clear fluid suddenly came gushing all over his fingers, soaking them with your arousal as your vision turned white, wanton moans filling the room. Gojo laughs as he laps up the liquid from your cunny. "God, so fuckin' beautiful when you squirt huh? My son sure got himself a pretty little girlfriend." You whimper as his tounge glide over your sensitive clit, cleaning you up. "Did it feel good?" He asks you. But before you could reply, the door swings open. "Hey dad, what's th—" Your boyfriend stops at the scene infront of him. You try to cover up but Gojo swiftly pins both of your hands above your head with one hand. "Good timing son, Well, since you're here, let me teach you a very important lesson."

The lesson basically consisted of Gojo making his son sit on the chair beside the bed as he fucks you in a mating press in front of him. Your mind wasn't working well anymore. All you could think about is how deep Gojo's cock was drilling into you. Your hands wrapped around his neck, wanton moans slipping out of your mouth all the time, drool dripping on the sides of your chin, and practically crying on how good his cock felt inside you. "Ah, fuck— shit. Gonna loosen you up." Gojo says and turns his head to his son who was staring at you, boner evident in his pants. Gojo just smirks at his son and chuckles, "This is how you properly fuck a girl. Need to fuck her limp and dumb." His hard thrusts kissing your cervix every time he pulls it out and slams it back in was enough for you to go dumb. Even forgetting the fact that your boyfriend was forced to watch you get ruined underneath his dad. You were about to cum again, but before you could, Gojo pulls out, flipping you around, ass in the air... facing your boyfriend. Your eyes widened but before you could say a word, he slams his cock back into you, resuming the most mind blowing earth shattering sex you've ever had. Gojo reaches down to your head, pulling your hair, forcing you to face his son. "Look at him. Look at him while I fuck you dumb." He orders. You could barely see your boyfriend as you rolled your eyes back to your head. It was humiliating. But it felt so fucking good to care. Felt so good you clamped around his cock so hard, Gojo's hips stuttered for a moment before resuming. Gojo smirks at his son, who was practically salivating at the salacious sight in fron of him. "Like what you see?" Your boyfriend couldn't answer, but the answer was clear as glass. He then lowers his head into yours and asks, "You cummin' again darling? Think you can squirt again f'me?" He waits a good five seconds before he raised his head, threw his head back and laughs. "You feel so fuckin' good, can't even talk?" Gojo slaps your ass hard, and that was all it takes for you to cum hard around his hard and squirt uncontrollably, letting out the most pornographic moan the man has ever heard. Your moans also brought him to the edge as he throws his head back and moans, painting your walls white. He stilled inside you for a minute before pulling out, groaning as he watched your cum leak out of your hole. When you didn't move for like twenty seconds, he panics a little and flips you over. "Shit, Y/N, you still with me?" He asks, voice laced with concern. He exhales with relief when he saw you smile at him and shakily reach out both of your hands. He smiles down at you, lowering his head as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kisses you deep. He cuts the kiss to look at his son, still frozen, cock hard, and wide eyed. "You can go now. Lesson is over."

[flor4de4amor]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞

my rules n reg

summary: neither you or daryl are morning people, but work's gotta get done.

He’s not a morning person. Had it not been for the daunting end times, he’d roll over in his bed until late noon. The comfort of the mattress and sheets enveloping him into his dreamland. But much to his avail, and yours, there was work to be done. So much work. The pile never seemed to stop overflowing., and it almost always seemed to land in Daryl's lap. Not that he'd verbalize his complaints, work was the only thing beside you that kept him busy.

You feel the bed springs release with his weight, as Daryl lifts himself off the mattress. You groan as a result. “Dare,” you whisper. Throat coated w sleep and voice groggy. It's still too early for him to go. Sunlight hasn't even creeped through the curtains yet. Your arms reach out, with your eyes shut, trying to find the warmth of his body. His cracked hands meet yours. His fingers run over yours softly. “Where are you going?” You ask hoarsely. You know good and well where he’s going. It doesn't hurt to ask and potentially deter.

“Hunt, honey. ‘Member? We’re runnin’ low on sum’n meat.” His voice is deep, gravelly, and coated with a good night’s sleep.

You sigh, merging your hand with his. Your body extends to try and meet his. All while you lay rested, and his body has risen for the day. “Do you have to?” You question softly. So you guys have to eat. Sure. But does your man have to go hunting now? Right now?

His hand falls from yours to stroke your face. “Yeah, darlin’. If I don’t go out to hunt who’s gonna go?” You bury your head into your pillow and grunt unsatisfactorily. Daryl's always right. Obnoxiously so.

“Fine,” you retort with no avail. Daryl chuckles lightly at your antics. “When’re you gonna be back?” You grumble into your pillow.

He smiles softly. “Wha’s wrong girl? You going to miss me?” His thumb strokes your cheek affectionately. You can't see, with your face stuffed in the pillow, but you already know he's got that cheeky grin plastered on his face. Tongue prodding the side of his cheek, and he smiles to himself at your behavior.

“No shit, Dixon.” You reply. “Gonna answer my question or what?" Your tone holds no malice. He knows you're missing him already.

He taps your cheek, reeling you in line. “Snappy this morning.” He laughs slightly. “I’ll be back around noon. That alright with you boss?” He plays mockery of your neediness. Though he knows if you say jump, he'll ask how high; always ready at your beck and call.

“Yeah,” you reply hesitantly. “But that better be one fatass animal you bring back. Or else I’ll scalp you, myself.”

He laughs heartily, “Alright darlin’ whatever you say goes.” He offers you a kiss for good measure while whispering sweet goodbyes into your ear. Momentarily, all your short-lived contempt dies down as you sink back into the mattress into light sleep, until your hunter returns with all your loving.

divider made by: @aqualogia

[macfrog]

champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents��� night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

[lixopoo]

Hello! I really like your posts, in particular the Belle one. Can you please do a zzz Nicole x S/O who left the Cunning Hares? Sorry if it’s long but I got in the zone. Like the S/O was a cofounder but left due to disagreements to how the agency is ran. Cue to Anby and Billy after a while of the agency being mismanaged tries to get you back in. You tried to doing one but it didn’t work out as you need her all or nothing approach, but on the other hand she needs you to reel her in. They manage to do it by tricking you two by making y’all think there was going to be a hangout but by the meet up time there’s only you two. There’s arguing but it’s let out accidentally that you like each other. After that it’s more of there being a talk to let things out what you two are and work it out as the agency you both created is both of yours baby in the end of the day.

✶ Nicole Demara dating headcanons w backstory!

⇢ Nicole Demara x gn!reader ;

⇢ type - headcanons ;

⇢ tags - fluff , little bit angst(?) , kisses , hugs ;

⇢ thanks for request! i love Nicole so much, so im glad you ordered her but it seems to me that it turned out worse than i imagined, sorry!

⋆ You and Nicole were close even before the creation of the agency, from the orphanage, since you were also an orphan. You have always envied her cunning character and how easily any task is given to her, deep down I want to become the same.

⋆ Time passed, and one family was able to adopt you, thereby taking you from the orphanage, but it all happened so suddenly that you were unable to say goodbye to Nicole, thereby leaving her completely alone. You were very sad, as was she, but a year later, walking down the street, you saw her again.

⋆ She was incredibly happy to see you, but you are stronger, so you just almost knocked her off her feet with your hugs.

⋆ Hearing the story of how she was adopted by a rich family and then made a deal with them to hang around the streets of New Eridu, you were surprised, but immediately laughed, because Nicole, who was in the orphanage has not changed a bit.

⋆ After some time, her love for money and cunning only grew, so you decided to create your own agency to help the residents of New Eridu and earn a good income.

⋆ After joining the agency of Anby and Billy the Kid, your days only became more fun and interesting, but the fact that all the money Nicole earned was turning into a minus was very alarming to you. You turned a blind eye to this, because she was the initiator of the creation of the Sly Hares, which means her money... probably?

⋆ You tried to talk to her about this topic many times, but she only avoided the conversation, calling you cute nicknames to appease you.

⋆ After another conversation with Phaeton about the order, you learned about the debts that Nicole did not mention. This was the last straw, because spending the money that the four of you earned so easily is unacceptable.

⋆ You decided to have one last conversation with Nicole on this topic when you were alone, but the result was the same, which made you even angrier.

«I'm leaving Cunning Hares»

⋆ Trembling, Nicole turned around to look at you, but saw no one. You disappeared in the same way as you did at the shelter, leaving her alone again.

⋆ For the next week, Nicole was irritated and upset at the same time, not wanting to see you at all, even though it was obvious how much she missed you.

⋆ Anby and Billy were surprised by your unexpected departure, which made them very upset. They tried to find you and just talk, but, unfortunately, you were nowhere to be found.

⋆ You decided to do easy tasks on your own to earn money, so you spent all your time either in Hollow or in places they didn’t look into.

⋆ But you couldn’t hide for long, because while playing slot machines, you accidentally met Billy, who was hanging out there, and Anby was nearby.

⋆ They were incredibly happy to see you, almost pouncing and knocking you down. Billy bombarded you with questions, which you reluctantly answered, but told you the reason for leaving.

⋆ You hung out together for a little longer before breaking up and asking her not to tell Nicole that they saw you. After which Anby immediately had a plan in her head, which she immediately told Billy.

⋆ Two days later you met them again near the slot machines, but this time you had a little more fun, after which they suddenly invited you to a “farewell party” in your honor, mentioning that, of course, Nicole wouldn’t be there and the three of you would just have fun.

⋆ Although it seemed strange to you, you were not going to refuse them. You accepted their offer and waited for the next day.

⋆ Arriving at the meeting place - a newly opened cafe, you were surprised that it was so empty inside, but you went inside anyway and sat down at the nearest table, waiting for Billy and Anby, but imagine your surprise when you saw Nicole on the threshold.

⋆ You immediately jumped up from your chair and she noticed you. You just stared at each other for a minute before she looked away with a frown.

⋆ She wanted to run away, but something stopped her, just like you, because deep down you weren’t the least bit angry at each other, only at yourself.

⋆ Realizing that Enby and Billy had simply set you up, you both got a little angry, but you knew that they meant what was best, so you just sat down at the table in silence, starting a game of silence.

⋆ You were the first to start a conversation, again remembering how naively she was throwing away the agency’s money, without thinking about others. Of course, this angered her even more, because she didn’t want to talk about it. Slamming her hands on the table and standing up, she leaned over a little to be closer to you.

«I did this for the agency, don’t you understand?! You know how dear it is to me... As dear as you!»

⋆ You knew this very well, but you still had a strange feeling. You continued your little argument until she openly admitted her feelings, immediately realizing what she said and blushing.

⋆ You stared at her with your mouth open for a few seconds before you too blushed and looked away.

«I...»

«No! Just... I want you to come back!»

⋆ Her eyes became wet, and Nicole herself just wanted to run away. You smiled faintly, seeing the real Nicole was rare. Slowly standing up and walking over to her, you hugged her from the side, beginning to calm her down.

«I love you too»

⋆ A couple of minutes later, you were already sitting next to her, holding her hand, and talking casually. You decided to return back to the agency, but on the condition that you would manage the money, since you had more financial literacy.

⋆ She is possessive, so her hugs are tight and warm enough to make you feel safe. She will always make some kind of contact with you in public, whether it's holding your hand or kissing you.

⋆ She kisses you often, so your lips are always the same color as her lipstick. Her kisses are as possessive as her hugs, but light and full of love.

⋆ Despite even the small quarrels between you, she loves you and does not want you to leave her alone again.

actually i think this is my worst work because it was difficult for me...

[konigsluvr]

SWEET 『cigarettes after sex』

MASTERLIST

popular girl x quiet nerd simon

warnings: kissing, horny and simp simon, cuming untouched. And sweetness ♡

cute little series I'm starting. I hope you like this as much as I do. Enjoy and leave any comments on where I can improve, but please be nice, I'm sensitive 💋 this isn't proofread as its currently just past midnight and I'm sleepy and don't want to overthink about posting this. xxx

『★』

Simon thought you didn't notice him staring at you all year. You're popular and he's... a nerd. The amount of picking on you would endure if you did anything with him... you didn't want to think about it.

Yet you couldn't help but smile at your Math teacher as he assigned Simon - the top of the class - to help you with your studies.

Here's the catch, you act dumb and stupid to fit in with your friend group when in reality, whenever there's a test, you never fail to achieve the A+.

"You won't be disappointed," you respond, heading out of class to see it empty.

None of your friends waited for you after class but you brush that aside, looking around for Simon. A minute later, you find him by his locker, taking all of his books and transferring them into his bag.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. "Hi Simon," your sweet voice rang out.

He jumps, dropping his bag, his books scattering on a pile at your feet. He stumbles over his words, eyes wondering over your gorgeous face. His mind was reeling at the fact you knew his name?!

"I... uhh..." he clears his throat, gathering himself. His crush, his godamn crush since forever, is talking to him. Him. "Everything okay?" His voice steadies out, playing it cool.

Your lips quirk, not realising his voice was so deep. You have to look up, yourself standing at 5'5 and him standing at 6'2. You're both 17, so there's still growing to occur.

"Yes, everything's good," you speak, unable to stop your gaze to trailing to his arms. Its so obvious he works hard at the gym. "Mr Barnes assigned you as my study partner."

His eyes widen slightly, taken aback. "Me and... you. Study partners?" He speaks slowly.

He sees your eyebrows furrow. Fuck sake, idiot, he curses in his mind, being an asshole isn't the way to go.

"Um, yeah, for Maths. My grades have dropped so..." You trail off. Does he not like you? You were so sure. He's always glancing at you.

His pause makes you reinforce the idea he's never liked you. "I'll get a new partner," you speak, beginning to step away.

He grabs your wrist, and your eyes snap to his. God, your eyes and politeness... is he still grabbing you? He is! Fuck! Think, think, think!

"Tomorrow after school?" He questions, way too nervous. He bets you can feel his hand shaking. "Your place?" Too bold, Simon.

But you smile, warm, lovely. "Sure, meet here after the last period?" Your unable to tear your gaze from his stunning chocolate eyes, so attentive and aware.

He finally let's go of your hand, relief filling him. He nods, feeling much too shy to speak.

You return the smile and walk by him. As you walk to the main doors, you turn and wave goodbye, and he is already looking at you. You see his lips form a small grin and wave back subtly.

『★』

"Today was so boring," you huff out to Simom as he sits in the passenger. He sits too still, scared to make the wrong move in case you would call off this whole thing.

You find it funny he didn't respond. So you ask a question as you turn out of the car park and drive to your house, which is fifteen minutes away. "How was your day?"

He takes a few moments to reply, "good," his deep voice speaks. You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't. The truth his, his day has been terrible but his mood is ecstatic (on the inside) about being with you.

Fifteen whole minutes, he had to sit there and pretend he didn't care. Staying silent like a complete douchbag. The smell of your perfume, your pretty outfit - a black jumper, faded blue jeans, Converse, pretty earrings, hair, and makeup. Just you simply being next to him made him hard, his mind running wild.

No, no, no, no. He needs to respect you. He's 17, not a little boy. He is a virgin after all, you definitely were not. The amount of stupid boys that took your attention will never deserve you in all the lifetimes. He's stronger, more respectful, just so, so much better for you. He noticed your smile was strained and he wanted to punch every asshole that made you like that. He covers his crotch with his hands, hoping you don't notice his hand placement.

He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts that you opening your car door and exiting snaps him out of it. He ushers out, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he takes in your families property. A simple, modern but classy home. Adorable. His gaze quickly returns to you, pausing as he sees your looking at him already.

"You work out?" You question, noticing he's wearing a black sleeved long sleeved gym shirt. He wore it just for you. It shows off his muscles perfectly.

"Six days a week," he speaks, trying to show off a little. Douche, again. But you smile and he smiles back.

"I do pilates sometimes," you reply, walking up to your front door. Pilates, Simon thinks of you doing the workout, so feminine and simple.

You both enter and you close the door behind you both. "Would you like a drink?" You ask innocently, looking up at him. You knew you were standing too close.

He swallows thickly, his gaze glancing down to your lips for a sweet second. He got even harder. For fuck sake, Simon. Answer the damned question! "Water would be nice, thanks."

You nod. "My room is upstairs, down the hall to the right," you speak, turning and walking to the kitchen.

He stands there silent for a few moments, watching your body sway. He shakes his head. Stop it now, he thinks. He walks up the stairs as he takes in everything about his small journey. At the end of the hallway, there's a picture of younger you.

He always knew you were an only child, makes sense how much you're put together with your parents attention focused on one child. He can't help but smile, seeing how cute you are. You must've been around 5 or 6 he's guessing, your eyes still the same sweetness.

He enters your room and sits on the edge of your bed, looking around once again. Clean, tidy, and... pink. Lots of light pink and white everywhere. Now he knows what your favourite colours are. Bingo.

He hears your soft footsteps coming up. He takes a quick breath, needing to calm his nerves desperately. Just your presence has him all giddy. You enter the room and close the door behind you.

"Here you are," you talk softly, handing him his water. You sit further up on your bed so you're in the middle of it. He thinks for a moment, copying you timidly. You face him. "I hope you like popcorn."

He nods, looking down, noticing you have a bowl of popcorn. Now he knows your favourite snack. Bingo, again!

You relax for a little while, scrolling on your phone as you chew on some popcorn while Simon takes sips of his drink here and there.

You come off your phone and hear your mother coming into your room. You have no time to prepare yourself or to even warn Simon, but he's already looking at her.

"Hi sweet girl!" Your mother exclaims happily, entering the room, hands on her hips. "How was school-" she cuts herself off, finally noticing Simon. She grins. "And who is this handsome boy?"

"Mom!" You scold, stepping off your bed, ready to usher her out, but she pulls you into a hug, kissing your cheek. You turn back at Simon, and he's gazing with a gentle expression, happy to see you and your mother's bond. "His name is Simon," you respond, pulling out of the hug.

Simon feels a slight blush form on his cheeks, shy once more. Your mom stops gazing at him too fondly for your liking and whispers in your ear, "he's a sweet one, I can tell."

You smile at her and glance back at Simon. "He's helping me with Math," you reveal.

Your mother's face brightens. "That's amazing, honey! Anyways, I'll leave you two to it, don't forget to lock the door-"

"Mom," you scold firmly this time. You love her dearly and you know she can tell that you like Simon.

She winks at you and leaves. You close the door and lock it. Simons muscles tense. You locked it? He doesn't want to think any further but he can see a blush on your face too.

『★』

Two hours. Two whole hours, Simon has spent one on one, simply inches away from each other. He easily covers his straining cock by having the popcorn bowl in front of it. He holds back jolts when you reach your hand for a snack.

You spent half the time looking at him and the other half wondering how his voice is so matured and dreamy. You did all the questions from your homework book and you played dumb on a few so he could lean in and explain it.

Simon grew comfortable in your presence. You are warm, soft and gentle. Everything he loves is you.

The thing he didn't expect at all was when you kissed him. You fucking kissed him. You and him! Kissing! He was explaining the most boring equation of all, leaning in more close, taking the pencil from your hand, your hands brushing together. He talks and continues talking when you catch gazes, noses nearly touching.

He wasn't sure whether Math turned you on? Or having someone tell you what to do? He was completely at loss, but once your lips touched his, the gates of heaven opened. You tasted of strawberries, sweet and addictive.

It was such a brief kiss, lasting a few seconds at most. His jaw goes slack afterwards. It was just a kiss, you don't want anything else. Maybe your thanking him for helping you? Both your hands stayed down at your lap, same with his. He's afraid if he touched you, he would never let go.

Should he confess? You've been staring dumbly at each other for about 30 seconds now.

"You're getting the hang of everything," he whispered smoothly. You sigh, feeling yourself growing wet. He was so good-looking and kind, too kind. He was huge, height and muscle wise, but his hands were so gentle.

In the moment, you place the popcorn on your beside table and climb on his lap. His eyes blow wide open as you take his face and lock your lips together once more. He moans into the kiss, making you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

He opens his legs, hands hesitantly holding onto your waist. Should he push you away or hold you closer? You deserved so much better than him. He's never kissed anyone before, and he's probably doing horrible. But he picks option two, he pulls you closer, fingertips pawing at your waist. He was right, warm, and soft.

You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, poking your tongue into his mouth, and he let's you, opening his lips, getting drunk off your taste. You sigh into the kiss. He's really good. You wonder how many girls he's been with, jealousy plaguing your mind.

You grind down on him, hips moving back and forth, needy to calm down your pulsing clit. He was rock solid. You swallow up his strangled moan, hips bucking up into yours like a pathetic mess.

Your hands move behind you, taking his hands and placing them on your asscheeks. He squeezes, becoming lost in everything you're doing. He wants to be in your mind, what are you thinking right now?

He pulls away and you look at him confused. His expression was pure pleasure. "Shit, no- fuck-" he groans, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

"What's wrong?" You speak softly, stroking his hair. Due to you leaning more down, your clothed pussy was right against him. He felt his stomach tighten, pleasure rippling through his body. Don't cum, don't you fucking dare, Simon. If you speak once more with that honey voice of yours he's done for.

"Simon?" You whisper, hearing his breathing come out in quick pants. He whines into your shoulder, and you stare at your wall, completely confused. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you down onto him as he jerks his hips up a few times, riding out his pleasure.

"Are you..." you pause, thinking about the situation. You saw he was hard, it was obvious with the grey sweatpants he was wearing. But did he seriously just cum under a minute of kissing?

You wait until his breathing goes normal, his body relaxing. You try to get up off him, but he holds onto you tightly.

"I'm sorry," he speaks, the most embarrassed he's ever been. He's made you uncomfortable. He knows it. A disgusting pervert, that's what he is. He pulls his head from your neck, missing the smell of you. He looks up at you half-lidded.

Your hands stroke his cheeks. You grin. "Did you cum?" You speak gently.

He swallows, wanting to look away, blushing furiously. "...yes."

"Don't think you weren't so sneaky with the popcorn bowl," you respond, laughing as you watch his reaction to you catching him out.

He groans, resting his head against yours. He's dreading at the thought of letting you go. The prettiest, sweetest girl ever. So soft and warm, he thinks, sighing.

You laugh, making his head snap up at the sound. "Thank you."

He wants to throw himself off a cliff. He said that out loud. For the love of-

"I take care if my skin," you respond, cupping his face, "all over."

He feels himself grow hard again and that's when he can't be close to you anymore. Crossing boundaries is something he doesn't do, especially around you.

You yelp as he lifts you off him, not a muscle straining, carrying you like your as light as a feather. He places you on the bed and he stands up, covering the dark patch on the crotch of his sweatpants.

You giggle, covering your mouth. "I can give you a t-shirt of mine to cover up."

He nods. "Thanks."

You get up, grabbing a random t-shirt and handing it to him. You gaze up at him, tilting your head. He didn't understand how you were looking at him so happily, he was an asshole to you and was disrespectful-

"Would you like a ride?" You question.

He allows his eyes to admire you for a while before responding. "It's okay, my house is just five minutes away."

"It is?" You question, your smile widening.

He swallows. Damn you, you're teasing him. "See you tomorrow," he grumbles, walking to your door.

"Wait!" You exclaim, grabbing his book bag and handing it to him. You lean up, holding the back of his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

His right hand itches forward to hold you, but he stops himself. No, you've already taken enough from her. What have you given her? The fucking creeps.

He simply nods, keeping his feelings to himself and walks down the hall. It takes every cell in his body to not look back at your face. He can feel your gaze trailing on him.

"Thanks for letting me stay," he thanks your mother, giving her a nod. But she squeals, hugging him close.

"My little love likes you, I can tell," she speaks hushed, not wanting you to hear. Don't give him hope, don't. His mind still races, even your mom can see it, your gaze with more shine as you look at Simon.

He nods again, brain running a million miles an hour to even form a sentence. He walks away from the kitchen and leaves through the door. He closes it behind him and walks down the drive.

He waits until he's completely off the property before grinning and laughing, all while holding your t-shirt to his crotch. The street is quiet, not a soul around. He walks away, an extra leap in his step, happiness fulfilling him.

All in one day, you met up with him, you drove him to your house, you studied in your room, you kissed and he... he cringed hard, not wanting to think about it. You had him wrapped around your finger. He keeps smiling, though. Next Thursday, he'll be with you again.

『★』

EEEEK SO CUTE!!

Guys, Simon is NOT a perv!! I just wanted to include his conflicted thoughts because he loves her so much and doesn't want to make her uncomfortable 🤧. I'm not sure how many parts I'm hoping on doing, mayyyyybe 4... or 5... 😙. For you smut girlies, yes, there WILL be smut in upcoming parts and I hope my writing will be up to your expectations. Have a lovely day💗

Also!! Please note I am not trying to sexualise the characters at all, they will be turning 18 soon and it isn't a shock to anyone that they are doing these kinds of this at 17🤭

[fishfooddude]

The Social Media Manager: The Series (Part 2)

Another installment of the social media manager series

Another shout out to @thebearsoc for the inspiration!

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Part 1

Meetings, Meetings, Meetings

“Wait, wait, wait-” Richie started rubbing a hand against the back of his head, “You’re tellin’ me, Marcus’s party girl 20-somethin’ year old friend is getting access to our social media? That’s bull, and you know it, Natalie.”  

Natalie rolled her eyes and glanced in Marcus’s direction, “Marcus, Rusty has done this before, right?”  he nodded before explaining, “Nat, Richie, I’m tellin’ ya’, Rusty is really good at this shit. Just give her a shot.” 

Carmy entered the sitting area of The Bear and sat next to Natalie without saying anything, “I don’t think we can afford this, Marcus. I’m sure Rusty is a wonderful social media manager, but the budgets tight.” Natalie sighed, staring at her computer screen.

 “That's the thing- you guys have a hookup.” Marcus grinned, hoping that this would be enough of a selling point. “Rusty owes me one. She’d probably do the setup for free, and I can do all the posting. She helped me redo my account when I came back from Cophegan- I went from like 100 followers to like 1,000 in a month.” 

Carmy looked around the group before nodding in Marcus’s direction, “Call her.”

Carmy stood up and walked out of the dining area through the kitchen and into the office, where his phone had been plugged in to charge. He quickly opened his phone, went to the seldomly used Instagram app, typed in your handle, and smiled as your account came up. He’d been Instagram stalking you since he’d heard Marcus giving Syd your handle. She’d laughed about it being a reference to a K-pop group he’d never heard of; granted, he’d never really listened to any of those groups. So far, he’d learned that you have an eclectic taste in music, an affinity for putting googly eyes on potted plants, a love for fancy coffees with overpriced pastries, and had, in fact, known Marcus since high school. He liked your style. There was something free about it; he admired your creativity. Carmy took notes about you through the account. Your highlight reels being indicative of your personality, the ‘Rusty cooking??’ highlight reel was particularly traumatizing. He wondered how you’d gotten into your 20s without knowing how to actually chop an onion, but he could show you how to do it properly; just the idea of that made his heart flutter. Carmy was incredibly attracted to you, but when you’d posted a boomerang of you kissing a guy’s cheek and tagged the guy’s account with a heart emoji, he was worried this would be another unrequited crush. 

When you walked into The Bear the next day in a pair of trousers with your hair up and a pair of glasses perched on your nose, Carmy felt like his heart was going to explode. He beelined for the bathroom to make sure he didn’t have anything in his teeth and washed his hands in an attempt to get the smell of cigarettes off his hands before going to talk to you. 

“So that’s what I would recommend doing for TikTok. The algorithm is tricky, but once you get on its good side, it can be really great publicity.” Carmy swallowed as he listened to you explain your strategy to Natalie and Richie. Natalie seemed impressed, while Richie seemed wary. “This is all really great Rusty. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.” Natalie smiled as she shuffled a pile of documents into a yellow folder. You shrugged and responded with a playful laugh before explaining that work had been slow at the moment, so you had some extra free time to take a peak at the analytics you could see without access to the account details. 

After Richie and Natalie said their goodbyes, Richie was still seemingly cold toward hiring a social media manager and you in general. The two of them discussed it as they walked toward the kitchen. Carmy waited until they had walked through the kitchen door before approaching you. If he struck out with you he’d prefer not to do it within earshot of his sister and Richie; he’d never live it down. “Hey.” Carmy greeted awkwardly, rocking on his heels.

You smiled back, “Hey you. Long time no see.” Carmy blushed at your flirtatious tone. “How you doin’ Carmy? Spendin’ a lot of time on Instagram, huh?” 

Carmy needed some clarification on the comment. You noticed and giggled before explaining, “You liked a picture on my account from like two years ago.” Carmy tightly grinned out of embarrassment. He hesitantly nodded, “Uh yeah—Marcus recommended you do our social media stuff… I just wanted to check out what you post.” 

He hoped he saved himself, but self-doubt was taking over. He watched as you began twirling a strand of hair on your index finger. “It’s okay, Carmy. I think you’re cute, and I’m going out on Friday with a couple of friends… if you happen to show up at this bar across town called The White Rabbit, I might let you buy me a drink.” 

Carmy was speechless. He was by no means an experienced dater, and within that limited experience, he’d never had a girl come onto him like this. You noticed his awkwardness and found it endearing. “No pressure. You can also just call me sometime.”

 You pulled a Sharpie out of your bag and grabbed Carmy’s wrist to write your number across his forearm, “Bye, Carmy.” you winked before walking past him, making sure he’d get a whiff of your perfume. 

“B-bye Rus-sty.” Carmy managed to stutter out as he watched you walk out of the front entrance. He pushed the heel of his hand against his jaw. You were different, and it scared him, but also found it enchanting.

Part 3

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #15] Paper Planes

warnings: byeol letting us know exactly what annoys her!! lil fight :( but jaykay is teeew cahyute :( we learn the red witch's name!!! cw: hayun!!!!! paper planes! jaykay is a little nervous, handjob, fingering, cockwarming, protected sex, oc on top, (f)solo masturbation...during cockwarming (??), mirror mentions, jaykay is just the loveliest

a/n: the comment section on this one always made me die lol

soundtrack: wrong - zayn ft. kehlani

wc: 11.1k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

When Jeongguk's phone vibrates on his nightstand, he pretends he can't hear it. It's the second time it's gone off in the last ten minutes, and even though he knows it's just you, there's something stopping him.

Okay, so that 'something' might be the little white lie he's told you about inviting a girl over - but he thinks if he replies to you, it will be obvious that he's alone.

It's been three days since you watched him type out a message to a girl, press send, and lock his phone almost immediately. He had thrown it down on his bed, groaned, and held his hand over his face as if it was some great strenuous task. 

It was only made worse by the sweet, musky scent still on his hands. You . 

And you seriously expected him to be able to invite another girl round? How the hell would he explain all the birds on his ceiling? Would he tell them the truth? Explain that they shouldn't get too comfortable with him, because his bed is reserved for his friend who he can't seem to help but desperately want to fuck?

The thought process left him reeling. 

Was still thinking about it even after you'd left that evening, none the wiser of his inner turmoil.

You also weren't wise to the fact that he'd flicked his phone over to airplane mode before sending that message. The girl - the one from the club who had kissed him with little care for anything more than the fact she thought he was gorgeous - never received the message.

And so Jeongguk had done something he knows you'd be displeased with: he lied.

Told you that he had invited her over. That she had said yes.

So he hasn't replied to any of your messages all morning, to make it seem believable.

Jeongguk's not quite sure why you're calling, now. Interrupting a date is the last thing you'd want to do, so it worries him - concerns him that maybe something is wrong - but he also fears you thinking badly of him. Knows that if you find out he is a big fat liar, you will be mad.

He'll call back soon. He will . He'll ruffle his hair, rub at his cheeks to make them a little blushed, and then he'll facetime you, as if he's just said goodbye. He'll ask not to talk about it, and let you draw your own conclusions.

He's torn from his thoughts - and the flashing of your call on his phone screen - by a knock at his apartment door. Jimin is at work, which means he has to answer it.

Tossing his phone onto his bed, Jeongguk heads towards the front door. At least this gives him an excuse to stretch his legs. He's been staring at the ceiling for a while, now. Been hoping another bird would fall so he could use it as a distraction. 

His footsteps are slow. Lethargic. His bare feet pad along the floor like a little lost puppy, as his hand comes to cover the yawn escaping from his mouth. Doing nothing all morning always makes him feel even more tired than he actually is.

He's barely finished yawning by the time he reaches for the door handle, pulling it open and putting on a smile.

And then, he panics.

"Shit."

Jeongguk almost slams the door shut again as soon as he opens it. In fact, he tries to do exactly that - but you put your palm against it just in time.

"You are unbelievable , Jeon Jeongguk."

"Byeol-"

"No, no, no," you almost laugh, waltzing straight on into his apartment as if it's your own. The television is off, and Jeongguk hasn't cleaned up the kitchen since he made breakfast, so he quite clearly has had no company - but you know this already. "You don't get to 'Byeol' me. Not now." 

He follows you in, but stands by the kitchen counter as you take centre stage by the sofa. Your arms are folded over your chest, tightly, just to let him know how unimpressed you really are. 

Jeongguk can't help but smile. He thinks you sort of look like a pissed-off bunny rabbit. Half expects your foot to start thumping out of frustration. You're dressed down - a pair of tights and a shirt large enough to be a dress, with a flannel over the top of it. You've still got your black converse on, which is testament to how little you care about leaving a good impression. They really should be by the door. But you're pissed - and rightly so.

"C'mon, Byeol-"

"No!"

"But-"

"You promised me, Gguk," you eventually sigh, shaking your head, eyes all doe-like and pretty as they reflect the light of his floor lamp. The glitter on your lashline is ridiculous as ever, and he's glad for it. Has missed it. Missed you.

"I know," he concedes. "How did you-"

"I'm a girl," you interrupt. "We know everything ."

Or at least, you know the Instagram handle of the girl he was supposed to be seeing, and had also seen her post a story by the coast that morning - miles and miles from Jeongguk's apartment.

Jeongguk casts his eyes to the floor. You've a bag hooked over your shoulder, so he knows you're heading to work, but had called in by his place first. He knows you don't have much time to waste, and he feels horrible about it all.

"So?" You ask impatiently. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

When he glances back up towards you, nibbling down on his bottom lip, brows a little higher than usual, you know he must be squirming beneath his skin. Good , you think. It's the least he deserves.

"Y'know," you scoff when he can't bring himself to say anything that would justify lying to you. "Maybe I was just naive, but I thought you got it . Didn't think I'd ever have to worry about you lying to me-"

"Byeol."

"Turns out you're just like every other guy I know."

The charming curve of his placid smile drops. His lips rest ajar and his eyes are wide - but his brows are furrowed. You're not sure if it's confusion or hurt lacing his features, but you decide that both are desirable. 

It's unfair to compare Jeongguk to other men in your life. You both know this. Unfortunately, you also both know there's only one comparison that will really hurt him.

But you're pissed. 

And so you make the comparison. 

"After Jin, I always told myself I wouldn't let anyone lie to me - but apparently lying to me is easy."

Oh, the silence. It burns . Scalds you both. 

You readjust the bag on your shoulder and shrug. Shake your head. Purse your lips. Are already running late for work, so pick your heels up and storm past him with one final scoff to really wound him.

"I thought we trusted one another. I thought we were friends . More fool me."

You don't take the elevator, instead heading for the stairs. There's a fear that he'll chase after you, and you don't want to be caught out as you wait for the lift to reach his floor.

It's not until you're out of his apartment block that Jeongguk actually moves. Doesn't even really think, either. The minutes pass slowly. It's suffocating.

The impact of your words sizzle and settle into his skin like the mark of a brandishing iron. LIAR , the imprint would read.

He crouches. Takes a deep breath. Hadn't considered there being any impact to his white lie. Thought it would be something he'd admit in a few weeks time, and maybe you'd find it funny. 

You're still learning about one another, though. There are stones left to unturn - some that are too heavy for him to do by himself. He'll need your help. 

But right now? 

You need a drink. Vodka, preferably. 

Unfortunately, drinking on the job isn't an option, so Hoseok starts on an iced americano the second he sees you storm into the room. He says nothing. Has seen you with a face of thunder before. Doesn't wanna feel the wrath of your lightning. Is unaware of the fact Jeongguk's sitting in his apartment slightly frazzled already.

Instead, he just places the drink beside you as you check through the day's bookings. It's relatively quiet, thankfully. Will give you more time to focus on planning Taehyung's upcoming exhibition. You need to send feelers out, and drum up a little bit of hype, but feigning excitement at the moment is the last thing you want to do.

"Wanna talk about it?" Hoseok eventually asks after half an hour of silence from you.

Glancing over to him, you offer a soft smile. He's the one guy who's never let you down. "It's no biggie."

And that's thing - it really isn't. In the grand scheme of things, Jeongguk's little lie really doesn't mean all that much. 

The thing that bothers you is that he would have rather told a lie, than just be honest with you. 

It's a slippery slope, you think. If he sees he can get away with a small lie, what's to say the next time it won't be an even bigger one? And then an even greater one? And then he'll just be lying left right and centre and-

"Oh," Hoseok interrupts your thoughts. Nods towards the entryway, where a man you'd rather not shower in customer service smiles stands. "I'm gonna go count some stock."

Hoseok never counts stock. He's just getting out of your hair. Knows that you've been spending a lot of time with Jeongguk as of late, so presumes that maybe he's got something to do with your foul mood. 

"We're all booked up," you tell Jeongguk, not even looking in his direction. You busy yourself cleaning out some brushes, instead. 

Still in the clothes he was wearing in his apartment - a pair of grey sweats and a black t-shirt - he's annoyingly handsome. Is also wearing his black converse. Just like you. It pisses you off.

He looks into the room and hums. There's a single couple by the side wall. No one else.

"Thought you were annoyed at me for lying?" He tries not to smirk. He knows you're being ridiculous, now. "You can't be lying, too. Would make you a hypocrite." 

He's got you there.

"Fine," you snap back a little harsher than you intend. "This area is for paying customers only, I'm afraid, sir. Please buy a canvas, or fuck off."

"Is that how you usually speak to punters?" He grins, digging into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. This just annoys you even more. You wanted him to leave.  He tosses his card down on the counter. Doesn't care what he pays for. Will pay for anything just as long it gives him a chance to make things right.

"To the ones who deserve it," you smile, but he knows how you actually smile at him. Knows this one is entirely false. Reaching over for his card, you begin tapping through some options on the till system. "So that's a deluxe painting experience for two?"

"For two?" He questions.

"All of our solo slots are unavailable," you shrug. It's such a blatant lie that it makes Jeongguk laugh.

"All of your basic packages, too?"

"Mhmm."

"Fine," he just says. "May as well go all out. Charge me for a VIP package."

You pause. Glance up towards him, only to realise he's deadly serious. The VIP package rarely sells, because it's honestly not worth it. Customers just get fresh supplies that they're able to take home - and a personal buzzer that they can use to get the staff's attention.  

Turning your concentration back to the screen, you nod, and process his payment. "Very well. Please take a seat of your choice. My colleague will bring your supplies to you."

Jeongguk knows Hoseok. There's no need for you to be so fucking formal. He thinks you're being unreasonable. 

"Not you?"

"No. Not me."

You really mean it. Will avoid Jeongguk like the plague if you can help it.

Hoseok has other ideas. He refuses and practically pushes you out from behind the desk with Jeongguk's apron and paints in hand. You whisper curses in his direction, but straighten yourself up to approach Jeongguk with a demure demeanour. Cold as ice, he's not used to seeing you like this. Finds it kind of funny.

Sat by the window you adore so much, Jeongguk has his back to you, and is quiet as a mouse. He's decided that he's not going to engage in conversation with you, because he knows you. Knows that it will drive you mad. Knows that you'll start a conversation just to bicker with him.

But you're also silent as you approach; silent as you don't bother arranging his paints for him like you know you should, silent when you let the apron drop to the floor instead of handing it to him. 

You place the buzzer beside him, and walk away knowing that Hoseok will have to accept any of Jeongguk's calls, for you'll just refuse. 

Thing is, you didn't charge Jeongguk for a VIP package. 

You charged him for solo basic package. 

And so when the buzzer alert vibrates at the front desk, Hoseok refuses to get it. Says he's under no obligation to fulfil Jeongguk's requests. You gave him the buzzer. It's your job.

"You wouldn't have given him a buzzer if you didn't want an excuse to talk to him," Hoseok says, and regretfully, you know he's right. So you just give him a small glare, and head in Jeongguk's direction. 

It's barely been five minutes since he sat down. He can't need help already. 

You say nothing as you stand beside him. Wait for him to turn to you. Refuse to look at his canvas.

"Do you guys have wifi here?"

There's a poster on the wall quite literally beside him with the code on it. You nod in its direction, and catch glimpse of his canvas - and the pale blue letting in the middle of it: 

i'm sorry 

"That everything?" You ask a little impatiently. 

"Yeah," he smiles, and his lip ring flips ever so slightly. You hate how much you love it when that happens. Jeongguk thinks you want to smile back - but you storm off before he has a chance to confirm this.

And so five minutes later, the buzzer vibrates again. You groan, and Hoseok just smirks. Tells you that you reap what you sow. 

You tell him you'll sew his mouth shut if he's not careful.

When you reach Jeongguk again, he has another stupid question - "which way up should the canvas be?" - and you know it's just a ploy to have you looking at what he's written on there again. The entire background is baby blue now, but in peachy pale orange, it reads: 

forgive me :(

You simply reach over, and turn the canvas so that the painted side is facing the easel. "Much better." 

He knows he shouldn't push his luck, so he decides against calling you over again - but he does take his precious time painting, then starting over - again and again - just to buy more time in his little corner of the cafe. The sun sets. Hoseok heads home. So do the last customers- and yet Jeongguk remains. 

You had spent the rest of your shift trying (and failing) not to glance in his direction. With the amount of art that adorns his arm, you're not surprised to find he's the artistic type, but you hadn't expected him to be a pastels kinda guy.

"Pretty," you muse as you come to stand behind him. Your voice is soft now, in a way that it wasn't earlier. Calmer. More at ease. Not quite warm, but certainly not as frosty as it had been.

"You think?" he tilts his head, and ignores the way your hands rest upon the top of his shoulders. 

It's not that you aren't still annoyed with him - you most definitely are - it's just that you've spent the entire day in a horrible mood. It's so much nicer to pretend you're not. It actually makes you feel a lot better.

In front of Jeongguk is a pretty little sunset scene. Purples and oranges, like a meeting of clematis and clementines. It makes a change from the pink and blue gradients that people usually do, and you find yourself a little bit enamoured with the way he sees the world.

"Mhhm," you nod, and squeeze his shoulders gently. "Really pretty. I've only got a couple of jobs left to do. Got much to add?"

He shakes his head. Truthfully, could have been finished three hours ago. Thinks he's done - then says, "hold on."

Dipping his thinnest brush into the small reserve of white paint on his palette, he adds a dainty star in his sky. 

"There," he says triumphantly.

"Beautiful," you muse.

If you weren't too busy looking at his art, you'd catch his beaming face in the reflection of the window, and the way he bites down on his lip just before he agrees. There's something comforting about the way he paints; like a blanket over cold toes on a winter's night, the promise of everything being okay in the end. It's hopeful, you think. Calming. Promising.

And yet Jeongguk is still Jeongguk.

"I'll put it up in the living room next to your tits."

Rolling your eyes, you tap the back of his head and walk away. 

"At least you won't have to lie to Jimin about this one. He still think my tits are courtesy of Tae?"

"Courtesy of Tae," Jeongguk nods as he gets to his feet and begins to clear away his supplies. "He hasn't been round ours lately to say otherwise, and Jimin hasn't mentioned it to him, so we're all good."

You mumble a noise to affirm Jeongguk's assumptions. You know your tits are ticking time bomb - you just have no idea when it's set to blow. Hope that you'll be safe from the blast when it happens.

Jeongguk disagrees. He really does believe Jimin won't give a fuck. Might be a bit weird, granted, but it's not like Jimin has any claim on you. Sure, he got you 'first', but Jeongguk doesn't think it counts for anything.

"At least that's one less thing for you to lie about. I actually do need to call Tae," you ponder as you restock the paint.

Jeongguk ignores the small jab about lying. Knows that you'll no doubt insist on talking about it later, so revels in the distraction of Taehyung. "You do?"

"Mhhm," you say. "We need to plan the layout for the exhibition. Figure out how we're gonna make the space usable for regular customers, still."

"Well," Jeongguk considers as he runs his palette under the sink tap. "If you need any help moving the furniture about, I'll be happy to help. Anything for Tae."

"For Tae?" You raise a brow.

"Uh-huh. Not for you."

Oh, what a beautiful liar Jeon Jeongguk is: eyes bright, smile wide, cheeks so appled you think he could make cider. There's no malice in his misconstruction of reality, just a tender awareness that you tend to enjoy when he's like this.

You look at him with perplexed eyes, and sigh so deeply he thinks that you can't have been breathing properly all day. 

He knows what's coming next. Saves you the effort of asking the question. 

"I just... got scared." He looks down at his hands. They rest on the counter above the till, as he picks off flecks of dried paint with his nails. You don't tell him to stop, even though you've already wiped the surface down. Figure he's doing it because he's a little stressed. You feel bad.

"I know," you offer a little sympathy. "But isn't that the whole point? We're doing things that scare us, Gguk."

"You've been doing so well," he says and glances up, eyes wide and desperately wanting you to understand. "I'm lagging behind."

You shake your head, and gently squeeze his hand. He stops picking at the paint, so you keep it there. 

"I'm doing well with you," you insist. "Put me with a stranger? Anyone else? I'm not sure I'd be able to cope as well as I have been with you."

He hadn't considered it that way. He pushes his lips to the side like a bunny twitching its nose. It's endearing how vulnerable he can seem despite his piercings and tattoos. There's a softness to Jeongguk. 

"And, hey- at least you did invite me round."

"That doesn't count," he says, reminding you of your own words.

"But it shows that you're also doing well with me. We both need to work on using the lessons we've learned from one another. Both have a long way to go."

He just shrugs. Pulls his hand away, so he can take his apron off. 

"I still shouldn't have lied. I'm sorry."

"And I probably shouldn't have been so harsh on you," you offer back. "Should have heard you out before I decided that you were the spawn of satan himself."

He shakes his head. Doesn't think you were entirely wrong for being so annoyed. He knows he didn't have to lie to you. Instead, he had made an active choice to deceive you in order to make his life a little bit easier. 

Thing is, he's never had anyone call him out for bullshit like this before. Knows he'll think twice before he does it again.

"C'mon," he just says, knocking his head towards the door. "It's late. I'll walk you home."

It's shit like this that makes it impossible to stay mad at Jeongguk. 

His heart is in the right place, as are his intentions - it's just his execution that sometimes leaves something to be desired. Everyone makes mistakes, though. We live and we learn.  

You think that you're learning a lot from one another. Are glad you're able to resolve differences like these easily. Shows he cares about making things right. 

And so you invite him inside when you reach your place. Danbi is away visiting her sister, so it's just been you for the last couple of days. You don't mind it - you enjoy your space - but sometimes it's nice to have another voice in the four walls you call home. 

Despite the lack of a nosey housemate (who would definitely have a few suggestive glances to throw your way if she saw Jeongguk arrive home with you), you invite him to your bedroom, instead of staying in the living room. Aren't really sure why. Just feels... apt. 

It's not his first time entering your space, but he's still a near stranger to your bedroom. It couldn't be more different from his. You're a maximalist through and through, with enough decorative pillows to open up a soft furnishing shop. There are photos of friends, ticket stubs, and old flyers adorning your wall - a paper trail mapping out exactly who you are, all for his viewing pleasure. 

He learns you like a few bands that he does, too. Asks about your favourite tracks. Learns dumb shit about you. Finds that he likes you even more with every new admission. 

Unlike his, your bed is tucked into the corner of your room, where a slightly sloped ceiling makes it feel all cosy. There's no space birds you think. 

"Would be a waste," Jeongguk just shrugs. Is still beating himself for the fact he's seemingly unable to do even the simplest of birds. 

"I wish you wouldn't sell yourself short, Gguk," you sigh, looking at him with a little more pity than he'd probably appreciate. It's okay, though. He doesn't look at you. Just nibbles at his bottom lip and keeps his focus on his hands. "I know your last girl hurt -"

"Hayun," he says quietly.

"Hmm?" You question, though you know exactly what the interruption means. It's her name . He's finally speaking her into existence. Introducing his past to his present. Progress, you think - but selfishly, you sort of wish he hadn't. She'd always been ambiguous. Unknown.

With her name comes knowledge; and the ability to seek her out in Jeongguk's Instagram followers just to see what he's picturing instead when he gets a little too cosy with you.

"Hayun," he repeats, not that he needs to. "She's called Hayun."

She sounds like a bitc-

You cut your thoughts off before they can fully form. You don't know her. Only know Jeongguk's side of the story. It would be unfair to judge her. No matter how badly you want to.

"Well," you start slowly, a little unsure of yourself. "She. Her. Hayun . She hurt you." He nods. "But she's one person. There are billions of people out there, and of those billions, only a very small few will hurt you. You can't keep writing yourself off because of one person."

Hypocrite.

That's the thing, though. There are probably dozens of people out there who are just like her, but won't hurt him. 

Now you come to think about it, there are probably just as many people like you, too.

In the end, what really makes any of us so special? So unique?

Deep down, you know the answer: other people.

It's strangers on the street deciding how attractive you are in mere seconds, friends you've known for years finding comfort in your presence, lovers who mourn the loss of you even when you're still alive and kicking.

Hayun isn't special. She's just human.

Jeongguk is what made Hayun special. He decides that she's special.

But you make him special, too. 

No one sees him quite as you do. No one notices the callouses on his hands, or the tiny section of hair that his hairdresser cropped just a little bit too short compared to the rest of the cut. No one notices the way it's always the right side of his smile that lifts first, or that he always shakes his head a little before he adjusts his hair.

No one else notices the tiny flecks of glitter you sometimes leave on his skin. Not even him.

But you do.

Jeon Jeongguk is special because you choose to make him that way.

Just like you make Seokjin special. You've all the power, and one day you'll wise up to it. For now, you'll just hope that Jeongguk wises up to it, too.

"Then why do you do it?" Jeongguk counters. "Why do you write yourself off because of one person?"

It's a good question.

You find that missing Seokjin comes in waves. 

You'll think you're fine - that the shores have settled and the winds have calmed - but then the tide will come in. Waves will thunder towards you and crash seemingly without warning. You'll be drenched in your sorrow, and there'll be nothing you can do but watch the rides roll away again. He'll be gone, but only long enough for your clothes to dry. He'll be back soon enough to wreck you once more.

Jeongguk watches as you contemplate your answer. Notices the way your shoulders sort of cave in on themselves. Wonders if you were like this before Seokjin.

He's seen glimpses of you that he believes came before Seokjin. The times when you smile; when you laugh without fear of being judged. He's seen you vulnerable, and hates the fact that someone who treated you so unkindly has also seen you like that.

"I'm not sure," you admit. "Part of me thinks it wasn't my fault. That he knew exactly what he was doing every time he broke my heart."

"And the other?"

You look at him for a moment. Wonder what's going on inside that pretty little head of his. You don't think he's judging you, but he definitely is mulling your answers over.

"The other..." you sigh. "The other part remembers the good."

"And what was the good?" Jeongguk queries. "I've only heard the bad."

He doesn't doubt there must have been good times - he just doesn't think they could make up for how dreadful you seem to feel now. 

It's like that wave of missing Seokjin has stolen his breath, too. He feels the impact. Maybe not in the same way that you do, but he definitely notices it. Notices how it gets to you. It's a domino effect.

You shrug. There's so much you could say, but nothing that feels like it could justify what a terrible state you're in.

"He wasn't all bad. He isn't all bad. He made me laugh-"

"Bare minimum."

"Shut up," you say, tapping Jeongguk's chest with a grin on your face. "He's ambitious, yanno? I liked his drive. Liked that he knew what he wanted and would stop at nothing to get it."

Jeongguk holds his tongue. Drops his gaze from yours. Is scared you'll somehow read his thoughts, and know he's thinking: kind of like when he cheated on you?

But you're thinking it too. Know that his ambition was founded in selfishness. 

"Well," Jeongguk sighs. "They've both fucked us up, haven't they?"

"A little. At least we're trying to fix ourselves, now."

"Trying," Jeongguk repeats. "Not sure we're succeeding."

"Maybe not yet, but... I have an idea," you grin. It's for him, not for you.

Jeongguk narrows his eyes. The last bright idea you had ended up with a flock of paper birds above his bed, and you seeing him far more naked than you ever should have done. He doesn't imagine this idea will be much better.

You take his silence as permission to carry on talking.

"So I don't have any origami paper-"

"Oh, fuck no," Jeongguk laughs. Not more birds.

"No, hear me out!" You laugh right back. "You said that you don't mind doing your birds with me - that it's different to doing them with other people, right?"

He nods. Is cautious as he does so. Doesn't entirely see where you're going with this.

"You're always willing to do my birds, right?"

"Right..."

You take a deep breath. Are aware that what you're about to suggest could be met with rejection - but how can Jeongguk be expected to be brave enough to open himself up for rejection if no one around him ever does?

"My birds all tend to... be focused on the same thing, right? But you're always happy to do them with me. You're not scared of like... sex. Whatever, you know what I mean," you struggle to articulate yourself.

Jeongguk takes a moment. 

He knows that there's an idea brewing in your head, but chooses to ignore the mental gymnastics involved in figuring it out.

"But," you continue. "What about the things you're cautious of? The things that scare you in the bedroom? There must be some you haven't done before because you were scared of your partner thinking it would be weird?"

"Well, yeah? I'm sure everyone has?"

"Okay, good," you grin, getting to your feet and retrieving some paper from your desk and a pen. "Think of the most unhinged, or slightly obscure things you've always wanted to try. The stuff that you haven't tried before. The things you've feared being rejected."

"Why?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Stupid question."

It's stupid because it doesn't answer his question, but also stupid because he thinks the answer is abundantly clear. 

And yet you ask again.

"Do you trust me?"

He wants to say no, just to be difficult, but his lips betray him.

"Course I do."

You ignore the way your cheeks heat up at his admission. After the little meltdown you'd had earlier, it's nice to hear - and reminds you that he could probably do with a little reassurance too.

"Good. I trust you too. To me, it seems like sex is less scary to you than pursuing relationships - so let's do a sex-based fear of yours instead. Ease you into facing the other ones that actually mean something to you."

Jeongguk isn't convinced of your logic - but you just look so damn hopeful. He'd feel like an ass if he didn't try.

"Alright," he says. "How do we do this?"

"Write the things you feared getting rejected down. I won't look. Just write them down," you repeat, before adding, "then fold them into paper planes."

"Paper planes?" he laughs, and so do you.

"Yes. Paper planes. Chop chop," you continue grinning as you close your eyes to encourage him to get to work.

He looks over at you - the smile settling on your lips, the serenity to be found in your company, and thinks fuck it. 

What's he got to lose? A little dignity? Perhaps it's naivety, or maybe it's just the influence of your enthusiasm, but he feels as if maybe you're right. Maybe things don't have to terrify him. At least not when he's with you.

He's seen how mortified you get whenever one of your birds fall, and how happy you always are after they're completed. You make the scary seem safe.

And so does as he's told. There are five pieces of paper, so he writes down five things he's never done. Five things he's always wanted to try - mostly out of morbid curiosity, more than anything.

When he says he's done you insist that he shuffles the (expertly folded) paper planes up. The way he bends to your every whim is quite remarkable. Makes you think that Hayun must have been a real piece of shit to take advantage of his feelings. If he's this willing for you, he must have constantly been on his knees for her.

"Okay," you say excitedly when he's done. You point to the mirror across from your bed, signalling to the empty waste bin next to it. "First paper plane to land in there, we do."

"We do?" He chokes on his own words. He sort of thought he'd just be sharing his desire. Not doing .

"We do - within reason. Like, if you want a threesome then that's just not possible, 'cause I'm simply one woman," you joke. Jeongguk smiles in such a way that tells you there's definitely ' threesome ' on one of his planes. "Look, let's just do it. What's the worst that could happen? I say no? Life goes on, Jeongguk. It'll be okay."

He hesitates, but not because he's nervous. It's cause he knows he's got a great shot. Tells you so.

"The first one will go in," he promises - so you choose one for him, and are proven right as he sinks the plane into the bin without an ounce of effort.

"Huh," you hum. "Nice."

You choose not to question the fact it sort of turned you on. Put it down to hunter-gatherer instincts. Some shit like that. 

Instead, you hop off your bed to retrieve the plane. While you're up, you roll off your tights. Don't wanna ruin one of your best pairs.

"Shall I do the honours, or would you like to tell me what we're doing?" You ask. 

"Put me out of my misery," Jeongguk groans, letting his body collapse into your pillows. Buries his head. Decides he hates this game. 

Hates it even more when he hears you whisper, "holy shit."

"What is it?" he grumbles into your pillow.

All rather suddenly, Jeongguk's expert aim isn't the only thing that's turned you on this evening. What he's written? Fuck . One of your favourite things. 

"It's torture," you tell him.

"I didn't write that down."

"No... but what you wanna do? Man, knowing you? You'll hate it."

You get back onto your bed and roll him over. There's no resistance. He just lets you move him about. Lets you straddle his hips. Grunts a little as you adjust. Curses when you turn the piece of paper around for him to read: 

cockwarming

"Great choice," you hum in approval. "Not what I was expecting but-"

"Wait," he laughs. "You actually want to do it?"

You shrug. "A bird's a bird. A plane's a plane."

"But do you want to?"

"Would I be sat on your lap like this if I didn't?"

He never gets a straight bloody answer from you. It frustrates him. Mentally. Sexually, too.

"This is so fucking weird," he laughs, pulling his arm to cover his face, his saccharine smile the only thing left on show.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist and pull his arm away. He keeps his eyes closed regardless.

"Look, weirder things have happened," you reason. "But if you don't wanna do it-"

"No!" He cuts you off rather abruptly. "I mean, yes. No. Yes. Fuck. Whatever. I wanna do it."

The hand that had covered his face rests now on your hip. When he looks up at you like this, you think his ex must have been mad to fuck him over. 

He's so precious; the dewy tip of his nose slightly blushed, lips pouty and a little glossy. It's his hair that really gets you, though, and how it's so silky smooth that it never tangles, not even as it's pointed in all different directions over his forehead. 

You reach over to straighten it out, and Jeongguk wonders what's behind the delicate smile on your lips. Wants to know every inch of the brain that you so often get lost in. Wonders what he'll find of himself in there.

It's probably for the best he doesn't know.

Your smile broadens a little, cheeks like cherries, so sweet and precisely what he's craving.

"Okay," you nod. You're sat on his crotch and can feel that he's stiff beneath you, but ask if he's hard enough just to check.

"Don't look," he tells you as he hooks his fingers beneath his sweats. You raise yourself up a little to give him some wiggle room. There's a small dark patch of grey where you've been sitting. He isn't the only one who's a little excited.

He pulls himself out of his underwear. Strokes once, twice. Knows he can be a little harder, but he's nervous. Grips himself tighter. Doesn't look at you.

You don't look at him either. 

Instead, you twist your body over to the nightstand, where a small trinket box sits prettily. Jeongguk had paid it no mind when he was looking around your room earlier, as he'd just assumed it was a jewellery box. You flick it open and retrieve something a little more important than pair of earrings - though now you think of it, you also slip your rings off.

Sitting up straight again, you place your bounty on his stomach.

Jeongguk looks down his body, chin to his chest, to see what you've put there.

"Think we'll need it?"

You glance down to check you've put the right thing on his stomach, a little panicked incase you'd mindlessly retrieved your vibrator from the box instead of your bottle of lube - but nope. All good. It's next to a condom. Safety first.

"Yeah?" You let your brows furrow and settle quickly. "We're not working me up, so."

He narrows his eyes. Remembers to sound of your pussy as he had pushed his fingers into you. Knows that it really doesn't take that much to get you dripping.

"We can," he offers. "Like this is a whole process-"

"The plane says cockwarming," you shrug, conscious of not making this about yourself. "So that's what we'll do."

"Byeol."

"Jeongguk."

"Yanno, your need to follow your self-imposed rules is gonna cause us issues," he tells you with such certainty that is kind of funny he looks so stern when his hand is wrapped around his cock.

"No it's not - put the condom on - it's gonna do us a world of good," you smile. 

"You won't even let me kiss you."

"'Cause that's too intimate!"

"Byeol, my cock is gonna be inside you."

"Lucky boy."

"Byeol-"

"Just let me sit on your dick," you grin, rolling your eyes at how pedantic he is. "We can psychoanalyse ourselves later, okay?"

"I-" he sighs, closing his eyes so firmly shut that creases etch themselves into his skin. "I'm hard, I'm just not... there yet."

"You're not?" you hum in surprise. He never has much trouble getting hard, from what you've seen before.

He shakes his head. Bites his lip. Apologises. "Just nervous, I think."

The stupid thing is that he knows he needn't be. He's just not used to this. He's used to foreplay that gets him to the point of coming undone before the funs even really started. He takes his time when he fucks. Takes it seriously.

But you're so casual he can't wrap his head around it. Can't understand how you aren't scared, too.

Thing is, you're terrified. A boundary is being crossed that neither one of you can come back from - but there are only consequences if the pair of you make it that way. It doesn't have to mean anything, and so you're pretending like it doesn't.

"Would it help if I..." You ask quietly, not finishing the sentence. 'Helping' is not on the plane. You shouldn't.

He says nothing. Swallows harshly. You're thankful for the fact he hasn't taken his shirt off. The beating of his heart that you can see through the cotton is already too much to cope with.

He nods.

Stills his hand.

Waits for yours to join.

It's already been established before that your hands are far smaller than his - but seeing them wrapped around the base of his cock? Yeah, it almost makes him say 'fuck it' and ask for a handjob instead. Can't remember the last time he'd have chosen one of those over pussy, but he likes your hands. Likes your wrists. Wants to watch what they can do.

Funnily enough, he can barely keep his eyes open when you actually do get to work. Feels too fucking good. 

You're salivating . Can't remember the last time you gave a simple handjob either. Always end up sucking instead, and there are never any complaints, so you'd forgotten what a simple pleasure it can be to watch a man writhe from your hand alone.

"You good?" you say quietly as he pulses his hips up into your grip. He's hard . Real fucking stiff. Probably the hardest you've ever seen him.

"Mhmm," he nods, only opening his eyes when your grip loosens. You can't take your eyes off of him. He's far bigger than you imagine him in your mind. A vein runs up the underside of his shaft, from the base right to his head, and something about it gets you a little breathless. Just like he is. "Yeah. Shit. Sorry. Yeah, I'm good. You good?"

You like how he stumbles over his words whenever he's turned on. You've noticed it a few times. Always gets your biting your lip. It's refreshing how open he is about how easily he loses control.

It's funny. When you finally look up at his face, you notice he's got a very similar vein that runs down his neck. It's engorged. Prominent. Blood desperately pumping through his body to keep him hard - not that he needs much persuading. 

"All good," you nod. "You ready?"

You're expecting compliance - but he shakes his head. 

"We both know you absolutely cannot take me without warming up a little first, Byeol."

You think he underestimates just how fucking wet you are. Beneath your bra, your nipples are so hard it fucking hurts . You can't remember the last time you were this turned on.

So turned on in fact, you've not thought of Seokjin once, despite the fact Jeongguk is where he usually is. It kind of feels like Jeongguk belongs in your mountain of pillows, lit up by the neon light above your bed. It's a little pink heart - a gift from Danbi one Christmas - and it paints him in the most gorgeous hues. There are no stars in his eyes, just tiny pink hearts. Suits him.

"It doesn't matter if 'this' is for me," he says tenderly. "'Cause honestly, I can't get off if the person I'm with isn't getting off, too. Let me at least make things a little easier for you."

"Easier?" you question, but needn't. It's obvious what he's alluding to. He glances down to his cock, which is thick and still in your grasp. Far thicker than his fingers are.

He nods. "Let me finger you again. We've done it before. We can do it again. I promise you the birds won't mind."

You think his forwardness is perhaps the sexiest thing about him in moments like these. 

He isn't afraid to ask of what he wants from you - which makes everything all the more confusing. Perhaps he really isn't fearful of rejection from you.

"Or you can do it yourself," he also offers. He doesn't want to be too forceful with his requests, just knows you'll thank him later. For all of his creative endeavours, Jeongguk has an analytical mind. Remembers his first forrays into relations with women, and mistakes that had been made in the past. He knows he needs you wet, and knows that even with lube, the tightness can still be a bitch. "I don't mind. I just don't wanna hurt you."

"Okay," you whisper.

"Okay?"

You nod. "You can do it."

The way he sinks his fingers into you is borderline paradise. 

Truthfully, you've only tried getting yourself off once since he was last inside you like this, and gave up halfway through. It just wasn't as good without him.

His thumb presses against your clit, and he's pleased to have you mewling. Had missed that sound. Fucks his fingers into you a little deeper. Stokes against your walls just how you like it. They're hot. Wet. Fucking divine - and he gets to put his cock inside you afterwards? Jeongguk thinks he's won the fucking lottery. 

He briefly thinks of Jimin. Decides that if he were ever to win the actual lottery, he'd probably give Jimin a share of the money. Not all of it. He'd keep the biggest prize. It makes sense to him that you've got a pussy like the winning numbers. As long as he's the one declared 'winner', Jeongguk thinks he'll be okay.

You tell him that you're good - that you can take him now - and he wants to protest. 

Partially cause he's only two fingers deep and knows he should really be three if he wants to stretch you out enough to easily take cock, but also 'cause he really fucking like the way you sound. You insist though, so he lets you. Will let you do anything you like at this point. 

He doesn't bother cleaning his fingers off. In an ideal world, he'd lick them clean - but that's uncharted territory between the pair of you. Doesn't wanna scare you off - as if you aren't rolling a condom down his cock, before lining yourself up with it as he considers it. 

He's throbbing already, swollen and hard, desperate to be sheathed inside you. Tells himself that it's okay, because you're not actually gonna be fucking and also because he's wearing a condom. Skin on skin? Raw? That'd be different, he tells himself.

"Ready?" You ask, breath a little shaky. You don't know why you suddenly feel nervous.

He nods. "Ready."

The tip of his cock rests against your entrance. 

You had deliberately stopped Jeongguk from working you up fully, because you wanted to really feel him as he enters you. 

There's a pleasure to be found in the right kind of pain - and sinking onto cock as big as his? Yeah . That's one of them.

You lower yourself so slowly that Jeongguk is absolutely certain you must be a masochist - or at least he would be, if could form coherent thoughts. He's too busy feeling . You're tight around him. Hot. Slippery yet small. He knows the lube is redundant. Knows you'd have been able to take him without it.

"Holy shit," you curse, still only about halfway down his shaft. 

In another, ideal, world, you'd start to bounce a little. Ease things in a little more gently - but that's strictly against the rules of cockwarming. All you can do is curse. Like him, you're feeling, too - stretched out, full. Content.

It takes the best part of a minute to sink to the base of his cock, and when you do, it takes everything in you not to just fuck him.

Instead, you lay yourself flat against him, arms crossed over his pecks, chin resting on your wrists. His own chin is pressed to his chest, angled a little awkwardly, just so he can look at you. You've no idea what's going on behind his treacle eyes.

"Is it okay?" you whisper, though it's more like a whimper. You're fucking pulsing around him. You both know it.

He nods. 

"Weird," he admits with a smile, a little breathless. "But good."

He finds sanctuary in these moments with you. Is unsure of how the pair of you ended up here, but doesn't mind that you have. He finds it mad that you view this as not being intimate. Thinks you must be clinically insane.

The truth of the matter is that you've made a fatal error. The reason you hadn't considered cockwarming as being too intimate is because you hadn't considered it all. No one ever asks to do it during drunken hook-ups.

But you're comfortable. You like it. You're no stranger to the act, but it's always been foreplay. With Seokjin, it never lasted more than a minute or so. Was just something to tease one another with.

This is different.

"I really like this," he whispers. You don't open your eyes, but you do smile when you feel his torso twist a little beneath you, his fingers reaching over to fix the strands of hair that have fallen from behind your ear.

Aways attentive, he never misses the chance to preen you. Welcomes you at your worst, but endeavours to get you at your best. It's curious.

"Me, too."

"Hey, Byeol?" He hums quietly.

"Mhmm?"

"I really am sorry about earlier."

"I see you've learned the oldest trick in the book."

"Which is?"

"Apologising while you're balls deep. Always works."

"Are you saying this is what I need to do for all future apologies?"

"You're planning on lying to me again?"

"No," he says sternly but softly. "No, I'm not."

"Well then, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," you hum against him.

"Do I have to lie?" he asks. "To get this again?"

He's unaware of the way he's biting down on his lip until you glance up towards him. Catches himself, but it's too late. You've already seen it. You don't mean to, but you mirror him. Bite down on yours, too.

"Are we allowed to do birds more than once?" You ask him, as if you haven't been in his shower a handful of times by now. You even know how to work the temperature gauge and everything. Are basically a seasoned regular. 

It's also his point of reference. Knows that he prefers his showers when they're with you. He tells you this - and then says, "I figured we could probably do with a shower after this?"

"My water pressure isn't as good as yours," you simper into his chest, avoiding eye contact.

"So come back to mine?"

It's a question asked without much care for consequences. He doesn't think much of it. You shouldn't either - but you just can't help yourself. 

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't actually have a fear of rejection," you tease lightly. "This was all just a master plan to get into my pants, wasn't it?"

"I've already told you, Byeol. I'm not scared of you."

His hand skirts up your thigh and settles by your hip, the pads of his fingers sinking tenderly into your flesh. His grip isn't hard, but it's firm. Present. There. 

He swallows back a breath. Pushes his head back into your pillows.

The way his neck moves beneath the warm glow of your neon light is sinful. It takes everything in you not to let your nails creep around it; give him a necklace he never asked for but would gladly receive.

This isn't about you, your wants, or your needs. This is all about him. If he asks for your hand around his throat? You might oblige. You might not. Depends on whether or not you're trying to annoy him. For now, your hands remain beneath your chin, resting prettily on his chest.

He exhales a breath. It's deep. You can feel your body move as his lungs deflate. Eyes finding yours once more Jeongguk shakes his head. "This is fucking torture."

You try your best not to laugh. Are well aware of the way your pussy will pulse around him. You don't want to make this any more difficult for him than it already is. "I told you so."

His body is clammy beneath his clothes. He's fighting every urge, every instinct he has. His cock throbs inside you. He wants more . Wants you .

And yet he finds you all rather amusing. Laughs, because he's stupid, and hasn't wised up to what such a movement could do yet. He stops all rather quickly. Eyes wide. Drinking you in to see if you felt it too; the way his muscles had flexed beneath you, the slightly involuntary pulse of his hips, the deep nudge of his cock against your walls.

"Fucking hell," he curses, closing his eyes. The crown of his head pushes down into your satin pillows, hair a mess all over his forehead. His brows pinch together, nostrils flare, jaw tenses. He's sin , but oh so pretty as his dark hair tangles against your posy pink bedding.

The worst part of it all, though?

It's the way he can hear you smile - the light breath that escapes from your peachy lips as you smirk. The subtle giggle. He can't open his eyes, 'cause he can't trust himself when you're looking at him in the way that he knows you undoubtedly are. Isn't sure he'll be able to follow the rules - the ones you implemented that he hates anyways.

Contrarily, you can't take your eyes off of him.

It's as if those big brown eyes have hypnotised you. All he needs to do is click his fingers and you'll be set free - but Jeongguk is a boy . He's stupid . He doesn't realise just how bewitched you are at this moment. Thinks that he's the only one struggling.

It's redundant, mind you - for you wouldn't take your eyes off of him even if you could .

Jeongguk is a sight to behold when he's like this. Kind of reminds you of when he strength trains at the gym - but it's your legs wrapped around his waist instead of a lifting belt. He'll have far less satisfaction taking you off, that's for sure.

You clasp his pointed chin with your fingers and turn his head to the side. His eyes open and land on the full-length mirror across from your bed. You smirk.

"Watch," you tease, subtle in how you're doing it, but he knows exactly what you're up to.

"Can't use my moves on me, B," he husks, but does as you say. 

It's not like he can see anything - just that you're on top of him. The shirt you're in has ridden up to your thighs, so your legs are exposed, but that's as much skin as there is on show. He strokes the bare skin regardless. Watches his hands as they caress you. Enjoys the sight.

"Oh, but I can," you simper, turning your head on his chest so that you're both looking in the mirror. It's kind of sweet. Or at least, it would be, if your pussy wasn't currently being stretched out by a cock so thick you know you'll be feeling it for days.

You watch on as his eyes scan the pair of you, but settle on you. He raises his brows. Looks ever so charming as he does so.

"It's not like we can even see anything," he protests, and he knows he shouldn't, because you're you . You'll just try and prove him wrong - and that's dangerous for everyone involved - but mostly him . Incredibly dangerous for him.

He's proven right as you slowly push against his chest, lifting yourself to a seated position. Jeongguk thinks he'll cum immediately if you even so much as giggle. Or maybe he'll die. Both will feel just euphoric.

Instead, your movements are slow as you reach for the hem of the oversized shirt. You lift it - just a little. Just enough. You can't see anything - but the way Jeongguk is straining his neck just to take in the sight of his cock buried in your pussy? Yeah. You know it's worth it.

"See anything now?" you tease, but he notices how breathless you sound. Are glad it's taking a toll on you. The base of his cock is covered in lube, but he can see a subtle change in texture where your pussy is stretched out around him. Knows that it's because your anatomy is desperate to have him fucking you, even if your brain is telling you otherwise.

Except that's the thing.

It's not.

Every morsel of your being wants to fuck Jeon Jeongguk.

It's only made worse when he smirks. 

"Nah. Can't see anything," he rasps. "Lift yourself up a bit?"

Never one to do as you're told, you shake your head. Sink back down to his chest - but the movement of your torso encourages your pussy to slide up his cock just a tiny fraction. Jeongguk fucking groans. Grabs hold of your ass and holds you in place. The change in position, no matter how small, has you struggling to catch your breath.

"Gguk," you mewl.

He nods. Understands. Can't fucking breathe either. Assumes from the way your entire respiratory system seems to be failing that the shallowness of his cock means that he's hitting you in all the right places. You're pulsing around him. Wonder if knows that the ridge of his head is cushioned perfectly against your most delicate spot.

"Deeper," you whisper, fearful of what will overcome you if he stays there - and so he pushes further into you. Holds you in place.

"Shit, Byeol," he finally husks, before realising just how close your lips are to his. His nose nudges against yours. He can feel your laboured breaths. You can feel his. His fingertips squeeze the flesh of your ass. You fucking moan. "Fuck. Don't do that. Don't..."

You're so close that he's having to fight every instinct telling him to press his lips to yours. A rule is a rule, and Jeongguk doesn't like breaking them - but he does really fucking like asses, so he squeezes again. Gets you mewling. Gets himself all worked up.

"Byeol," he whispers, chest rising and falling at such a rapid speed he can barely get his words out.

"Mhmm? Still okay?"

He nods. Grips onto your hips. Does nothing with them. Just holds. Keeps you still. "Okay. It's okay. It's... Fuck. Byeol, it's good."

"Good?"

"Mhhm," he grunts. Moves his hips to adjust your position. Gets you all moany, too. Makes your walls throb. Just a little. Just enough. "Shit. Yeah. It's real fucking good. Jesus Christ. Can you-"

He's cut off by your walls throbbing again. You know it's what he was gonna ask. If you could make it happen. You think you might be able to bring him to orgasm with that alone. You do it again.

"God, Byeol," he curses. Looks at you. Wishes you were naked. Wants your tits in his face. His hips pulse again. It's subtle, but - fucking hell - it's deep.

"You can't fuck me," you whisper, reminding him of the rules, as if you aren't dying to fuck him too.

"Says who?" he whines. "I think fucking is a really good idea."

There are two things certain about horny Jeongguk: he will trip over words, and he will convince himself that bad decisions are good ideas.

"Mhmm, yeah, may as well just ride you now," you tease, knowing full-well you won't. He understands the tone of your voice, but decides to push his luck for the fun of the flirt.

"You wanna ride me, huh? Bet your tits would look incredible."

"Flattery gets you nowhere," you tell him with absolute certainty. 

Considering this all came about because he lied, you should really know better than to tell fibs - especially when he's inside of you. 

Flattery is actually getting him everywhere . You're fucking leaking. Getting the base of his cock all messy. Your body is screaming at him: fuck me.

One of his hands grips your hip to keep himself snug, as he uses the other to sit up straighter. There's a small shift in the position of his cock, but it only serves to let more of your juices seep from your cunt. He can feel how damp the top of his thighs are, now. Knows it's not just the lube. Knows it you. 

Your faces are level as one of his arms wraps around your back. Your instincts tell you to grind - and that's not really fucking, is it? Just a languid movement or two surely isn't sex?

His cock is inside you. There's no debate to be had. You'll both defend yourself till the cows come home - but to any normal person, this is definitely fucking. 

Jeongguk's nose nudges against yours. His voice is breathless as he husks, "get yourself off."

He'd do it himself, but he knows you. Know what you're like. Knows that it's an issue you're yet to work through.

"Sure?" you whine, in desperate need of release. This, you think, is the closest to torture you'll ever get. 

"Please," he nods. Remembers how it felt to have you climax around his fingers. Wants it again now. He adjusts his hips. Desperately tries to feign innocence. 

"I know what you're doing," you grin against his neck, your forehead resting on his shoulder. "Behave yourself."

"I am," he pouts. 

"Stay still," you say regardless. "You won't feel it otherwise."

You let your hand drop between the pair of you, and start to rub dainty circles against your clit. It's easy to find - swollen and engorged - painfully neglected for far too long. Your head tips back, and Jeongguk's spare hand rest against the base of your neck.

"That's it, pretty. Get yourself off. Fuck."

And there's that flattery again. You're fucking ruined . You press harder against yourself. Rub faster. Spank your clit once, twice - and smirk when Jeongguk moans from the sound alone.

"Shit, yeah," he encourages. "Gonna make yourself cum so hard, aren't you? Gonna cum all over my cock? That's it. Oh shit, yeah. That's it."

His hip pulse - just a little bit - but you can't blame him. Your walls get tighter. Jeongguk grunts. You fucking moan. His grip on your throat? Yeah. That gets tighter too. 

"Eyes on me," he demands - and you fucking comply. Of course you do.

"Gguk," you mewl, but cut yourself short. The feeling is growing too strong. You can't hold it off any longer.

He nods. "Tell me."

Your free hand grips the back of his neck. The orgasm you're building has your body tensing. Lifting. Moving up his cock. It's almost as if your body knows to get the ridge of his head pressing against your g-spot. You can barely get a word out. It's all too much.

"I'm-" you try, but it's muffled by your own moan. " Gguk ."

"You wanna cum?" He asks, his voice tender and gentle and so incredibly fucked out that it's miracle you haven't fucked him. You think you'd lose it if you heard Jeongguk's voice mid-fuck. You don't realise it sounds a hell of a lot like this.

"Mhmm," is all you can manage, nodding your head. His grip on your neck is so incredibly dominant that you lose all capability of making your own choices. "Can I?"

"God, yeah," he lets out a breathy laugh. "God, I want you to cum so bad. Wanna feel you. Wanna- oh, fuck . That's it Byeol. Cum all over me. Good girl. That's a good fuckin' girl."

His words coax a climax out of you, body shuddering, pussy trembling around his cock. It's violently fast and yet terribly slow all at the same time. He hugs you tight to his chest. Holds you through your orgasm. Breaks one of the rules, and presses a kiss against your hair. You don't really notice. 

You do notice the way his legs shudder against your ass just as you finish coming down, and how he hugs you to his chest even tighter. How he fucking whines. Stammers. "Oh, fuh- Shit. Shit, Byeol."

And then his hips pulse beneath you. Once. Slow. Deep. Strong. "Fuck."

They retract. Repeat. Once. Twice. 

His lungs suddenly heave, as if he's been his breath the entire time. He pants. Laughs. Tilts his head back. Looks euphoric beneath your neon light. Confirms your assumptions. "Came."

You laugh, too. Slowly lift your thighs and let him slide out of you. He hugs you still. You hug him right back. It's nice. Really fucking nice. 

"We're never fucking doing that again," he smiles as his hands rub up and down your back in the most soothing of ways.

"Oh?" you question, nestling your head into the crock where his neck meets his shoulder. "Not a fan?"

He shakes his head. "Fucking torture. Next time I'm inside you, I'm just fucking you."

It amuses you how tender his hands are as they stroke your back, but his words are just as vulgar as they always are. 

"We shouldn't fuck," you tell him, a smirk on your lips, heart not beating quite right yet. "Wouldn't wanna ruin the friendship."

Jeongguk thinks it would be impossible to ruin something as good as this. 

"Good job we're not friends, then," he jokes. "Can't stand you."

"Oh yeah, my bad, I forgot," you play along. "And I'm just using you to get closer to Jimin."

"Fuck off," Jeongguk laughs. "Why drink Smirnoff when you could drink Grey Goose instead?"

You roll your eyes at his little barman analogy, and pull away to get yourself cleaned up. He's sad to watch you walk away. Doesn't even want to look at the mess you've made together.

"Hey Byeol," he calls after you. "About that shower?"

He hears you laugh. Can picture your pretty little face as you do so, and how the glitter from your eyes is practically all over your face now. He likes it. You're cosmic.

"My place or yours?"

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[pawnshopbleus]

These Are the Days Chapter Eleven - For Good

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader High School AU

For the summary, warnings, and more, please visit here.

Author's note: a lot has happened since i last updated. my childhood dog died (Theodore is based on him), I started my first semester of college, I finished my first semester of college, I started watching Arcane (sevika is my wife), i fell in love with wicked, and I turned nineteen. I'm so sorry to keep you all waiting.

Previous Chapter

The last time Abby felt this happy was when her dad took her to the county fair seven years ago. The rush she felt when she saw the bright rainbow lights on the Ferris wheel was the same feeling she got when she looked into your eyes. Your lips, so soft and plump, melted against hers like chocolate on a s'more roasting over the fire. 

She could smell the conditioner that you use right under her nose. The sunlight shined through the small sliver between the curtains, blinding her as she slowly blinked awake. Abby let a small smile grace her lips as she felt your weight beside her. Your couch felt better than her own bed at home. It reeled her in and begged her to stay a little longer, but she couldn’t. There were things that she needed to do today. 

Abby never wanted to be near Owen ever again. He had caused her so much pain and sorrow that she felt like he had irreparably damaged her. Beat her down so that she would stay with him. She had been a doormat for his cheating and abuse for far too long. She should have broken it off for good when he got Mel pregnant, but she was so naive back then. Now, she finally has something good, and she doesn’t want to fuck it up. 

Abby slowly gets off the couch, careful not to wake you, and walks to the door. She looks back at you, admiring how calm you look. Theodore jumps onto the couch and settles in Abby's previous spot. Abby winks at the dog, a silent plea for him to watch over you. Theodore sneezes, and Abby takes that as her answer. He’ll be there for you when Abby isn’t. 

She is going to break up with Owen. 

She scared. He could make the rest of her life in Bellevue - in the entire state of Washington a living hell. She could lose her spot as captain and kiss college goodbye, but it would all be worth it because she gets to be with you. 

She turns onto a street a few blocks away from her house. Abby’s been down this road one time. After securing her spot as cheer captain, Mel threw a party junior year. It was a night filled with dancing, alcohol, beer, and caring for Owen. Abby shudders when she remembers the smell of the place. At least one hundred sweaty teens were stuck inside the first floor of Mel’s home. The windows stayed closed, and no one was allowed outside. Abby’s grateful Ellie became the school’s resident party thrower. A guest bedroom, an outside patio with a pool, fully functional windows, and pre-rolled joints were always at her disposal. 

Abby parks her car and walks to the front door. It’s a Sunday, so most people in the suburbs attend church, but not Mel. The shame of being pregnant and unwed has cost her too much. At first, she boasted about the fact that she was pregnant with Owen’s baby, but when reality set in, she became quiet and timid. She hasn’t been at school for weeks. 

Abby knocks on the door, and footsteps are heard walking to the door. Mel looks through the peephole and sighs. 

“What do you want?” Mel asks. 

“I want to talk.” 

The door swings open, and Mel, dressed in a long nightgown, steps aside, “Do you want to come in?” 

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll make it quick.” Abby bites the inside of her cheek and speaks again, “Why’d you do it? You knew he was with me, and you still did it? You kept his fucking baby, Mel? Why”

Mel sighs and bites her lip. “I don’t know. I was stupid, and I wanted to feel something. Owen made me feel seen. Everyone thinks I’m a lesbian because of my haircut, but I’m not! He made me feel beautiful.” 

“He made you feel beautiful, so you let him get you pregnant?” 

“That’s not-” Mel sighs. “I feel like this is my karma. This is what I get for being the other woman.” 

“It’s not entirely your fault.” Abby puts her hand on Mel’s shoulder. “Good luck, Mel.” Abby gets back into her car and sighs. She laughs at all the sighing she’s done today and starts her car. Knowing what comes next, she’ll need some laughter in her life. 

Abby walks into Owen's house. She never knocks; she never needs to.

Mr. Moore, Owen’s dad, is sitting on the couch in the living room. He is the spitting image of his son. All-American man with blonde hair instead of brown. The beer he holds in his hand is half gone, and the football game on the TV is left unwatched as he snoozes in the loveseat. Owen is in his room as expected. The curtains are drawn, and his room is bathed in darkness. The fact that it’s three pm and he is still asleep doesn’t surprise Abby. 

She pokes his shoulder repeatedly, urging him to wake up. Owen slowly blinks awake, his eyes squinting as he tries to see through the darkness. 

“Who’s there?” his tired voice asks. 

“Me.” “Abby?”

“Yeah,” she says matter of factly. “We need to talk.” 

Owen nods, and his head falls back onto his pillow. “I’m serious, Owen. This is important.” 

Owen nods against the pillow and turns away from Abby. Abby grumbles and crosses her arms. If he wants to act like a child, she’ll treat him like one. That doesn’t mean she’ll be nice, in fact, she feels the spirit of Miss Truchbull posses her. 

“We’re done.” Abby crosses her arms, “for good.”

“Okay,” he says sarcastically.

“I mean it this time, Owen. You better get your shit from my house, or else I’ll burn it. I’ll burn everything you’ve ever given me, from that fake bouquet of flowers to that jersey you signed by Russell Wilson.” 

Owen gets up from his bed as if it had just been set on fire.“What the fuck are you talking about right now?” 

“We’re done, for good! Your stuff will be in a big black trash can outside my house. Get it by tomorrow, or else you’ll never see it again.” 

“We’ve gone through this before, Abby. You’ll just come crawling back to me.” 

Abby shakes her head. “I have something this time that I didn’t have all those other times.” Abby thinks of you: of last night, this morning, last week, last month, and the first time she saw you. 

“What? A lawyer?”

Abby laughs in his face and walks away in utter disbelief at Owen’s stupidity. He’ll soon notice that she’s through with him and his antics.

Abby skips down the stairs of Owen’s house for the last time. She’s dreamt of this moment. Usually, it ends with his house blowing up and her walking away like Heath Ledger in The Dark Night. 

Abby’s head hits the steering wheel, and she jumps a little when the horn honks. She sighs for what feels like the hundredth time today and closes her eyes. She’s done. She’s done with his bullshit, she’s done with feeling sorry for Mel, and she’s done with denying her feelings for you. 

Theodore barks at a car passing by your house, startling you awake. You scan your surroundings for any sign of life and realize that you are home alone. Your phone chimes, and you check it. The brightness is turned all the way up, temporarily blinding you. You squint your eyes and press the notification. 

Abby: Owen and I are done for Good. 

You shut your phone off and pet Theodore’s soft fur. You close your eyes and smile with contentment as your new life in Washington is finally looking up. 

Tag list: @rew1nds @colbyweirdo

Thank you for reading!

Next Chapter

[zukosdualdao]

to leave the sun behind

summary: the gaang is about to leave the sun warrior civilization after aang spends a few weeks learning there. katara has a goodbye to make. she really doesn't want it to be goodbye.

other notes: didn't come up in the fic itself but this is an au in which ozai never gave the stipulation that zuko could be un-banished if he captured the avatar, which is why he did not do All That. instead, iroh took him to the sun warriors. also, yes there is a work study joke in here. if atla can make jokes about not qualifying for vacation time then i can do this also! (i think i am much funnier than i am.)

It's their final night staying at the ruins of the Sun Warriors—not so ruined, as it turns out. They had planned to stay for longer, and Katara still thinks maybe they should—Aang has been training every day, with the warriors and with the dragons, but there's still so much more he could learn. With the comet still months away, though, Sokka had finally pointed out that there were people searching for them, and if they didn't want this secret, ancient civilization to be destroyed for real as Azula and company pursue the Avatar, then it’s time for them to leave.

There's a banquet being held in honor of their departure tonight. They pull out a large table of stone and set with golden and orange gems, and the rice and kimodo chicken is piled high atop it.

It's genuinely a lovely evening—she smiles as she watches Sokka and Aang try their best to pretend the spices aren't getting to them, and as Toph answers questions about badgermoles from Iroh—but Katara can't help but notice someone missing and ducks out a little early, making an excuse out of an imaginary headache.

Really, though, Katara is making her way to a familiar room of stone, preparing to say a final goodbye to the Sun Warriors' apprentice.

When she and the others first arrived, it was him that found them stranded after Aang first set off a floor of spikes and looked back at the rest of their group with alarm.

The apprentice had looked at them with an unimpressed, quirked brow but didn't seem otherwise perturbed, reversing the trap and leading them to the warriors and to his uncle. From there, Aang had been judged worthy to study under the dragons and the warriors themselves.

Zuko trains with them, too, every day, diligent. All these weeks, he'd barely said three words in front of the others, but the second night, unable to sleep, Katara had stumbled across him late in the evening, practicing on his own. When he'd spotted Katara, she had reeled back at first—he seemed like too much of a loner to want company—but he'd raised his brow again, like a challenge. They'd spent the evening sparring with their respective elements, water meeting fire blow for blow, the blood in her veins soaring as they did.

After, they'd spoken until the sun was nearly risen. She'd regaled him with the stories of her travels, and he was mostly quiet, still, but when she asked questions, he answered.

Yes, he and his uncle used to be royalty, and his father was the Fire Lord as the Warriors said. No, he didn't leave home because he wanted to; he was banished. No, he no longer wanted to go back. No, he didn't want to talk about it. Yes, he'd been training with the Warriors for years.

Katara didn't ask about the scar, but her thumb ran gentle circles over it when she first kissed him.

Things have gone on like that for a handful of weeks they've been here, sparring and learning new moves from each other, talking, and kissing, sneaking away moments in the dead of night or when the others are distracted.

And now...

"I'm going to miss you," she sighs against his lips after he lets her in. His eyelashes flutter open.

"Don't say that," Zuko says wryly. "You'll give me the wrong idea." He leans back down.

"Maybe it isn't so wrong," Katara says, a little breathless as he kisses down her neck. "You could come with us, you know." She pauses. Wait. That's brilliant. Then, Aang could keep learning, and it wouldn't feel like half her soul was being torn in half as she left. (How did things happen this quickly? How does it feel like she aches wherever and whenever he's not touching her?) "You should come with us!"

Zuko freezes, looking into her eyes searchingly.

"What? Why?"

"I'm serious," Katara insists, placing her hands against his chest. Maybe he doesn't want that. "Aang's learned a lot while he's been here, training with you and the other sun warriors," she adds, feeling a little pathetic even as she hopes the argument convinces him. Zuko now looks unsure and rigid.

"I'm not a teacher," Zuko insists, his voice sounding sort of hollow. "I'm not even officially a Sun Warrior yet."

"Oh, you are in everything but name; all the elders say it," she points out. "You're just not old enough yet. You'll be of age soon, and then you will be." Katara purses her lips as he takes in her words. "Maybe this will help. You know. Hands-on experience. Like a work-study?"

Zuko laughs, some of the tension bleeding out of his gaze as he does. The sound of it is light and breathy and lovely. Katara likes that she can make him laugh. She's only ever seen his uncle accomplish it, otherwise.

"You can teach Aang," Katara promises. "You're better than you know."

His eyes don't quite meet hers, but they haven't let go of each other's embrace. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"Zuko?" She uses her fingertips to tilt his chin up, though he still avoids her gaze. "I mean it."

His eyes swim with an emotion she can't name. Katara waits for his answer, hopefully seeming more patient and less desperate than she feels.

"I'll come," Zuko says finally, the words wrapping around her like a promise. "I'll teach the Avatar. If that's... if that's what you want."

She sighs. Oh. He thinks that's all she wants. That's easily solved, then.

Katara leans her forehead against his. Time dwindles down. It is just them in here. "I want you with me," she admits as his hands tighten ever so slightly against her waist. "That's what I want."

Zuko captures her mouth in a long, gentle kiss before pressing their foreheads together again.

"I'll go wherever you are."

[sprnklersplashes]

not sure what kind of prompts you were after, but any holiday wesper fluff would be appreciated <3

wesper is always welcome. you could just put 'wesper' in the box and I'd be like "right away!"

hope I did this prompt justice and I'm calling it "I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new years' day"

In all honesty, Wylan wasn't sure about hosting the new years' party this year. He can still remember the last time the Van Ecks hosted it; he was thirteen, and knew to keep himself out of sight after greeting guests and reappear before dinner, and only to speak if he is spoken to. The tradition was passed around the other merchant families afterwards, with Wylan's father making excuses for his absence each time.

Now, Wylan is nineteen, the Van Ecks are due to host yet again, and his father is languishing in Hellgate while Wylan waves the last of their guests goodbye.

How times change.

He finally closes the door after saying goodnight to the Rosenthals, who insist they must come to their place for lunch in the new year. Wylan knows enough now to understand that it's more about business than a nice meal, but he agrees nonetheless. Then they are gone, and after hours of chatter and music and laughter and more chatter, the house is silent. Wylan presses his back into the door, closes his eyes, inhales deeply. Quiet. Silent.

Well, he thinks with a small smile. Almost quiet.

With the party adrenaline slowly leaving his body, Wylan shuffles down the hall, guided by the Kaelish shanties softly sung from the next room. Empty bottles line the hall, discarded papers and tissues and one pair of glasses, but he actively resists the temptation to leave it to the maids. This was his party and if he and Jesper spend all day tomorrow on their hands and knees cleaning, so be it.

When he enters the living room, he finds Jesper had the same idea. Glasses are lined up along the table, plates piled beside them. Jesper sits on the floor, his tie discarded and his shirt untucked and half-undone. Heat rushes to Wylan's cheeks, especially so when Jesper looks up and grins.

(It's been years, yet his smile can still stop Wylan's heart)

"Good evening, beautiful," Jesper says as Wylan pads acorss the carpet. "Or is it morning now?"

"Pretty sure it is." Wylan sighs and lowers himself down, legs folded beneath him. He has to laugh when he sees the state of their carpet; dozens upon dozens of tiny, twinkling pieces are strewn across it, tangled in the fibres and buried in the gaps. Jesper pulls a face at it, and here Wylan again sees the subtle dusting along his cheeks.

"Maybe we'll skip the glitter-based decorations next year."

"Maybe not," Wylan shrugs. His fingers sparkle when he lifts them and a soft giggle escapes him. Jesper grins too, low candlelight shining in his dark eyes. He slides his fingers into Wylan's and then, in one quick motion, pulls Wylan into him.

They land on their backs on the carpet, a clash of limbs and clothes and giddy laughter. Wylan's head is reeling and it's not entirely from the amount of wine he's drunk.

(He has never been this happy, ever. He never thought he could be this happy, ever)

He laughs into Jesper's shoulder, taking the opportunity to press some kisses to his neck. Jesper hums contentedly and threads his fingers in Wylan's hair. The movement is gentle, careful, and his body is warm, and Wylan can feel his eyes getting heavy.

"What do you want to happen this year?" Jesper asks quietly.

"I want..." He hesitates. Every year, his resolution was to learn how to read. Then it was to survive. Then he started losing track of years. "I want to spend more time with you. Council is driving me insane. I also want to repaint the bedroom and play the tin whistle again."

"All good things, merchling," Jesper replies. His chest expands as he takes a long breath, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling. Something is brewing in him, Wylan can feel it like a storm in the air. He traces patterns on his chest, looks up and whispers silently that it's okay.

"I'd like to visit Da more," he says. "I don't have to hide from him anymore and now..." He breathes out, long, slow, steady. "Yeah. I want to see him more."

"You will," Wylan nods. Jesper huffs, something between a laugh and a sigh, and he curls his hand around Wylan's. His skin is rough and calloused, his touch gentle and perfect. Wylan has never known anything softer than Jesper's touch.

(Saints, he really can't hold his drink)

Outside the window, a small fizzing sound catches Wylan's attention. It builds, growing louder and faster and higher until it bursts, tinkering almost musically.

"Fireworks!"

With a newfound energy, he jumps off Jesper and rushes to the sofa. Sure enough, far across the garden and above the canal, bursts of red and green and blue flash across the sky, mixing in with each other. The fireworks are both controlled and chaotic, and they're utterly magnificent. He says as much to Jesper when he sits beside him and when Jesper laughs, Wylan doesn't panic. He draws closer to him, links their fingers together.

"There's no-one like you, Wylan," he whispers. He kisses him, setting off different kinds of fireworks. Wylan grins against his mouth, revelling in the taste of his lips and the unmistakable feel of his smile.

"Happy new year, Wylan."

Wylan sighs and rubs his nose against Jesper's.

"Happy new year, Jes."

I love you, he doesn't need to add.

[scammydoesstuff]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Thoughts I NEED to Talk About

So I've now seen Beeltejuice Beetlejuice three times - and it prolly won't be the last cuz I love it. I love it so much. It brings me such immense joy. The haters can fuck themselves. This movie delighted me, regardless of the problems I have with it (and I do have problems with it; they just do not ruin the movie for me on any level).

But now that I've refreshed myself (again), there's something stupidly specific that I need to talk about and I cannot wait any longer than I already have. Including a ridiculous conspiracy theory about a connection to the musical that I desperately want to believe in even though I know that wasn't the intent.

So let's begin! Spoilers ahead, of course, so tread carefully if you've not seen the film.

Basically, there are a few things in this movie that I think were inspired by or were at least a nod to the musical. I don't think there are any real references to the cartoon past the overall vibes, which did remind me of the cartoon a lot - particularly the on-screen chemistry between Lydia and Betelgeuse. Like, I know he's trying to marry her in this and that's not at all a thing in the cartoon, but their banter with each other gave me the same vibes as watching the cartoon here and there, which was fun to see. Like, the part where he's 'inspecting' the Handbook for the Recently Deceased after Lydia summons him (I did say there'd be spoilers) in particular gave me detective BJ vibes from the episode 'A-Ha!' where he masquerades as 'Sherlock Homely'. It's all in the tone and it was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kinda moment, but that's a specific example that comes to mind at least.

The musical, however, I do feel they're drawing inspiration from to a degree. From nearly opening the movie on the death of one of Lydia's parents (this time the dad instead of the mom for...obvious reasons. Fuck that guy, btw), to the meta aspects where the B-man has been doing, like, Instagram/TikTok reels for the marketing, there are just things in and around this movie that feel like a small and subtle acknowledgement of the musical. And I know that other companies are likely trying to capitalize on TikTok/Instagram as marketing ploys, but it feels very on-brand for Beetlejuice specifically given how the musical blew up in no small part because of the TikToks they were putting out while they were still performing on Broadway.

But back to the movie. There's also that story Astrid tells Jeremy about her dad dressing her as Edvard Munch's 'The Scream' for Halloween when she was in second grade. It reminded me, at least, of the musical when Lydia was enthusiastically talking to the Maitland's about her mother's own eccentric haunted house in the middle of summer. Even the way Jenna Ortega delivers her lines in the film felt reminiscent of the delivery in the musical.

After Deliah has died and she calls on Betelgeuse for help, he mentions how she wants to hang out with him now that she's dead. I know it's a pretty big stretch to compare that to the musical's 'We didn't hang out much' line as BJ is saying his goodbyes, but the specific wording just gave me pause and I wanted to mention it.

Okay! And now for the stupid conspiracy theory I mentioned cuz I can't think of any other specific moments that made me think of the musical outside of this one I'm about to get into. If you noticed any, however, let me know! This is fun to think about and gives me more to look for when I go to see it again.

Anyway, if you've seen the movie (and I hope you have if you're still reading this), you're surely aware of the wedding scene near the end and all the lip-syncing to MacArthur Park which was just...*chef's kiss*. At one point during that sequence, while Betelgeuse is dancing with Lydia, the lyrics mention all the loves of [his] life. We see Delores and Lydia, of course, but then we see...this:

(Apologies for the quality. I wanted to get a shot where the dog was in frame and these were the best photos I could get in the theater and I'm too excited to wait for this to come out on streaming/home release in order to talk about it. I'm also not about to be filming in the theater. I just wanted to see if I could get pictures of the dog in this scene specifically.)

So, like, I know it's just a stupid bestiality joke to not be taken seriously and which is only meant to add more to the 'what-the-fuckery' of this scene, but, as a fan of the musical, I cannot help but see this as a super deep cut reference to the goodest boi in the whole world. Alex Brightman's beloved pup; Kevin.

Hell, the dog in the movie even bears a very close resemblance to Kevin. It's not one-to-one, of course - the coloring around the ears in particular is a big enough difference on its own - but they could've gone with any breed of dog. They could've even gone with photos of the dog that accidentally killed the Maitlands, thereby introducing Betelgeuse to Lydia in the first place. It would've been a little bit more fanservice for the fans who might catch that reference too. But they chose one that looks very similar to Alex Brightman's pride and joy?

And no, by the way, I'm not implying Alex has that kind of relationship with his dog. That's ridiculous and I do not want anyone to get that twisted. However, love doesn't have to mean 'sexual' or 'romantic' and I would argue to hell and back that Kevin is one of the major loves in his life that doesn't fall into either of those categories. That's his precious baby boy and we all see that clear as crystal. I mean, look at them:

[Photos of Kevin & Alex courtesy of kevin_kontent on Instagram. Follow them for more delightful Kevin posts]

But yeah, that's where the conspiracist in me comes out because, again, while I know that wasn't the intent, I want so badly to believe it was. Because that'd be such a funny little reference and it makes me smile to think that they might be referencing my favorite Beetlejuice through Alex and Kevin. I recognize that's not at all the case and they probably weren't thinking about the musical in the slightest during the production of the film. Hell, that's such a contrived way to look at it in general, but it's fun to think about and to imagine that they were paying these little homages to another production that helped breathe even more life into this franchise about death.

Anyway, so yeah. Just a real stupid bit of bullshit that I wanted to get out there. I'm prolly not even the first person to notice/point this out, but I just wanted to talk about it and get it outta my brain.

Now I'mma go crawl back into my hole and try and finish a drawing I've been working on for the last week (that may or may not be Beetlejuice-related). I got an iPad earlier this year and I'm still getting the hang of drawing with it. Gonna for sure go back to my older drawing tablet when I open up commissions again because it genuinely takes me so much longer to draw with Procreate, but for now, just trying to practice drawing something with an art program I'm still learning to use.

[eureka-its-zico]

Y’ALL JUST HEAR ME OUT.

How many times has anyone watched episode 4 where at the end Kaya kisses Usopp goodbye? That WHOLE scene has me dying for one specific reason.

Yes. Zoro is awkward. He looks away. They all do. But the WHOLE time even when Luffy and Nami start talking and she says, “Let them have this one.” He is STILL looking uncomfortable and nervous. Like, what is even affection?? What even is kissing???

I know they are supposed to be between 17-19 when they all first meet, but after watching this scene over and over again, and finding this video, y’all cannot tell me that Zoro has 1) had a girlfriend 2) has kissed someone. Because that boy is so nervous just from WATCHING A KISS. It’s giving cute fuckin inexperienced in the ways of affection and life and I can’t deal. He’s so soft and such a baby. A BABY.

This is why when I write for him he pushes back at any sort of affection or he struggles to say or do the right thing, feeling wise. He’s inexperienced when it comes to relationships and what is the right thing to say. Even in episode two, he says “I don’t talk. I hit things.” If He’s about to profess some type of feelings prepare yourself for a messy and confusing ride cause it’s going to have a lot of starts and stops and heavy sighing mixed in with throat clearing.

Attached is a video I came across from a Brazilian fan account for One Piece that literally just focuses on him the whole time during the kiss. You can try and tell me I’m wrong but 🤷🏽‍♀️🙃🙃🫠 I’m officially in on that idea.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CxBYidfO8Dz/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

[ray-green-wicked4good]

Countdown to Valentine's Day with Snowpiercer & a Little Broadway

(a.k.a. My favorite Snowpiercer couples and the Broadway love songs I associate with them because it's February ❤)

Entry 13.5) Melanie x Ruth, "Loathing", "Defying Gravity", & "For Good" from Wicked

[how it started...]

Ruth: What is this feeling? So sudden and new?

Melanie: I felt the moment, I laid eyes on you.

Ruth: My pulse is rushing.

Melanie: My head is reeling.

Ruth: My face is flushing.

Melanie & Ruth: Oh, what is this feeling?

Melanie: Fervid as a flame.

Ruth: Does it have a name?

Melanie & Ruth: Yes! Loathing. Unadulterated loathing!

Melanie: For your face.

Ruth: Your voice.

Melanie: Your clothing!

Ruth: *gasps*

Melanie & Ruth: Let's just say, I loathe it all!

Ruth: Every little trait, however small, makes my very flesh begin to crawl. With simple utter loathing.

Melanie: There's a strange exhilaration. In such total detestation. It's so pure! So strong!

Ruth & Melanie: Though I do admit it came on fast, still I do believe that it can last.

Ruth: And I will be loathing-

Melanie: Loathing. Truly, deeply loathing you-

Ruth & Melanie: My whole life long!

[how it was then...]

Ruth: Melanie, why couldn't you have stayed calm for once?! Instead of stealing the train again?! I hope you're happy. I hope you're happy now. I hope you're happy 'cuz you've hurt your cause forever. I hope you think you're clever!

Melanie: I hope you're happy! I hope you're happy too! I hope you're proud that you would grovel in submission, to feed your own ambition.

Melanie & Ruth: So though I can't imagine how--I hope you're happy. Right now.

Ruth: Mellie. Just listen to me. Just--say you're sorry. You can still lead this Train to New Eden. What you've worked and suffered for. You can have all you ever wanted--

Melanie: I know. But I don't want it--no. I can't want it anymore. Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game. Too late for second guessing. Too late to go back to sleep. It's time to trust my instincts. Close my eyes--and leap! It's time to try defying gravity. I think I'll try defying gravity. And you can't pull me down.

Ruth: Can't I make you understand, you're having delusions of grandeur?!

Melanie: I'm through accepting limits. Just 'cuz Wilford says they're so. Some things I cannot change, but till I try I'll never know. Too long I've been afraid of losing love I guess I've lost. Well if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost! I'd sooner buy, defying gravity. Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity. And they'll never bring us--wait. Ruth, come with me. Think of what we could do. Together. Unlimited. Together we're unlimited. Together we'd be the greatest team there's ever been. Ruth, we could keep this Train going forever. Keep them safe. Keep them alive and warm.

Ruth: If we work in tandem, we could weather any storm.

Melanie & Ruth: Just you and I defying gravity. With you and I defying gravity--

Melanie: They'll never bring us down. Well? Are you coming?

Ruth: *shakes her head* Melanie, you're trembling. Here, put this around you.

[how it's going now...]

Ruth: I'm limited. Just look at me. I'm limited. And just look at you, you can do all I couldn't do, Melanie. So now it's up to you. For both of us. Now it's up to you.

Melanie: I've heard it said, that people come into our lives "for a reason". Bringing something we must learn, and we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them. And we help them in return. Well, I don't know if I believe that's true. But I know I'm who I am today. Because I knew you.

Melanie: Like a comet pulled from orbit, as it passes the sun. Like a stream that meets a boulder, halfway through the wood. Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But because I knew you. I have been changed for good.

Ruth: It well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime. So, let me say before we part, so much of me is made of what I learned from you. You'll be with me, like a handprint on my heart. And now whatever way our stories end, I know you have rewritten mine vy being my friend.

Ruth: Like a ship blown from its mooring, by a wind off the sea. Like a seed dropped by a sky bird, in a distant wood. Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But because I knew you.

Melanie: Because I knew you

Ruth: I have been changed for good.

Melanie: And just to clear the air, I ask forgiveness for the things I've done, you blame me for.

Ruth: But then I guess we know there's blame to share. And none of it seems to matter anymore.

Melanie: Like a comet pulled from orbit-

Ruth: *at the same time* Like a ship blown from its mooring-

Melanie: As it passes the sun-

Ruth: *at the same time* By a wind off the sea-

Melanie: Like a stream that meets a boulder-

Ruth: *at the same time* Like a seed dropped by a bird-

Melanie: Halfway through the wood-

Ruth: *at the same time* In the wood-

Melanie & Ruth: Who can say if I've been changed for the better? I do believe I have been changed for the better.

Melanie: And because I knew you

Ruth: Because I knew you

Melanie & Ruth: Because I knew you. I have been changed. For good.

*HUG*

[bonus]

Ruth: I hope you're happy. Now that you're choosing this.

Melanie: You too. I'll see you around Ruth.

Ruth: You hurry back now. You wicked old thing.