#askedforthis

✧ ( SHAMELESS SENTENCE STARTERS. || accepting !

but that’s not us, beck, is it? you, maybe. sometimes. it’s something i plan on asking you about, when we get to know each other better -- maybe wrapped up in sheets in our bed with your slick thighs and sweat glittering on your forehead and your head’s just swimming with how thigh-trembling, nail-raking and name-screamingly good i am with my tongue, but later. we’re not there yet. but you’re never gonna have to worry about that kind of thing with me, because i’ll take care of you. i’ll do your laundry, and tidy your apartment -- i’ll show you how deserving you are of someone better than the guy who sticks his dick in anything with a pulse, and i’ll help you see that i’m not just another notch in your bed post. i’m the one.

and that’s why i’m here, beck. and god, have you meant some sacrifices -- i’m at your apartment at six when you roll out of bed. i say good morning, from across the street, but you won’t have to worry about that -- i’ll wake up before you, treat you with coffee and breakfast in bed before your busy day. you work so hard, it’s the least i can do. we go to work together, and you look so good in those leggings, i just wanna join the mommies on a fitness kick. so today, i do. it’s not that weird, beck... we’ve been on a couple of dates, everything’s going great -- i want to know you. i want to see where you work from inside the studio. i want to get you a smoothie after your class and walk with you over to your next. so i’m up, six-am sharp, and i walk with you to work.

                      “--- hey, stranger. got room for one more?”

meme.

you stop, because you’re not quite sure you know what she wants you to say. for a moment, there’s panic that bubbles in your stomach and threatens to crawl its way up your throat, because for a moment, you think back to your laptop. (password protected. beck wouldn’t sift through your files, and there’s no way she’d find anything unless she knew what she was looking for. password protected, like that means anything when it comes to this kind of situation). maybe she hasn’t found it. you hope she hasn’t found it – you’re not sure how you’re going to be able to explain anything without a whole slew of questions and accusations sticking like shit. you don’t do that.

(but of course you do. she’s – beck. beck is… radiant. kind of makes you want to stay here and show her that – you think about her lips, when she smiles, and when she pouts, and you think about the way your fingers would feel, running through her hair, and you think about the way she’d kiss you, and touch you, and how her fingers would dip down your stomach and slide between your thighs – but she’s your friend. best friend. since brown. you both make your way into the big city itself and build new lives for yourselves. that’s – it doesn’t come into it. but part of you wishes it did.)

                      “what?”       it snaps you back to reality, after what you think must be too long a pause to be able to scour the truth away from what’s so blatantly cranking cogs in your brain. but you’ll try. because you’re not…– you know?

         “becks…”     you turn it back to joseph, because you’re not quite sure how else to answer it. if she knows about the pictures, you aren’t sure she’d still be here, trying to talk to you. right? (you hope you’re right. beck’s your best friend. you’ve done everything together over the past few years. you’ve slipped pills and swilled rosé until early in the morning when beck finally takes a break away from her blank word doc, and it’s been fine. it’s all been fine.)

              “if this is about the creepy retail loser not telling you you’re badass and beautiful, of course i think you’re amazing. but i’m not – i’m – don’t be ridiculous.”

i’m not, and you can’t say it. because you’re not. and you don’t think about her like that. you’re best friends, and you’re not. you’re a saIinger, and you’re perfect, and your parents both talk about you like you’ve never set foot out of place, and you’re not. you’re not.