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#this docu is still so good

eoieopda · 8 months

Text

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.”

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind.

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you.

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright.

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response.

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you.

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you.

You don’t reciprocate.

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope.

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk.

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so.

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple.

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw.

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access.

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?”

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat.

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…”

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it.

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound.

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life.

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic.

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.”

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you.

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed.

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist.

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him.

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you.

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before.

Christ.

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you.

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you.

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

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fandomsandfeminism · 2 years

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"Romeo and Juliets romance is just so unrealistic! It's not what a romance is like in MY experience!"

Oh? Oh really? You, adult living in 2022, you never went to a fancy Venetian masquerade in the 1590s and met a mysterious stranger and then your first conversation spontaneously forms a perfect sonnet? That's not a totally relatable experience for you?

Is Macbeth unrealistic because of the witches? Is Midsummer unrealistic because of the love potion?

Like, there's no explicit magic in Romeo and Juliet, but it still exists in a heightened reality, and overlooking the role that language plays within the text itself kneecaps your analysis of the intent.

When we hear of Romeo, his dad and friends are discussing his recent sad mood- he's upset because the girl he likes has no interest in him. His friends try to distract him from it with a party, but dont really seem to...connect with or fully empathize with his sadness. When we first hear of Juliet, her father and Paris are planning her marriage (without her input.) They are both talked about but not really listened to. The way they are spoken about isolates them from others.

Then they meet, and with no knowledge of each other, not even their names, they click into perfect rhythm. They finish each other rhymes. They form perfect ABAB quatrains in conversation, their sentences form a rhyming *couplet* at the end.

You know the song Ana sings with Hans in Frozen? Love is an open door? We finish each others- Sandwiches? Yeah- it's riffing on this. The idea that you meet someone perfect and right away your souls can make poetry together. The immediate intimacy of being so in sync that your introduction is a love poem.

I don't know, yall. Romeo and Juliet isn't a gritty hyper-realistic Oscar nominated docu-drama. It teters on the edge of fairy tale and myth, it leans on its language to convey deeper emotional truths that a 5 act play doesn't have the time to develop as deeply as we, in our world of movie montages and long form TV, are more accustomed to. This isn't a slow burn, pining, enemies to friends to lovers. It's soul mates love at first sight, and when you accept that, the play can get on with the business of saying what it wants to say about hate and the cycle of violence and social rules and decorum and how grudges and blood fueds can destroy the magic in the world if we let it.

"It doesn't matter if they are really in love. They should be allowed to be stupid hormonal teenagers without dying" I see many people say, and while I think that sentiment is true, I DO think it matters that they are in love. I think it matters that their meeting sparks a sonnet, and that poetry is snuffed out by the violence around them.

I think it matters that what they had wasn't an arranged marriage or a "good match" made by approving friends- that it was spontaneous and instant and inexplicable, but that the world couldn't let that be because it defied all the rules. Because it wasn't set up by parents and wasn't politically convenient, because it wasn't part of a proper, prolonged courtship with chaperones and social approval- it was love and poetry that defied all of that and so it was snuffed out. That they are pushed to such extremes not just by the killings, but by Juliets impending engagement to Paris, they have to act now because their love doesnt fit into the proper pattern set out by society- I think that matters.

#romeo and juliet #im all for modern remakes that take whatever modern readings they want #but Im hesitant to AGREE with all the grown ups in the play that their love cant be real because it didnt happen the right way #they speak a sonnet together the first time they meet!

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the-californicationist · 3 months

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Good Fences (Fluffuary #11)

FEB11: First "I Love You"

You and John fell into a sort of routine. You slept at yours, or sometimes his. You shared his bathroom, and cooked in his kitchen. It was like your two apartments had become one home, and you were juggling the space, trying to figure out how to make it work.

You were just finishing up with dinner, cleaning your plates and putting them away, and he was helping you dry. He nodded to the den,

“You wanna watch your show? That one with Attenborough that you like to fall asleep to?”

He was talking about your recent obsession with the Planet Earth docu-series. It was so relaxing, listening to David Attenborough talking about birds and bats and God-knows-what. You had been on a bit of a tear with it lately, keeping it on in the background while you worked.

“Yeah,” you smiled, “Sorry I’ve been so obsessed.”

“I just like it when you doze off on me, love. Makes me feel…” he shrugged, looking for the words and coming up short, “I dunno. Makes me feel good to take care of you.”

You knew what he meant. Falling asleep in John’s arms on his big, warm sofa was strangely hypnotic. It made you feel relaxed and safe and… more than a little horny. It had led to a bit of fooling around once or twice. Moving from bedroom to bedroom had been fun, but there was something liminal about the couch. No man’s land.

After all the dishes were squared away, you grabbed the blanket and curled up with him, nesting into your favorite spot. The television was set to a low volume, and as you watched, you felt John’s hands begin to wander. He was rubbing your bare thigh. You were barely dressed, having spent all day doing chores, wearing his big tee shirt like a gown, letting the soft fabric hide your curves, but it was doing little covering now that you were seated. It had hitched up to your hips, pulled tight around your thick ass cheeks, showing off almost all of your leg to him.

You could see his hand moving under the blanket, tracing little circles up your thigh until he got closer and closer to your warm center. The documentary was playing softly in the background, but you couldn’t concentrate on anything except his deft fingers. His hand ventured higher and higher, traveling as slowly and gently as it could, until it reached its destination.

It was as if his goal was just to pleasure you, but he wasn’t looking to make you come from his ministrations, necessarily. He touched you almost languidly, driving you to the point of near insanity, writhing against him and mewling like a wounded animal.

“Bloody hell, love. Those sounds you make…” he purred under his breath, trying not to talk over the television, “Drives me mad.”

“Please, John…” All you had to do was ask, and he was your devoted servant, refocusing his attentions to draw you up over your peak.

You clutched at his chest, holding onto him for dear life as he made you fall apart. He put his forehead on yours, keeping his eyes closed, whispering to you with a deep hunger in his voice,

“Tha’s it, pretty girl. Just relax. God, I love…”

He stopped himself, but you both heard his confession. You could see him trying to backtrack, his eyes still closed but squeezed tight now, trying his best to cover up his sudden admission.

“John,” you said, and he looked straight at you, obviously still worried. But, you assuaged his fears, “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you, too,” he looked as if a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and he kissed you deeply, pulling you in to his body, making you feel as if you were one living, breathing being; like you’d never be apart.

You didn’t make it to the bed, but the couch suited you both just fine.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

#the californicationist does fluff #fluffuary 2024 #fluffuary #john price fluff #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod #cod fanfiction #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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londonfoginacup · 1 year

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I feel like the dynamic that Louis and Harry have each brought out of their time in 1D and into the solo careers says a lot about them and also why they go together so well.

Like, Louis is PASSIONATE about equality. About getting to share all of the experiences. The bit from his band members talking about how he sleeps in the bunks with them rather than converting the lounge into a bedroom, and how they’re all welcome in his dressing room. It’s clear that Louis really values everyone feeling welcome and equal, he’s going to do everything he can for that sort of justice.

Harry, we see on his own a lot in backstage pics. And a lot of that might be from his general Aloof Stardom image because we ONLY see pics of him, almost never video. But we hear constant stories from everyone who meets him how kind he is, how he’s constantly offering to help, constantly giving presents and flowers and making sure to greet and thank everyone in the room. Harry strikes me as crazy introverted, needing serious recharge time when he’s not being Harry Styles™️, so he has a lot of Quiet Time, but he still exudes that same kindness.

But together, you can see how Louis wouldn’t hesitate to reach into Harry’s space. Because introverts have those few people that aren’t draining on them to be with, and I can only imagine that would be Louis, who would be sure to be involving Harry in everything so Harry can feel free to have his introvert and alone time without being worried about missing out on things.

Anyway goddamn this docu was so good I love him

#aotv #aotv spoilers

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ittybittyb0nes · 1 year

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ED movies/shows I recommend <3

I watched this docu-series forever ago when it was on netflix, u can find it pirated online. great trigger for ED, also super interesting and only 3 episodes.

my all time favorite documentary. extremely relatable to me, you can find it on hbo max or possibly pirate it :)

a classic netflix original. i feel like everyone has seen this, but still incredibly good for motivation. my guilty pleasure movie haha.

incredibly interesting, and a different take on how someones ED may manifest. honestly worth it to watch just for the plot alone. i loved the dialogue between her and her ED.

(season 5, episode 15) these two degrassi episodes made me relapse, and tbh i love them for that. it also oddly made me appreciate Emma as a character a lot more. 10/10 show, i would highly recommend if you like nostalgic teen dramas.

another classic, i feel like this and degrassi exposed so many girls to the world of EDs. we love u cassie <3

finally this youtube video. bc lets be real, we are not sitting through a whole season just for the emma scenes.... also what do producers have against girls named Emma and EDs? lol

#tw ed not sheeran #to the bone #th1nnsp0 #th1nsp1r4t10n #th1n$po #ed but not sheeran #bul1m14 #b0nspo #bonespø #4norex1a #tw ana related #th1n #meanspø #meanspo #ana trigger

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roo-bastmoon · 6 months

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To the Sockpuppets in my Asks

"Jimin is so private! What does he have to hide?"

*Flashbacks to Jimin's mail being "omitted" four times and his national ID and address being leaked online, which the press sat on until his OST With You dropped, or, years prior, when folks accused him of whoring and doing coke because he... [checks notes] played a forehead-flicking game at a pub restaurant in Paris*

"Jimin keeps saying he's all alone!"

*Jimin is seen at work, at the gym, taking trips for work and vacation, posting photos on Insta, and appearing on shows and in dance challenges*

"Jimin never goes out anywhere!"

*Yet another idol scandal is in the news, this time involving illegal drugs, yet somehow, Jimin's photo at the official Nike dinner with Joon gets circulated as him "out clubbing"*

"Jimin and Jungkook never show that they hang out! They are never together any more!"

*South Korea enacts Article 92-6*

Look, conspiracy theories are bullshit, but ALSO:

Jimin and Jungkook are both cooking big, big feasts for us before service and they are focused on that right now. There's still plenty of evidence they see each other and are on great terms, if you actually listen to them, so stop flooding my ask box under sockpuppet accounts, crowing that Jimin is all alone and Jungkook doesn't care about him.

Look, puppykitties...

I cannot tell you Jikook are dating. I do not live in their cupboards and watch them 24/7.

Yes, JK has been hanging out with 97 line friends these days and yes, Jimin and Yoongi (and Hobi) have all gotten super duper close (or are at least more comfy talking openly about how close they've always been) in solo era. And yes:

Jikook don't talk about Jikook these days.

But what ISN'T being said sounds so loud that half this fandom froths at the mouth every other day.

Jimin has two gaming chairs in his apartment--including one chair that really looks similar to the one Jungkook had.

Jimin traveled half-way around the world to be with Jungkook during his debut and we still have no idea what they were doing at the restaurant or on the boat. Let's wait patiently.

There's been some highly suspect photos in the past of a guy in a white bucket hat with JK via CCTV at a quick mart (illegal, won't be posting) or of suspiciously similar-looking hands during game nights on JK's brother's Insta (family stuff, won't be posting). There's also video of someone who looks eerily similar to Jimin in expensive designer clothing at the arrivals terminal of the airport when JK got back from the World Cup--and later, just beyond the airport, footage of JK's car pulling away from another company car with fans screaming "Jimin!" to the riders inside (unofficial content, won't be posting).

Jungkook knows every single lyric in Jimin's songs, and his choreo, AND what he says, word for word, on his interviews.

Jimin took up boxing and has showed us he has a punching bag in house.

Jungkook muttered that Jimin moved his lamp.

Jimin went to the airport sporting what looked like a big dog scratch.

Vminkook went to a cafe in Jeju. K-Army said they spotted Jikook there well before Tae posted about it.

Jimin and Jungkook both watched the same random anime series recently.

Jimin ran up to Jungkook to cutely say "periri" so often that Jungkook was afraid he'd accidentally say it on stage.

JK quietly stopped by Jimin's docu-live, and Jimin lit up like a Christmas tree and then grabbed his moob.

AGAIN: I. CANNOT. TELL. YOU. THEY. ARE. DATING.

But don't come here with that "Jimin is always alone" and "JK only cares about his career, not Jimin" nonsense.

Please make better use of your time by watching JUNGKOOK'S GOLDEN PREVIEW and JIMIN'S SPECIAL TALK LIVE and then go watch YOONGI'S SUCHWITA WITH 2MIN for good measure!

And next time you come to my blog, if you can't say something nice...

Okay?

Okay.

*hugs* Love, Roo

#jikook

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distorted59 · 8 months

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I need Danish Gremlin Lars headcanons so bad right now plsssss

Hi!!! first of all, I'm sorry it took a little while, hope you enjoy!! <3 and again, thanks for asking!

Loves it when you play with his hands! we all know this man has incredible hands, esp with all that tape around his fingers, lord have mercy.

Would absolutely love to teach you to play the drums

He WOULD tease you with his drumsticks, i fucking know it, this man is a kinky mf.

Like, he would slide one over the inside of your thigh and the other one over your neck and breasts.

THE TAPE AROUND HIS FINGERS STAYS ON!!! (need i say more)

He’d whisper sweet things to you in Danish, whenever he’s proud of you or when he tells you he loves you.

ALSO, during sex???? and he’d go all crazy cus it all just feels so, so good???

I feel like he’s quite dominant, maybe in his early years (‘81-‘84) he’d be a little bendable (not literally, but who knows?). But, in the 90’s he’d be FERAL.

Like I said earlier, I feel like he’s a kinky mf. Exhibitionism, he likes to get freaky in public. He loves getting praised, he wants to hear how good he is at something. Pleasing you, playing drums, cooking, mowing the fucking lawn. He doesn’t mind, please fulfill his ego.

Small dick, but the energy is BIG.

Has stamina for DAYZZZZ!!!

He would fuck you on his drumset, i can just imagine him eating you out and hitting the kickdrum while doing so. (IM SORRY I HAD TO)

I feel like early 80’s Lars is a real sweetheart, maybe still a little shy but definitely runs his mouth. 90’s Lars has no fucking filter, he’s cocky, arrogant, gets whatever he wants and takes whatever he wants.

Loves to just be around you, showing you he’s here. You’d watch him and the boys rehearse and he would squeeze your hand or your thigh, flashing you small smiles and giving you kisses here and there.

“You still with us, darling?” He squeezes your thigh, smiling with those adorable dimples of his.

"Hm?" You dozed off a little, but his fingers sliding to the inside of your thigh keep you very awake.

“Are you enjoying watching us, babe?” Lars grins.

“Oh, yeah.” You nod. “You’re doing great, baby.”

“You think so?” He smirks proudly, his fingers tracing circles over your soft skin. “You like watching me play?”

“Mhm.” You hum and smile down at his hand. Already knowing what you two will be doing later.

He would take you to Denmark, showing you his hometown and places he went to as a kid. His childhood home (which is now a fertility clinic I believe, lol) and his school, where he played tennis as a boy.

He loves art so he would take you on little museum trips and years later to these auctions where he would sell the pieces from his home for millions of dollars, (SKOM docu).

Loves bragging to people about you. “My girl is great, she’s the prettiest woman i know.” and "Well, my girl loves playing the drums with me." <3

You know those bandanas he wore in the 80’s? Yeah, tying your wrists up with them or putting it in your mouth to prevent you from moaning too loud <3.

He is a little fruity tho. (so threesome with Kirk maybe? yes/no?)

Load/Reload era, this man wore some heavy eyeliner. I can see him asking you for a little help.

He’s in the bathroom, trying to figure out what the fuck to do here.

“Babe, could you help me out here?” He holds up the pencil and gives you puppy dog eyes.

“With what, baby?” you walk into the bathroom and look at him, slight confusion written over your face. “Is that my eyeliner?”

“It’s for the new album!” He protests. “We got a new look, ya know?”

“What, cutting your hair wasn’t enough?” You tease him and sit on the sink counter.

You take the eyeliner from his hands and pull him closer by his shirt, you wrap your legs around his waist and make him look at you by holding his chin.

“Okay, close your eyes.”

He obliges and you softly apply the liner just above his lash line. He squints a little and breathes out through his nose.

“Don’t move, baby.” You scold him.

“Sorry, It feels a little weird.” a wide smile spreads on his face.

“Look up for me.”

He does what he tells you, looking at you before he looks up entirely. You apply some under his waterline, smudging the edges gently with your fingers.

“All done, babe.” You kiss his lips softly.

He smiles into the kiss and murmurs a “thank you” against your lips. He checks himself out in the mirror behind you and grins.

“Wow, I look sexy!”

“Larzy Poo” - James Hetfield, 2023

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jung-koook · 20 days

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these days of agony hobi docu, his album and bangtan songs helped me calm down a little. if it weren't for my countdown posts for jeongguk's return I probably wouldn't be posting here these last months. I was coming online and reblogging the first few posts on my dash and posting my set and leaving because I was really mentally exhausted. these last few days my heart broke because my son started throwing up nonstop and when I took him to the doctor I found out that he needed urgent life-threatening surgery. I don't think I've ever cried so much in my life like, my eyes are still swollen from crying for so many days but everything worked out he's already recovered and coming home with me. I'm really so happy and relieved! 🥹

I just wanted to share this with you because maybe some of you may have noticed that I'm not replying to your messages or checking my tracktag often, but in a few days I'll do that ok. I just wasn't in the mood for it.

I hope you guys are having a good week! please take care of yourself and stay healthy ♡

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7ndipity · 1 year

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You have insomnia

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How they would comfort you when you suffer from insomnia.

Warnings: a swear, I think that's all?

A/N: This request came at a very serendipitous(ha) time, cause ya girl has also not been sleeping lately! Tbh, most of them have said they have sleeping issues, so I think they'd all be pretty understanding. I hope you all like it!

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Seokjin: He would try to find things to distract you for a bit until you, hopefully, start to feel sleepy. Y'all would go for walks(still in his pajamas), play some video games, etc. He would want you to take advantage of any times you do feel able to sleep and have a nap, even offering to join you as an incentive.

Yoongi: He would try to get you to lay down with him anyway, cause he knows you should still rest, even if you can't properly sleep. On nights when you feel really restless, he would get up with you, even if you tell him not to, because "We're a team, dammit!". He just wants you to know he's there for you, no matter what.

Hobi: He would be very sympathetic to you, asking you if there's anything that he can do to help or make you feel better. He'd probably do some research on remedies or sleep aids(if you're okay with those). You may have to talk it out with him, cause he tends to worry, but he can't help it sometimes. He justs wants to look out for you.

Namjoon: I think he's said before that he has the most trouble sleeping out of all the members, so he would be very understanding. Y'all would be good at keeping each other company, whether that's working/reading/etc, or just staring at the ceiling talking about whatever's on your mind til one of you falls asleep.

Jimin: He would take a more chill approach, cause he knows fixating on it doesn't help at all. He would suggest putting on a movie or show and just sit with you, rubbing your back and arms until he dozes off. He knows he can't fix your sleep issues, but he can give you comfort, and sometimes that means more than he knows.

Taehyung: on nights when he can feel you getting particularly frustrated, he tries to turn it into a game of finding and testing things to help you sleep, even though he knows that's not how insomnia works, he just wants to make you smile or laugh. He almost always ends up falling asleep before you, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Jungkook: He doesn't seem to sleep much either(at least atm), so there would be a lot of late night hangouts. The two of you have become very well versed in late night tv and youtube docu-shows. Has definitely tried singing to you to help you sleep. He doesn't care what y'all end up doing, he just wants to make sure that you never feel alone.

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year

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Hello pinnieeee :DD, I'm currently disintegrating rn so how world the Icons deal with a sick queen? I have a stong feeling snake mommy will be the most calm (and probably most normal) about it, or she could also have a mental breakdown, who knows? 🤷‍♀️

I think you did an ask like this with the clergy sluts but I'm not sure if you did one with the big dicked/titted man/womanchildren

istg daddy-big-dick's gonna make our condition worse

[To be fair, I don't know if answered this for the Icons too, but I can't really find it, so I assume I didn't. Also, I hope you get better soon!]

Icons with a sick Queen

Vesper has to be reminded he can't quite literally fuck you out of illness. It's common sense that sharing lust with a concubus can help them survive harsh conditions, but you're only a human for now. Vesper forgets this, and tries to eat you out... Nevertheless, he may be severely misinformed, but he can drag a human doctor to Hell without trouble. They're staying in the manor until you're okay. Their payment is getting ravaged by imps. Vesper will sit next to you while you rest and possibly read for you. You have to tell him to stop anxiously bouncing his leg because it shakes the little bed you're in.

Zizz will be your personal bed. In fact, for most of the duration of your sickness, you're carried everywhere like a baby. You may have trouble sleeping because of pain/discomfort, so he'll be there to make sure you don't spend too much time agonizing awake, only to take care of basic needs. He's stressed enough to lose his own sleep balance, and it shows a little as he becomes sluggish in his work. He's calling several people, and conversing with you amidst your dreams, getting as many opinions as he can regarding your condition.

Rinx has brought ten bags of wildly different medicine types home, and he has no idea what to do. Do not let him load you with drugs. He just doesn't want you in such blatant misery, and he had to be sure he was getting the right stuff, so he got everything there was. He's curling around your laying form and worriedly asking if you're okay every single time you shift slightly. If you make him move away (probably, because demons are hot and you're likely overheated), he's going to whine about it. Rinx isn't above getting you high so you can feel better.

Kalymir is a disaster. Get up. Come on, get the fuck up, don't make that deflating balloon face at him, you look like a corpse (very flattering). He has good intentions, but he's the worst. He doesn't really like pills, so you're going to have to yell at him to get them. Don't ask- Scream. The King hates to see you so down and placid, so he'll taunt you in hopes of getting a rise out of you. A half-hearted "go fuck yourself" will suffice. Catch this fucker dumping the juiciest steak on your lap and demanding you eat. If you want a doctor (which is recommended with this hysterical fucker around), yell at Kalymir until he gives in.

Vorticia is, predictably, a touch calmer about this. Although, given humans are so frail, she's far from remotely secure in her ability to cure you. She worries that you'll perish at any moment, simply because surface-dwellers are that weak. Most of your time awake is definitely spent eating, if you can, a variety of soups and broths and every dish under the sun that's said to have healing properties. Other than that, the woman keeps you company, makes sure you're comfortable, and gives you things to entertain yourself with. She looks perfectly calm around you, but inside she's running a mile a minute. If you start losing your appetite (something possibly fatal for a glutton), she's going to really panic. Possibly drag an entire human medical team into Gluttony.

Cero is not waiting more than a day for you to overcome it on your own. If you're still sick, or worse, by day two, he's picking you up and forcing his way into a good enough hospital in the surface. He's not waiting in lines, or checking in, or bothering to present documents- He demands to see the best doctor in the premises, and if he's denied, he threatens to start impaling random people in the waiting rooms, by the minute. Everyone is sweating bullets throughout the duration of your stay, as Cero is always present to scrutinize everything each doctor and nurse does. When asked about it, he says you're overreacting about it and he's just there to be sure you won't make a scene.

Livius is, hilariously enough, in as shitty a mood as you are. He's an emotional sponge of a person, so he's going to be as uncomfortable and tired as you are. He's very worried, and less than composed about it, tearing up because humans are so weak. You're going to DIE. You're going to KEEL OVER AND DIE and he doesn't know what he's going to do- He might as well die too!! Please get this man a fucking breather or he will hyperventilate himself into a bed next to you. Your fate is almost entirely on your hands, as Livius will simply freeze and eerily wait for you to tell him what to do. He's very ominous and quiet when you're sick, it's as if his confidence vanishes in the blink of an eye, and he has this vacant look.

#Cero oc #Zizz oc #Rinx oc #Vorticia oc #Vesper oc #Kalymir oc #Livius oc #monsterwhorre

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mariajmajesty · 6 months

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I already knew Jimin will only ever say something like JK has a good voice.. I really appreciate his help and he's so talented as the offical answer to why he picked only Jungkook to be in his personal album about himself for this particular song and those lyrics and that's okay since I don't think he wants to say more than that and it's not really needed (I was sure he was gonna speak about their endless love for army as the main reason but no). I don't think we will ever get more information about Letter from either of them. Something that I think is worth mentioning is when Jimin explained to the producers and cameras (us basically) why Jungkook in there & part of the song while looking at him I felt like his tone of voice slightly changed and Jungkook seem to know what he was gonna say even before Jimin said it "yeah "yeah", so even though we won't see what went down between them before that I think it's obvious that they only share what they want to share and on the same page about a lot of things. And honestly, anyone who still think they don't make effort to see each other in private despite having crazy work schedules and high standarts for themselves and only see each other when we see them together is delusional (The word peu-ri-ri comes to mind). Now that we got Jimin's docu I hope we will get what Jungkook is filming in the near future❤️

#jikook

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