#and i would at least like a phone call or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aealzx · 3 days ago

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Update Post

Prologue | AO3

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“...o, he hasn’t woken up yet.”

Someone had entered the room that morning, and now Jazz was talking to someone that could have been them or another person entirely. The haze of their lowered conversation was helping to pull Danny from the fog of sleep. But after the initial part it sounded like the conversation was one sided.

“Clothes?.... Actually, I don’t know what he would like. He hasn’t bought anything for himself for two years now. And never has a response when we ask.”

That response made Danny feel like they were talking about him. Jazz and whoever she was talking to. It was probably on the phone. He felt a little bad, but what she had just said was true. He hadn’t really done much when it came to clothing lately. Sam and Tucker had mostly been the ones to give his Phantom attire an update, and he just hadn’t bothered to address anything else.

“No, I’m not going to wake him up. He needs his rest-”

“Mmm… ‘s fine, J’zz. ‘M awake,” Danny forced himself to mumble even though he wasn’t quite fully alert yet. Relaxing in the study the previous evening had been really nice, and his spirits had risen a little when the few sips of broth he’d had a few hours before bed hadn’t made him sick again. But he still felt like a truck had hit him in his sleep, which made that morning hard. “Izzat for me? Here…” he asked, lazily flopping his hand into the air so that Jazz could give him the phone.

Jazz seemed to consider it for a moment, but eventually sighed and walked over to put the borrowed cellphone in Danny’s hand. Danny couldn’t see, having not managed to open his eyes yet, but Alfred was waiting patiently at the door to get it back. For now Danny just flopped it next to his head and turned his ear into it. “Mm…’ello?”

“Danny! Good morning~”

It was Stephanie. Chiming in a bubbly way that was much too energetic for… what time was it? Still felt too early.

“So, we’re out shopping and getting some new clothes for everyone, but your friends are being unhelpful and keep saying you don’t have any kind of style you like. Soooo, you get to answer. What would you like us to pick up for you? And what size do you usually wear?” Stephanie rambled, anticipating Danny would have more answers than the others.

“Uhhhhhh….,” Danny stalled, both because he was still waking up and she had said a lot of words, but also because he didn’t have an answer. “I dunno. A t-shirt and jeans? I’m usually a size smaller than Tucker though.”

“Seriously? That’s it? That’s so boring,” Stephanie complained.

“See? We told you, but you didn’t believe us.” Danny could hear Tucker’s voice, and figured he was on speaker.

“He just kept wearing the same clothes he had when he was fourteen, and only has new ones because the rest of us bought some for him. But he was so unhelpful then too that we had to settle for just getting him space themed stuff,” Sam huffed, and Danny could hear her folding her arms in annoyance.

“Hey, I got a lot of other stuff to worry about than clothes,” Danny protested to defend himself.

“You like space themed stuff though?” Dick’s voice chimed in now.

“Yeah, I still like space,” Danny confirmed. “Can’t do much with it these days, but I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut,” he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed about admitting his childhood dream.

“Cool. What about puns?” Dick hummed, adding another question quickly.

“No. Dick, don’t you dare,” Stephanie scolded.

Danny could only smile though. “I love puns,” he confirmed, not able to pick out who was all contributing to the chorus of groans and complaints, “Why? You got a good one?”

“Maybe. You’ll see,” Dick’s response was with barely held mirth. “Thanks kiddo, take it easy,” he bid before ending the call.

Well at least that was something to look forward to. Danny’s smile didn’t fade as he lifted the phone from the pillow to hand back to Jazz, who then returned it to Alfred. He ended up rolling over and laying there for a little longer, which made Jazz giggle and run her fingers through his hair for a bit. It was comfortable, and at least he wasn’t so tired he fell asleep right after waking up.

“...Alfred made some more of the broth you got last night. Do you want to try some more?” Jazz eventually asked when Danny finally managed to keep his eyes open and focus on things.

Danny considered how he felt before answering, and ended up nodding. “These help,” he admitted, pointing to the anti nausea patch behind his ear. It was enough confirmation for Jazz to move to help him sit up, stuffing all the pillows she could behind him when he was upright so he wouldn’t have to worry about spilling. The broth really did taste good, despite only being slightly warmer than room temperature. He found that if he only took small sips, and waited awhile between them he didn’t end up with his stomach wanting to revolt again. Maybe eventually he’d want a fat burger again, but for now this was enough.

He soon learned that he hadn’t woken up until after 10:00 am, but while that felt weird to hear he eventually realized there was nothing wrong with it. Apparently the others had been out all morning, Stephanie having come to get them since it was a holiday for her school. Not that her attendance was stellar anyway with all the mishaps she ended up in during the daytime, but it helped convince Bruce to let her carry on. She’d even managed to drag Dick and Barbara to join them. And that and the phonecall earlier led to Dick being the one to burst into the bedroom shortly after noon with the bags he’d promised over the phone.

“Head’s up!” Dick called as the only warning before he tossed a new t-shirt over Danny’s head.

“Dick!” Barbara scolded mildly, having only heard how Danny was doing and not completely sure he was up for being harassed.

To her surprise Danny just snorted. “It’s fine. It’s just a shirt,” he excused, pulling the t-shirt off his face and spreading it where he could see. While Dick grinned triumphantly at Barbara before turning to watch Danny expectantly, Danny quickly read the text on the shirt and promptly half choked on a snort. “HAHAHAHA H-,” he erupted with full on laughter, wheezing as he tried to vocalize the text. “I have - PFFFF HAHAHA - so many prob- HHHHH Jazz,” he howled and wheezed, turning the shirt so his sister could see the astronaut image surrounded by the text ‘Houston, I have so many problems’.

“Oh-.... Ohhhhh that’s great,” Jazz grimaced, giving a thumbs up as the content of the shirt was enough to dampen her own joy over seeing Danny laughing so openly. Considering his current situation, Danny probably thought it was rather fitting.

“I’m so upset we were right that he would love that,” Sam grumbled with a shake of her head.

“I think it’s great,” Danielle chimed in, though not laughing quite as much as Danny since she’d already seen everything.

“Of course you do,” Tucker sighed.

“I have more!” Dick took that as a chance to continue, plopping on the bed and digging out another shirt to pass over to Danny.

“Oh no, I’m leaving. Have fun,” Tucker groaned, quickly heading out the door partially to get away from what he had a feeling was going to be a terrible session of puns and bad jokes, and partially to take care of his own haul. Sam was quick to follow his lead, dragging Danielle after them so she didn’t skip out on helping.

As Danny excitedly held up the next shirt another honk laugh escaped him, though not quite as uproarious as the first. “HA! Just need space. Classic,” he complimented, lowering the shirt to his lap and looking up at Dick again to see if he had more.

“This was the last shirt they had, but if you want more puns after I have plenty to give,” Dick complied, handing the final printed shirt over to Danny.

It took Danny a second to realize the graphic of the earth was suggested to be spinning, staring at the conversation between the characterized moon and their own planet. The moon was asking what the earth was doing, and the earth responded ‘Making everyone’s day’, and as soon as the joke clicked in Danny’s head he was almost crying with laughter again. He didn’t even notice Stephanie joyfully recording both of them.

“Give me what else you have,” Danny requested after getting his breath back, reaching out to tug on Dick’s arm. It felt good to laugh. Even if it hurt his ribs, hurt the still healing burns on his chest, it felt good to just sit and laugh about something stupid. He didn’t want to give it up just yet, and it seemed Dick had actually planned for this in the past few hours after learning Danny loved puns too.

“Alright, get comfy ‘cause I have got a real gemstore to show you,” Dick agreed eagerly, squirming up onto the bed next to Danny and getting comfortable as well where they could both look at his phone. He had a folder saved just for collecting his favorites.

Danny was quick to settle into place wedged against Dick’s side, quickly reading and giggling or outright barking more laughter as they flipped through the saved images of jokes ranging from ‘I’m more confused than a chameleon in a bag of skittles’ to ‘astronomers got tired of waiting for the sun to go down, so they decided to call it a day’. Throughout the scrolling and varying degrees of laughter at the jokes, Danny even added some of his own that he remembered after seeing some of the others.

Eventually their session was interrupted by Damian pausing at the doorway, getting their attention with a light knock.

“Pennyworth would like to know if you would prefer supper in the study once more,” the youngest Wayne informed, and waited for the response.

“Who…?” was what Danny ended up responding with, having not heard people’s last names yet.

“Alfred. Damian calls everyone by their last names,” Dick thankfully supplied, earning a small noise of understanding from Danny. It wasn’t hard to tell the hours and hours of jokes had worn him out, but he seemed quite content so Dick didn’t feel bad. “You’ve upgraded to the couch already though? Hell yeah.”

The comment made Danny snort again, though he also had to grimace at Dick incredulously. “What kind of lifestyle do you people live?” he asked before giving a quick answer to Damian. “Here is fine for today. If that’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Your recovery is of utmost importance to those in this household. If supper in bed will facilitate that, then it is of no consequence to anything else,” Damian responded easily, giving them a nod before leaving to report back to Alfred.

“Eh. We’ve had our fair share of injuries through the years,” Dick admitted to Danny’s question, lifting a finger to tap the small bandage on his own forehead once. “Enough that a knife wound is more like a papercut,” he half joked.

Danny snickered at the response, but wasn’t sure how he really felt about it. Was it really a good thing to be so used to being hurt that they seemed to have started making a game out of things relating to it? Maybe it was just something so inevitable for people like them, that they’d just had to make the most of it in the best way they knew how.

“Does it…,” Danny found himself speaking before he’d fully committed to the question in his mind. He had half the thought to retract his half voiced question, but opted instead to complete it. “Does it ever get to be too much?”

The question made Dick recognize a little more about what state of mind Danny was in, and his brows furrowed in concern before he eventually brought the smile back. “All the time,” he admitted. “Especially when you get all these meta humans and aliens involved. But… it’s too hard to stop.”

For a moment Danny had forgotten that the others, aside from Duke, didn’t have any special abilities that weren’t common for a regular human. It must be very stressful for them to have to deal with people like him that ended up rogue. But also, hearing someone else admit that they too, sometimes, only kept going because it was too hard for them to stop brought Danny a strange kind of bitter comfort. Maybe they were just all doomed together.

But, even if they were, at least he had company.

“...Thanks,” Danny chose to respond, relaxing a little more heavily into the pillows. The laughter had felt good, but the exhaustion and aches didn’t. “For all the jokes. I loved them.”

Dick could only grin fondly, reaching out to ruffle Danny’s hair after sitting upright. “No problem, kid. Anytime you need some more, just let me know.”

“Does that mean I can have your number after I get my phone back?”

Dick could only snort, having not expected that question. “Sure. We’ll figure something out for the whole interdimensional communication thing. I’m sure someone has already figured it out,” he chuckled, scooting to the edge of the bed to get ready to join the others at dinner.

Danny could only hum in acknowledgement, content with that answer, and let Dick leave to get his own food. Having someone to appreciate good jokes with was something to look forward to at least.

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Iiiii struggled a lil with this one too =3= But there were some notes I needed to be mentioned before getting too far along.

Thank you for whoever sent me some puns though XDD they really helped. I love puns, but I'm terrible at coming up with any or even remembering them.

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai,

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

#my art #long post #writing #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #phantom rogues #fanfic

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ganxiously · 20 hours ago

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So, it turns out what I needed to get out of my writer's block was soul-wrenching grief and heart-crushing disappointment. And while I am happy about that (to an extent), I also wish my muse wasn't angst because I think I am hurting myself writing this fic and I need to now make it everyone else's problem.

Sitting there in the dark, on Eddie’s sofa, curled in on himself like it’s supposed to do anything to hold him together, one thought pops into his head, bright, neon red and in bold among the constant litany of boorish, black ‘This is all my fault’ — All of this is because I didn’t know what a Kinsey six is. The thought is unexpected enough that Buck unfurls a little, wondering where it came from and then he remembers their anniversary date. The memory leaves him breathless but he is curious enough to push past the newly burgeoning hurt and take out his phone. A quick Google reveals it to be the rating for ‘exclusively homosexual’ on the Kinsey scale so he looks that up next and as he’s debating whether to start from Wikipedia first or dive right into the Kinsey Institute website, his eyes land on the conspicuous ‘test online’ button right below the search bar. A part of him doesn’t want to find out, doesn’t want anyone else telling him what he is but the taunt is too much. If you had known, if you had just taken a moment to figure yourself out, maybe you could have said something. Maybe you could have stopped him before he walked away. He clicks on the first test that pops up, looks at the first question, goes to select option 1 and then stops and stares. ‘To whom are you attracted?’ should be an easy question to answer but the confidence to not think much has left him. He could easily choose ‘Both men and women’ but would that even be correct? He’s been so sure that he has felt attraction towards men a few times in the past but what if that was a mild interest at best? After all, no one had really pinged his radar the way Tommy had. He looks at the next question and that’s when the panic really starts to set in because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he prefers men over women or if he just prefers Tommy over women, over everyone else. What if Tommy is the outlier and he prefers women over men after all? The pressure in his chest becomes more and more painful the longer he stares at it so he closes the test and opens the next one on the list. That one starts off mild. The way the first question is framed makes it easy to answer that yes, while he mostly notices women, the occasional man does turn his eyes. The next one asks what he would be comfortable in calling himself and he thinks he could get away with calling himself bisexual but then there’s an option saying ‘could be bisexual but not sure if that’s correct‘. And again the thought hits, What if it’s just Tommy? He debates it briefly and then gives in and chooses the latter option. He breezes through the next couple of questions because he is at least sure that he would find it desirable to kiss people from both genders but then they hit him with the sexual preference question again. He backs out so fast his phone nearly slips out of his hand and with a sigh of frustration, he clicks on the next test. That turns out worse because the very first question stalls him and so it continues again and again and again until tears start prickling at the corner of his eyes and his breath starts coming in sharp, short bursts pulling his throat tight but not taking any air to his lungs. He keeps at it until there’s one more nameless person behind one more useless test clamouring at him, Tell us, tell us, tell us. Tell us you know what you want. He hurls the phone across the room, thankful when instead of landing on the floor, it silently hits the backrest of Eddie’s armchair and slides down into the crease with a swoosh. He should get up and retrieve it, he should go home really but what he does instead is let his head fall forward onto his raised knees and give in to the caricatured voice of his mind telling him, Of course, he thought you would break his heart. Look at yourself, you idiot.

This is basically just the set-up for the fic but rest assured I am dragging Buck down to the trenches before I let him swim up to Tommy again.

#911 abc #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #fic

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allllium · 16 hours ago

Note

Jason Todd x childhood friend fem

fluff and potential angst

Jason runs into childhood friend from befor he died and she recognizes him

Back in Time

[ Jason Todd x Childhood Best Friend!Reader ]

~ Fluff, Maybe a little hurt/comfort, WC: 1,089

~ I'm so sorry this took so long 😭 Every time I went to write this it's like all ideas flew out of my head, but I finally got it done and I hope it meets your expectations<3

"Jason?"

He freezes.

He wasn't expecting to hear your voice today.

He wasn't expecting to hear your voice ever again.

Once he came back, you were gone.

He would say he tried to look for you but that isn't true. He thought your leaving was the universe telling him to leave you alone.

But now you're here. You're here and you recognize him. He doesn't know how to respond. He knows you know he heard you, otherwise he wouldn't have stopped moving.

The first thing he hears in your voice is the sadness. Not anger like he would've expected. Not even a hint of confusion. Just something sad.

After a minute of him being unmoving, clearly lost in his thoughts, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Jason." You say.

This time it's not a question.

After he hears you a second time, he brings himself to turn around and look at you.

"Hey."

"Hey." He can't tell if you're about to cry or smile.

"I'm sorry." He immediately apologizes. Maybe for leaving or maybe for not finding you. He's not quite sure.

"For what?" You ask and take a deep breath.

He sees the way tears form in your eyes and has the strange urge to cry himself.

"I don't know. I just feel like I need to."

"You don't. Dick told me what happened. That's not something you need to be sorry for." You say it so surely he doesn't know how to respond.

"I was gonna find you."

"That's not your job. I mean a phone call would've been nice." You shrug and let out a small, awkward chuckle.

"I didn't know what to do." He tells you quietly.

"I would assume." You look around the sidewalk you're on. You're standing in front of what looks like a busy shop, people walk in and out every couple seconds.

"Where did you go?" He asks you after a moment. Probably to determine whether or not he could've found you.

"I was here. I mean I stayed in Gotham just not where I was before."

"If I had known you were so close I would've gone to you but when they told you left I assumed-"

"Jason, you don't have to defend yourself." You cut him off quickly, "If I died and came back the last thing on my list would be finding someone who left."

He nods. "This might be easier if you were at least a little mad." He smiles softly at you, watching more tears shine in your eyes.

"I missed you too much to be mad right now."

He goes to say something back but someone walking by bumps into your shoulder.

"Maybe we should get coffee or something?" He suggests, not wanting to keep blocking the sidewalk traffic.

"Are you free?"

"Oh yeah, yeah." Dick can wait, he thinks to himself.

"Then yeah, coffee sounds great."

You both walk into the coffee shop and order whatever drinks sound good. Jason chooses a table against the wall and by a giant window.

You sit awkwardly in silence as you both try and think of what to say.

"How are you doing?" You ask, after multiple minutes of nothing.

"I'm okay, I think." He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. You take notice of his fingers tapping nervously along the side of the cup.

"That's good." You nod and sigh.

"How are you?"

"I've been better." You answer honestly. Your fingers also tap nervously along your cup.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why this is so weird."

You laugh at his words, "I do. It's been a while."

"And I'm guessing we've both changed." He smiles.

"Changed? No shit Jason, look at you." You smile at him in a reassuring way. You can clearly see how dying has changed him.

"Yeah I guess I did get a little taller." He jokes and shakes his head.

"Maybe just an inch or two." You play along, laughing as you speak.

"I missed this. I missed you." He tells you with a sudden seriousness in his tone.

"Well good thing it isn't going away this time." You reach across the table and grab his hand.

It was never unusual for you and Jason to be touchy. That's just the kinda friendship you had. But this feels different.

Instead of being a friendly touch between best friends, it's more like a reassurance that's he's actually alive. A piece of you feels relief that you're not imagining this.

"I really hope so." He wishes with a frown.

"It won't. If you think I'm leaving your side anytime soon you're very very wrong."

"What's one more person to the gang that follows me everywhere?" He laughs again and squeezes your hand. It's the first time he's felt so free to last in a while.

"Where is that gang by the way? I would've expected one of them to be here by now."

"Oh I left while they weren't looking. I needed time to myself."

"You snuck out? Jason, they're probably panicking." You scold him softly.

"It's fine I'm meeting with Dick later."

You shake your head in disapproval but a smile on your face gives you away once again.

For some reason no matter how sad you are, a smile can't leave your lips.

You fall back into a silence but this time it's not awkward at all. It's a comfortable silence that reminds you of old times.

"I should probably get going. Dick will be pissed if I'm late."

"Yeah I don't doubt it." You recall the many times Dick has given long lectures about being late to anything he's involved in.

"I'll call you." He swears, standing up from his seat at the table.

"You better. I know where to find you." You stand up as well and finish off your drink.

"Yes you do." He agrees but doesn't leave.

You stand together in front of your table. Both of you are waiting for the other to move first.

Just as you're about to make the move to leave he steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

You immediately hug back and feel the tears reappear in your eyes.

"I really missed you." He whispers.

"I really missed you too." You whisper back.

You savor every moment of the embrace. Not wanting to leave out of fear that he would leave again.

But as you watch him walk away to meet with his brother, you're overcome with the happiness of knowing your best friend is here.

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opencommunion · 3 days ago

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seeing a lot of notes suggesting volunteering with or even just donating to charities and that's nice and all, but it's not the kind of connection I'm asking you to make.

several people brought up food banks so I'll take that as an example. when I was hungry I dreaded trips to the food bank bc the volunteers there had attitudes ranging from awkward to sanctimonious to hostile. if you can bring a better vibe to that role, great! but bad vibes are somewhat baked into the western model of "charity." when there's an impassable wall between the Helper and the person being Helped, it's violently dehumanizing at worst, and alienating at best; it def doesn't contribute to anything I would call "community." I ended up preferring my local Food Not Bombs chapter to the food bank, because it was organized largely by other hungry people and the vibes were more like a potluck than a breadline. look for mutual aid efforts (emphasis on mutual, meaning the service recipients are also involved in organizing the service), and if nothing like that exists where you are, start something!

volunteering can be an ok way to meet people outside your bubble, depending on the org you work for, but you need to actually give people your phone number and be up for supporting them beyond the volunteer shifts you schedule at your personal convenience. host people on your couch, offer to pick up groceries, become someone your neighbor feels comfortable asking to babysit. make friends, or at least acquaintances who you actually keep in touch with. take a personal interest in lives different from your own; meet people where they are and ask directly how you can best support them. if you check out when you clock out you're not in community.

I'm not just talking to the most privileged white lgbts, either. a lot of you guys are also suffering, but not making connections with similarly suffering people beyond your race and age group. if you're food/housing insecure, disabled, targeted by the legal system, renting from a slumlord, etc, start organizing around that struggle. start a homeless union or tenant's union, a skill exchange, a street watch group, a needle exchange, a rideshare network. think about what would help you, find other people with similar needs, and see how you can mutually support each other. that's community baby!

protests can also be a place to get involved in broader community, if you show up in a consistent way and really invest yourself. in racial justice struggle there's a pattern where higher profile protests lead to an influx of lefty whites, whose numbers rapidly dwindle as they lose interest or energy. when you show up to protests, talk to the organizers and find out how you can get sustainably involved in their efforts. the work doesn't stop with marching; you can also help with outreach, jail and court support, food/water/mask distribution, copwatching, and all the other support work that makes it possible for protesters to show up and keep showing up. if you're a medical professional, look for a street medic bridge training; if you're a legal professional, look into movement lawyering (if you're in the US the National Lawyers Guild has chapters all over); if you're athletic look for a de-arrest training. we always need more people with varied skillsets and there's definitely a place for you.

are you a minor? in a small town (here's a zine for you)? I was when I started! disabled, socially anxious, autistic, paranoid? I am, and so are at least half the radicals I know! you might be surprised by how much more comfortable and accommodating a radical space can be compared to other social settings (this varies ofc — if the vibes are bad hit the bricks!) so try to take a leap of faith and see what happens. you gotta be willing to put yourself in some amount of discomfort to get into actual community, but that community will get you through the hardest times of your life. bonds formed solely around personal attraction (romantic or platonic) or shared hobbies are not necessarily going to hold up when you're in crisis.

I don't believe anything white tumblr queers say about the virtues of 'building community' when they've made it clear 'community' to them means 'me and my white friends.' what are you building? a polycule on a hobby farm?

#library

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eddiazx · 2 days ago

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benefit - evan buckley x reader

It’s 9 o'clock on a Monday morning at the firehouse, and Buck is swiping furiously on Tinder.

“Damn, Buck. Seems a bit early to be on the hunt.” Hen says, peering at his phone screen from behind his shoulder, before walking around to take a seat on the couch beside him.

“I know, but I’m getting a little desperate. I haven’t had sex in three months.” Buck whines.

Chim whistles. “That’s long, especially for you.”

Eddie and Bobby chuckle, but you observe Buck thoughtfully from your position at the kitchen island, nursing your cup of coffee. The conversation eventually dies down, and the alarm goes off not seconds later, calling the 118 into a two-alarm fire.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know, maybe we can scratch a mutual itch.” You offer Buck when just the two of you are standing in the locker room, a few minutes after your 12-hour ended.

“What do you mean?” Buck questions, reasonably so, since the whole Tinder discussion happened hours earlier.

“I don’t really feel like going out to bars or being on the apps to get laid, and I really don’t want to be dating right now. We’re best friends, we’re comfortable with each other, so maybe we can benefit each other?”

“Uh, are you sure? You don’t think it’d be weird?”

“It doesn’t have to be. We won’t let it. It would be purely physical.” You shrug at Buck.

Buck doesn’t think too hard about it. He agrees readily, and you guys plan to meet at Buck’s later that night, which was something the two of you typically did on a weeknight regardless. What could possibly go wrong?

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“Oh my god, Buck!” You moan as he lifts his hips to hit a delicious spot within you repeatedly.

Buck grunts in response, before he pulls your hips down and comes in you, burying himself to the hilt. You weakly get off and topple down next to him on his bed. The past few hours were active to say the least.

“That was amazing,” you say to Buck, breathlessly, turning your head to smile at him.

Buck grins back at you and agrees. When you get up to walk to the bathroom, Buck’s face falls. Internally, Buck is freaking out, thoughts haywire. He wasn't lying; tonight had been good, too good. He doesn’t know if it’s because he had always secretly found you attractive, or because you guys had a steady friendship with a multitude of inside jokes that everyone at the 118 groans at, or maybe it was a combination of all of those things, but Buck is wholeheartedly certain that you had ruined him for anyone else.

Shit.

#evan buckley smut #911 x reader #911 x you #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley fic #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley x you

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vampireids · 18 hours ago

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perfect stranger

summary: lauren reynolds is dead, emily prentiss along with her, and spencer finds himself alone, struggling and in need of company (smut, angst)

warnings: former emily prentiss/spencer reid, exploration of grief, references to addiction and divorce, spencer acts questionably in this but he's struggling so forgive him, reader has some backstory, reader is referred to with she pronouns and wears makeup and a skirt, reader smokes cigarettes, spencer POV (third person limited). very, very angsty.

word count: 7.8k

a/n: the first half of this is quite spencer/emily centric in its themes, but the second half focusses more on the reader character. reader means everything to me and i am cradling her so gently. posting on mobile so let me know if there are any formatting issues!

Three weeks.

Three weeks since Emily Prentiss had died and taken half of Spencer Reid with her.

Three weeks that tasted of ash and bile, where no matter how brightly the sun shone everything still looked grey, where every smile he passed on the street seemed to be mocking him.

He hadn't had an easy life, not by any standard, but even he had been unaware of just how keenly he could hurt, just how painful and violent breathing could be. It was an agony that seemed to persist beyond any capacity a human being could feasibly endure, a constant bleeding wound in the cavity of his chest.

It hadn't been long before daydreams of oblivion took hold of him. Murmurs of a phone number he couldn't forget as hard as he tried sounded in his mind, growing louder and louder as days went by. If he called it, he could remember peace. More crucially, he could forget everything. A call, a deal, a prick, a push, and every screaming agony in his mind could go away. The sweet, muggy bliss of a syringe of dreamless sleep. It would be so easy.

A disapproving voice in his head that sounded uncannily like Emily pleaded with him to resist the allure. She wouldn't want him to submit to the urge. She'd want him to withstand the pain, to feel the burn of grief boldly and without reprieve, to let time heal him with all the swiftness of a wounded sloth.

But it had been Emily who had loved him enough to keep him grounded and sober. And without her, how could he ever be strong enough to do it? The constant craving for quiet had been drowned out by the sounds of her soft sighs as his body pressed against her, by the consuming sensation of her around him and on top of him and in the beating heart in his chest.

And slowly, an idea formed. He couldn't have Emily anymore. But he could find something close enough. Some approximation to act as a temporary sigil to ward off the ghosts at his door. It had been an old coping mechanism he’d turned to in the early days of his sobriety. Nothing was more deadly to an addict than solitude, so he’d sought out company where he could get it, in faceless women in bar bathrooms and parked cars.

It had worked before, and it could work again.

At the very least, it forced him to shower and put on nice clothes, to brush his teeth and hair and remember the feeling of being alive. With his face clean and his body dressed, he could almost pass for human instead of the walking gaping wound he felt like.

The bar was an old favourite of his. The lights were dim and low, the music soft and unobtrusive. It wasn't any kind of high class establishment, but it didn't need to be for his purpose. With any luck, he wouldn't be here long.

He walked to the bar and ordered a neat whiskey. Drinking in his fragile state was unwise, but he needed to feel the burn of it sliding down his throat to remind him he was still capable of feeling anything but grief. After a bracing sip, he took a seat on a barstool and surveyed the milling revellers. They all seemed carefree and happy in a way he resented, drinking and laughing and dancing with one another, lovesick like he’d once been.

One woman caught his eye on the other end of the bar. She was alone, like him. Nursing whiskey neat like him. Seeming just lonely enough to make his own crushing solitude feel less isolating. She noticed him watching her and smiled, a coy edge to it that made heat start to simmer in the core of him.

She wasn't Emily, but she had a similar fire in her eyes, the same challenge in her smile, a striking beauty to her face that stung as much as it excited.

If he could find her beautiful, then beauty was still attainable to him. Things could still be wonderful in some far off life.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice she'd stood, approaching him and sitting in the stool beside him.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked softly.

Yes, he thought, I’m waiting for Emily, and I’ll be waiting for as long as I live.

But for tonight, he would temporarily cease his waiting. So he smiled, shook his head, and said. “No. Are you?”

She grinned at him, and the expression was so reminiscent of Emily's sly smiles that it hurt. “I was. But I think I found what I was waiting for.”

The line was so cheesy and silly he couldn't help but huff out a laugh. “And what would that be?”

“Someone pretty. Someone who looks like they might have stories to tell.” She tilted her head. “You know anyone like that?”

“I might,” he shrugged. “I’m Spencer.”

She told him her name and he barely heard it but he knew he wouldn't forget it. He knew he was supposed to say something, so he breathed, “that's a beautiful name. It suits you.”

Her smile was like the sun and he almost believed he could feel warm again. “You're not so bad yourself.”

He’d never grown used to accepting a compliment so he ducked his head to hide his face. She was already talking again, saving him from the awkwardness of knowing how to reply.

“What brought you here tonight?”

The truth wasn't something he was ready to share with a stranger. He approximated it with, “I’m looking to feel a little less alone.”

Her hand on his was soft and warm. “What a coincidence. I’m here for the same thing.”

He couldn't fathom someone like her, so beautiful and confident and with such a warm presence, being lonely. So he raised his eyebrows. “You're really wanting for company?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she laughed. “But yes. I am wanting for company. I just moved here.”

“What made you move here?”

“Nothing special about here. I needed to leave my life behind and threw a dart at a map of the states and moved where it landed. Well, technically it landed on Virginia, but I overruled that. This was close enough.”

Needed to leave her life behind.

She'd said it casually, but it was an interesting thing to note. Like him, she was lost, alone, hiding from something. Seeking comfort in the arms of strangers who wouldn’t stick around to fix her messes. He hummed thoughtfully. “Running from something?”

With a shrug, she murmured, “aren’t we all?”

“Most people,” he conceded.

“You?”

“I don’t like to think I am. But I don’t think I’d be here tonight if I wasn’t.”

She smiled at him slightly. He was only just starting to realise what else about the smile reminded him of Emily - the slight undercurrent of sadness to it. “That’s the nice thing about running.” she said after a pause. “Sometimes you look up and realise your feet took you somewhere good without you even realising it.”

“Are you somewhere good?”

“You’ll have to tell me,” she said softly, and leaned forwards, capturing his mouth in a kiss.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his situation before he was kissing her back. She tasted like whiskey, fiery and hot and intoxicating. He reached his palm up to rest it on her cheek and she made a soft noise of encouragement, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

The angle of it was awkward, their bodies angled towards each other and hanging off their barstools, but it didn’t make the kiss any less dizzying. It wasn’t Emily, no way to pretend for even a second it was, the taste of her and the shape of her and the feeling of her were all different. But it didn’t matter. It was company, and she was beautiful, and he knew in his heart Emily would want him to do this. She’d want him to find something that would help ease the pain. She would never want him to be lonely.

She pulled away and he gasped.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked breathlessly.

He nodded desperately, wrapping his hand around her wrist. “Yes. Please.”

“My place okay?”

“Yes. That’s perfect. Let’s go.”

She picked up her glass of whiskey and motioned for him to do the same. As soon as he did she wrapped her arm around his and linked them at the elbow, holding her drink aloft. It took a second to realise what she wanted, and when he did, he grinned. It was silly, childish, exactly what he needed. She nodded at him and, arms interlocked, they downed their drinks in unison. The liquor burned his throat like a sip of liquid flame and he struggled to keep his mouth neutral as he swallowed, watching as she wrinkled her nose. He couldn’t help his huffed laugh, giddy with the drink and the company.

She led him out of the bar, weaving them around the huddles of drunks and tables of friends in silence, and pounding guilt nestled behind his chest. Three weeks since the death of his lover, and he’d already found his way into the arms of someone else. What kind of man was he? Was his loyalty so thin?

But she turned towards him, glancing back with a mischief in her eyes that was achingly, throbbingly familiar, and he couldn’t make himself pull away.

He wasn’t a man of God. He didn’t believe Emily was watching down on him, in pain at the thought of him with another woman. She was simply gone. He couldn’t live for a ghost he didn’t believe in.

It was all hollow justification, really, convincing himself it wasn’t wrong to do the thing he already knew he would do. Her pulse under his fingertips was thrumming and alive, the sign of a heart that could pump blood and skin that was flush with warmth, and he needed to feel that. He needed to want something that could want him back.

The air was chilled as they stepped outside into the street and he stumbled into her as she came to a sudden stop. She giggled softly and wrapped her arm around him, steadying him and pulling him softly against her. Her body was a column of heat beside him, every breath she took causing her chest to rise and fall against him. Living, living, so alive, something real, something tangible. He’d known this woman all of 10 minutes and he loved her as much as he hated her for simply being alive.

It wasn’t fair on this poor woman, this beautiful woman, this kind woman to be drawing these constant comparisons. That thought, more than any other, almost gave him pause. He vowed to want her for what she was and not what she wasn’t. She was sweet, beautiful, haunted, said he had pretty eyes and looked like someone with stories. She had soft skin and lovely eyes, a smile that held secrets and promises that he wouldn’t get to know. He could want her for that.

She swung out her arm and a taxi pulled in beside them and they stumbled into the taxi, their bodies never leaving each other until she shuffled across the seat to the other side. Even then, her hand stayed on his arm and he revelled in the touch. She leaned forwards to share her address with the taxi driver and they drove into the night, the flickering street lights casting shadows on her face.

He couldn’t help it, he leaned forwards to kiss her again. Her lips were a temporary oblivion, something consuming to drown out the noise of his grief. A comfort in company, a reminder he wasn’t as alone as he felt. The guilt bubbling in his stomach was dulled by the softness of her lips, the gentle movement of her tongue, the sharp bite of her teeth on his lower lip. So different to Emily. Not different enough.

No.

She was her own person.

He pulled away with a gasp, her chest heaving to match his own.

“You’re good at that,” she mumbled.

He moved his thumb across her cheek. “So are you.”

She smiled and kissed him again, and he let himself sink into it, to feel the heat of another person against him, to let the sensations wash over him and through him and stir those familiar desires beneath his skin.

It was a quick taxi to her apartment and then he staggered onto the sidewalk like a man intoxicated. He was dizzy, though he only had the one drink. On a street he’d never been on before despite his years in the city, the buildings unfamiliar, his companion a stranger, and he felt like someone totally different. Someone else. Someone who could be casual and silly and risky and stupid. Not Spencer Reid. Not the grieving man.

His alienation from himself would be frightening if he had the fortitude to care. Instead, he called it a blessing and let his beautiful stranger pull him up the stairs.

Her apartment was four flights up, and by the time they reached her door, he was breathless. She laughed at the pink on his cheeks and he felt a hum of embarrassment course through him.

“Not laughing at you, baby, I promise,” she murmured as she turned to unlock the door. The term of endearment sent something hot running through his veins and his face only got warmer.

The door was pushed open, and she waited for him to enter before shutting it behind her.

Another moment of guilt and hesitation threatened to break him and he drowned it out by pulling her closer and capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. She made a soft noise of surprise against him before melting into it, bringing her hand up to rest on his shoulder and pressing herself against him. It was soft and sweet and nothing he needed it to be so he deepened it, pressed her against the wall to gain the leverage to kiss her roughly. She let out another low sound of pleasure and it emboldened him, gave him the courage he needed to guide his hand up her thigh and under her skirt, running his fingertips along her hip.

She threw her head back with a soft “fuck,” letting her head rest against the wall as he moved his hand from resting on her hip to tracing over the line of her underwear and brought it down until it was ghosting along her core.

Her softness, pliability, was intoxicating and so different from what he was used to. Emily gave as good as she got, was bared teeth and strength and only going down with a fight. His beautiful stranger seemed happy to let him control the night, and he was grateful for it in that moment, grateful for the opportunity to have the control in the bedroom he’d lost over his life.

She gripped onto his shoulders hard as he pushed the panties aside and ran his fingers over the exposed flesh, spreading the accumulated arousal and circling over the sensitive nub at her apex.

He attached his lips to her neck, grazing his teeth across her collarbone and drinking in the sounds she made as he slowly inserted one finger, and then a second.

“Baby, god, feels so good,” she mumbled above him and the praise went straight to his cock, the taste of her skin against his tongue and the feeling of her around his fingers creating a dizzying cocktail of arousal in his abdomen. He was making her feel good, he was capable of creating pleasure in another, he could do something right even if his life felt wrong and hollow. He clung to that knowledge as he sucked a mark into her neck and basked in her whines.

Years of magic tricks gave him agile hands, a skill at profiling let him read a woman’s pleasure in her gasps and twitches, and it wasn't long before her moans were heightening in pitch and volume and her nails were pressing into his shoulders desperately. He felt a glow of pride as she came undone around him, moaning his name in shaking cadence. He pulled his fingers from her carefully and felt a bolt of arousal at the sight of her, her skirt rucked up around her waist, her cheeks pink and her eyeliner smudged.

“You have wonderful hands,” she murmured after a few moments of loaded silence.

He laughed roughly. “I’ve been told that before,” he mumbled, and didn't mention the woman who’d told him.

“Let me make you feel good too, baby,” she said, and her widened eyes and desperate tone made it sound very much like a plea.

His head was spinning, body alight with lust, too full of want for the guilt to make a dent, and he nodded. He was sick, sick, sick in the head, his agreement a condemnation of himself, and so he nodded.

“Yes. Yes, okay. Let's go to the bedroom,” he tried to speak through the dizzy desire and warring self-loathing and his voice came out thin.

She frowned, eyes big and concerned and placed her hand on his cheek. “Are you okay, baby? You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

He shook his head almost violently, causing her hand to drop to his shoulder. He felt its absence like a wound. “No. Please. I want this, I want you.”

She still looked hesitant so he kissed her, feeling the tension leave her body as his tongue explored her mouth. The relief of her wordless acquiescence was physical. He needed this, he needed her, he needed his life to dissolve in a melody of moans until he couldn't remember anything but the present, until everything faded but touch and heat and want.

He couldn't bear the weight of his mind alone. She might be a stranger, but he needed her. And curse Emily's voice in his head chiding him softly both for using this poor woman and for so quickly finding solace in the body of another. He was using her, sure, but she was using him too. It wasn’t like she was in love with him, and he wasn’t in love with her either. It was a one night stand, not marriage. And he and Emily had never labelled their relationship, had never been able to communicate well enough to even discuss exclusivity and all of that aside, she was fucking dead so really she’d left him first and didn’t have the right to be judging him.

He was talking so much to the Emily in his head he was starting to remember that he was still in the window for schizophrenia.

He kissed the woman more desperately, drowning out that thought. She made a keening, broken sound against him, and it temporarily brought him to the present.

He took a hold of her wrist, still resting against his collarbone and stumbled back. “Bedroom, please,” he begged, too far gone to be self-conscious of the pleading tone.

She smiled, her pupils blown wide and her lips darkened from the bruising force of the kiss. “Come on, baby.”

She took a stumbling step towards him and he felt a surge of pride he’d taken her apart so thoroughly. He was still a man, after all, and she was a woman, a stupidly beautiful woman he was undeserving of, and it felt good to know he was bringing her pleasure.

He let himself be led like a lamb by its shepherd to her bedroom. It was clean, minimal, the bedroom of a flight risk who didn’t want anything tying them down. No photographs, no personal effects, nothing in the room that didn’t serve a utility.

The profiler in his brain was switched off by her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with nimble fingers. Once his shirt hung loose, her touch moved to his bare chest, tracing across the planes of his torso. He felt unavoidably self-conscious under her scrutiny, but she looked at him with such a heat in her eyes he couldn’t help but know she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He still wanted to know what demons had led her to him, to seeking solace in the arms of a man she didn’t know, but he shoved the thought down. She was well within her right to want a one night stand, she didn’t have to be damaged just because he was. And besides, she’d started removing her own shirt, and it was hard to think about anything other than her chest, framed by a delicate black brassiere.

She caught his heated gaze because she laughed softly. “Like what you see, baby?”

He nodded stupidly. “God, so much.”

And then she was kissing him, walking him backwards towards the bed where he was all too happy to go.

His knees hit the back of the bed and he dropped onto it, looking up at her as she undid the button fastening her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her underwear matched the bra, and she wore them well, the lines and curves of her silhouette enough to intoxicate him. He leaned forwards to kiss her abdomen softly and she gasped. Their positioning, her above him with his head against her stomach, was some strange parody of worship. In a way, she was a god to him. He was giving himself as an offering in futile hope of salvation, devoting himself to a beautiful concept of a woman. She was nothing real and everything wonderful. A perfect stranger.

Her hands wove themselves into his hair and he groaned out his oblation into her skin.

“I need you, baby, please,” she whispered into the still air of the room, and he was her willing servant.

He sat back, and before his hands could reach down to unfasten his pants, she was undoing them for him, her fingers trembling as she fiddled with his button and then his fly.

There was something unsettling about her movements, and he stilled. “You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah. Yeah, just want you,” she mumbled as he shimmied out of his pants.

There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t have time to ask before she was dropping to straddle his lap, his cock only separated from her arousal by the flimsy fabric of their undergarments. He might have been a genius, but even he found it hard to think about anything much with a woman in his lap, her hips shifting against his and sending his senses into overdrive.

He begged a silent plea of forgiveness to the Emily in his head. She remained stonily silent. He took it as permission and put his hands around the waist of his perfect stranger, using his leverage to twist them both until she was lying beneath him on the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, and the tender words felt like more of a betrayal than the sex.

“So are you,” she whispered, and he kissed her gently. The kiss was short, chaste, before his lips were moving - kissing down her jaw, the column of her throat, her chest, her abdomen, her stomach. She gasped softly as he reached the waistband of her panties, and he lingered there just a moment, looking up at the rapt expression on her face.

He noticed, not for the first time, how very sad she looked behind the desire. Maybe she knew he was thinking about someone else. More likely, she was thinking about someone else. It wasn’t his business. He understood what it was like to need to drown out the ghosts.

It was the echo of that thought that played in his head as he slowly pulled down her panties. Drown the ghost, make her feel good, bask in the warmth of another, remember what it means to live and breathe and feel. Simple instructions, a defined victory condition, something black and white and real. He tossed her underwear aside and looked up at her, propped up on her shoulders to watch as he exposed her.

He must have stayed there a moment too long, because she made a soft, plaintive sound and mumbled, “Baby, please. Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry,” he grinned, not sorry at all if it made her call him baby in that desperate, whining voice, and licked a stripe up her core.

She made a harsh, pleading noise at the contact, and he felt it like lightning under his skin. He pushed away the thoughts of the sounds Emily had once made, and moved to suck gently on her clit, summoning more sweet whines from her lips.

Her hands came down to twist in his hair and he groaned against her. He felt hot, shivery, alternating waves of lust and guilt rocking through him like a boat tossed about through the surf. Something about the sheer wrongness of it was only heightening his desire. His grief was getting tangled in his need and his body was turning all of it into heat and want.

Eventually, she gasped raggedly and used her grip on his hair to pull him off of her, looking down at him with eyes turned the inky black shade of lust. “Need you, now, please, baby,” she groaned, and what man could say no to that?

He nodded, dizzy and hazy, and lifted himself onto his knees. “Condom?” he managed to force out through the white noise of his mind, and she sat up to lean over to her bedside drawer, rifling through a little box to pull out a Trojan.

He pulled off his own underwear hastily as she unwrapped it, and hissed as she leaned forwards to roll it onto him. He hadn’t realised how hard he was until her soft hands were ghosting over him, and the touch felt like little lines of fire over his skin. He groaned thickly and let his head fall back as she stroked him experimentally over the latex.

He didn’t want to wait any longer, couldn’t risk being still when the thoughts of everything he was hiding from could come back. Emily was being quiet in his skull, probably furious at his betrayal, but it was still quiet, no voice in his head but his own. So, he gently pushed her back until she was lying against the pillow, and put his weight on one arm as he guided himself to the centre of her arousal. He teased for a bit, sliding his length along her a few times to hear her breath hitch.

Finally, slowly, he pushed in, his eyelids fluttering as he was constricted by the tightness inside of her. It hadn’t even been that long since he’d had sex, but after years of having it almost daily, his body had grown accustomed to a certain frequency, and the tight heat felt like home.

As soon as he was fully immersed inside her, he let out a ragged, hoarse groan. Her own thin whine was in harmony with his, the musicality of their pleasure intertwining as their bodies did.

His vision blurred as he started to move, the friction sending sparks up through his skin as she gasped his name underneath him.

“Oh, fuck, Emily,” he groaned in return.

He didn’t realise what he’d done until she stilled completely under him.

“Emily?” she said quietly.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him, every nerve going dead with the shock.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and it felt so inadequate to the scale of his mistake.

She swallowed under him, her throat bobbing. Something was playing out behind her eyes, something not even years of profiling could clue him into. Eventually, she shook her head, the movement minute.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I understand. I can be Emily. If that’s what you need, I can be Emily.”

The words broke his heart. Who was this woman? Who had broken her down to the point she was willing to contort herself to be another woman for a man she’d never met?

“Does that really matter?” she whispered. “No one’s watching. I’m saying it’s okay.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re not Emily. You’re you, and that’s a good thing to be. Don’t- you don’t- I’m an asshole. My head is a mess right now, it’s nothing to do with you. You’re wonderful, you’re beautiful, you’re kind. I want you.

She smiled thinly and brought her hand up to rest against his face. “It’s okay, baby. It’s one night. I’m whoever you want me to be, okay? Whatever you need. Let me take care of you.”

He groaned slightly, a war in his torso as her words cast a sick sort of spell on him. The person he wanted to be fought the battle, screamed at him that she obviously had her own demons, that he’d be taking advantage of what must be a self-esteem issue, to be allowing him - asking him - to pretend she was another woman. “It’s not right,” he mumbled.

“Why?” he said desperately. “Why would that be okay?”

“We’re using each other, that’s all this is, right? I don’t know your life or your last name or your job or your friends, you’re whoever I want you to be tonight. I can be whoever you need me to be. It’s only fair.”

Her words made a strange sort of sense, or maybe he was choosing to believe that to stymie the guilt bubbling behind his ribs. He was using her, plain and simple, no matter whose name he was saying. If she didn’t care, why should he?

Because you’re better than that, the Emily in his head murmured disapprovingly. But who was she to talk when she’d left him all alone, when she’d lied to all of them to follow a terrorist without thinking of the wound she’d be leaving behind. So he nodded. “Okay. Okay. Are you… Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes. Please,” she said, eyes big and pleading, and he gave only another cursory thought to wondering if she was okay before starting to move again. She wasn’t Emily, there wasn’t really a way to pretend that she was, unless he closed her eyes and that seemed too sick even for him. But the feeling of it all was still so achingly familiar - the heat, the tightness, the slick sounds of bodies connecting and the shaking gasps of pleasure.

He couldn’t pretend she was Emily, but he could pretend he loved her and she loved him. And with the way she looked at him, her jaw slack in ecstasy and her pupils blown with lust, it wasn’t hard. She looked beautiful, genuinely divine in the throes of her desire, in that way people only do at their most unrestrained. He leaned forwards and kissed her, drinking in the sounds she made against his lips and revelling in her hand gripping his shoulder like he was a lifeline, the thread connecting her to reality.

“Baby, oh, baby, I’m close, please, just like that, fuck,” the words were mumbled against his lips, garbled among gasps and soft whines, and it took a moment to decipher what she was saying. But once he’d decoded it, he glowed in his pride.

“Come for me whenever you want to, sweetheart,” he groaned, “Let me make you feel good.”

His tone was tender, fragile, delicate, the words of lovers and not strangers, and maybe that was the fantasy he was fulfilling with her. One where he loved freely and received it in return like he never could with Emily and her shroud of secrets. He’d pretended with her, and he was pretending again now, playing the role like he was born for it.

And when, maybe seconds or years later, her noises climbed in pitch and she tightened around him, he pushed her hair out of her face gently and fucked her like he knew her beyond the feeling of her body and the sounds of her bliss.

Her nails dug into him, and she called him, “baby,” again in that sweet, overwhelmed voice, and it was that which pushed him over the edge to his own undoing, his rhythm faltering and stuttering as he twitched inside of her.

This, the release, the moment where the world stopped and all he could feel was beautiful, perfect pleasure, was why he'd gone out tonight. A simulacrum of hydromorphone all released in one, lovely moment. One addiction swapped for another, oblivions traded. Her hand ghosted back over his cheekbone as he slowed and stopped, his head leaning into her palm as he stilled.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he laughed, breathlessly, smoothing out her hair before pulling out of her with a wince.

She sat up and watched as he tied off the condom. “I know, but I want to. I needed this. Let me take that, I’ll bin it in the bathroom.”

He smiled weakly and handed it to her, watching as she walked into the little ensuite next to the room. She shut the door behind her, and he sat awkwardly for a moment, his nakedness suddenly visceral in the solitude of another person’s bedroom. He stood and found his underwear, discarded next to the bed, shimmying into them as he waited for her to be done. He never knew what to do in this part, never knew the etiquette of the afterglow. Eventually, he heard the toilet flushing and the sound of the tap running, and she emerged from the bathroom clad in a short white satin robe, tied loosely at the waist.

“I’m going to have a cigarette,” she said with a little smile. “Care to join me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice hoarse, and followed her outside to the balcony. It was nice, a wrought iron railing shielding them from falling into the city skyline, two chairs nestled around a small round glass table. On it lay a crystalline ashtray, stained with dead embers, and a small pack of Marlboro Golds.

She sat on the far chair, motioning for him to sit too, and picked up the pack, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. She took a long drag and let her head fall back as she exhaled the smoke.

“I know it’s a bad habit,” she said quietly. “But I can’t bring myself to quit.”

He tilted his head as he watched her take another drag. “I used to tell my mother every cigarette she smoked was 6 less minutes she’d get to spend with me.”

“The way I live my life, I’m not expecting that to be an issue,” she shrugged.

“How do you live your life to expect to die young?”

She gestured at him. “Bringing strange men I meet while alone at a bar to my apartment, for one,” she deadpanned, and he couldn’t help his exhale of a laugh.

“Mm, touche, I suppose,” he sighed. “What makes you like it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “The cigarettes or the strange men?”

“Both, I guess.”

“It’s the same reason for both. Makes me feel like I have some control over things. Forces me to… confront my mortality, to get comfortable with the idea of death. It can’t scare me if I’m inviting it.”

He frowned. “You’re suicidal?”

A long pause where she seemed to be thinking, her eyes fixed on the twinkling lights of the city around them. “No. I’m not. But I’ve spent a lot of time living in fear of things that are inevitable, and I’m tired of that.”

He couldn’t help himself from wanting to pry. It was like that, sometimes, in the afterglow of sex. After the intimacy, the bedroom could become a confessional. “What inevitabilities are you scared of?”

She sighed and took another drag of the cigarette. “I married my high school sweetheart a year after we graduated. Our relationship was… fine. Good. He was the only man I’d ever been with, the only one I knew how to be with. Even when I knew he was having an affair, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of him. He was an asshole, sometimes, and a cheat, but sometimes he was so wonderful. He worked and supported us the whole time I was in college, he’d plan these extravagant dates and trips for us, always remembered birthdays and anniversaries. And I’d been with him since I was so young, I didn’t even know who I was if I wasn’t his wife. Even when I knew he didn’t love me anymore and I barely loved him, I stuck around. In the end, he left me. He got the other woman pregnant and owned up to everything I already knew. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him that none of it was news, because I felt so pathetic for tolerating it. That night, I quit my job, threw a dart at a map and moved here. Just like that. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I wanted to just… live.”

He was quiet for a long time. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, and it was a pale pleasantry against the scale of her admission.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “Not like it’s your fault. Just illustrating the point. I knew the relationship was over years before it actually was. But I was so scared of the unknown I refused to admit it. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“That’s a good philosophy,” he said softly.

She smiled at him, the look stained with melancholy. “Yeah, I like to think so.”

The silence dragged, unobtrusive and comfortable as she ashed her cigarette and lit up a second. “Who’s Emily?” she asked eventually, and he startled.

He watched her hands as she let the cigarette dangle between her fingers. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she pressed. “Story for a story.”

“I have a… stressful job. One where I have to travel a lot. And I had a coworker, Emily. We started sleeping together as a way to let off steam on tough days. I fell in love with her. I think she loved me too. We never said it. She’s a… flight risk, I guess, runs away at the first sign of anything emotionally scary, and any time things between us got too real, she’d freeze me out. I learned to keep my feelings to myself. But I was in love with her. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to keep her near me.”

“That’s hard,” his perfect stranger murmured. “Where is she now?"

“She’s dead,” he said flatly, as if keeping the emotions from his voice would stop it from hurting him. “She was murdered.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Fuck, that’s- I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”

He shook his head, the ugly bitterness in his chest building up and spilling from his mouth. “She knew. She knew he was coming after her, she knew what he was capable of, and she never told me. I could have done something, and she took that chance away from me. And I’m so angry at her, but I can’t be angry at her because she’s gone. What use is it being furious with a ghost?”

“It’s normal to have mixed feelings when a loved one dies, baby,” she says softly. “In a way, she left you, even if she didn’t want to. It’s hard. It’s a breakup with no room for self-reflection and no way to change things. The loss of your future and the shadow over the past. There’s a lot of different stuff going on in your head right now. There’s no wrong way to feel about it all.”

He knew that, was intellectually versed on the complications and machinations of grief. He’d seen all kinds of people in the throes of their losses - mothers who’d lost children when their last words had been in anger, husbands whose wives had stormed out and never made it home to talk it out, children who’d snuck out and returned to find their parents dead. He was acquainted with the intricate weaving of love and guilt and grief, had read every study on managing loss, had sat in the room with countless people in the seconds after learning their loved one had been taken from them.

And yet, there still lingered a revolting feeling of wrongness in his grief. For all that he knew the way he was behaving and feeling and coping was normal - all of it, the sex, the cravings, the depression, the bitter, cruel anger - he couldn't help but sink into the belief he was wrong for all of it.

But the look on her face, wide eyed and earnest, her brows slightly furrowed as she watched him intensely, made him believe her. This was a woman acquainted with loss, he could tell. He didn't have to pry to know that. She understood him in a way the journal articles didn't quite seem to.

Maybe, for all his overreliance on academia to navigate the world, he needed people like everyone else did. Emily had taught him that loving was worth the agony of losing.

He was quiet for a while, thinking through her words.

“Why were you willing to pretend to be her?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “I liked what we were doing. I didn’t want you to stop. And you seemed like you needed it.”

“That's it? I mean, I called you the wrong name, I would assume that would be a dealbreaker for anyone.”

“I'm not under any illusions about what this was. It was a beautiful thing, but nothing to do with who I am or who you are and what we deserve. Just… people fucking for the sake of it, like they’ve done through all of human history. I wanted it to be good for you, just like I could tell you wanted it to be good for me. It makes it feel better if you're both getting what you want. And I've been a lot of people for a lot of people. It doesn't bother me.”

It still didn't seem quite right to him, but he nodded anyway. He just watched her for a moment, watched the movement of her irises as she looked at the shimmering skyline of the city, the careless elegance of her cigarette drags, the way her robe split over where she crossed her legs to reveal the soft skin of her thighs. She seemed solid in a way he deeply envied, a steady contrast to his own flickering identity.

“Thank you,” he said softly before he even thought the words. “Tonight could have been a bad night. But it wasn't. This has been the easiest night since-” he swallowed, stopping the thought there. “I feel… lighter.”

She made a quiet humming noise in response. “I feel the same. You're a nice person to be around, baby.”

He flushed a little at the endearment, a little token of affection she seemed so at ease sharing. She was a forthcoming person, he was noticing - quick to give. Her thoughts, her kindness, her love. It was an interesting counterweight against a scarcity in her home that spoke to solitude and distance. In just the short time he'd known her, she had shown her share of little contradictions. Clearly self-assured, but willing to pretend to be another woman to please a stranger. Clearly loving, but isolated and lonely.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “I'd like to get to know you better.”

The statement was innocent - he truly meant exactly what he said. She was, in many ways, fascinating to him, and solving her was a welcome distraction from trying to solve his own issues. He liked being around her. But her eyes widened and then crinkled sadly.

“I'm not- you're sweet, baby, and you're handsome, too. Your Emily was lucky to have you. But I'm not ready to be anyone's love anytime soon. And I don’t think you're ready for that either.”

He shook his head. “Oh! No, I didn’t mean- no, I'm not ready for anything like that, I'm- I just meant… I don’t have many friends, or at least friends who didn't know her. And you said at the bar you were lonely too, and I just thought- I'd like to be your friend. If that's okay with you.”

She looked at him for a while, as if trying to find a double meaning behind his irises. Then, wonderfully, she nodded, her lips quirking up at the edges. “I'd like that, baby. Let’s be friends.”

He felt a strange sense of gratefulness bubble in his chest. This could be something good, even if it came from something bad. He held out a hand to shake. “Friends.”

She shook it with a little laugh. “Friends.”

Trying his luck, he added, “And if friends involves doing,” he gestured back towards the bedroom, “that, I wouldn't complain.”

She raised her eyebrows and ashed her cigarette. “Give me a second to brush my teeth and we can demo it, try out our new friendship arrangement?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. In the name of trial and error, I think we should definitely do that.”

She stood and leaned over to kiss him gently on the forehead. “Wait for me in the bedroom, baby. We've got some friendship to do.”

He watched her go inside. her robe swaying softly with her movements. Emily was quiet in his head, but the silence didn't feel reproachful. He allowed the grief to take hold of him for a second.

And then he followed the perfect stranger inside.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #emily prentiss/spencer reid #spemily

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sturnstars5 · 2 days ago

Text

i love you, i’m sorry-matt sturniolo

you and matt swore you were done, but are you?

warnings: fluff, swearing, happy ending

*there is a flashback in the story it’s in blue!*

empty. emptiness was what you felt. it had been two weeks since you left the love of your life, matt. you try to tell yourself, “well, it was his fault” or “i’ll be better off without him, it’ll just take time”, but nothing worked. you missed him.

you sat on your couch, something you had been doing more than usual lately, and stared outside through the window. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than overthink. you would replay the moments of you and matt’s breakup argument in your mind, like it was a movie on loop 24/7. and just when you would feel a sliver of joy, the movie would start again, leaving you to drown in self pity.

it was getting late, so you picked yourself up off of the couch and laid down in bed, staring at the ceiling. sleep wasn’t exactly on your side.

it was about 1:30 am, and you were still awake when you heard your front door creak open.

what the fuck?

you sat straight up and froze, paralyzed in fear, not knowing what to to next. normally, matt would take control and go see what was happening, but he wasn’t there. he was gone.

you hear the persons foot steps get louder and louder until you hear them stop right in front of your bedroom door.

the door opened slowly, revealing a puffy eyed, sad looking matt.

he looked awful to say the least, he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. his face was all swollen, his eyes bloodshot with dark bags under them. his face was glistening with tears, and his nose was runny.

“matt,” you say.

“i know, i should’ve called, im sorry.”

“you almost gave me a heart attack! do you know what time it is?”

“yes, i know, okay? i said im sorry.”

“why are you here matt, i thought we were over.”

“i know that’s what we said, but i cant stop thinking about you, about us.”

“matt,”

“i know, y/n, i know what i did was wrong. going to that party was a whole wrong decision in itself. but i still love you, y/n.”

“but matt, you pinky swore you wouldn’t cheat, and you broke it! how am i supposed to trust you now?”

“i don’t know, i just hope you can find it in your heart to give me one more chance.”

you think back to the night you found out about the party…

1:00 am, 2:15 am, 3:40 am, matt still wasn’t home. he said he was filming with his brothers, and you believed him. you called him, and he didn’t answer,m. you then called nick and chris, and they didn’t answer either. you give up, just telling yourself that their phones died, and you go scroll on instagram in your bed. nick posted a picture of himself and chris at a party.

where was matt?

you look harder, only to see matt’s lips pressed against another girl. her hands threading through his soft brown hair. matt was yours, so why was he with her?

matt arrived home, drunk, stumbling lazily into your shared bedroom.

“hey baby.” he says with a smirk.

“don’t call me that, matthew.”

“what the fuck is your deal, y/n?”

“this!” you say, throwing your phone in his face. you’re zoomed in on him and the other girl, matt looking at the photo. even his drunken state cant cover up the guilt and regret in his mind.

“who’s that?” he says, lying.

“that’s you, matt! who else would it be? you know what you did matt, and i know too. i’m not as dumb as you think i am.”

“it was just one kiss, so what? it was a party, and we were needy and drunk.”

“have you lost your fucking mind, matt?

“no i haven’t, but clearly you have, bitch!”

“i’m not gonna be talked to like this by my own boyfriend, so get out.”

“what?”

“i said, get. out. matt. we’re done.”

“come on, don’t you think you’re being overdramatic?”

“get out! now!”

“y/n?” you hear matt say softly.

you snap out of your memory, taking a second to focus back on reality.

“listen, y/n, i’m not asking for you to let your guard down again and take me back, i just guess i want you to know that i love you, and that im sorry.”

matt stares at you, his face full of desperation and vulnerability, and most of all, regret. a single tear rolls down his face, dropping on the floor as it falls off.

“do you promise to be loyal, matt?”

“yes, of course i do. i wont screw it up this time.”

“i’m serious matt, i cant take that again. i cant go through that again.”

“i promise.”

“okay then.”

“so, what now?” matt asks.

“do you wanna, maybe try again?” you ask softly.

“yes. i swear i wont fuck it all up this time.” matt replies.

you and matt hug, and for the first time in a while, you feel genuinely happy and loved.

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too matt.”

kind of a rushed fic but wtv!!

#Spotify #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris smut #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris x y/n #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt x reader #christopher owen sturniolo

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crazyvik97rpg · 2 days ago

Text

Sebastian kept himself occupied with checking his messages and mails. He kept in contact with his friends from London, they didn’t chat often but every now and then. He didn’t keep them up to date on his illness – it felt weird to reveal something like that via text, to be honest.

In between, a nurse came in to bring him some post–surgery friendly dinner he could eat without getting sick. Well, it was mostly juice and some fruit purée – but it was better than nothing.

He then also found some messages from family on his messenger app, other than from his parents. Some aunts and uncles sent him best wishes, even from his dad‘s side. They didn’t have too much contact with their dad‘s side of the family, simply because these never really liked their mother that much, Cynthia, so they kept their distance. Still – it was nice that they seemed to care in some way or the other at least.

Before Sebastian could worry about that too much, it was already time – suddenly his phone started buzzing, William was calling!

„Dove…oh, those past 40 minutes without you were the worst…“, he hummed and it was cheesy as ever – but Sebastian meant it exactly like that. He missed him already, still did – he couldn’t hug him through the phone after all. „Oh is that Zeus? Aw Zeus, sweetie…hi there“, he spoke to his favourite grumpy, old kitty before he spoke to William again, „Did you get home alright? Traffic probably isn’t so bad around the late evening. Dove…I wanted to thank you for staying with me today. It‘s been such an exhausting, long day, for you too. Well…I would have loved for you to stay longer but…well, I can’t keep you 24/7 now can I…“

Sebastian got a little more comfortable in his bed then, so he could see all his kitties better that William was holding into the camera one by one, heh.

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes.

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times.

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?”

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them.

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

#for i have sinned

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ipleadbritney · 18 hours ago

Note

could we please have ↻ FLIP FLOP for the first kiss scene in three-sixteenths???

thank you dear!!! 💕

- kitty 💕 (aka three-sixteenths’ biggest fan)

for @utopiastri who's really the sweetest!! ask game post here thank you for letting me revisit three-sixteenths in oscar's pov!!

3/16 the first kiss, flip flop

“Uncomfortable?” Lando repeats.

“With my magic. I don't want to make you throw up, or, you know.”

Oscar himself is one wrong move away from throwing up, actually. Yesterday threw him in for a spinner. Every time he blinks, he conjures up the walls of Monaco around him, waiting and waiting.

He hoped to get some rest today, to let his magic stretch over the new place. Nico Rosberg mentioned in an interview once how telekinesis in Monaco is different. Everything's lighter. Oscar wouldn't mind trying it.

But Lando called, and, well. Oscar was already skimming teleportation crash guides in the middle of their call.

Lando and curses is a horrible combination. It's taking everything in Oscar not to panic.

Lando clears his throat. “I asked you to come here so you could probe at it. And I'm not throwing up. Magic reflects the person, right? I answered your call for a reason, and I'm glad I did.”

How can Oscar not panic when Lando just says the sweetest things like it's nothing?

But someone has to be calm between the two of them, and Oscar's not going to pass the responsibility on the person who's cursed.

He rubs at the empty space where his suppressor usually is. Calm down. “I'm glad you answered my call, Lando. I really am.”

Better him than anyone else. If Oscar's right, then—

True Love's Kiss is a powerful spell that has wavered in popularity in recent decades. Most historians agree it is common for any spell to have crests and troughs. This particular case, however, has stumped some of the wisest living magical minds.

Has humanity polluted our world to the point of a Great Spell extinction? Do we even need True Love's Kiss anymore?

Oscar forces a smile, ignoring his thoughts. Not much a textbook can help them with, right?

Lando smiles back. Oscar loosens up.

Maybe it's not True Love's Kiss.

What if it is?

It doesn't have to be. Oscar can just kiss Lando right now. Fix the curse after. Free Lando's wrist. Explain somehow along the way that he like Lando enough to think he'd break True Love's Kiss if it came down to it.

It won't.

Lando's phone vibrates and lights up with a text notification. Oscar barely makes out the name Charlie.

“Aren't you going to read that?” Oscar asks.

Lando shakes his head, still smiling. Dazed. “No, it's probably a stupid notif—” he checks his phone “—fucking finally, Charlie's awake.”

He's mouthing the words as he reads them, something that hasn't escaped Oscar. Cute, of course, but also. The text can't be that long.

Lando sits up straighter. He's re-reading the text. Again and again.

Worry's bubbling up inside Oscar. Unfortunately, his worries have a nasty way of materializing through his magic.

So does Lando's. There's buzzing in the air, like static TV.

He tightens the control on his magic. He won't be of any help to Lando if he's a mess on his own.

After what must've been the 20th re-read, Oscar asks, “What did Charles say?”

“I need to kiss someone Italian. To break the curse, I need to kiss someone Italian.”

Lando all but throws his phone to Oscar for him to check. Charles’ texts confirm Oscar's suspicions, or at least part of it. Being right is such an overrated emotion.

Can TLKs be bound by other conditions apart from the whole yeah you're my one true love? Kiss-curses that aren't TLK are even rarer. Leave it up to the Monaco Grand Prix to attract generational magic users who can randomly cast a kiss-curse.

What if Charles misheard it? Misunderstood. Mistranslated.

What if he didn't?

“I hoped it would be different,” Oscar starts. “Not that you'll have a hard time finding someone Italian to kiss, no, but uh, Sophie will have our heads. Because it'll cause a riot, maybe. Then they'll resurrect us so Sophie can have our heads again.”

Please let the floor swallow Oscar whole.

“Thanks, I guess?” Lando says, and his face is so open, you can see every single emotion he's feeling right now.

Oscar wonders if Lando can read him the same way. Like how he's no longer surprised when Oscar sticks close to him in public, anticipates it. Leaves a little bit of space for Oscar to slide through. It's the type of understanding and clarity Oscar's always wanted.

“You know, I'm 3/16 Italian,” Oscar blurts out.

Lando half-splutters, half-laughs. “You don't have to cheer me up, Osc."

“I didn't say it to just cheer you up. I'm here to help. That's why I'm here, yeah?”

For the first time since coming here— which is the first time he's ever been in Lando's apartment and everything is Lando Lando Lando —Oscar's mind is clear.

“Reckon it'll work?”

“Won't know if we won't try."

Oscar can still backtrack. He can salvage the threads of their professional relationship. Nevermind that their professionalism has turned into Lando practically sitting on his lap during meetings because his seat doesn't “seat right”.

But Lando's beaming. “Sure. Let's do it.”

Huh. It can't be that easy. It can only be that easy if Lando likes Oscar back. He doesn't. Probably. “Oh, okay.”

Nothing happens. Is it up to Oscar? Well, Lando's handcuffed to his bed, so. Oscar needs to, good God. Oscar needs to.

“Do you think it's supposed to be, like…” Oscar took three magic-related electives and none of them talked about breaking possible kiss-curses.

“Kiss on the mouth?” Lando’s smile grows even wider. Does he? Like Oscar back? “You're the magic nerd here.”

“I'm really not.”

“Go big or go home,” Lando says.

Suddenly Lando hooks a finger on Oscar's collar and pulls him closer. Oscar kneels in front of Lando, one of his legs bracketed by Lando's thighs. Lando's pretty like this, looking up at Oscar.

Oscar touches Lando's cheek. “This okay?” he murmurs.

Lando closes his eyes and leans into his touch. Nods.

Oscar presses a soft kiss on Lando's mouth. The buzzing's gone, has been for a long time, maybe.

He pulls back just the slightest, but Lando's kissing him. Oscar is reeled right back in, deeper this time. Lando holds him by his waist. Gentle but secure.

Oscar's dreamt of this before, but those didn't. Get the details correct. Lando's sighs. His taste. His magic.

Fuck, Oscar's own magic. He can feel it slipping out of his control.

Lando parts open his mouth, a permission for Oscar to take. How much can Oscar take? How much is he willing to take?

There's a clicking sound and a wash of strange magic, bursting then fading away.

The handcuffs. Oscar almost forgot about that.

They move apart, which is a bit hard with Lando's fingers curled up in his shirt.

The curse leaves behind a cloud of gold and green glitter. A few specks land on Lando's nose then melt off.

“I'll call you first if I ever get cursed again,” Lando says, laughing. There's a halo surrounding his head. Oscar's magic.

“I'm 1/16 Chinese.” He returns to his spot at the foot of the bed. “Call me even if you're not cursed?”

“Don't jinx it, mate.”

Oscar's not going to jinx it. No hexes or curses or any love spells, either. He doesn't trust his magic to not influence Lando. He puts his suppressor on, and it sucks the fucking air out of the room.

“Sorry,” he tells Lando. “It's, I've got my suppressor back on.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Broke the curse already, didn't we?”

Lando tilts his head, assessing. “We did.”

What do they do now?

Lando takes the lead, as he usually does. “Want lunch? I'll reserve us a spot, so don't leave. Give me, like, 15.”

As if Oscar would ever say no to lunch with Lando. “I'd like that, sure. Let's get lunch.”

If it hadn't been a kiss-curse, they would've probably kissed some more. Oscar tries not to be too hung up about it.

#landoscar #landoscar fic #britwrites #my drabbles #three-sixteenths #inbox #THIS GOT OUT OF HAND ACTUALLT #3/16 in oscar's pov is too damn fun and funny

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junedenim · 2 days ago

Text

2010

beneath the boardwalk, part 8 (series masterlist)

glass in the park

warnings: the usual...angst, fluff, smut, etc.

word count: 13k

In late January, I bought a fur coat. I don't know if it's real or faux because I still haven't determined the difference in feeling between the authentic and the fake but I thrifted it so there's no guilt if it is made out of a poor chinchilla or something. It carried a dramatic feeling with it. I would wear it all the time. Sometimes, I would go out on walks just to wear it. I'd walk from my apartment to Grand Central and take the subway back just to make sure people saw it.

Alex returned to touring around the same time. While I was in a dirty slush-filled New York, Alex was travelling through the coastal cities of France. I knew it was cold there too but I'm sure it was much more conventionally beautiful and I envied him at times when I came home and my socks were soaked through.

We tried to talk on the phone daily, but time zones were difficult. We promised one another to always call on Saturday mornings for me so if we missed previous days in the week, I would always be able to tell him about my work week on Saturday.

Alex seemed to have everything and nothing going on. He'd play shows, get drunk or high, play ping-pong, take pictures of the Belem Tower, and watch Mighty Mouse.

I was busy. I liked it. My work would sometimes be straightforward office work, sometimes I'd visit places to review, sometimes they sent me home early to test products out, and sometimes they had me stay late to review products. I had a group of friends that I went out drinking with on Fridays and it was social drinking, not drinking to get drunk. One night, I ordered a Shirley Temple and laughed about it on the subway ride home at the thought of my younger self seeing me: a sober girl taking the subway home alone from the bar. It was nice to finally like myself. Or at least who I was becoming.

In my empty time, I wrote autobiographical things. I sometimes sent things to Alex but I found my writing became more introspective and it wasn't details I wanted to share with him. I was fearful of why I felt the need to hide it, but I didn't even feel much like reading it.

My friend, Fennel (he hates his name too), said it came from an overprotective biological need that all women must hide things from men, even if they are loving and trusting. I didn't think so. I told him I trusted Alex more than I trusted myself. He told me that was the issue.

Fennel cultivated weed on the balcony of his apartment in Murray Hill. He had a boyfriend named Kaka, who was a former Chippendales stripper and currently worked for Goldman Sachs. Sometimes, when he got drunk enough he'd reenact a routine. They were both in their early 40s, shared a dog named Rooster, and, still to this day, had the most luxurious apartment I have ever seen.

The building had a disheveled front but inside they had an open floor plan, a kitchen that was larger than my apartment, and the glorious aforementioned balcony. Fennel was a creative director at Condé Nast and had taken a liking to me because of my crooked teeth and what he called my "gemütlich" British accent.

I went over to their place nearly every week. They often had parties and I'd arrive in the early afternoon claiming to help them set up but I'd eat their fancy Bonilla a la Vista potato chips and play with Rooster. Their dinner parties were grandiloquent and their house parties were glamourously gauche.

One Sunday, I went over early through Fennel's insistence on dressing me. It was Pygmalion in a way or maybe I was the Edie Sedgwick to his Andy Warhol (I said this to him once and he took great offence because Warhol slept with Edie and he had no intention of taking advantage of me) but I quite liked it. I felt like a living doll and through his higher-up position and wealth, he was able to obtain fabulous pieces that he let me keep.

I walked around barefoot in their apartment wearing a Yohji Yamamoto (Fennel insulted me for not knowing who that was) white dress that flowed with every step I took while discussing Alex, who they had yet to meet.

"I can't believe you've been with him since you were 18." Kaka marvelled at this fact every time we talked about Alex.

"We had some brief pauses in there but yeah. You guys have been together for over a decade."

Fennel chuckled. "We were both in our 30s. It's quite the difference."

I sat on their black leather couch and leaned my head on the back of it. They were both setting the table. I was relaxing. "Yeah but isn't it hard at any age?"

"Sure but if I was still with the same person I was with at 18...well, that was a woman so it wouldn't count," Fennel laughed.

"Are you going to marry him?" Kaka asked. He was a complete romantic who would often say how much he loved love.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know if I ever want to get married."

"Independence?" Fennel questioned as he pulled out a wine bottle.

"Parents."

"Ah," he sighed.

"But I have a feeling they always hated each other. I've always loved Alex. Does that make me lovesick and annoying?" I turned my head to ask them.

"Yes, but it's admirable. You seemed to have picked the right one. Good looking, loyal, you talk about him so sweetly," Kaka praised.

"I sometimes wonder if he picked the right one." It wasn't a newfound concern. I always felt secure in my relationship with Alex, not so much in myself. Occasionally, the worry of whether he could do better than me peeked itself out, usually when he was away and I didn't have the physical reassurance.

"Hush!" Kaka told me. "Any woman is better than a man. Take it from me." He kissed me on my cheek and it was nice to feel so fabulous. Fennel let me keep the Yamamoto. I try it on whenever I feel insecure.

I got sick on Valentine's Day. I had been unscathed for too long and on the morning of Alex's return from Europe—Valencia, Spain to be specific—I woke up with the urge to vomit. So, I vomited. And when Alex arrived home, I was vomiting.

I heard his bag drop while I was keeling over the toilet. The clacking of his boots on our wood floors stopped at the tile of our bathroom as he said, "Jesus, are you okay?" He hesitated, surely disgusted, before kneeling on the floor beside me, rubbing my back.

I had emptied most of my stomach and was dry heaving mostly. I slumped against the wall, catching my breath. "Welcome home." I managed a faint smile and my sarcasm didn't cause any laughter from Alex.

His hand stroked my forearm. He still had his jacket on and I was in my pajamas. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I just woke up nauseated."

"Food poisoning?" He suggested as he stroked his thumb over my knee.

I shook my head. "No, no. I feel fine now."

I attempted to stand up but Alex held me down. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just need to lay down for a little." I slowly stood, reorienting myself.

Alex, still kneeling proposal-style, offered, "Alright. Do you want me to carry you?"

I laughed. "I can manage to walk five feet to the bedroom, Alex." I headed toward our unmade bed.

"I can manage to carry you five feet to the bedroom." He wanted to make sure I knew that.

I smiled and to placate his need to help I had him get me a glass of water. He returned, jacket- and shoeless, with my glass of water. I took a sip and placed it on the bedside table we found at the Grand Bazaar last December. Alex sat in front of me, taking my feet into his lap. "You think it's the flu?"

I shook my head and slumped back onto the pillows up against the headboard. "No, no. I feel fine and I don't have a fever."

"Hungover?" He smirked, poking fun.

"No," I mocked. "An upset stomach. I'm fine now. How have you been? How was the flight?"

"Fine," he quickly answered. "Did you eat anything this morning?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine," I insisted. "How are you?"

"Fine. Do you want me to get you something? Tea? Crackers?" He continued to pester.

"No. Can we talk about something else or else I might vomit on you?" I crossed my arms, frustrated with myself for ruining the morning, frustrated with him for continuing to ruin this reunion.

"I'm just concerned something might be wrong. Should we go to the doctor?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine. I know my own body. It was just a little morning bug."

His eyes shot up and wide looking straight at me as if he had just gotten an electric shock. "Do you think you could be...?"

I took my feet off his lap, criss-crossing them. "Oh, god, I'm not pregnant. Calm down."

"You sure? When was your last...you know?" He moved his hand up and down in front of his stomach.

I raised my eyebrows and laughed. "Period? What are you? A 12-year-old boy, you can't say the word?"

He sat awkwardly, a nervous look on his face. "No, it's just, you know..."

"I don't know and I don't know where this sudden weird behavior of yours is coming from." I sipped on the water and rolled my eyes behind my closed lids.

He reached out to rub my knee again. It was becoming rather annoying like a fly pestering you. "I'm concerned. That's all. So? When was it?"

I shrugged. "Like a month ago. I don't know."

He was bug-eyed and staring into my soul. "Well, are you late?"

"I don't keep track of that stuff." It was probably laziness or maybe because I was on birth control. Granted, I wasn’t very regular with that anymore. I never liked taking it and Alex hadn’t been there for a month.

"You don't keep track!" He stood up, pacing like it was the 1950s and he was stuck in the hallway while I was giving birth.

"You don't even have a period." I crossed my arms and leaned further back into bed. I was tired. He must have been jet lagged too. Why weren’t we sleeping?

"Yeah, but I am having sex with you."

"We last had sex a month ago. I'm not pregnant."

"And have you had a period since?"

I sighed. "No."

He exhaled and his head fell to his chest. He looked like my father. His head slumped after my mother disappointed him. It terrified me. Like I had done something wrong by not shedding my uterine lining. I didn't feel pregnant. Alex's concern made me concerned but I was more scared by the way his head sank.

"Should I go buy a test?" I asked. I didn't feel like fighting that I wasn't. I got an eerie feeling like I was overhearing my parents fight but I had suddenly body swapped with my mother. It felt like some trust had snapped in between Alex and me. For him, he'll say it wasn't and that it was based solely on concern. I thought otherwise. Like his paranoia had overtaken him.

"I'll go," he offered.

I shook my head and went to my dresser for a change of clothes. "No, it's fine." It's wicked that in my mind I held more worry over someone catching Alex Turner with a pregnancy test than actually being pregnant.

I threw the fur coat on and made my way to the nearby CVS. I had never bought one before. I don't know if I thought I ever would but I suppose I imagined it over different circumstances—a happy one, maybe with someone beside me with equal excitement. I bought a tube of toothpaste and a bag of Cheetos. I still had vomit on my breath.

Alex was sitting on the couch when I returned. His fingers were tapping the armrest and he had the TV on The View but he held a locked stare with the front door, meeting my eyes as I walked in.

I tossed the plastic bag on the coffee table and collapsed on the couch beside him. "I don't have to pee."

"Okay."

I grabbed the remote sitting between us and began to flip channels. Not much of anything good was on that early. I felt Alex staring at me but he didn't speak so I didn't speak. I landed on Notting Hill. "I hate this movie," I said just to have something to say.

He didn't say anything. Not even a Hugh Grant joke.

A half-hour passed in silence beside the movie before I stood up, dug the box out, and went to the bathroom. Not a word from Alex. I slammed the bathroom door shut.

I fumbled with the test for a while, struggling to open the box's lid. I wondered if Alex didn't join me in the bathroom because he thought I needed privacy or because he was upset. I think he was mostly just a scared little boy.

He felt so little to me in that moment and not in the way I loved. He was small and made my blood boil, even if I couldn't fully blame him for his concern. But his silence bugged me. His impassive form on the couch, a refusal to move or communicate. He had a habit of getting in his own head and barring entry. He'd say it was his personality. I'd say it was immaturity.

I took the test and waited for the results to appear alone in the bathroom. Negative, as expected. Still, I was left with uncertainty about what to do. I was mad at him but I didn't want to yell. I was relieved but I didn't want to celebrate. I was left where he was: silence.

Alex was still where I had left him. I put the test on the coffee table and sat down beside him, the last 10 minutes of Notting Hill playing. But he didn't move to look at it. His head turned to me instead. He was reading my face rather than the test. I stayed neutral and stared onward, refusing his enticing gaze.

"I'm sorry if I made you..." He hadn't fully grasped what I was thinking. I tend to think men and women are mostly the same but I find our biological difference is showcased in those times of stress. "It's negative. Right?"

I nodded, staring at Julia Roberts, arms crossed. "Mhmm."

He scooted closer to me. "Jane." His hand landed on my sweatpants-covered thigh and my eyes decided to finally snap over to him, small, tiny, scared little boy Alex. "I would've..."

"What?"

He looked at me as if he didn't expect a reaction from me. His expression was stunned and his hand stilled. "I don't know." You brought his hand up to his forehead, pushing his long strands back over his head. He took a deep breath. "This whole morning has felt like whiplash."

I scoffed, "Yeah." My head turned away from him. I was battered with the feeling of numbness. In the past, I think I would've cried. Or yelled. Now, I felt indifferent. I didn't know how to feel about that either.

"Have I ruined Valentine's Day?" He asked in an attempt to make me laugh.

I shut off the TV and stood up. "Yeah." I walked away to the bedroom. Alex stayed out in the living room.

When I went out to the kitchen, Alex was asleep on the couch. I made as much noise in the kitchen as possible to wake him up. I knew he was jet lagged and tired but I was a scorned woman.

I started the tea kettle and turned around to see a yawning Alex. "Do you want tea?" I offered.

He shook his head and placed his hands on the back of a chair. "I'm sorry for being an asshole." I turned away, not particularly interested in looking at him, instead I searched for a mug. "I suppose I have a habit of that. But I figured we could go out tonight. Go to a pub. Get some drinks."

Alex smiled, proud of himself for upholding a minimal tradition in my eyes. "I have plans tonight."

I didn't expect him to roll over and die. "Oh. Okay." He sat down on one of the stools and said nothing else.

There was no fight in him, meaning I had to be the one to fight. "Fennel and Kaka are having a party. I told them we'd go."

"That'll be fun.” He sent me a complacent smile. “I'll finally get to meet them."

I smiled back just as limitingly. "They've heard a lot."

He looked down at his hands. "Bad, I'm sure."

I exhaled. "I don't hate you, Alex."

"Feels like it." He was moody and refused eye contact, almost like he was me. We had been around each other for so long that we had become each other. People would say this to me but I rarely saw it.

"Call it PMSing. It just wasn't the best greeting."

He nodded, the understanding slowly seeping into him. "I know. I'm sorry for that."

"I woke up early to be awake when you got back and there I go getting sick."

He looked guilty. Solemn and culpable. "I should be making you tea."

I turned back with a smile. "Yeah. You should."

He walked closer and hugged my side. He placed a kiss on my temple and squeezed me close to him. "Go sit down. I'll bring this over to you."

I kissed his cheek. "Alright."

Fennel and Kaka's apartment was stuffed with everything. People, liquor, drugs, music, hearts. Alex wore a white shirt with a suit jacket over top. I wore a pink floral Roberto Cavalli cocktail dress, Fennel provided. Maybe it was because of our fight earlier or maybe I had just changed since I had seen Alex last, but I held a superiority complex over him. The silk of my dress wrapped me in elegance and the rough quality of his suit jacket. Oh, shit, I was becoming posh.

Looking back, I wasn't dignified or aware enough that my mother held these opinions of my father as well. However, I was also in a bitter state, and even Alex said I looked better than him so I wasn't really kidding myself.

People held cocktails and canapés were being moved throughout the room. Alex and I stood in the corner silently, I sipped the edge of my gimlet to keep it from spilling. Alex drank a whiskey. I kept thinking about it, in an ashamed way, but then I found humour in it and thought it best to break the ice and tell Alex what I was thinking. "We really are my mother and father."

He turned, originally with a neutral look on his face before spotting the crack of my smile. He breathed laughter out and lifted his glass, taking a slow sip from it. I imagine he was looking for something to say. We hadn't spoken for so long that his vocal chords must’ve needed a refresher course. He dropped the glass to his side. "I hope all the good parts."

I chuckled. "You say that like there are some."

He tossed his head side-to-side. "They've always had elegance to them. They intimidate me. The way the act is, you know..." He moved his hand like he was fishing for the word, trying to find it in the ocean of his mind.

"Posh?" I suggested.

His jaw dropped. "Now, Janie, I would never say that."

"Oy! Jane Cavendish!" It was Fennel, approaching us with Kaka following behind him. They were both dressed in matching maroon suits, each with a cocktail. "Beautiful. Always beautiful. And this must be Alex. Oh, how we've waited for this moment."

"Don't say that. You'll make him nervous," I told them. Alex didn't like it when I told people this. He found it to be invasive for other people—those not close to him—to know his emotions. I found Fennel and Kaka to be trustworthy of this information.

Alex peered over at me like I was his mother embarrassing him in front of his friends. "It's nice to finally meet you both." He shook their hands and they were both very impressed by this. I could tell.

"You both look lovely," I told them.

"Ralph Lauren," Fennel replied. He moved his hand down the fabric of his suit. "Red velvet. Feel." He reached out for my hand and rubbed it up against the velvet, the smoothness running under my fingers. "Now, you, Alex." He grabbed Alex's hand doing the same. It was awkward and made me giggle but Fennel always had a way of putting people at ease. At the sound of my enjoyment, Alex chuckled, nodding his head in approval of the fabric choice.

Kaka told Alex, "Has Jane told you how jealous we are of you two?"

Alex looked over at me at the knowledge of this news. "No, no. Why?" He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"The romance," Kaka swooned. "I wish I could have met Fennel sooner but we were a mess at your age. To find your love so early and keep it going and in the way you two are. If I was doing that at 23, I'd be a mess. Young love is just so lovely. Sorry, I'm a little inebriated."

Alex chuckled. "That's fine."

"You're a very beautiful couple," Fennel said. "I know a lot of ugly ones. Inside and out."

"Well, we had a fight before this so, if that brings us down from paradise for a bit." Alex seemed shocked I had said this. I thought I sounded like my 17-year-old self again. It was honest to me but it was also childish.

Fennel waved his hands. "Fights are great. You should have makeup sex in the bathroom."

I asked, "But where will everyone do coke?" We all laughed. Alex too, if not out of humour than of peer pressure.

Hours passed. We talked with some of my co-workers and Fennel's and Kaka's cultured friends. While Alex was in the bathroom, I talked with David Remnick and nearly fainted out of nervousness because I couldn't remember how to say Ibuprofen.

Alex and I went to the balcony to smoke. The city rushed by below and we each lit a cigarette up alone. I sighed and leaned on the railing, my head in my hand. It was so hot in the apartment but I felt so chilly outside as the wind rushed by. I felt Alex place his hand on my back. He was like a hot water bottle. He knocked against my spine like he was checking to make sure all my vertebrae were still in place. "You look like Juliet."

I turned my head to look at him but his head was off to the left, the smoke escaping out of the side of his mouth. He looked like he was stargazing, even though he couldn't have seen any in that light-polluted sky. His touch on me was this firm thing. I had never felt him so strongly like he wanted me to know he was still standing there beside me.

"The moon is so bright," he said. I looked into his eyes, searching for it in there. I followed his line of sight before my own landed on the glowing sphere hanging up in the sky. It stood bold against the black void surrounding it.

I looked at Alex, bold as ever. I couldn't manage anything with my tongue. I just stared at him while he stared at the moon. I don't know if he felt my eyes on him or if he was so enraptured with the moon that he couldn't handle looking anywhere else.

I sighed, standing up straight. I don't know what I was thinking by standing up so quickly. I don't know why I didn't just stay there and watch him for hours. "I've never understood the whole man-in-the-moon thing."

Alex shrugged, still staring above. "You can see anything if you look long enough."

I scuffed my cigarette out on the railing but kept the dog end in my hand. "Do you think if I stare at it long enough I'll see you?"

He hummed his response. I wasn't sure if we were speaking in some kind of code or just dancing around one another's words. Everything felt off, even if we looked so on track. I was uneasy in finding a response. He acted like he wanted to be alone but his hand persisted its touch on my back. His lips wrapped around his smoke and his eyes stared off into the lights of the city.

My arms crossed and I stood at what felt like such a distance. I stepped sideways, figuring Alex to be done with me and on to his stargazing. I'd have greater engagement talking to the walls inside and at least then I'd have a cocktail too. I turned away and his hand grazed across my back as I moved.

"I feel like I've done something wrong," Alex finally spoke. I had my back to him and it felt like I may never look at him again. Either he or my feet wouldn't allow me to turn around to see him. "I overstepped earlier."

My hand went to my forehead and it was like my brain was going to swell up and push itself out of my skull. I spun around on my heels. He was leaning back against the rail nonchalantly but held such caution in his bones. His eyes had a hard time staying on mine as he committed to the nervous habit of playing with his nails and tapping the end of his cigarette. "It's fine. I don't want to fight about it. I'm tired."

"Okay." He deflected his silence onto me, acting as if I was the one causing tension between us. Earlier that was the case but I dropped it in the kitchen and moved on with life. The whole day Alex held a wall around him. It wasn't a new thing for him to have his guard up, but I usually wasn’t the one blocked from entering.

I swore to myself long ago, after our break-up in '07 that I wouldn't be accusatory to Alex. Trust had always been strong but we always had a weak link. His stare now penetrated me and I felt like the nervous one. My arms stayed crossed but my hands began to squeeze the sides of me and I looked away, inside at the party, which had grown louder as the pretense of class had dropped with the amount of alcohol and drugs. "Did something happen on tour?"

My eyes moved back at his quietness. I had a sick feeling in my stomach but I didn't feel like I had a right to. I'm the one who fucked up before so I'd forgive him if he did now. Instead of guilt, he stared at me like he didn't know what language I was speaking. "No. Why?"

I don't know if he wanted me to feel sorry for him because I was accusing him of something that he didn't do or if he was as lost as I was when it came to this stalemate. "You just seem off. That's all."

He shrugged. "It's been a weird day." I was hit with a wave and I'm still figuring out whether it was from nostalgia or because I actually did see it but I swore he looked 17 again at that moment. I'll always see glimpses of that. The locked-in memory of his first impression. Through his long hair and whatever frustration he seemed to have, I smiled because we were standing in a garden. One that was on a balcony and was mainly weed other than one pot of zinnias.

I dropped my arms and plucked at the fabric of my dress. I didn't tell him what I thought. I thought myself to be a little childish in my reminiscing but it was Valentine's Day and I don't know why we went to this party because I always just wanted Alex to myself. I was a desperate woman with a sole propensity to be alone with Alex, especially when it was the day of his homecoming. I blamed it on my period, which I got the following day (not pregnant).

"You didn't want to come here tonight?" I said it as a question but it was a statement. I was already sure of Alex's stance. His inability to relax around strangers and his reluctance to engage in small talk. I knew he also had an inclination to be alone with me.

He played nice though. Always gave in to me easily on these kinds of dilemmas because it's what I wanted. He couldn't give me much in other areas (I had just finally won the whole location problem) so he found it expected to do what I wanted to do when he was around. But, sometimes (I use sometimes very loosely because I do in fact like getting my way), I liked doing what he wanted to do. Most of all, my favourite thing was talking to him. So, why would I spend a whole night chit-chatting with other people? (Besides, David Remnick because that really was a dream come true).

"I'm having fun." He wasn't very convincing. A tone of neutrality and a shrug of his shoulders that just looked like disinterest.

I chuckled to myself. "I'd like to give myself some credit. I know you better than anyone else so I know that you're full of shit."

He laughed and finally dropped his cigarette and his rough shoulders. "I'm just tired."

"Sure," I dragged out, unconvinced. "I'm kind of wishing we just went to a pub or something."

Alex looked down and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah. I'm wishing a lot of things right now."

My brows furrowed and I wanted to look closer at him but his hand and hair shielded his expression. "Like what?"

He put his hands in his pockets and looked out at the city. "I don't know. I think I'm just a little messed up right now."

I stepped forward, wanting to stand next to him, wanting to touch him. I moved close enough that he was forced to look at me. "What's going on?"

The browns of his eyes looked darker and shinier as if they had been glazed over. I wanted to touch his face and have him lean into my hand, but I wanted to hear what he had to say first. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his jacket but I had him cornered. "Just in my head. The usual."

"About what? Me?" It might have been selfish to think so but he looked like he might cry while looking at me and I don't think I had felt that insecure in front of Alex in years.

He shook his head. "I don't even want to say it. It's so stupid."

"I don't want you to leave it in there."

His eyes darted in a million directions before landing on mine. "Just things are changing."

It took me a second to understand. It took me a gust of wind passing before I pointed to myself. "Me?"

He rattled his brain with the shake of his head. "I'm just in my head, Janie."

I grabbed his upper arm, forcing him to take notice of me. "Well, let me in. You know, I like when we talk." I smiled up at him and he released the hint of a smile, a sparkle behind his eyes. "I like knowing what's going on and what you have to say, what you're thinking. I don't get much of that while you're away and I think we both stew in our thoughts for so long that we're practically bored of it by the time we see the other and then we think we don't have to bother saying anything. But I've never heard about this and I want to know about this. I want to know about you if you let me."

A grin covered his face, so wide his teeth peeked through to wave to me. "What?" I asked. His smile just seemed to grow bigger and his eyes cast down on me. I thought he might kiss me but I'm glad he didn't, I didn't want to get distracted. "What?" I insisted, punching his leaning figure.

"Nothing," he said so cheerfully. I thought he might have taken something to cause this sudden change. He put his hand on my shoulder like he wanted to touch me but wanted to make sure we kept our distance. "I just love the way you talk. I don't know. Like the way you know how my brain works and you feel everything I'm feeling. I just...I love talking to you too. It's what I've always loved about you. I feel like I can't do this with anyone else. Just lay myself out and never have to worry. I think I forgot the feeling."

I wrapped my arm around his neck, closing the distance, and having us stand chest-to-chest. "We'll blame the jetlag."

"Sorry for being moody. I think it's an after-effect of prolonged homesickness."

"It's fine. I suffer from it too." It made me smile that we both considered each other home. It was cheesy and cliche but that didn’t make it untrue.

"Do you think there's a cure?" He moved closer and it took me that long to realize we hadn't kissed all day between the vomit and the fighting and the party. I should be put in jail for this.

I didn't kiss him right away. I hugged him first just to feel him, make sure he was there, all of him. "I might start with getting out of here."

Alex insisted, "Don't make me force you to leave."

"I wouldn't if I didn't want to. I'm craving shitty fries and chairs that squeak." And him. I really craved him.

"You love it when we play poor together."

"I love when we're together." We finally kissed at that point, waiting any longer felt like too much. He was right with me and I never wanted him to leave. If we kissed any longer we might have fallen off the side of the balcony. Together.

I dragged him through the apartment with me, trailing like my puppy but he was my loyal dog. His hand was clasped in mine and I kissed both Kaka's and Fennel's cheeks and promised to have dinner sometime soon for a more proper introduction to Alex. "Enjoy your Valentine's, love," Kaka said in his drunken impersonation of a British accent.

"You too," Alex said for both of us.

He put my fur coat on me and we left onto the sidewalk of the loved-up city. We decided to walk back in the direction of our apartment and land at a shitty bar along the way. We walked side-by-side like we were two anxious teenagers again. I suppose we had regressed in the absence of one another and the readjustment was more structurally unsound than usual.

"So, uh," I started, "you think I've changed too much?"

He threw his head back. "Don't listen to me."

I grabbed his arm, tugging on it. "No, I want you to be honest with me. None of this evasiveness."

Alex put his arm around my shoulder, pushing me into him. "I'm just catching up a little. You've been busy while I've been gone and I like that."

"But too much too quick?" Fennel and Kaka and the load of other people they had in their apartment could be too much. It overwhelmed me at times and I knew most of the people in the room.

We stopped at a corner, waiting for a light. He turned his head to look directly at me. "Just give me a bit of a grace period." He smiled so carefully. Not in a calculated way but to reaffirm his statement.

I smiled back. "I'd give you anything you want." It was probably too much to give a person, something I wasn't even willing to give to myself, but we were sharing a desperate kind of love. It wasn't the healthiest but he was the only person I knew would love me no matter what.

He seemed struck by this statement, unable to tear his eyes away to spot the green light in front of us. I pointed ahead at it but he didn't move his feet. He bent down and kissed my cheek firmly. I think he would have stayed there forever if I hadn't pushed him and insisted we cross the street before the light turned red again. He leaned down and whispered, "Ditto."

We stopped at The Scratcher in the East Village. It was Irish but akin to English by nature. It had exposed brick and when I asked the bartender for a Guinness (me) and lager shandy (Alex) he talked with me about England long after he had given me our drinks. The lighting was low and it was late but the bar was still full with mostly lonely hearts, save us and a few other couples.

Alex found us a table in the back corner by a group of rowdy men and for a bit it did feel like we were back home. "That's what I love about New York," I mused to him. "I find pieces of home here. I never found that in Los Angeles. Too deserty."

Alex leaned his cheek on his fist. His eyes looked tired but his smile stayed exercising. "You seem really happy here."

I shrugged. It was hard to admit these things. Like if I spoke it out loud it would cease to be true. "I guess, in a way, it feels like it’s something I did on my own. I know I'm not alone but...you know what I mean."

His eyes flashed down at the table and he sat up straight, leaning back against his chair. "Yeah. I know what you mean." He sipped his drink and I could tell he was going to say something once he washed his words down. "I really like it here too." The infliction in his voice was distracted as if he was thinking about 10 other things. I didn't know which one to ask about.

"Tour's almost over." I was ashamed that it flew by for me. Maybe because I was more occupied. I thought it should have felt like it dragged on forever. The way I used to feel about it. Granted it was shorter than the previous tours but I had never been this involved with Alex. We shared a home now, yet, his things—his clothes next to mine and the record collection collecting dust—didn't make me long for him, yearn for him. Perhaps, it was growing up. Perhaps, it was growing apart.

I circled my finger around my glass's edge. "I don't know if I'll be able to get off for the London shows."

"That's fine." He has always been so accepting. Like most things, it was a blessing and curse. Sometimes, I hated that he didn't put up a fight. He never told me what he desired, even with things like LA. It was a work obligation, not something he wished for. Maybe it's because I always wanted too much and Alex balanced it out by wanting too little.

"I got off work tomorrow. If you want to do anything."

He smirked. "I have one idea." Alex did desire some things.

I cut Alex's hair a week later. He complained of it being too long and I suggested he go to the barber and then he said I should do it. It was late but we were very happy.

We shared a glass of wine. I had Alex sit in the bathtub and I kneeled on the tile floor. We washed it first and then emptied the bathtub before I began to cut it. "What if you end up not liking it?" I questioned. I wasn't nervous. If anything I was power-hungry holding the kitchen scissors.

"I'll like it. It'll grow back either way. How bad could you fuck it up?” He chuckled before saying, “Last time you did this we broke up. Can't fuck up more than that."

His laughter induced me to join him. I sipped the wine before passing it to him. It felt very adult and I told him that. He said, "I could do this forever."

Alex experienced his first nor'easter blizzard at the end of February. I had experienced my first at the beginning of the month. He was quite excited for it. It was childish excitement like he was going to receive a snow day. I suppose his snow day was the fact that I didn’t have to go to work. I ended up getting Thursday and Friday off, which, well, did feel like a snow day.

However, it was cold. Like really cold. We ventured outside at the start of the storm to collect groceries and experience the snowfall. We got into a snowball outside our building’s front door before the snow turned to slush. Alex accidentally ended up hitting Russ Tillerson, who lived on the floor below us. He had a good spirit and laughed before shoving snow down Alex’s back, smushed in between his skin and his coat.

It took me a good few minutes to recover from laughter over Alex’s shivers. “It’s not fun,” he insisted, still patting snow out.

I hit his thick jacket with my gloved hand. “You’re not a good sport.”

He pouted and whined, “I don’t want to be a good sport. I want to be warm.”

I stroked his cheek, rubbing the icicle crystals stuck on my glove onto his skin making him wince. “Awwww. Poor baby. I’ll run you a bath when we get back.” He quite enjoyed that bath.

The days were fun but long. We watched TV and had sex for most of it. We ate sloppy like we were at a slumber party. We got high Friday night while watching Goodfellas. I ate a bag of salt & vinegar chips and half a pack of Chips Ahoy! Alex ate a whole pack of Oreos and drank enough Coke to shut down your organs.

“I’m sorry I’m so high,” I apologized.

He waved me off and sunk deeper into the couch pillows. “It’s fine. I wish we had more Coke.”

“We could do coke coke.”

“You have coke coke?”

“No. But we could get some?” It was candy in my new circle. Easy to obtain, sweet to do, horrible for you.

“Nah,” he rejected. “You’ve done it?”

“Yeah. I used to do it with…what’s his name…Robert.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry I’m so quiet,” I apologized again.

“You’re good.”

“Ray Liotta is so hot.”

“You’re so hot.”

“Mhmm.” My eyes moved away from blue eyes to Alex’s brown. He had sat up from his slump and was leaning on the armrest, observationally. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” He smirked, all-knowing.

“You know…how horny I get…” His smirk grew. “Don’t look at me like that!”

He curled his fingers, beckoning me to him. “Come here. Let me do you.”

I laughed and closed my eyes, prepared to succumb to sleep. His foot knocked mine. “What?”

“C’mon.”

He came to me. And, well, in me.

Alex left halfway through March, narrowly missing another nor’easter, but this time less severe. Opal came a few days later for work. She stayed at the Bowery Hotel, a few blocks east of me. I had walked by it a million times and always longed to go in. It was my second most desired hotel after the Plaza.

She was there for work but apparently now had a boyfriend there too but that was all supposed to be obvious. Opal talked about things like you already knew everything about it. She told outlandish stories where she'd say, "You know how Charlie is" when I had never heard of Charlie before. Nonetheless, she was exciting and good company.

Alex was in Baltimore by the time I called him while drunk. Opal and I had gone to House of Yes and said yes to every drink along the way. Opal left with some guy who wasn't her boyfriend but it's okay because they had an open relationship, I think. Therefore, I was left outside House of Yes going home alone. I don't blame Opal for ditching me; the guy was hot and I insisted she go by saying I wasn't drunk, just tipsy.

I called Alex and lit up a cigarette at the same time. He picked up after 2 rings while I was still muffled by the cigarette in between my teeth. "Hiya, honey," I mumbled.

I heard laughing, either from him or the drunkards around him. He had been drinking too but not heavily. "Hey, sweetie." He moved away from the sound. I imagined him tucking himself away in the back end of the tour bus.

"I'm needy and I miss you," I whined.

His soft chuckling rang through the phone. "What's that mean?"

"It means I'm walking to the subway in Brooklyn." I scraped my heels against the cement.

"Ah. You and Opal have fun?"

"Yeah, but I'm drunk and alone. She's probably having sex right now. Everyone is having sex right now." House of Yes was a very sexual place in 2010.

"I'm not."

"Yeah,” I giggled. “I figured that one out. Could you imagine? You're on the phone with me having sex."

"What? Like phone sex?" He teased me.

I scolded him, "I'm not having phone sex in public. I meant like you were fucking someone else and on the phone with me."

"Why would I fuck someone else?" His tone was puzzled and I think he was drunker than I thought he was at the time.

"I don't know. I'm drunk. There's no logic to my thinking."

"I don't think I'll ever have sex with someone else. It'd be weird."

"I'd have sex with other people."

"Really?" He didn’t sound worried. Just curious.

"Yeah. Like George Clooney or something."

"I'll let you have Clooney. I’d fuck Clooney."

"Nah. He wouldn't settle down with me anyway."

There was a pause of silence before he expressed, "Miss you."

"Yeah. Me too."

He buzzed as if the words were sinking in. "End of the month and then I'm all yours."

"I like that idea. I've been hanging out with Opal so much I think she's starting to hate me."

"No. She just needs hot ass like the rest of us." It had been a very lonely month in the sex department.

"I'm not hot ass?"

"You're the hottest ass."

"Subway's here."

"Okay. Let me know when you're home."

"Yeah. Love you."

He hummed in agreement.

Alex returned at the end of April. We relaxed back into domestic obliviousness. That weekend, we went over for dinner at Fennel and Kaka's. We drank wine, ate fancy chicken, and played with Rooster.

We sat at one end of their dining room table. Alex's nervousness had faded but he remained stiff, the obvious odd man out. We were laughing about work and Sally Condalteen's explosible haircut, all out of Alex's frame of reference.

Fennel, observing this, gasped and said, "I just realized I haven't even heard the story of how you two met."

I turned to Alex, who was looking at me. I was like a mother training a child to speak for themselves. "You tell it. I've never heard your side of things."

"Okay. Uh, well, Jane had a class with Matt, who is the drummer of, you know, the band, and he invited her to our first gig. We sort of knew each other—small college and that kind of thing—but never talked. So, at the venue, I went up to her and called her the wrong name. The whole night I figured I screwed things up and made a fool of myself. Then, I'm outside smoking and she comes out and I thought maybe I wouldn't say anything but then I realized I'd probably never get another chance, so..."

"You went for it?" Kaka, a big woosy romantic, grinned.

"Obviously," I answered.

"What about you? What did you think when he came up to you?" Fennel asked me.

I shrugged. "Nervous. I think. After, terrified."

"Why?" He was like a psychologist desperate to get to the bottom of things.

I shrugged. I didn't want to reveal my whole emotional state to them but their eyes stared at me. "He knew me better in one conversation than anyone in my life. It's stupid."

"No!" Fennel insisted. "It makes me believe in soulmates."

"Oh, god," I exhaled exasperatedly, rolling my eyes.

Kaka swatted at me. "Don't be so pessimistic."

"I have to be. I'm a realistic woman." Or a doubtful one. I was a recovering romantic at best.

Fennel turned his bark onto Alex. "You think you'll marry her, Alex?"

"Don't answer that,” I quickly insisted. “They're wanting to cause trouble. They did the same thing with me."

Alex looked tempted but listened to my instructions. He turned to the two men. "How'd you two meet?"

When we left there was a drizzle of rain. Not enough to wet your clothes, but enough to huddle close to one another as we walked to the subway. Alex squeezed my hip, playing with the sculpture of the bone. "Do you want to get married?"

"We've talked about this." The whole subject made me feel awkward. I felt too young for the subject.

But then Alex said, "No. I mean, do you want to get married tonight?"

"It's midnight!" Deflection.

"Then, in the morning."

I shook my head. "No."

Alex looked like the air had been taken out of him. He readjusted and continued walking. "Okay."

"Maybe in like two years." Or two decades. The whole thing gave me body sweats.

"What's the difference between now and 2 years?" He didn’t ask it accusatorially. He was inquisitive.

"We're 24!” Frontal lobe and all that. “I can't tell if you're being serious now or not?"

He lightly shook his hair around. "Maybe a little. If you wanted to, I would. I'd do whatever for you. If I can give it to you, I will."

"Are you sure?" He worried me too much when he talked about giving things to me. He had always stretched himself and I was sure one day he would break.

He squeezed my hand. "What's going on?"

"What's going on with you? This overcompensation or whatever. I don't want you to give me everything. Keep some for yourself."

He looked at me for a moment, thinking it over. Then, he said, "Fine. Half to you then."

"40%."

"45%."

We went to Coney Island because I really wanted to ride the Cyclone. It was the first really hot day of the year. Unknown to us, it was also Memorial Day Weekend, which meant the beaches were open, which meant everyone, their mother, and their grandmother were at Coney Island.

Alex could wait in lines. I could whine to Alex while we waited in lines. He bought us enough tickets to ride the Cyclone and then go home because I was miserable in the heat and in line. But the line to get on the Cyclone was long and we had been standing there for what felt like hours.

"It's been 5 minutes," he noted. "We can come back another day."

"No," I moaned. "I want to do it today. I had it all planned out. I had planned to ride a rollercoaster today."

He laughed. "How do you plan to ride a rollercoaster?"

"You eat light so you don't throw up."

Alex tossed his head back in laughter. Suddenly, he snapped his head down with a concerned look on his face. "Have you not eaten anything today?"

"Well, yeah, I didn't want to throw up."

"God,” he scoffed, “no wonder you're in a horrible mood."

"I'm not in a horrible mood."

He gave me a look. He grabbed my hand and yanked us out of line. "Where are we going?"

"To eat. The Cyclone will still be there next weekend."

When we went next weekend, I loved the Cyclone and wanted to ride every ride there. I then threw up after the tilt-a-whirl.

I wrote a piece for The Paris Review in June. Alex sent it to what felt like everyone we knew. He attached it with a note that The Paris Review was located in New York and not Paris. He was very fascinated by that.

He had flown to London for the theatrical release of Submarine when the piece was published. It felt like a mighty contrast. The songs Alex had written for Submarine were what I would describe as the last box that had yet to be unpacked in our apartment. They were vulnerable but covered in metaphors I'm not sure anyone understood other than me.

He had played them for me, asked for my opinion, revised, and played again. It was the first time Alex workshopped music with me since "Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts." I always thought it was because he didn't have the band to work with. He has denied this and said that the songs were meant for me first, the movie was inconsequential. I'm not sure how true that is and how much Alex just wants to take credit for being a romantic or something.

Either way, he wrote me a note before he left. He tucked it in my journal to make sure I wouldn't find it until he left. It read, There’s a piece of you in this, and in me.

My piece was fictional. It was about a girl who drinks too much coffee. It's hard to explain without it sounding stupid.

I didn't write about Alex much. Opal found this weird when I had shown her my work last year. She said he was such a big part of me that it seemed bizarre I didn't write about him. My explanation, mostly, was the protective quality I held over Alex. His songs were shielded in forty different metaphors before you got to me. In my work, as evidence here, I name names, especially in these years when my name was so attachable to Alex’s.

I had shifted back to writing fiction because that's what most literary magazines like The Paris Review accepted. Of course, I'm not a girl who drinks too much coffee at all.

I liked the stability of the Condé Nast job but I had been indulging myself in fantasies of writing a book again. When Alex returned to New York, I told him this over lunch. We went to Lexington Candy Shop, which is a diner, not a candy shop. Another thing Alex wouldn’t shut up about.

I drank a malt shake (coffee-flavoured) and Alex had a Coke (the old-fashioned way where the syrup and soda water is stirred together, not the really old-fashioned way with coke like Alex wouldn't stop joking about) while we waited for our food. "I think I want to go for it."

Alex was contagious. You could believe you could do anything with that smile. "You should. You have one guaranteed customer."

"Well, you'd read anything I'd write."

"'Cause it's good."

"Don't butter me up."

"Come on, you know you're a great writer, Janie. You don't get into The Paris Review as a shite writer."

"Shut up about The Paris Review," I laughed.

I reached across and squeezed my hand. It made me squirmish. "I'm never shutting up about The Paris Review and that's because I read this really good piece about coffee in it and—"

"Stop talking about coffee too. You're making me stressed."

"Ease up. You'll be a New York Times bestseller by this time next year."

I stood up, running away from his stress-inducing words. "I'm going to the bathroom."

He crossed his arms. "That won't change anything."

We returned home. Alex put on a record and I decided to act like I was reading a book until Alex sat beside me. Then, I decided to makeout with him. Hormones. I'm not sure what his excuse was since he wouldn't stop grabbing my ass. "Are we about to have sex to The Beatles?" I asked as "All My Loving" sounded out through our apartment.

"Yeah. It's what John Lennon would have wanted." He pushed me down into the couch cushions. I was the meat in a sandwich between the two.

"I love this song," I mused against his lips.

"Good,” he huffed. “Let's fuck to it."

"Stop," I shrieked, laughing too hard to focus on his penis. I pushed him up off of me and sat up, collecting the trash that had accumulated on the coffee table.

Like any typical guy, he said, "Come on, Janie, I had to take care of this myself all week."

I knocked, "You masturbated all week?"

"I did other things too," he joked.

I was slightly fishing for a compliment but I was genuinely curious too when I asked, "What do you do it too?"

He laughed at my question. He scruffed my hair up. "You, you fucking idiot. What else? What do you think about?"

I shrugged. "I don't masturbate."

"Liar."

"I don't," I insisted.

"You told me you used to have a vibrator."

"Not anymore." I hadn’t thought to bring it through customs. It was tossed around the London to LA move.

"You don't masturbate? Why?" Alex was still stuck in that heightened sexual teenage boy phase. It made it so sex seemed like the only answer. He eventually grew out of this but it was an enduring fixture of his personality for a while.

I shrugged. "I don't like it."

"How can you not like it?”

"I get all sad after. I don't really do it anymore." It made me depressed for the whole day after. I would think about growing up too quickly and dying alone. Maybe that’s just how I was in the aughts. I didn’t give it up completely. Things would change soon after this conversation. I also got on anti-depressants.

"Why?"

"Is it shocking that someone isn't thinking about sex 24/7?"

"Well, yeah.” I did think about it often but not like Alex, still-not-fully-matured did. “I'm not good enough to masturbate to." Now, he was fishing for compliments.

I stood up from the couch and walked to the garbage bin. "No, it's more like...the other way."

He turned to me with an open jaw. "I'm that good in bed?"

"Don't get an inflated ego on me. I'll refuse to have sex with you if you start boasting."

"I won't boast. I'll just show off." He pulled me down, stuffing me between him and the couch. He made a great effort into "proving it." In a way, it kind of ruined it. I mean, he had this smug look on his face the whole time and he was so into the thought that he was good at it that he started to not be good at it.

"When you get off your pedestal, sir, can you actually fuck me?" I asked.

He seemed to snap out of it and realized he was inside me and not himself. "Fuck. Sorry."

Later, around "Devil in Her Heart," Alex laid his head on my stomach. He'd move around and kiss around my stomach, sometimes rising up to my breasts, but mainly hanging out around my belly button.

I sighed from exhaustion, lust, and resignation. "I have to get glasses."

Alex laughed against my liver. "You can see fine. I think you've got a couple decades before you have to worry about glaucoma."

"No. The doctor told me I have to get glasses."

Alex seemed to find this really funny. "Are you serious? You're gonna look so geeky."

"Gee, thanks."

He kissed my diaphragm repeatedly. "I like nerds. Are you going to have to wear them all the time?"

"No, just at night. I've been struggling in the dark."

"You're gonna get night vision. Like Batman."

I got the glasses about a week later and I walked back into the apartment wearing them. Alex looked up from the couch, placed his hand over his heart, and said, "Everyone must hate you."

I tossed my keys in the little dish by the door that Alex had made it at a ceramics session that we did together about a month prior. "Enlighten me," I said with a laugh.

"You're just fucking gorgeous, Janie," Alex decided. He looked back down at his book like I burned his eyes.

I kicked my shoes off. "Careful. I'll get a complex."

"What? Like you'll finally believe me."

"I believe you," I promised. I had grown confident in myself or at least confident enough in Alex to believe he wasn't lying to me. "Or I'll try to."

I sat down beside him on the couch and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Here," he pointed his finger to the middle of the page, "read this sentence."

I rolled my eyes but obliged. "'So they went on for a good while, talking now of their cards and now about me, as though I were not in the room'—how long do I have to do this for?"

He smashed his lips against my cheek. "That's all." He returned to his book and I ordered us dinner.

A few days later, we were trapped inside due to the pouring rain. I was working on a review for work and Alex was reading. He had a cigarette in his mouth but it was unlit. I think he was going through the motions but couldn't go outside to smoke it and I refused to let him smoke indoors.

My feet poked at the side of his body. Every five minutes or so, I'd poke my toes into him. He'd laugh, whether provoked or ticklish, it was an acknowledgment of our presence with one another.

Thunder pounded through and Alex squeezed my foot to get my attention. I looked up at him through my lenses. He smirked, which I knew meant he was thinking something foul. "Can I fuck you with your glasses on?"

I don't mean for this year to seem particularly nasty but we did...you know...do it all the time. There wasn't much else to do. We were together all the time, we would talk over dinner, share this alone time together, and then I or Alex (usually Alex) would hit a point in the evening where we might as well just get on with it. Besides, this instant was pretty important. You know, with the thunderstorms. And my glasses. Alex really likes that part.

Alex and I went to an antique store in Dobbs Ferry because Fennel, who had been vacationing in Mykonos for the last month, needed me to pick up a statuaries from this rare antiques store. We decided to make a day trip out of it. Not there was much to do in Dobbs Ferry.

We shared headphones on the way up. Our moods were transactional through the iPod. Alex had this habit of scrolling his finger back and forth on the dial. It would make this scrolling noise, but I kind of liked that noise so I never stopped him.

We walked the town's aqueduct for a bit. It had felt like the city was on fire but just a little north felt cooler. Maybe it was the fresh rain with that dewy smell. Alex's jeans ended up getting grass stains on the butt of them because he sat down in the wet field.

At lunch, we shared a stack of pancakes and Alex let me eat all the bacon. "I can't remember the last time I had a proper breakfast," I said as I chewed into the syrup-soaked fried batter.

Alex chuckled. "It's noon. I think it's more like lunch."

"Shush," I forced him out. I looked around and observed the tiny diner we were in. It's exactly what you'd imagine for a small town with men having coffee at the counter and mother and child having lunch. "I like it here."

Alex nodded with a smile. "You like a small town."

I shook my head. "Just for a bit. Not forever."

At the start of August, Matt visited us for a week. He slept on the couch and ate all our food but we all had a great time. Not since Barnsley had just the three of us hung out, especially for an extended period of time. Matt and I—just the two of us—hadn't hung out in close to eight years. Not that we ever were best of friends but it's weird how he had adapted more into Alex's friend than my friend. Nonetheless, he still felt like a brother to me. Or maybe brother-in-law.

Alex went out to the store one evening, leaving just Matt and I and whatever movie we were semi-watching. Matt sat up from his slumped back state, placing his beer on the coffee table. "I'm gonna have a smoke. You gonna join me?"

I giggled. "Oh, Matt, you know just the way to my heart."

We travelled up to the apartment building's rooftop. It was sparse besides a picnic table and a grill. The Fourth of July party had been held up there. Alex and I went for the free food but had to endure several Revolutionary War jokes. Matt sat on one side of the table and I sat on the other, an ashtray between us.

"I can't remember the last time we smoked together," I commented.

Matt lit his up before handing me the lighter. "At least not cigarettes," he laughed. "It's funny. This is all we used to do."

"Used to? Speak for yourself." I knew Matt didn't smoke that much anymore. Not like Alex and I who upheld equality with one another on who was going to get lung cancer first. We smoked enough to decide we'd both probably get it under the same time. Depressing romanticism.

"It's weird to think of a time before you and Alex got together," he said, flicking the ash.

I fanned the smoke away from my eyes. "Yeah. It's hard for me to imagine."

"And you guys are good and all that?" His tone was traced with suspicion or maybe I was just misplacing it there.

"Yeah." He nodded but stayed silent and I grew worried that I was being left out on something but I didn't want to touch it. "And you? Are you good?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. I'm good, Jane."

I joined him in laughter. "Good."

The roof door opened and Alex walked through. "Thought you two ran off."

"We kind of did. We made it as far as the roof," I told him as he walked over to us.

He sat next to Alex and grabbed a cigarette from himself. "Am I joining one of those fabled smokes?" He asked.

"What?" Matt questioned.

I explained, "When we were younger, and used to sit out on the kerb with one another. I call them Fireside Chats like FDR."

Matt laughed. "I was drunk for most of those. Memory is a little fuzzy."

"You're not alone in that." I stubbed at the cigarette and rested my head on my palm. "I don't want to drink tonight though."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "Pregnant?"

"Shut up." I rolled my eyes and wondered if Alex had told Matt about the scare back in winter. "I have work tomorrow."

"Oh," Matt uttered, "little Janie's all professional now."

Alex nodded. "Yeah. What losers the rest of us are."

"Yeah. If Jane of all people can settle down—"

I interjected, ready to fight, "I was not that horrible." Alex and Matt only met me with a stare causing another eye roll from me. "I'm going to bed."

Alex and Matt stayed put and I assumed they were going to have one of their own Fireside Chats. "We'll try and be quiet," Alex told me before I pecked his lips.

I walked over and placed a kiss on Matt's cheek. He slapped his hand over the cheek, wiping it down. "Ew. You slobber like my mum."

"God. What a baby you are." With that, I went downstairs. I'm not sure what time they went to bed but when I left for work the next morning, they were both dead asleep. Not even the sound of me dropping my coffee arose them.

Alex was writing something. I woke up and the red light of the clock blared out, the time reading 4:34 AM. I rubbed my eye, scrubbing the dream out of me. His pen moved across the page and he was propped up against the headboard with his notebook tilted under the soft light coming from his small bedside lamp.

He felt my movement and turned to me as I flipped onto my side to look up at him, his eyebrows knitted. "Did I wake you?"

I shook my head against the pillow. "I don't think so. Why are you still up?" I held the tip of his elbow to keep in touch with him.

"Woke up about an hour ago. Couldn't fall back to sleep." He was scratching his pen up and down across his page, just making lines.

I flipped onto my back, roughing my hands through my hair. "Probably because it's so fucking hot in here." Our landlord had turned the AC off a week ago when it seemed like it was finally getting cold until the temperatures started shooting back up this week. "I might take a shower. I feel so sweaty." I sat up, throwing my legs off the bed.

I could hear the smirk in his voice. A light chuckle as he said, "Let me know if you do."

My phone rang. "I bet it's Stacey," I told Alex. "She still doesn't understand the whole timezone thing."

"She's 18 and she still doesn't know about timezones?" Alex questioned.

I sighed as I tied my hair up. "Let me rephrase. She doesn't care about the whole timezone thing."

"Ah," Alex said as I picked up the phone.

I moved into the bathroom, preparing to start the shower as I talked to Stacey. I sat in the bathroom, on the toilet seat, for about 10 minutes before I moved back into the bedroom. "Shower time?" He asked him with a grin that could kill.

"No." I shook my head walking back over to my side of the bed. I threw my phone down on the bed and picked at my fingernails. "My dad had a heart attack."

I could hear Alex closing his notebook but didn't look up. I wasn't sure how to deliver news and make eye contact at the same time. "Is he okay? Are you okay?" He crawled across the bed and stood up beside me.

I dropped my hands and moved past him going to our dresser. "Yeah. No. He's fine for a guy who just had a heart attack. I mean, he'll live and all that." I hadn't realized that I started pacing back and forth across our bedroom. I would stop at our dresser but then I would keep moving.

"Good. Now. Jane. Sit," Alex instructed me.

I listened. He was my guide. I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to figure out what I was doing. "I should go back home."

"Okay. I'll look for flights." He moved for my laptop, sat in my backpack on the floor.

I stayed on the bed. "Should you?"

He looked up at me. I was looking at his eyes but I didn't even realize what was going on. I hadn't processed anything. I was busy facing the fact my parents could in fact die and that I also was not immortal. Alex wasn't sure what to do or what I wanted him to do. "Do you want me not to go?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure if I should go."

Alex moved toward me on his knees. He stopped in front of me and leaned over my knees. "I think you should. At least for Stacey."

"Right." I’m not sure if I went for Stacey. She would have Greg and Harper, even my mother, for comfort. I’m not sure if I felt an obligation to go too. It seemed cruel not to show up after a medical emergency but since the move to America, I hadn’t seen them other than during Christmas. They had never visited me. They rarely called me. It made me think that if I didn’t show up they wouldn’t be that shocked. But I knew I wasn’t held to the same standard as them and having a heart attack is much more serious than anything I had going on.

We got into a taxi at some point but I think I was still trying to figure out if I was still in a dream or if we were in fact going to JFK Airport. Alex must have packed the suitcase because I don’t remember doing anything. I became a functioning human being around when we sat at our gate for about 15 minutes. The flight wasn't boarding for another hour. Alex had gotten me a coffee and a glazed donut for Dunkin' Donuts. He got a Boston Kreme and coffee for himself.

He sat with his hand on my knee as I scarfed down my donut as a form of something to do. I wiped my fingers on the napkin and leaned back in my chair with the warm coffee in my hand. "I broke my wrist when I was 10," I told Alex. I could tell he wasn't expecting me to speak. "I sat waiting for my mum to pick me up for over an hour. They finally decided to call my dad and he showed up in 15 minutes. Five minutes less than his drive from work to my school."

"I honestly wasn't expecting the story to go that way," Alex confessed. There’s a million untold stories from my childhood that Alex had never heard. They were tricky for me to go about.

I breathed a laugh, relieving the tension from both of us. "Neither was I. It was right after Tommy and I guess a broken wrist was one step away from being dead." Alex squeezed my thigh and I thought about Tommy. I hadn't thought about him in a while.

We sat together for a moment before Alex bit into his Boston Kreme. The cream smeared over his nose. I laughed, which pleased him even if I was mocking him. “It’s all over your face. You look like you can’t properly feed yourself.”

We boarded the flight and arrived in London a little after 6 PM. I fell asleep after take-off and didn't wake up until the jolt from landing. Alex stayed awake the whole time.

We took the train out to Bath and Greg would pick us up at the train station. Halfway through the train ride, I said to Alex, "Thanks."

He pushed my hair back and stroked my cheek. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I've never been to Bath."

I laughed into the palm of his hand. "I'm glad this is working out for someone."

Visiting hours had ended about an hour before we arrived. The family report was that he was fine and Greg drove Alex and me back to the family home. We had dinner together where we mainly talked about my father. Alex and I went to bed after in a stripped-down guest room.

We had been in Bath for two days when Alex finally asked the question what I knew he had been thinking since we arrived. "Can we go on a drive?" My car had sat in my parents' garage since I drove it down when they moved. I'm sure they hated it being stuffed in their driveway but Alex was insistent on keeping it so I insisted to my parents to not get rid of it. For some reason, they didn't.

I didn't know much of Bath. Stacey told me she sometimes went to Henrietta Park with her friends so I decided we would drive there. Alex fiddled with things. The radio, the window, the glove compartment. He was trying to check if everything still worked. He missed this car more than I did. I rarely thought about it other than the remarks my mother would make over the rare phone calls that it was still sitting in the garage.

Alex sighed and leaned back in the passenger seat. "I love you."

I chuckled at the affection but replied, "Love you too."

He looked over at me. I could feel the stare but my eyes remained on the road. "Just getting to do this with you. I love it. I love that we've been in each other's lives for so long."

"Me too."

"We've been together long enough that when I sit here now I'm reminded of how much I loved you then. And, you know, how much I still love you now. More now."

My eyes hurt. I don't think I had cried since we'd been there. I felt overwhelmed by it all. But always him. I couldn't look at him for safety and emotional purposes. I loved him for being there and for being there for such a long time. He had always been my best friend. Even when I had just met him. Like fate. Soulmates or something. "Alex. I have to drive."

He chuckled. "Don't wreck the car now." He kissed my cheek.

a/n: well, there we go. i'm very into writing this right now so hopefully have another part soon. i'll probably do a one-off piece before. we shall see...

#alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner #alex turner smut #junedenim #beneath the boardwalk

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thekindlygrammarfairy · 5 hours ago

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The only thing that seems like it'd work is fixing public education. I remember when I was maybe 12, my class was taken into the library and taught basic internet searching skills, how to spot unreliable websites, and so on. None of it was new to me, but having it presented in an official capacity made me think about it more often and harder from then on.

I had assignments that revolved around research, which taught me a bunch of stuff about how to find good information.

Hell, even the ability to type at a reasonable pace is something I picked up from school.

So, what schools are like these days is going to be speculation, I don't know what's up, and it's going to vary wildly from place to place. But here's my best guess:

Schools, at least in the US, have been slowly bleeding talent, money, and respect since the start of the pandemic. Essentially, kids are left to self-educate. I like teaching myself stuff via online tutorials and stuff, but that only works because I have the necessary self-discipline and underlying skills. It seems like in most schools, everyone is in survival mode, and a lot of stuf that would have been taught because it's "The Right Thing To Do" is hitting the cutting room floor. Nevada's elections are having an issue with young people not being able to sign their names, for example, because we cut cursive teaching. I don't think of cursive as particularly useful, but some things are written in it - and being able to sign your name is of obvious importance.

Services like Instagram and Tiktok are appealing because of their ease of use, and the network effect, and their ability to direct you into a hyperspecific niche. But the time and energy spent in these apps and services (having tried both, they can be incredibly overwhelming) is not spent socializing in a real, tangible community. On Tiktok specifically, it seems like it's actively harder to do something as basic as learn a creator's name. For example, Amaury Guichon's name is on every one of his tiktoks, but everyone calls him Chocolate Guy. This is not true of any other creator I'm aware of. The experiences are smaller and less lasting than any other media, but are the most readily accessible.

The "I don't want to pay money for internet anything" culture is strong, with my generation and younger. Even if quality stuff is out there, we don't want it, because it's behind a 99 cent paywall. Part of this is the soft age-wall for getting a credit card, but part of this is just stubbornness. New York Times and Washington Post, both respected and reasonably-truthful newspapers, are paywalled, but Conservative """Newspaper""" du jour are free. When I see a paywall on a newspaper, my first instinct is to get around it, not pay up. A few outlets, like the Guardian, have started working with, rather than against, this behavior, but they're in the minority. The impact of this attitude on creators on platforms like YouTube and Twitch is a whole other discussion, there's some good and some bad. But "old media" (books, movies, TV, etc.) is suffering - and people who should be experiencing that stuff are suffering too.

Third spaces for young people basically don't exist. Why exactly this is is a long conversation, but the result is that everyone's on their dang phones, even if they'd get along really well with someone who lives half a block away.

Because of all of the above, patience is not a virtue most of us have. On the internet, anything you don't like can be out of your face in seconds, and there's always an infinite void of content to gorge yourself on. In meatspace, not so much. I don't think the "zoomer attention span" is real, I think it's more along the lines of Gen Z have not been taught to tolerate mild discomfort very well. The effects of this on social organizing patterns is... bad.

The result of all of this is that young people (and I'm part of this) don't have solid social ground to stand on. Everything is online platforms and services that are fickle, fragile, and can't be negotiated with. Finding friends is difficult, and everyone's social skills are atrophied to some extent.

How do we fix this? Fund schools, make spaces for young people to hang out in, and find tunnels out of doomscrolls. I've seen a promising trend in YouTube shorts of people linking longer related videos to pull people out of that infinite scroll.

And tumblr is a good example of this. We have a mix of shallow and deep content, and a culture that's not flexible, malleable, and disposable in the same way that TikTok's is.

I am concerned for gen z. Like I don't think they're doing okay. I think algorithms and a systematic denial of easy access to facts because of Internet enshittification has made them unbelievably miserable with very little sense of how warped their online experience is. Idk how to fix it.

#long post #how do i do the cut thing #ramble

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milverton · 2 days ago

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I watch Jake Broe's update videos on the war in Ukraine pretty religiously, so I wanted to share what he had to say in his latest video because I at least felt a little better about this whole new trumpocalypse fiasco after hearing some of the points he made.

Here's his tweet that summarises what he says in the video, but I would recommend still watching the whole thing! (I've bolded the main points)

Okay! We all needed a day to reflect on what happened and I have good news and bad news for Ukraine about Trump returning to the US Presidency.

Let's start with the bad news for Ukraine…

Trump could end all US military cooperation

Trump could lift all sanctions on Russia

Trump could return all frozen assets to Russia

Yes, that is all very bad, but there might be good news.

First, Trump is always transactional. It does not matter if Russia was helping Trump or not in the past, Trump does not feel like he owes anyone anything for past favors. If Trump ever gives something up, then he will want something in return at the same time.

Russia will make demands that Trump is happy to accommodate, but only if Russia agrees to something that makes Trump look good. If Russia refuses, then Trump will rapidly escalate against Russia out of spite. American weapons in Ukrainian hands have already killed hundreds of thousands of Russian soldiers. Putin might refuse any kind of transactional deal with Trump. Nobody knows what either Trump or Putin will do. Trump could inadvertently destabilize Russia without even meaning to.

Second, Trump does not take over until January 20th, which means we know for a fact that Russia is not going to use a nuclear weapon before Trump returns to office. Russia is not going to start a nuclear war if they think Trump will give them favorable terms. Meaning there is no risk of escalation management the next two months. Take the gloves off!

For the next two months Ukraine should be given permission to hit whatever they want with whatever is given to them anywhere on Russian territory. Additionally, Biden now is forced to rush deliver and allocate the rest of America's available funds allocated by Congress to Ukraine this winter.

If instead Harris was re-elected and MAGA controlled Congress, military aid would have ended anyways and Biden would have tried to stretch these funds out until next summer. Biden can't do that now. So Ukraine is actually going to get a huge boost in military aid right away.

Third, even though I do not think Trump cares at all about Ukraine, he does care about his own image and legacy. He is never running for office ever again, but he loves to be loved by his supporters. He does not want to look weak and if Ukraine refuses to a negotiated capitulation and instead fights on without US help, these are going to be top headlines daily (maybe the fall of Kharkiv or the fall of Odesa) and this will make Trump look weak. He hates that. These would be images that would look worse for America than the US withdrawal of Afghanistan.

Forth, Trump hates Iran. Trump fiercely supports Israel and Iran is currently trying to destroy Israel. If Trump takes any military action against Iran (or looks the other way when Israel does) this could weaken or cripple one of Russia's most important allies. Harris was never going to do anything about Iran. Trump might actually cripple Iran and their Russian allied proxies in the Middle East.

Fifth, Trump loves the idea of cheap oil. He might actually find ways (cutting regulations, building more pipes, granting access to more public lands) that brings the global price of oil down so much that this ends up bankrupting Russia faster. That is not Trump's goal, but he might accidentally do it.

Sixth, Europe might finally militarily wake up once Trump stops answering their phone calls. Europe has the population and the economic power to support Ukraine and defeat the Russians without America's help. This is Europe's moment. They can't use America as an excuse anymore for holding them back.

Lastly… this is crazy, but Trump's economic plan of tariffs and trade wars might actually trigger a massive recession in the United States. When the US goes into recession, this almost always triggers a global recession. We realistically need an economic collapse of Russia to defeat them and Trump might accidentally cause this without even wanting to.

It is all weird to think about. But we just do not know what will happen or what the state of the war will be three months from now. It is a complete mystery to everyone, including the Russians.

Keep supporting Ukraine. Russia will be defeated.

youtube

#ukraine #donald trump #us politics #war in ukraine #ukraine war #russia is a terrorist state #russian invasion #russia #jake broe #youtube #video

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signanothername · 15 hours ago

Note

firstly: AAA YOUR ART AND COMICS AND STUFF ARE SO AMAZING!!!!

secondly: do you have any advice on how to come up with comics and then get them out of your head and onto paper?

BZHXHXHD THANK YOU SM!!!

And ooh that’s a good question

I usually come up with comics in one of two ways, either seeing something (whether another artwork, a text, something irl, etc) that inspires an idea for a comic, or via artworks I made that I expand on

Other times, it can actually be both

For example, the “A little life update” comic was actually inspired by this beautiful artwork, I saw it, and I immediately thought of Killer, idk something something about the despair of being stuck between a rock and a hard place etcetera etcetera (yes the comic that shows Killer to be in such a better place in life and show the hope he has, was inspired by crushing despair in actuality)

It made me wanna do something with Killer trying to call someone on a public phone, and so the first page came to be

Here’s the twist tho, I originally was gonna just make it into an artwork (yes, one single decision could’ve meant that comic wouldn’t have ever been made)

But a lil habit of mine is ask myself a shit ton of questions when it comes to my own artworks (it actually helps me turn what’s supposed to be artworks into comics), and that’s another way of how you can come up with comics, ask yourself questions, why is the character doing this? What are they doing? What if character did this? Etc

so I saw what was originally gonna be an artwork, and asked myself, who would Killer be calling if he ever did and why?

And the answer to those two questions that made sense to me most was Nightmare, but that led me to two more questions, when would Killer be calling Nightmare and for what?

And that led me to have a basic idea of how I wanted the comic to go

So it was basically like

Who would Killer be calling? Nightmare

Why would Killer be calling Nightmare if he ever did? That actually had different answers, to taunt him, to inform him of something, cause he misses Nightmare in his own fucked up way, etc

When would Killer be calling Nightmare? After he’s saved, or while still under him? After he’s saved makes more sense

What would Killer call Nightmare for? To give him an update about his life with Color

How would Killer be calling Nightmare? Through a public phone

Where would Killer be calling from? Somewhere in an AU in the surface

These six questions, what, why, when, who, where, how, are important to think of, they give you a basis to work on when it comes to comics in general

You don’t need to have a very clear answer to each of them to be able to work on a comic, but if you can at least answer 3 of them, that would give you enough information to work with in a comic

Now that I have a tiny bit of a clear idea about what I wanted to do (it doesn’t have to be perfect or completely concise) let’s talk about how you take these ideas out of your head and into paper

You can do that by imagining the dialogue in your head and then immediately putting it into paper, as I mentioned here, I actually struggle a lot with dialogue, art? No problem, I can easily imagine the art, but dialogue? It’s hell (please take the time to read the linked post, I talk in depth about how I handle dialogue)

That’s why you shouldn’t worry about perfection at this stage, just put every little piece of dialogue you imagine into paper, even if it feels like it makes no sense or is out of character, that’s something you can worry about later

Put in the dialogue, every little bit of it, and draw the panels that feels right for the dialogue

Here’s a little bit of example about what I mean when I say put the dialogue in then draw panels that make sense for it

This is a comic I plan on making, I actually drew that first panel as a stand alone artwork, then that inspired the dialogue, I wrote the dialogue down immediately, it’s a rough version of it, maybe I’ll keep it the same, maybe I’ll change it up as I work through the comic, but so far, I’m drawing the panels based on the dialogue so far, see what I mean by write the dialogue down? It helps IMMENSELY

It doesn’t have to be perfect and it certainly doesn’t have to be the final version, but writing it down will help you imagine the art that comes with it

Does that mean you can never start with the art then think of the dialogue? NO

You absolutely can start with the art for the comic first, in fact, sometimes, doing that actually helps you imagine the dialogue better, other times you can’t really think of a dialogue but have a very clear image in your head about certain character interactions, draw that it’s ok, silent comics focusing on character interaction, is a thing that you can do without worrying about dialogue

Now when it comes to the actual making of a comic, first tip is find your own footing when it comes to comic making

Like listen, people are gonna tell you that the correct thing to do is that you have to make thumbnails for the comic before you make the actual comic to make sure the flow is good and you have room for speech bubbles and what not

Here’s the thing, making thumbnails for your comic is a life saver, it’s great, if you can do that go for it! But for a person like me with little to no energy, I can’t do that without losing interest and immediately abandoning my comic, I can’t do that without becoming frustrated and hate art for it

That’s why I say find your footing, if making thumbnails before working on the actual pages works for you go for it! or you can immediately just work on the actual comic itself like I do, it’s all about what you’re comfortable with and what makes more sense to you

That being said, when it comes to the panels themselves, always aim for less panels and more pages than the other way around

Sometimes, emphasis on certain emotions or aspects of the comic can only be done with fewer panels

That’s why my own comics would sometimes have pages that are either one or two panels max

The less panels you have in a page, the more concise, clear, and easy to follow your comic is, one of the biggest mistakes I made as a beginner artist, is that I focused on cramping the story in as few pages as possible rather than focus on the clarity of the comic

Here’s an example

Good luck reading that dggxgdgdh

This is a very old comic I made back in 2018? 2019?, I wanted the comic to be one page so bad I cramped everything into it without thinking about the fact people are gonna have a very hard time reading it, like this easily could’ve been 3-5 pages but old me couldn’t imagine doing that many pages (if she could see me now with 15 pages comics dhhdhdg) not only that, but the panels’ arrangement makes 0 sense

So when you make your panels there are 2 things to keep in mind:

1- less panels and more pages = clear easy to follow comic, as well as a better emotional impact

2- panel arrangement has to make sense and should be easy to follow, you can make sure it’s easy to follow by reading your own comic over and over as you’re making it, if you find difficulty following the dialogue or art, then it’s best to refine, change or edit your panel or dialogue arrangement

Another thing to keep in mind when making the comic is the flow, the best way to go about making sure that the flow makes sense is by thinking of the comic as you would an animation, how did the character go from point A to point B?

For example this page

Killer clearly has a bit of a distance from Nightmare in the second panel, so how did Killer go from being at a distance (point A), to right in front of Nightmare in the last panel (point B)? That’s what the two panels in between the these two points are for, is to show you that 1- Nightmare is using his tentacle, and 2- that tentacle wrapped around Killer’s arm, the rest would easily be filled in by your brain that Nightmare basically pulled him closer

Now for the ending of a comic, not every comic has to have a clear ending where it marks the end of a story, but rather, you can go for whatever satisfies you as an ending, or keep an ending ambiguous or open, to expand on a comic later

I say that the perfect ending for a comic is what gets the point of a comic across, if the point is made, then it’s a good panel to end the comic with

Don’t be afraid to scarp any page or panels if they make the comic awkward or if they don’t make sense or if it seems out of character don’t hesitate to change, edit or completely delete it

An example is the “choice” comic, it actually originally was 4 pages, I just decided to scrap the last page cause of two reasons

1- it added nothing to the comic

2- it was out of character for Stage 2 Killer

My last advice is don’t force the process, sometimes, the best way to go about making comics is to make them on your own time and slowly, sometimes, you get stuck with certain things in the comic, other times, you need a bit to figure out how to proceed with the comic, completely normal in the process, that’s why it’s important to work on comics in a way that suits you, but you can’t find what suits you without trial and error, so go and test the waters, you can never learn until you practice it yourself

Good luck, hope this helps, lemme know if you need more clarification or help, i’d be happy to help where I can <333

#anothers ask #anothers art #ano saves asks

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bokutosbabe · 5 hours ago

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It Always Leads To You

( bllk boys as situationships )

a/n — girl whose never had a situationship writing about them? what could go wrong? (they progressively get longer lol)

content — some nsfw but not explicit, pining, GN! reader, some characters repeated, all characters are 18 or 18+

synopsis — what kind of situationship the bllk boys would be

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' and the heart i'm breaking is my own ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' but you're best friends! '

you'd rather spend money on a hotel than stay at home 24/7 for the next week. how could you walk into your house when you knew he'd be there, chatting with you family as if nothing had changed?

maybe you should've pretended you had to work.

that would have saved you the grief of having to see, who was supposed to be, your best friend. how could you face him when the last thing you two talked about was being a couple and that...not going as planned.

well, maybe that wasn't the last thing you two talked about with each other. however, does defiling your families bathroom really count as 'talking'? ( most awkward easter ever afterwards ) you didn't really think so.

whatever, he was a pro-soccer player now, he may not even be at home this christmas. you'd just have to put up with his family, who you'd always loved, and then you could go home and avoid the situation until the next big holiday.

but of course, when you stepped into your childhood home you realized that you'd never get that lucky. there he was, just as handsome as ever, sitting on your families couch.

in your eyes, he looked like he belonged with your family more than you, but you supposed he earned that. he came home every holiday, unlike you who continuously came up with different reasons to stay as far away as possible.

if you left now, maybe no one would know you'd even shown up-

" woah, y/n! it's you! " or...maybe not. " i haven't seen you in forever, what have you been up to? " the voice that plagued your every waking thought crashed its way into your ears.

your best friend ( could you even call him that anymore? were you still his best friend? ) got up from his spot on the couch to come wrap his arms around you in a hug that felt more like home than home did.

" i've missed you, ya know? " he whispered in your ear, hands caressing your back in what felt like much more than what a 'friends' hug would be.

just a week. you could survive and coexist with him for a week. your resolve to never sleep with him set in stone now.

you just wished your resolve wouldn't have crumbled only two days later while your family was downstairs watching christmas movies.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ REO MIKAGE, isagi yoichi, AIKU OLIVER, rensuke kunigami, TOBITO KARASU

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the ' you cannot date them '

you’re a good person... or at least, you want to believe that. But how can you when your best friend sits in front of you now, talking about their ex?

she’s raving about how much she misses him, how everything fell apart at the worst time, how she’s still holding onto the hope that maybe they can fix things.

you try to smile and nod, pretending that you’re not dying inside. how can you even look her in the eye when he’s blowing up your phone right now? when you know exactly how he feels about you?

“it’s just so messed up, right?” she laughs nervously, like this is all just a bad breakup, nothing that can’t be smoothed over. “i’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

she doesn’t know that you already did something. You already did the one thing that could ruin everything. the one thing that she told you you could never do.

your phone continuously buzzing while she's talking, hoping she wouldn't notice you reach for it to silence it while she takes a sip of her drink.

your phone vibrates again, and you try not to look at it. you’re not sure if you’re worried that she’ll see, or that you’ll see what he’s saying. you’re scared of both.

him <3 ; are we still on for tonight? can’t wait to see you.

that familiar ache forms in your chest, and you can feel the betrayal to your friend, the confusion about your own feelings, but worse—there’s nothing you can do about it. you keep smiling, even though it feels like your heart’s sinking with every word your friend says.

" god, if you don't want to listen to me, just say so. " your friend says coldly. " i would have turned off my phone if it was you crying right now. "

" sorry, it's just my mom...talking about some new present she wants to get my brother. " you apologized. "oh, okay. is your brother a cutie?" you didn't even have a brother, showed how much she knew about you.

“whatever, what should i do?" your friend asks, her eyes bright with hope (or maybe delusion). "do you think I should text him? do you think we could still fix things?”

you want so badly to tell her the truth.

you want to be honest, to say what she needs to hear so that she doesn’t get her hopes up.

you want to tell her that he is already texting you, that maybe you are the reason he won’t talk to her.

but instead, you bite your lip and offer a shrug. "i don't know, honestly. maybe he needs time to figure out what he wants too."

"he doesn't need time. he needs me." she mused, staring at you like your answer was just the stupidest thing she'd heard all day. "no wonder you've never dated anyone, who'd like a ditz like you?"

The whole time, your phone is buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, like a constant reminder of your lie.

you; see you tonight :)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ OTOYA EITA, ikki niko, RANZE KURONA, reo mikage, RYUSEI SHIDO

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧the... ' you'll never be first '

he's leaving soon, and you feel like you're dying.

you’d known for a long time that ‘casually’ seeing a pro soccer player would only lead to being left alone, especially someone like him—someone whose work always came first, and whose heart was as unreachable as the trophies he collected.

he’d said it more times than you could count: “love doesn’t come before soccer. It never will.” and you’d laughed, maybe even agreed at some point, understanding it was just the way things were.

so why does it feel like you’re drowning now, with him leaving just around the corner.

it doesn’t make sense. you’d known the deal from the start.

still, here you are—sitting in his bed, in the quiet of his room, the familiar hum of the city outside reminding you of how little time you really have left with him.

his suitcase is by the door, already half-packed, his jersey draped over the chair where he’d left it, as if he couldn't get out of here fast enough.

you’re almost sick to your stomach at the thought of him walking out that door in just a few days, never looking back.

you’ve spent enough time with him to know that when he leaves, he doesn’t look back. he doesn't look back at stadiums once he walks out, and he wouldn't look back at you either.

"it’s only a few months," he’d said, trying to make you feel better when the topic of him leaving first got brought up. “i’ll be back before you know it.”

but that’s not the point.

it’s never been the point.

you know he’ll be busy with games, traveling, sponsors,...women, all the things that make him too far to reach.

and yet, here you are, sitting in his bed, heart pounding, overwhelmed with the thought of it all ending. you thought you could handle this.

you thought you could be just another notch in his belt. but the truth is, you’ve been fooling yourself. you care too much. you’ve fallen for him, hard, and the worst part is—he doesn’t even realize it.

or maybe he does. maybe he’s known all along, and you were too scared to admit it.

the sound of his voice pulls you from your thoughts.

"hey, you okay?"

you glance over at him, watching him fiddle with his phone, one hand propped up on the headboard. his eyes meet yours, something in them that almost makes you believe he could stay. maybe, you're enough of a reason for him to stay where he is now.

but he won’t. you know that. his life is bigger than you. bigger than this city, this bed, and every memory you’ve shared together.

you nod, forcing a smile, trying to keep the strange bitterness from slipping into your voice.

"yeah, just thinking."

"don’t think too much." his lips curl up into that calming grin that’s made you feel better on several occasions. how could something that used to calm you make you feel like your heart was in your throat? “you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

it’s easy for him to say that. he’s used to moving on. he’s used to leaving. you? you're used to him being here.

his fingers tap absently against the screen of his phone. you can see the notifications lighting up—his agent, a few teammates, probably his parents, all reminding you of the inevitable: he’s leaving soon.

you want to scream. you want to ask him why he doesn’t care. why it’s so easy for him to slip away from everyone who loves him.

but instead, you pull your knees to your chest and keep your eyes fixed on him, as if the longer you look, you could magically gain telepathy to make him want to stay with you.

"how’s your flight looking?" you ask, hoping his answer would be that he cancelled it.

"all set."

and you can't breathe.

the casualness in his voice is what stings the most. the way he talks about leaving as if it’s just another day at the office, another game to be played.

he doesn’t get how you feel. maybe he can’t. maybe he’s just too busy not feeling anything.

The silence is deafening.

"do you... do you ever wish you could just stay?"

It’s a question you didn’t mean to ask, but it escapes before you can stop it.

You wish you could take it back the second it leaves your lips.

he looks up at you, and for the briefest moment, his eyes soften. for one second, he looks like he is completely and utterly yours.

he sets his phone down, sliding it onto the bedside table, then turns his full attention to you.

"i told you, didn’t i? love doesn’t come before soccer."

The words hit you like a train, but it’s not the truth that hurts—it’s the way he says it, like it’s not up for debate. as if it’s always been this way, and it always will be.

why can't he just try? just try to come home every so often...to you.

you feel like a fool. as if you've put your heart on display for him just to not even glance your way.

you know where you stand, even if it’s tearing you apart.

he doesn’t lie to you, doesn’t promise you things he can’t give, and maybe that's why you fell for him in the first place—he was the first person who didn’t play games with you.

"i’m gonna miss you," you say quietly, knowing that admitting it aloud makes it even worse.

his eyes flicker with something, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. he shifts, pulling his knees up to match yours, as if to say he’s close, but still so far. he rests his head back against the headboard.

and for a moment, you almost forget he’s leaving. you forget about the suitcase by the door. you forget about the plane ticket he has. you forget that in just a few days he wont be yours anymore.

"i’ll miss you too," he says softly.

but that’s it. that’s all he says. it’s not a promise, not a declaration. just another passing remark to fill the silence.

he doesn't mean it. it's more of a kindness thing for him to say it back.

you can feel the weight of everything unsaid.

you realize—he doesn’t know how much you care. He can’t understand you.

he’s never been asked to stay.

you’re not even sure you’d want him to. you can’t ask him to change his life for you. and you couldn't keep up with the lifestyle he lives.

the idea of him walking away—of losing him to something bigger, to something you’ll never be able to keep��feels like it will break you.

so you just lie down on his bed, for the last time, you tell yourself.

'after tonight, he'll be free of me'

after tonight, you'd walk out that door and not look back.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ITOSHI RIN, nagi seishiro, SAE ITOSHI, isagi yoichi, RENSUKE KUNIGAMI

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' to leave the warmest bed i've ever known ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[ + your faves ! ]

again, i've never experienced this, so i hope the research i've done (looking up different types of situationships) has done it justice!

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #airy writes for blue lock #bllk x reader #situationships #isagi yoichi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #kenyu yukimiya x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi x reader #mikage reo x reader #ranze kurona x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader fluff #bllk #blue lock

29 notes · View notes

seitmai · 14 hours ago

Text

I absolutely loved this and have many thoughts undert the cut

“You’re really sure it’s okay for me to be here? They’re your friends and I’m just… some dude.” “Yeah, some dude who’s sucked the same dick I have and is a giant sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes and dragged him after you onto the elevator, leaning against his chest and winding your fingers through his affectionately. “Plus, we’re officially besties after that skinny dipping incident.”

That's some real bonding🤭😅

“And you’re so jealous, poor baby.” Ari bit Ransom’s ear gently before sliding his hand even higher, squeezing Ransom’s thigh and purring when the man whined and leaned into his touch. “I'm so sorry, pretty boy, you deserve all the attention, you’re getting married after all. Gonna have such a pretty wife to spoil you and treat you nice like you deserve.” “Fuck, you know how worked up I get when anyone calls her my wife, you teasing bastard.” Ransom downed the rest of his drink and growled before turning to face Ari, practically crawling into the man’s lap when he finally slid his hand up to cup his bulge as he smashed their lips together. “I’m going to marry her, god she’s so fucking perfect.”

They both exactly know how to get each other worked up 🤭

“Don’t give me that look, I don’t wanna lose my membership to this place just because we’re both sluts. We’re gonna finish in the car.” “‘M not… shit.” Ransom tossed his head back and gasped when Ari pressed into him harder, whimpering when he felt his beard scratching against his throat as he licked that spot that drove him crazy and he rolled his hips up to meet him. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t stop.”

No chance in pretending with Ari 🤭

“She said she wanted regular updates, and I think the first orgasm of the night is something she’d want to know about.” Ari shoved his phone back in his pocket and gripped Ransom’s chin, forcing his gaze back to him and giving him a sly smile as he rubbed their noses together. “Now quit being a brat and kiss me.”

Good reason for an update, I approve

“God, you’re all so fucking dramatic, calm down!” You had to start chucking ice at all of them when they started pulling up their phones to send threats to your fiancé, still staring daggers at Jake, even though there was no way you could stay mad at him, he was just trying to protect you. “Ransom is not cheating on me. It’s Ari!”

Haha the girls are ready to castrate Ransom 😅

“No, I mean… thanks for this blondie.” Jake at least looked slightly embarrassed. “We’re kinda, sorta, but not totally, in a poly thing with the sex god.” That shut all of them up, Jake’s eyes bugging out of his head as he stared at you while the rest of your friends just gave you blank looks that made you a little nervous. You had never planned on making this part of your relationship public, but here you were.

I mean who wouldn't want to be in a poly thing with a sex god? I certainly would 😌🤷🏻‍♀️

“You boys need to calm down.” Ari rolled his eyes when they gave him nasty looks, sighing when he tried to put an arm around Ransom to comfort him and the man practically cowered. “I’m not gonna put up with any of your homophobic bull shit towards him, so lock it up.” “What? Homophobic?” Dylan had the sense to at least look slightly embarrassed. “Who give a fuck about that, he’s cheating on his fiancée?” “Yeah, news flash, we all know you’re bi, Drysdale.” Chaz shot a glare at Logan when he looked like he was thinking of making a joke. “No one cares.” “You know?” Ransom hated how small his voice sounded, letting Ari put an arm around him this time and blowing out a shuddering breath when he leaned into the man without thought.

I love that the boys were also ready to beat up Ransom lol

And the discussion about his sexuality just warmed my heart, it was so nonchalant and they worried so much more about Ransom than anything else (as they should)

“Oh, and what would you call it?” Dylan took Ari’s phone and scowled as he looked at the screen, his expression melting into one of confusion as he read all the texts you sent about how pretty Ransom looked when he was choking on Ari’s dick and how much you loved both of them. “Huh.” “What?” Chaz took the phone when Dylan handed it to him, blowing out a deep breath that had Ransom burning his face in his hands as he groaned and leaned into Ari even more. “Alright then. Are you… happy?”

Oh he was not ready to air it all out like that 🤭

“Look, Drysdale, I’m just happy that even though you’re getting married you’re still kind of a man whore. So why don’t we all get over this little misunderstanding and hit that gay strip club down the block. Apparently, they have a special on body shots with their dancers. I bet they’ll love you two.”

This is the best reaction haha just worried about is man whire status 😂

“This is so not on me, you could’ve been up front about your little throuple situation.” Your maid of honor just laughed when you snarled at her. “Yeah yeah, you don’t want to define it, whatever. I’ll buy you a lap dance.”

She is the maid of honor for a reason I see 😅

“Jake, I can’t stay mad at you, so please stop apologizing.” You wound your arm through his and leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling when he pressed his cheek against your forehead and let out a deep breath as he handed you your phone. “You’re my bestie blondie, people would’ve found out anyway, though I will admit it would have been nice if it hadn’t been a surprise. Now, go find me all the pretty twunk strippers, okay?”

Poor Jakey is gonna blame himself for this for a while

Sounds like a great night

“That right, pup?” Your voice was low and mixed perfectly with Ari’s deep growl at being called sir, making Ransom’s eyes roll back in his head and his tongue feel like it was too thick for his mouth all of a sudden. “Want him to feed your hungry little pussy?” “Oh, please.” Ransom could hardly breathe when Ari’s whole body pressed against his, feeling the heavy weight of his dick grinding against his hip as he clutched desperately at his waist. “Need it.”

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Ari grinned down at Ransom as he kept sucking on his fingers, cooing when he yelped at Ari grabbing his cock through his panties. The harsh contact was all he needed to come with a sharp cry, his whole body spasming wildly as he came so hard it almost hit him in the face. He kept shivering when Ari curled over him and sank his teeth into his jaw, tears leaking down his cheeks as warmth spread from his core while Ari pumped his cum into him.

🥵🥵🥵

Ransom managed to arch his back all pretty while Ari took his picture and sent it to you, all happy and fuzzy as he floated in the warmth of post-orgasmic bliss. He was vaguely aware of Ari relaying that you said you wanted to lick your pretty puppy clean before he let his eyes fall closed. Damn, he felt so fucking good. The only thing that could have made it better was if you were actually there with them. Maybe he could convince you to convince Ari to come on the honeymoon so he could get it from both ends.

That would definitely be an interesting and intense honeymoon 😌🤭

Always Living in the Final Hour

Summary: Bachelor and bachelorette weekend shenanigans with the (almost) quadrouple.

Words: ~5.5k

Relationship(s): Ransom Drysdale x Ari Levinson, Ransom Drysdale x Ari Levinson x female!reader, Jake Jensen x female!reader (platonic - for now), little peeks at the quadrouple to come y’all.

Warning: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected anal sex, m receiving oral sex, rimming, feminization), established relationships, secrets revealed, mentions of homophobia, misunderstandings, they’re all cute and dumb and in love, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: I love them so much 😭

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on my fics follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

You grinned when you heard the knock at your hotel room door, finishing putting your earrings in and adjusting your tits in your dress before pulling the door open and beaming at Jake.

“Hey… wow, look at you!” He gave you his own smile when he got a look at you, spinning you around then pulling you into a warm embrace once he’d taken you in. “You look amazing, you’re a fucking bombshell.”

“Shut up, you’re so fucking cute.” You giggled when he kissed you on the cheek, playing with the edge of his shirt and kissing him back before dragging him out the door. “Is everyone ready to go!”

“Yep, just waiting on your fine ass.” Jake laughed and smacked your ass playfully as you made your way to the elevator, giving you a mocking pout when you turned around and slapped his chest in retaliation before chewing on his lip with a bit of residual anxiety. “You’re really sure it’s okay for me to be here? They’re your friends and I’m just… some dude.”

“Yeah, some dude who’s sucked the same dick I have and is a giant sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes and dragged him after you onto the elevator, leaning against his chest and winding your fingers through his affectionately. “Plus, we’re officially besties after that skinny dipping incident.”

“Skinny dipping? I told you, I thought I walked through a spider web!” He tickled you and laughed when you pinched his cheek. “Felt like I had the creepy crawlies all over me. No one made you take your clothes off, weirdo.”

“That’s true, but I love being naked, and don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it!” You let him give you a tight hug and lift you off your feet once the doors opened to the lobby, waving at your group and laughing when they cheered as they spotted you. “So since we’ve seen all of each other, and spilled our guts over wine, and we’re best friends, you have to be at my bachelorette party, no arguments, blondie. Alright bitches! We doing any bars or going straight to the strip clubs?”

“Oh shit, is this what you use to fuel your jet, Levinson?” Ransom coughed after downing the shot Ari had handed him, frowning when the larger man just chuckled around his cigar and reached over to squeeze his thigh. “Is it even safe for me to smoke after drinking that?”

“It’s fine, don’t be a baby.” Ari grinned even wider when Ransom smacked his hand away, waving down the waitress to bring another bourbon for the groom. “Stick to your boring brown liquor, Drysdale. And just one more cigar, think your boys are getting antsy.”

“What? Oh my god.” Ransom rolled his eyes when he he looked towards where the frat boys were gathered, waving dismissively when Logan gestured meaningfully at his watch. “Yeah, go! We’ll meet you there. Ridiculous.”

“Mmhm, well, I think they were planning on there being a lot more strippers by this point.” Ari watched them leave before taking the new drinks from the waitress, giving her a large bill and winking at her when she smiled at him before shrugging when Ransom gave him a look. “What?”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Ransom almost inhaled his scotch when Ari cooed sympathetically and scooted closer to him, letting out a delighted laugh when he placed his hand very high up on his thigh and leaned close to nuzzle at his jaw. “Ari! You’re such a whore!”

“Fuck, you know how worked up I get when anyone calls her my wife, you teasing bastard.” Ransom downed the rest of his drink and growled before turning to face Ari, practically crawling into the man’s lap when he finally slid his hand up to cup his bulge as he smashed their lips together. “I’m going to marry her, god she’s so fucking perfect.”

“You’re both perfect, shit.” Ari groaned when Ransom rocked his hips and sucked on Ari’s bottom lip, standing quickly and pulling the younger man with him before he had a chance to protest. “Don’t give me that look, I don’t wanna lose my membership to this place just because we’re both sluts. We’re gonna finish in the car.”

“Yeah, that’ll work.” Ransom whined when Ari pressed him against the side of the car and kissed him hungrily, letting him throw him into the backseat once he got the door open and yanking him on top of his body when they started to drive away. “We don’t even have time to do anything.”

“Nonsense, we have plenty of time.” Ari pulled Ransom’s knees around his hips and molded their lips together, humming when he felt his hard cock pressed against his own and ground into him. “We’re both nice and worked up, pretty sure I can get one out of you, you’re easy.”

“‘M not… shit.” Ransom tossed his head back and gasped when Ari pressed into him harder, whimpering when he felt his beard scratching against his throat as he licked that spot that drove him crazy and he rolled his hips up to meet him. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t stop.”

“Mmm, never sweet boy.” Ari sucked on the hinge of Ransom’s jaw and moaned when he felt the other man’s cock twitching through his slacks, increasing the speed of his hips and squeezing Ran’s waist when the man ran his fingers through his hair. “Give it to me, honey, just want you to enjoy your party.”

Ransom sobbed when Ari curled his hand around his neck and squeezed lightly, his body arching off the back seat as he yanked on the older man’s hair while his cock throbbed and pulsed while he came all over the inside of the pretty red panties you’d insisted he wear. He felt Ari’s cock twitching as well and grinned when the other man purred against his neck and licked his throat, at least until he heard the click of a camera shutter and slapped Ari’s shoulders while he laughed softly.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ransom pouted and turned his face away when Ari tried to kiss him again, leaving the man to press his lips to his cheek and huffing when he saw him texting someone. “You sending that to her?”

Ransom couldn’t help but giggle when Ari suckled on his bottom lip before sliding his tongue into his mouth, winding his arms around his neck and sighing softly as he melted into the kiss. He had never been happier about his choice for best man, a weekend of sex with Ari interspersed with drinking and smoking and luxury clubs really was the perfect way to celebrate his pending nuptials. There wasn’t a thing he could think of that would ruin his good time, except maybe…

“What took you so…” both of them froze when the door opened and they were suddenly face to face with Logan, Ransom trying to decide between shoving Ari off and denying everything or just burying his face in the bear’s neck to hide. “What in the actual fuck, Drysdale?!”

You screeched happily when Jake whispered a filthy joke in your ear after you pointed out the gorgeous man across the dance floor who had been eyeing him, slapping his chest and biting his ear when he picked you up and spun you around. Once the song was over your whole group made its way back to your booth to do even more shots before heading to the strip club, the rest of the women just rolling their eyes and teasing you every time you and Jake got a little affectionate, mostly because whenever they did he turned absolutely pink and tried to splutter out an explanation, which was completely adorable. They were all totally in love with him, especially after he almost punched some asshole who didn’t want to take the hint that none of you were interested in doing body shots with him when he called you a bunch of drunk cunts. Of course, what actually ended up happening was you all dog piled the douche bag and managed to get in a few good licks before Jake finally pulled all of you off and herded you out of the bar while you screamed obscenities back at the chauvinist that made Jake crack up as soon as he was sure you were all okay, but after that every single one of you was officially in love with him.

“No, I can’t have tequila!” He was all pink again when you rested your head on his shoulder and gave him a messy grin as you held the shot in front of his face. “I really can’t, or I might actually go over there and ask that guy to smack me in the face with his dick.”

“You should, he’s hot!” You squealed and clapped happily when he took the shot from you with a cute little grumble and slammed it down. “C’mon, let’s go hook you up.”

“No, bombshell, no!” He laughed when you pouted at him when he refused to budge, pulling you close and tweaking your nose as he pulled you with the group towards the exit even as he started to feel warm and loose from the tequila. “This is your night, I’m not going to abandon you just to hook up with some, admittedly beautiful, random guy.”

“You’re so sweet, blondie.” You settled in his lap after you all climbed into the limo, letting out a drunk hiccup and walking your fingers across his broad chest with a hum. “I’m gonna find you a boyfriend, though. Gimme my phone, wanna see if my puppy is having a good time.”

Jake rested his cheek on the top of your head and chuckled while you played with his shirt absentmindedly, ignoring the chatter from the rest of the group as he reached into your purse and grabbed your phone. He didn’t mean to look at the screen, he really didn’t, but the picture came up and he couldn’t help it, his face blanching immediately as he slapped the phone down against the seat and tried to avoid looking at you.

“Jakey? What’s up?” You frowned when he just shook his head at you and pressed his mouth in a thin line. “Is something wrong? Give me my phone.”

“I ca… I can’t.” He was struggling to come up with a good reason he couldn’t give it to you, the tequila was getting to him. “It must have fallen out of your purse at the club.”

“What? Jake, I saw you pull it out of my purse.” Now you were annoyed, why was he being so sneaky all of a sudden? “Lemme see.”

“I can’t… shit!” He cursed himself when you managed to move faster than he thought you could and snatched the phone out of his grip, trying to wrestle it away from you and failing when you somehow pinned him to the seat and sat on his chest. “Baby, it’s nothing, don’t look at it!”

“What the fuck are you on about?” You ignored his continued protests as you unlocked your screen and pulled up your texts. “There’s nothing here. Why are you so worried?”

“Nothing? Ran is cheating on you!” He clapped his hand over his mouth as soon as he said it, shaking his head when you gave him a very aggressive glare and all the other conversations on the limo stopped and suddenly your friends were all screaming about how they were going to kick that pretty boy’s ass.

“Who cares who it is, I’m going to cut that man’s balls off!” Taylor dodged the plastic cup you threw at her as she kept cursing.

“No, I mean… thanks for this blondie.” Jake at least looked slightly embarrassed. “We’re kinda, sorta, but not totally, in a poly thing with the sex god.”

That shut all of them up, Jake’s eyes bugging out of his head as he stared at you while the rest of your friends just gave you blank looks that made you a little nervous. You had never planned on making this part of your relationship public, but here you were. You hoped Ran’s night was going better.

“It’s not a big deal!” Ransom felt like his heart was going to pound out of his chest as he avoided the stares of his friends, all of whom looked very upset with him. “Nothing happened!”

“Oh, right!” He wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole, or that he could just go back to the hotel with Ari and spend the rest of the weekend letting him fuck every thought out of his head, instead of being stuck with all his friends scolding him in some strip club for hooking up with a guy. “That’s why you were both sporting pants tents and trying to suck each other’s faces off.”

“What? Homophobic?” Dylan had the sense to at least look slightly embarrassed. “Who give a fuck about that, he’s cheating on his fiancée?”

“Yeah, news flash, we all know you’re bi, Drysdale.” Chaz shot a glare at Logan when he looked like he was thinking of making a joke. “No one cares.”

“You know?” Ransom hated how small his voice sounded, letting Ari put an arm around him this time and blowing out a shuddering breath when he leaned into the man without thought. “How?”

“Sloane told us, was trying to get all of us to dump you so she could make you totally dependent on her, like we’d leave you alone with that bitch. We’ve been waiting for you to come out for years.” Dylan shoved Logan when he started to open his mouth again. “But how could you do this to your girl, Ran, you’re fucking lost for her? You realize that all of our girls will kill us if they find out you cheated on her?”

“Alright, let’s all just relax.” Ari decided to take over since Ransom looked like he’d just been hit by a brick wall, pulling his phone up and scrolling up through the group chat. “No one is cheating.”

“What?” Chaz took the phone when Dylan handed it to him, blowing out a deep breath that had Ransom burning his face in his hands as he groaned and leaned into Ari even more. “Alright then. Are you… happy?”

Ransom just nodded, his growl drowned out by Ari’s when they heard Logan choke on a laugh once he got a look at the texts, Ari snatching the phone out of his hand when he started to scroll through the messages like a damn snoop. Everyone looked massively uncomfortable as all of them just stared at each other, Ransom chewing on his lips until Ari gripped his chin and tugged his mouth open with his thumb.

“Jesus Christ, everyone is so fucking uptight.” Logan rolled his eyes after a few minutes of awkward silence, leaning forward and clapping Ransom on the shoulder then snorting when the man jumped. “Look, Drysdale, I’m just happy that even though you’re getting married you’re still kind of a man whore. So why don’t we all get over this little misunderstanding and hit that gay strip club down the block. Apparently, they have a special on body shots with their dancers. I bet they’ll love you two.”

“So all three of you sleep together?” You rolled your eyes when you nodded in answer to the question for what felt like the tenth time, glad that no one was talking about castrating your future husband at least. “Is… are you guys marrying Ari too?”

“No! Oh my god.” You groaned and gave Jake a look when he kept rubbing your shoulders, he felt absurdly guilty about blabbing and you’d had to spend a good five minutes listening to him apologize. “Ransom and I are in love, and we love Ari, but as our absolute best friend who we also sleep with… a lot. Can we just go enjoy the strippers, please? And thanks so much for helping me explain things, Anne.”

“Fine, you’re all buying me lap dances!” They finally seemed to be able to move past their initial shock, letting out some light cheers when you stopped in front of the club and all started to climb out until they were eventually giggling when they thought about doing more shots. “I wanna be covered in body glitter and smell like Viva La Juicy by the time we leave. Can I have my phone now, blondie? Want to actually check on the boy toy.”

“Yeah.” Poor Jake had been beet red for the past five minutes, only getting even redder when you kissed his cheek and gave his shoulder a squeeze when he handed your phone back to you. “I’m really sorry, again.”

He gave you a shy smile before walking away to find you a dancer, still blushing all cute and being his adorable self in a way that was sure to endear him to everyone. You just shook your head fondly as you pulled up your texts, chuckling to yourself and leaning against the bar while you texted Ransom that he did not have to worry about your bridal party castrating him, and that he should enjoy getting turned inside out by his boyfriend and you loved him more than anything.

The sheer amount of alcohol Ransom managed to consume at the marathon of strip clubs had helped him calm down, and being able to just be open now about who he was and what he wanted. Plus, Ari. Ari was always there and the feeling of his hands on Ransom’s body and the occasional brush of his lips against his cheek had pulled any residual stress right out of him, and also gotten him stupidly turned on. The man was a menace. Which was why the two of them had stayed in the bar of Ari’s hotel after the rest of the frat boys went back to their rooms, Ransom leaning on Ari’s shoulder and playing with his hair while he begged him to do all sorts of nasty things to him.

“Baby, you’re so worked up, goddamn.” Ari gave him a sly grin when Ransom whined in his ear, unable to fight the urge he always had to be a giant tease. “Not even sure you could really handle me doing everything you want right now, might make you black out before we have any real fun.”

“Please? Just wanna feel your mouth on my pussy.” Ransom was feeling so warm and buzzed after all the champagne and whiskey he’d consumed through the whole night, nuzzling into Ari’s neck and giggling when he almost spat out his scotch.

“Your what?!” The man hissed low enough that Ransom could barely hear him over the noise of the hotel bar, moaning when the older man gripped the back of his neck and forced his gaze to his as he chewed on his lip. “Your girl know you talk like this, boy?”

Ransom’s knees almost buckled at the low growl of ‘boy’ against his lips, grabbing the front of Ari’s shirt to keep himself upright and whining as his cock throbbed in his soft silk panties.

“You mean Daddy?” Ransom purred when Ari’s pupils somehow blew even wider, only a thin ring of ice around deep black pools he could lose himself in while the bearded man grabbed his ass and pulled him closer. “Daddy loves when I talk about my little pussy. She tells me how pretty it is and how sweet it tastes when it’s all wet and crying for cock. Don’t you wanna taste, sir?”

“Christ, come on.” Ari dragged Ransom after him towards the elevator with a yelp as he basically manhandled the younger man, shoving him inside when the doors opened and pressed the front of his body against his as Ransom panted desperately. “Gimme your phone, gonna check in with your… fuck… your daddy and make sure we’re not stepping over some kind of line.”

Ransom stamped his foot and pouted when Ari started dialing your number, trying to kiss him and whining when the larger man shoved him off and forced him to be still with a hand on his throat.

“Gorgeous?” Ari ignored the way Ransom was trying to grind his hips into him as he leaned him against the wall while the lift headed to the penthouse, frowning at the man while he waited for you to head somewhere quiet. “Your boy’s been drinking a little bit and running that mouth of his. Wanted to check in. Yeah? One second.”

“Puppy?” Ransom purred when Ari put his phone on speaker and the sound of your voice washed over him, making him feel all warm and syrupy as Ari just gave him a curious look. “Baby, you feeling all sweet?”

“Yeah Daddy.” Ransom sighed as he sank into the wall, already feeling his cock starting to leak as he thought about how worked up you probably were after whatever you’d been doing tonight. “Miss you, just wanted sir to give me his fat cock to tide me over a little.”

“Oh, please.” Ransom could hardly breathe when Ari’s whole body pressed against his, feeling the heavy weight of his dick grinding against his hip as he clutched desperately at his waist. “Need it.”

“You’re lucky Daddy doesn’t mind sharing that pretty little cunt, sweet boy. And that I love spoiling my puppy.” You could tell Ransom was gone from the desperate mewl you heard over the phone, grinning to yourself as you started addressing your ex who sounded like he was heading towards his own kind of lost with the heady growl he let out. “Ari?”

“Yeah?” Ari hummed as he ran his nose over Ransom’s, cupping the man’s jaw softly as they exchanged breath while he dipped his tongue between his parted lips.

“Wreck him.” You chuckled when you heard a feral snarl before the sounds of messy kissing traveled over the phone, squirming a little when you pictured the scene that must be unfolding as Ari prepared to devour your sweet boy. “And make sure you take video!”

“Mmhm.” Ari’s grumbled reply was all he could get out before he was hanging up the phone and burying a hand in Ransom’s hair, sliding the other down his body until he could grab his ass and jiggle it before giving it a good smack.

Ransom was a mewling, keening mess by the time the elevator doors opened to the penthouse, panting desperately and flushed and having difficulty keeping his feet when Ari started shoving him back towards the bedroom. The man had been right, he felt like he was going to explode just from the rough kisses and greedy touches, he was probably going to go into a coma once they got to the good stuff.

“You want me to eat that pretty little pussy, boy?” Ransom yelped when Ari threw him onto the bed after stripping him out of his clothes in a rush while he pulled out his phone to start filming, growling at the sight of the younger man in nothing but his feminine little wine red thong. “Show it to me.”

Ransom whimpered as he turned slowly onto his stomach while Ari watched, making a show of arching his back while he drew his knees up to his chest until he was basically presenting for the older man. He bit his lip and peeked over his shoulder when he heard Ari let out an appreciative groan at the sight of him sliding the thin strip of fabric to the side while he spread his cheeks, giggling when he strode forward and grabbed his hip harshly with his free hand.

“Christ, look at that.” Ari purred when Ransom moaned at the feel of him spitting right on his twitching skin, his pretty hole winking for the camera while he keened when Ari slapped his ass hard. “No wonder your Daddy’s so happy all the damn time, you fucking spoil her with this shit, don’t you?” Ari let out a grunt when Ransom’s only response was a thin mewl, setting the camera on the end table so it had a good view of that sweet ass as he kneeled behind Ransom. “Let’s give her a good show, yeah?”

He didn’t have any chance to prepare before Ari was burying his face between his cheeks, the older man growling against his skin as he dragged his tongue all over his fluttering hole before sucking on it lewdly. The scrape of his teeth over his soft skin had Ransom’s eyes falling closed, his back arching more as he ground his ass back against Ari’s face and let out soft needy sounds.

Ari loved how fucking desperate Ran got when he was drunk, could truly understand why you called him puppy when he was whining and wiggling and begging him to keep going. Ransom stretched his arms above his head and keened when Ari leaned back and spat on him again, rubbing his cheek against the comforter when he nipped at his clenching hole before pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his ass.

When he ducked lower to suck on his balls, Ransom knew he was going to explode, his breath coming in shallow pants as his cock twitched where it was pinned against his abs by the band of his panties. Then he shoved a finger from each hand inside him and yanked him open so he could spit inside him and Ransom could feel tears leaking down his cheeks, his precum running down his abs like a faucet when Ari pushed his tongue inside him and started fucking him with it.

Ransom whined obscenely when he finally came, his toes curling as Ari’s tongue kept punching into his fluttering hole while the older man groaned appreciatively. He could feel his cum soaking the front of his panties and abs as his cock twitched slowly, another shiver traveling up his spine when the older man gave his balls a harsh squeeze before he rose up on his knees.

“That’s it honey, such a good fucking boy.” Ari grabbed a cheek in each hand and spread Ransom wide, purring at the sight of his pretty hole twitching and winking at him while he just panted into the mattress. “Look at that pretty little pussy, so fucking wet and needy, making a mess all over this bed. Think I should make you squirt, boy?”

“Oh god, please.” Ransom’s eyes rolled back in head when he felt Ari’s thick cock slap against the curve of his ass, keening when he hooked his thumb into his ass and pulled. “Fuck me, sir, fill my tight little pussy up til it’s leaking. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

“Yeah, you want it bad?” Ari grabbed Ransom by his throat and yanked him up until his chest was pressed to his back, biting his ear harshly until the younger man started grinding desperately against him. “Want me to fuck this sweet little cunt raw until she’s gaping and ruined? Let’s hope we don’t piss your daddy off, she’d kick both our asses.”

That was all the warning Ransom had before Ari shoved his hips forward and impaled him on his cock, all the breath getting pushed out of his lungs as every muscle in his core spasmed at the sudden intrusion. Ari shoved his fingers in his mouth and groaned in his ear while he started driving into him, nuzzling at his cheek as he set a vicious pace and his other hand dug into his waist.

It was taking all his focus not to black out, he felt like he was getting ripped in half in the best way. Every thrust had Ari’s dick dragging over his swollen prostate, Ransom letting out small yelps each time his hips slapped against his ass while he drooled all over his chin and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Ransom squealed when Ari pulled out of him in a rush and flipped him over, grabbing his knees and holding himself open as the larger man lined himself up again. He groaned when Ari slammed back into him, arching his back to meet each punch of his hips and whining when his cock started leaking all over his abs.

“God, you’re already a fucking mess, honey.” Ari leaned over him and cupped his cheek gently, a sharp contrast to the way his hips were definitely going to be leaving bruises on his ass. “You gonna make an even bigger one? Gonna squirt all over yourself while I fill this pretty little pussy?”

“Yes sir.” Ransom gasped when Ari ground into his ass, humming when he shoved his fingers into his open mouth and swirling his tongue around them. “Please, fill my pussy.”

“Mmm, such a messy boy.” Ari gave him a soft kiss before straightening up, biting his lip and purring when he got a look at his cum dribbling out of Ransom’s swollen and abused hole. Ransom just hummed as he sank further into the mattress, running his hands lazily over his cum covered torso while Ari grabbed the phone. “C’mon honey, show your Daddy how pretty you look then we’ll get you cleaned up.”

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