#like i loved it but it seemed quite rushed

[goaskangel]

nanami really loving you on valentine's day!

cw : aggresive, perv nanami, groping, dry humping, breeding(?), alcohol mention, yummy asfff

word count : 1.8k

you may have gone overboard with the cleaning. your apartment doesn’t look lived in, more like an IKEA showroom. it’s not like nanami’s an inspector, he’s your boyfriend. new though, you’re not very close and it’s only been a couple of months but he was manly enough to ask you to be his valentine, how could you resist!

he’s just so perfect, you daydream while flattening the creases of the couch’s pillow. golden and groomed blonde hair, ironed suits, old fashioned manners. how his voice goes softer when he’s speaking to you, his strong teeth and subtle smile only coming out for you. it feels like you’ve won a national prize every time you break his calm and collected attitude and manage to make his pale complex warm up. you dimmed the living room since you planned a casual movie-night with him, hopefully not too casual for him. 

god knows he’ll show up in his signature suit and sit up-right while you play a stupid rom-com. that would be kind of nice. finally all alone, together, on a comfy couch. you could crawl onto his lap, tug on his tie, lick on his collared neck. kiss him like you mean it, no fear of the public. 

you squint at your suddenly changed thoughts and get up with a sigh, knowing him, he might not make a move. but he’s only a man…?

you wait for the door’s bell. when it comes, you give yourself a few seconds and fix your hair before walking to the door. you can’t make it seem like you’d been waiting, that’d be ridiculous. suddenly your thoughts of changing your clothes because it’s a bit too chilly pass your mind when you see him. like lava streams in your blood, you warm up to a casual nanami. a pretty man dressed in a gray sweatshirt that painfully compliments his skin showed up timely to spend time with his girlfriend on valentine’s, you could faint!

“hello. picked up flowers on the way, these are for you.” he tilts the bouquet, your favorite, towards you gently, grinning warmly, making his eyes squint. you swear you could eat his face. 

“thank you, thank you!” you’re handed the flowers as he steps closer to you, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead as you take them, inhaling the floral aroma mixed with his peppery and woody cologne.

“i love them, but you didn’t have to, really.”

“it’s valentine’s day and the least i could do.” same soft smile on his lips. 

you smile, too hard, at his gesture and move to the side to let him in. he kicks off his shoes as you quickly close and lock the front door, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter. 

“it’s not too hot in here, i hope.” 

“it’s just fine,” he offhandedly observes the room, an appreciation for what you’ve done to the place. he tugs at his sleeves and rolls them up, revealing strong forearms. jesus christ. you snap out of your gaze and rush to sit at the couch, a thick blanket and a couple of fluffy pillows decorated the comfy space. rich chocolate and drinks already set at the coffee-table, and his favorite desserts from a bakery? you pat at the spot next to you and hold back a giggle when he sits next to you. his black pants spreading neatly over his thighs, your eyes carefully wandering to the seam of the zipper, your mouth pooling. 

“here, get comfy.” you toss the large pull-over on the both of you, taking in the sight of him, shuffling closer to you and warming up to the blanket around him. 

“quite a fine home you’ve got, it’s extremely cozy.” he throws an arm over you. 

“i try. it’s not usually this… tidy.”

“what? you’re trying to impress me?” he teases. 

“it’s your first time over, i wanna make you feel good an’ comfy.” 

“well, it’s working.” he smooths his hand over your hot cheek, the metal of his ringed index finger brushing over you.

you spend the remaining time opening chocolate and bakery boxes, feeding each other and occasionally kissing while a movie plays in the background. you hope for any move during the time he’s with you, any move at all. maybe a lingering kiss. it’s so distracting the way the shadows of the dark room and light source from the tv brighten his sharp features. you’re leaning into his warm chest as his fingers graze over your exposed thighs, sipping the wine you bought that he surprisingly, and thankfully, really enjoyed. 

another scene of the characters just talking and spilling lore, he sets the half-full glass down and focuses on you. eyes on the screen but his palm has splayed to soothe and grope over your thigh. he notices your obedience, spreading your legs just by the tiniest bit. his slips his hand into your inner thigh and that’s where you roll your body slowly. 

his eyes are now on you, and your bodies mingled under the sheet as you watch the movie. mmm, thank god you wore thin shorts and a random t-shirt. you feel as his fingers graze over your thinly covered cunt, tips coming down to rub your clit. your gaze stays straight but you don’t focus, you’re unable too.

“c’mere,” nanami fixes your slouched posture so you sit with your back on his chest, your legs open and pliable for him to touch and grope at your body. 

“kento.” you mumble, dazed, when his hand slides underneath your damp panties to tease at your folds. 

“mhm, you’re so beautiful.” he sniffs at your hair as his other hand grips under your bra to hold and fondle your breast. the wine was really getting to you both. a sudden pulse at your lower back as he grinds gently into you, how tight had his pants gotten? 

finally, finally, he got his hands on you. even under a blanket, you look down to watch the fabric move in waves as he rubbed your most sensitive parts, the alcohol heightening your senses. skilled hands pacing gentle but greedy circles on your buds as you gripped the remote. you appreciate his sexual activity, it’s just so much more aggressive than you thought he ever could be. his sweet words and gestures all hid his intrusive and perverse actions.

“god, i need to feel you.” he highlights his eagerness with an extra squeeze. you pathetically push the blanket off the couch and with trembling hands, you move yourself to face him. he lays himself down as you sit on his lap. you moan quietly when you feel him against your soiled shorts, bucking your hips down to get more of the twitching sensation below his belt. humping the fat chub under his pants, you craved it more than anything.

“uh-huh, that’s good. baby, you’re so good to me. that’s it.” his hands hold a bruising grip on your hips as you grind slowly but firmly on his hard cock. 

“couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he groans when you rub your fat cunt directly on his tip, “this pretty body on mine, you’re so fucking hard to resist.” his cursing going right to your achy clit. you hop off and watch him violently take his belt off, switching your spots and filling the void between your legs with his hips. pulling his sweater off and tossing it as you do the same with your top. his pale skin so handsome and soft with his softer muscles and a layer of fat on his stomach from eating all his favorite breads. so sexy, you wrap your legs around his waist. you shake your head at the condom he pulls out from his pocket. 

“needa feel you, your cock in me, please. don’t want anything between us, kento, please please. it’s valentine’s, let me do this for you.” 

“perfect girl, you’re gonna kill me.” but he complies, gladly tossing the latex and pulling the confinements of his cock down. you whine at his contents. big and hard, the first time you’ve seen this part of him. you love it, he hasn’t even fucked you and you already love it, love him. 

you nod aggressively when he lines his chubby, weeping tip against your soppy pussy. letting it catch a few times as he rocks back and forth, the moves of his sexy hips making you throb. he fulfills his own fantasies of his raw cock on his beautiful girl’s wet cunt whilst she begs for him to fill her up and make her his. 

“you want it, sweetheart?”

“more than anything, yes yes yes.” 

“no protection, nothing protecting you? you sure, love? it’s risky.”

“don’t care. i’ll have your babies if you want to, if i have to – jus’ give it to me.” 

“mmm, babies, huh… you sure that’s not the wine talking?” sick, even if it wasn’t the lust from being slightly tipsy, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop himself.

you could cry with all the teasing he’s doing but you lose your breath when he pushes himself into your perfect, tight cunt. all his. he takes your limp and delicate upper frame to his advantage and undoes your bra. nanami rolls himself deeper into you as he watches your pretty tits bounce with every move. 

“so good, ken, thank you..!” as he presses himself into the depths of your cunt. you're unbelievably tight and so warm when he bottoms out as far as he can without really breaking you in. 

he’s slow, eager and certainly not collected as he usually is but he takes his time to fuck you. you’re so drunk on lust and sex that you just agree to whatever he says. his pretty girl wants to be all his? have his kids? marry him and be taken care of and fucked so good daily? you nod and babble to all of it. as he speeds up, his sloppy kisses and skilled tongue on your nipples slow and he concentrates on making you both come. the movie ended a while ago and the rooms filled with groans and moans, sloppy and slippery squelches and slaps. 

his kisses his thumb wet and massages little circles into your sensitive clit. you writhe at not only the delicious friction but how you tighten up again around his cock, stretching you out all over again. 

“close, i’m close. keep fucking me, kento, yes, mhm. yesyesyes..” you jump at the overwhelming, intense orgasm and milk out every single ribbon of creamy cum into you. growling and furrowing his dark brows as he creams directly at your cervix. 

“good, good girl.” he snaps through his teeth as he finishes inside you. smoothing his hand over your pelvis and under your naval. gasping and panting as you both collect yourselves. he sinks down to rub his sweating face into your neck, kissing you gently again as you pull and stroke his blonde locks. ending such a day with all his love! <3

happy valentine's day you FREAKS

masterlist

[mysterymessmachine]

"Absolutely preposterous," huffs the king. He tiptoes over a loaded tripwire and around a series of pressure-activated tiles in the floor, "That one should have to live one's life in such a manner, all because of some silly rumor!"

He stops in front of a large wooden door, disproportionate both in size and adornment to the other doors in this wing. A polished gold placard hangs between large glittering swirls on the door: HEAD OF CASTLE SECURITY. Straightening his robe and his posture, he allows himself a single deep breath.

Not quite as centering has he'd hoped, but he cannot allow any heresay around the castle about a king who presents himself as anything less than divine. Reputation, after all, is crucial to the continuation of the monarchy. He knocks sharply.

Beneath the placard, a small panel pops open. Familiar eyes peer out from the darkness, adjusting to the harsh light invading. The pain held in the moment before that familiarity is returned to him is enough to fell his best soldiers, and he falters. But appearances are everything and that moment is quite a bit shorter than the eternity it seems to last, so he remains.

An unfamiliar mix of emotions washes out the brightness in her eyes. She snaps, muffled by the heavy door, "You know you're not supposed to be here."

He clears his throat to mask his surprise at her abrupt disrespect. This was going to be more difficult than expected. Puffing up slightly, he shifts his stance wider.

"Enough is enough, Princess. You are not permitted to simply change the passwords on these... these... 'pets' that you weren't allowed in the first place! We need to move past this childish prophecy." He lifts his evidence, the still-smoldering edges of his very important scrolls, into view of the window.

"Father, you must understand that I take my role as Head of Castle Security with the utmost seriousness. That wizard predicted that my mistakes are the reason you'll be killed. I can't allow myself to rest. I have to fix it. I need to. I can't stop until I know you're safe."

He sighs softly, knowing better than to push any further, and listens as she rambles about her elaborate plans to disprove the prophecy by vowing to keep him safe. Eventually, the hatch snaps shut again, and the entire wing fills with an uncomfortable, overwhelming silence. After a glance around to ensure none of the staff witnessed an episode this time, he strolls off to the dining hall. Tonight is the first time in months that the entire family is allowed to eat together, and he'd rather like to be early.

A dull roar seeps from the dining hall, creeping to the end of the corridor, and the king smiles. A small sigh of relief accompanies a rush of warm feelings. Loud, busy dining halls mean seats occupied by loved ones and tables overflowing with feasts. His pace quickens.

The hall was, as expected, filled with family and food. It was also packed shoulder-to-shoulder with his entire guard, attack 'pets,' wizards, assassins, archers, and, of course, plenty of traps. The loudest guests, however, were all of the subjects in the kingdom. With the castle walls unattended, they had slipped the gates and gathered around outside the windows to watch the circus required just for the king to eat his dinner.

He pales at the sight, grasping desperately for his heart through his chest and crumpling to the floor. Reputation, after all, is crucial to the continuation of the monarchy.

a king has received the standard prophecy that his youngest daughter will be the one to kill him but instead of reacting as "get this baby out of my sight and abandon it somewhere in the woods for it to die" he accepts his fate and dinner time is made very awkward.

[chrollohearttags]

nobody knows • portgas d. ace

another drabble for sneaky link/ex boyfriend ace bc I have one functioning brain cell and all of it is focused on him atm teehee 🤭

wc: 1.8K

more infidelity (y’all both still AIN’T SHIT 😭 reader got that dog in her I’m sorry), straight porn, modern au, black fem reader, phone sex/sexting, squirting, oral sex, calls reader bitch, a eating + anal, recording, backshots, rough sex, heavy breeding, idk what else will come out

he’s so ooc in this and I don’t give a fuck (I’m ovulating and stressed w life + therapy is too expensive)

═✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿═══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

nobody knows why you and ex-boyfriend!ace broke up in the first place. Honestly, it seemed like such a waste…three long years down the drain with nothing to show for it but the two of you left in shambles. Friends and family consoling you both as you learned to navigate life without one another. (Y/N), moving on fairly quickly with the son of one of your dad’s friends..a byproduct of military nepotism and the very antithesis to what Ace was. A stiff working a cushy desk job and reaping the benefits..pushing papers and always playing it safe. He was very kind, sweet and damn near ideal in every sense of the word. Not too much of a drinker, a partygoer or anything of the sort but he always took you on dates. All of your girlfriends liked him well enough, thinking that he more matched your speed than the thrill seeking, goofy, chaotic daredevil that was ex-boyfriend!ace. Who rode motorcycles and climbed mountains in his spare time, when he wasn’t holding life by the tips of his fingers as an EMT. Covered in tattoos, he looked like such a quintessential, stereotypical ‘bad boy’… “God, (y/n). I don’t know what you ever saw in that guy. He’s a loser, through and through.”

However, what nobody knows..is that you never truly left him alone! He was your ideal match and you couldn’t shake it. You could actually laugh, joke and make mistakes with him. There was no need for faux perfection and lies. You saw each other for who you really were.

Nobody knows that while you’re at work, he’s constantly sending you filthy messages to get you aroused and worked up. Making you chew your lip and the tip of your pen as you twirl in your chair..reading how he’s going to make sure you feel it in your stomach the next time you two link. Nobody knows he shamelessly sends you nut videos, uttering your name with the sexiest moans. Nobody knows that when you tell your assistant that the hour where you refuse any meetings is designated for you to choke on ex-boyfriend!ace’s cock in your cute little business attire..loving the way those glasses hang off the tip of your nose as he pushes your forehead to his pelvis.

“Goddamn, babe..I knew I couldn’t quit you..you’re eating my dick up so good.”

“It’d taste even better if you let me come on it first.”

loving that you were willing to abandon all of your morals for him so easily. Nobody knows about the second phone you keep stashed away in your glovebox just to call him late at night when your new man is sleeping or working overnight and you want some company..

“Can you please come over? I miss you..he won’t be back tonight. I promise.”

“Of course, baby. Anything for you..I’ll always come running when you tell me.”

or in need of a good orgasm because that dummy couldn’t give you one if you handed him a roadmap to the clit! With ex-boyfriend!ace on the other line talking you through it with that deep voice and lewd commands.

“Oh my gosh, pretty girl. Did you call me just so you could touch yourself to the sound of my voice? You’re so cute..” making you FaceTime him because he wants to see the mess he helped create.

nobody knows that whilst you're out at dinner with your new man, alongside loved ones as he boasts about how he knows you’re the one and how you guys make such a lovely couple, (y/n) is daydreaming about ex-boyfriend!ace riding you on the back of his Suzuki through the city, knowing the rush gets you turned on. That rather than dealing with an insecure little boy who felt intimidated by your looks and success, ex-boyfriend!ace would go drinking and partying with you, loving when you showed off your body because he wasn't worried about another man taking what was his. Nobody knows that you have a small tattoo of ex-boyfriend!ace’s name right above your private area. Hell, it's not as if your new man touched you enough to notice and when he did, the lights remained off.

When your girlfriends are divulging the dirt about their relationships and how envious they are of you. Claiming that you hit the jackpot with such a structured, well mannered guy who works a high paying job and always comes home to you. But what nobody knows…is that he could never replace the man you truly love. So much so, when you kiss him on the cheek that Friday evening before heading to the ‘airport’ for another business trip..you’re secretly meeting ex-boyfriend!ace in the top floor suite at a luxury hotel hours away from home where you two go every month to fuck each other's brains out for three days straight. Akin to addicts who can’t be satisfied, you rabidly devour one another until your bodies quit.

“I’ve waited all week for this…I’m so not sorry for how I’m about to fuck you.” ”I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Wrapping his hands around your throat, shoving his tongue into your mouth as he corners you against a wall. Nobody knows that ex!boyfriend!ace has you face down on a mattress with your ass up in the air as his tongue explores both of your entrances. Practically seating you on his face to suction around that clit, flicking his tongue in and out of your tight cunt before prodding your asshole, leaving a sloppy trail of saliva on each of them. Because you wore that adorable little heart shaped plug to help prep you for the weekend.

“You taste so fucking good…especially when I know you’ll let me have it anytime I want.”

nobody knows that you’re somewhere gripping the sheets for dear life as ex-boyfriend!ace delivers the most insane backshots you’ve ever felt. Those perfectly round, thick cheeks ricocheting off of his lower half..the contrast in your skin and that pearlescent scream surrounding his shaft making the sight even better…ripping orgasms from your body with no shame because he deserves it. After all, you belong to him.

“That’s right..come on this dick, bitch. Give me what I want..” he still loves and respects you all the same. But ace knows you prefer rough, degrading sex far more than the mundane and vanilla. Especially when it was in short supply with your current situation. Even going as far as to place a foot on your head, tugging your arms behind your back so that he can really bury his cock inside of you.

“Yes! Keep fucking meeee, just like that, daddy. ‘S so good!”

“You love when I dig you out like this, treating you like a little slut..’swear this pussy’s going to get me in some serious trouble one day. But I don’t care, I love you.”

rambling on as he feels you twitching around him for the third time, leaving splatters of warm juices each time; squirting immensely from the constant stimulation to your spot.

“Damn, you’re coming so hard, pretty girl. Is he not fucking you right?” Laughing before he could even get the very rhetorical question from his mouth. Leaning down to place a trail of pecks and licks on your spine to console you before placing you into a prone position. ”Of course not..nobody knows this body better than me. Isn’t that right, gorgeous?” All but confirmed by the way you’re tightening around him..he can’t help but to grip your throat and steal sloppy kisses from you whilst he drills you into the mattress. “Nooo, babyyy. You’re the only one who can fuck me this good..oh my Goddd—“ placing his camera in your face so that he could have it for safekeeping..(and in case he gets wind of your man running his mouth about him again!) Making you call his name and scream it to the heavens. “Aceeee, fuck meeee..”

Nobody knows that you’ve been fucking for damn near an hour while your phone buzzes with missed calls and texts from your boyfriend and whatever little girl he’s deciding to entertain for the moment. As heinous as it was, you were just filling the void and you’d always find your way back to each other. Perhaps it was the thrill of sneaking around that kept this charade going. Either way, you weren’t giving each other for a long time and it’s so obvious why..no one else will do the freaky shit that you both crave so much.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re letting me fuck your ass again..feels amazing.” glaring up at him with the most adoring gaze in your eyes and smile on your face as you proudly hold a vibrator to your clit..allowing him to stretch that opposite opening. Practically coming on spot when you began to show your gratitude for this pleasure…

“Thank you, daddy..using all my holes like this. I love it so much.” That much apparent by the tears pouring down your face alongside that toothy grin. Only he could give it to you so good, you begin to cry!

“Oh shit..of course, gorgeous girl. I’d do anything for you..anything to see my baby smile.” Including pinning you down by your throat and letting trails of saliva drip into your mouth. Even feeding you a couple slaps when you all but pleaded with him to treat you like an object.

nobody knows that on the sparse occasions when you have sex with your current man, he’s forced to wear a condom because you’ve discussed several times that you don’t want children and you’re not taking any risks. But ex-boyfriend!ace gets the privilege of feeling that hard cock sliding in and out of you raw..and to breed you as many times as he can muster! Letting load after load spill into your aching womb. Filling every hole with that dripping seed.

“You look so pretty stuffed with my cum, sweetheart. Just how I like it.”

nobody knows why you left ex-boyfriend!ace in the first place but you knew why you’d always come running back!

@violetxxvenom @shamelesshoefairy @lwop-kpop

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

❤️‍🔥 Who Is Yearning For You: Describing Who’s Currently Crushing On You ❤️‍🔥

💌Welcome to 7 Days, 7 Posts! In honor of Valentine’s Day on February 14th, I’m releasing seven blog posts dedicated to love, intimacy, passion, and everything that ignites the flames. Join me on this journey as I share my insights through tarot.

If you enjoy my content, be sure to follow me, explore my other posts, and check out my paid services! 💌

Pile 1: The Intensely Romantic Lover

Your crush has so much energy. I’m absorbing all their energy right now, and it’s intense. They’re not for the weak, and they’re not for the faint of heart. They have a lot going on with them. They’re not completely straightforward; they hide their intentions. They don’t tell you everything, but they tell you what you want to hear. They’re crafty and creative with their words, but their follow-through could lead to chaos and disaster.

Your crush is flirtatious, charming, and probably handsome or beautiful. You’re compelled to walk into a room with them because their aura is so mesmerizing. But, they come with tricks up their sleeves. They’re not 100% solid. They shake, and when they shake, they shake things up like a can of soda with Mentos in it. They’re explosive, which can lead to high, intense passions but also toxic dynamics that could erode the relationship over time. But let’s dive deeper.

Your crush is patient. They don’t execute impulsively. They like to wait and plot. They don’t make spontaneous decisions—everything they do is calculated, contrived, coerced, and even rehearsed. They wait because they know it will take time to get what they want. They don’t burst through doors. Instead, they sit back, relax, and watch, observing you and how they can insert themselves into your world after careful evaluation. They’re quick to hide their true intentions and keep a bit of mystery, preferring to unfold gradually. They want you to uncover them, to discover the layers under what they’re showing you.

Your crush is the type of person who doesn’t rush decisions. They sit with their thoughts, marinate on them, and wait until everything feels just right. When they finally decide to move forward, it’s like the final boil of a soup, with all the flavors melded together. That’s when they make their move. But sometimes they wait too long, staying in the background, watching, observing, and never coming forward.

But when they do, it will be a complete shock. They’ve been watching you from afar with a stoic poker face. You won’t even know they like you because they keep things so calm and collected. You won’t see what’s going on in their mind, yet their mind is constantly active. When they finally come to you, it will take you by surprise. You’ll wonder how they even liked you because it seemed like they barely noticed you. But they were watching you closely behind that calm exterior.

When they do come forward, they’ll be quite the romantic. They’ll charm you, serenade you, and show you a level of tenderness and care you haven’t experienced. For them, romance isn’t just an act—it’s an arena, a stage for them to come alive. They’ll make you feel like you’re in the middle of a whirlwind romance, the kind that feels like a movie. Their gifts are never ordinary. They’ll write you love letters, send sweet texts, sing to you, rub your back or shoulders, or simply listen when you need to talk. They’ll be there for you when you need to vent, nurture you when you’re down, and always show you that they’ve got your back.

On your worst days, they’ll be right there beside you with something you want or need, something that will lift your spirits. They’ll take you on dates to places you love and places you’ve never been. They’ll introduce you to a world you don’t know, all while engaging in deep, stimulating conversations that draw them in. Your mind captivates them. They’re intrigued and want more and more of it.

This is the type of person you’ve dreamed of, the one you’ve longed for. They’re the person you could only imagine, but now they stand before you, shaking up your entire world, flipping things upside down, exploring the depths of you, while also pleasing you physically. Every moment spent with them is filled with enjoyment, quality, and meaning. Time with them is never wasted—it’s always filled with stature and status.

Pile 2: The Broken, But Ambitious Lover

The person who’s crushing on you is about their business. They’re serious and don’t play around. They’re no-nonsense people who demand the truth from you, and they only want the truth. If you walk into their life, you can’t be chaotic. You must offer them something of value—something they can accept and return to you tenfold. They only want to build and grow, and they don’t tolerate shaky foundations. They need something solid. Loyalty means everything to them. This person doesn’t play games, and if you try, you might get crushed by them.

They come across as mature because they’ve had to learn hard lessons through life. They’ve been through a lot, a tough life, but they’ve made it through, gaining a lot of wisdom from their struggles. This person has been hurt—beaten down, heartbroken, betrayed, and let down. They’ve experienced trust being broken and time wasted. They’ve gone through enough to know that people are fallible, and depending on love can make you vulnerable. That hurt has shaped them, and though it’s turned them into someone wiser, it also affects how they interact with others.

They’re serious because they don’t want to be hurt again, and they need to know who you are. They want you to reveal yourself early on so they can decide if they want you in their life. When this person wants something, they don’t mess around—they go after it. They’re a go-getter, someone who makes things happen. They don’t wait for things to come to them; they seize every opportunity and create their own blessings. When they want something, including you, they don’t hide it—they make it clear.

This person stands on business, big business. They don’t say something and retract it. They don’t second-guess or overthink. They don’t waste time tossing and turning over love. They’ve been hurt and don’t care about all that indecision. When confrontation happens, they show up—they don’t back down. They can be aggressive, coming on strong with an energy that might both scare and captivate you. They have strong boundaries and are not afraid to enforce them. Everything they know is based on logic; they don’t entertain too many opinions or get too emotional. If they defend something, it’s because they defend their facts—they won’t let anyone challenge what they know.

When things get emotionally intense, they step back. They’re afraid of being hurt, and so they pull away, especially if they feel like they might be betrayed again. In those moments, they keep to themselves, retreating and not communicating. They can come off as nonchalant or even uncaring, but it’s a defense mechanism. They may not know how to handle emotionally charged situations, and this leads them to say the wrong things or act out. Sometimes they can be blunt, disrespectful, or harsh in their words.

This person is a bit toxic—they still carry a lot of unresolved pain and baggage. But despite their flaws, they do have good intentions. They want to succeed in life, to achieve their goals, and they care about stability. They believe in themselves and in what they do. They just struggle to express their emotions in healthy ways, and their communication sometimes lacks maturity. Overall, they do care, but it’s difficult for them to show it. It’s up to you whether you want to take on this complex, sometimes difficult person with all their baggage.

Pile 3: The Mental Lover With Chains Around Their Heart

The person who has a crush on you might be in a negative mental space. They tend to think a lot about the future but are often concerned about it. Rather than focusing on the positives or having faith in the future, they lean more toward pessimism, self-doubt, and skepticism, especially when it comes to love and romance. They may have some reservations about approaching you or having a relationship with you. There are things that they are unsure about.

However, this person loves communication. It’s a skill of theirs, and they enjoy engaging in intellectual conversations. This is their area of strength—providing facts and sharing information. They could have a lot of air sign placements or even be an air sign themselves. When they speak, they are clear, direct, and not one for subtlety. They prefer to communicate in a concrete, factual way, and they enjoy back-and-forth exchanges of information.

At times, though, they can seem a bit cold. Their focus on facts and logic, as well as their negative thinking and lack of faith, can make them appear distant, a bit dreary, or even depressed. They might seem unreachable or emotionally unavailable, as if they’re constantly in their head, overwhelmed with anxiety.

They also tend to get into heated arguments easily. This person does not back down from discussions, especially when there are differing opinions involved. They often stand firm in their views, which can sometimes be controversial and spark tension. Because of this, they may unintentionally hurt people’s feelings. They aren’t particularly empathetic or compassionate in these situations, and instead of apologizing, they often double down, defending their statements more than acknowledging when they are wrong. Their pride sometimes prevents them from admitting when they’re mistaken, and they might not apologize easily.

They can be assertive to the point of aggression, and this trait can turn into dominance. Their assertiveness might come off as overly forceful or even hostile, and they may struggle with conflict and disagreements. This person might be disconnected from their emotions and is more focused on their logical, masculine energy. They likely don’t engage in creative outlets such as drawing, dancing, or writing, which would help nurture their feminine side. They also may not prioritize their appearance or self-care. They could seem rough around the edges, not nurturing their body, emotions, or environment. They may not even make an effort to create a comfortable space for themselves, which reflects their lack of connection with their feminine energy.

It’s possible that this person comes from an unstable family background or has experienced significant emotional wounds, such as a mother wound. These unresolved issues have caused them to suppress their softer, more vulnerable side and focus on the masculine, fact-based aspects of life. This individual has endured significant pain, heartbreak, and betrayal, which has left them carrying a lot of emotional baggage.

They may have recently gone through a breakup or divorce, which has left their heart closed off. The instability in their love life has made it hard for them to trust others, and they might be struggling to find confidence or excitement in their daily life. They feel stagnant and are holding onto what they know, unable to offer anything stable or healthy at this time. While they may have a crush on you, they currently lack the emotional stability and openness required to build a meaningful relationship. They are still in the process of healing and growing before they can fully embrace love and romance again.

Pile 4: The Calm and Focused Lover

The person who has a crush on you, may be stuck in the past. They could still be emotionally attached to someone else, or they might be holding on to past feelings. Even though they like you, their lingering emotions for someone else make it difficult for them to fully open up and connect with you. This emotional attachment could result in a relationship that feels unbalanced or lacks reciprocity.

Your crush may still be healing from emotional pain caused by a past relationship, and they’re not yet fully over it. They might feel stuck in a standstill, unable to move forward. Despite this, they hide their struggles and tend to be passive, avoiding confrontation and conflict. This person is likely non-confrontational and avoids conflict, possibly feeling inadequate at times. They may not feel capable of meeting certain expectations and may struggle to assert themselves in the relationship, which could lead to a sense of reservation or being closed off.

They likely move slowly when it comes to relationships because they are unsure of what they want. This slow pace, combined with their passive personality, may make them seem distant or unsure. Although they may come off as sweet and youthful, with an optimistic and generous outlook on life, they are probably very sentimental and value emotional connections deeply. This sentimentality might be why they struggle to let go of the past and move on from it.

Despite these emotional struggles, they have strong qualities. They’re probably organized and have goals for the future, feeling content with where they are in life, especially in terms of material success. They’re likely a quiet person, who values self-respect and prefers to avoid conflict. This focus on stability means they are more likely to walk away from a situation than engage in a heated argument. They prefer to keep things calm and stable, and they’re not inclined to lead or control others. They don’t want to come across as aggressive or domineering; instead, they prefer to focus on themselves and their personal growth.

Your crush is a practical person who prioritizes stability and success. They move at their own pace, taking their time to evaluate situations. They envision a successful future, with great health and material wealth, but they don’t rush toward emotional engagement, especially when it comes to love. They might have a crush on you, but they hesitate to invest deeply because they prefer to avoid overwhelming emotions. They value calmness, predictability, and groundedness over emotional excitement or passion. They’re more focused on dedication, ambition, and personal responsibility than on managing the emotions or expectations of others.

This person may come off as young in some ways, but in reality, they are mature and serious about their goals. They have things going well for them in life and are likely to be grounded in their approach. They’re not likely to charge into a relationship aggressively, but they will approach you in a direct and honest way, maintaining a calm demeanor. Overall, they seem to be in a better place, but it’s clear they still need time and space to work through their emotional attachments from the past.

[thedarklightwithinus]

Love is a Stillness

A/N; Sam Smiths new song came out three hours ago and I’m in awe. Listened to it was to much to the point the words became something.

Summary; Love was messy and chaotic until it wasn’t.

Characters; Daryl Dixon, You.

In the quiet moments between day and night, there existed a love that was unlike any other. One that was soft, steady, and unshakable. She never knew what it meant to feel truly still until she met Daryl. 

She had always been a whirlwind, a restless soul. She rushed through life, chasing dreams with the kind of fervour that only someone who’d been waiting for an anchor could muster. Love, for her, had always been loud. It was dramatic, like a storm that could either lift her or destroy everything in its path. She was used to those wild, intense moments, where everything felt either incredibly right or desperately wrong.

But with him, love was a stillness, like the calm between waves on a quiet shore.

At first, it had unsettled her. She didn’t know how to exist in that kind of quiet. She was used to the noise, the adrenaline of passion, of confusion, of urgency. But with Daryl, she felt like the world around her could slow down. He was the calm in her storm, the steady rhythm to her scattered thoughts.

Daryl wasn’t the kind of man who filled the room with energy. He was the opposite, actually. When she was with him, there was an undeniable peace that settled over her, like the world paused for just a heartbeat. She’d often tell him, love is a stillness I never knew, and he would smile, never needing to say much in response. His presence was enough. He was the ground when she wasn’t strong, her steady foundation in a world that often felt like it was shifting beneath her.

There had been times, so many times, when she’d felt like she was about to fall apart. Times when the weight of the world seemed too much to bear. But Daryl had never faltered. He was always there, a constant, like the earth beneath her feet, steady and unwavering.

Even the silence between them held a kind of meaning. It was a silence that remembered. It knew what words weren’t spoken, the comfort of just being. And though she wasn’t the kind of person who typically found comfort in silence, with Daryl, it was different. It felt like they were together, even in the quietest of moments.

He was like a rock to her, grounding her when she felt lost, but also like a rolling song that she could never quite get out of her head. The kind of melody that would come back to her when she least expected it, reminding her of all the beauty in the world. She couldn’t explain how, but in his arms, she was home.

No matter how many mistakes she made, no matter how many times she faltered or stumbled; Daryl was there to shoulder the weight. He never once looked at her with disappointment. Instead, he helped lift her up, offering a steady hand and a kind word. She had a way of beating herself up over her flaws, but he made her feel like they weren’t flaws at all. They were just part of the song they were making together.

And every morning, when the first light of day broke through the curtains, it was like spring had arrived. The warmth and promise of new beginnings filled the air. In the crisp, fresh air, they would step into a new day, his hand in hers and she would remember again, love is a stillness I never knew.

As the seasons changed and life moved forward, she would often find herself lost in thought, repeating those words in her mind. Love is a stillness I never knew. She’d never known love could be so gentle, so unwavering. It wasn’t the loud, dramatic kind of love she had imagined. It was the kind that grew quietly, the kind that rooted itself deep into the soul without ever making a sound. It was the love that didn’t need to roar to be heard.

And for the first time in her life, she understood that the most profound kind of love was the one that didn’t need to prove anything. 

It simply was.

[theamarischapter]

Conquering Cupid ➳❥

a/n: beomgyu isn't technically cupid exactly, but he's a love fairy! i wanted to write something for valentine's day and this idea came to me when i was, funnily enough, playing the dti (roblox) valentine's day quest LOL. also kinda inspired by royale high... anyway, hope you guys like it! i was literally fighting for my life to finish this semi-on time... happy valentines day! <3

pairing: fairy!beomgyu x fairy!reader

w/c: 4.3k

genre: fluff, fantasy au (a magic academy), one-shot, strangers/acquaintances to lovers, (past) heartbreak

warnings: beomgyu is a stubborn idiot, not proofread b/c im lazy

summary: the love fairy, a charming but mischievous boy, seems to avoid love at all costs, leading you on a mission to capture his heart and uncover the mystery. the closer you get, the more he pulls away—ironic, isn't it? a love fairy who "despises" love.

fic below the cut! enjoy <3

All love fairies take pride in who they are—to gift love is a magical and honorable responsibility. But one particular love fairy seems to disagree: Beomgyu. 

Perhaps you’re overthinking it, but it’s hard to ignore the way he actively avoids love. He dodges affection like an arrow gone astray, charming yet distant, admired yet untouched. You, for example, have spent an embarrassing amount of time admiring from afar, which is how you’ve come to notice this odd behavior—the way he dodges using his spells and magic, steering clear of anything love-related. 

But why? 

Well, naturally, it’s now your duty to do the impossible—love the unlovable, and beat the love fairy at his own game. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

Step 1: Befriend him 

It should be a simple task, right? He’s already quite outgoing and friendly—easy to approach, easy to talk to. You’re sure he has plenty of friends, so what’s one more? 

Besides, fate seems to be rooting for you. The dean—Mrs. Elderose—personally requested that you tutor the boy. It’s a perfect opening to get to know him and hang out alone, where he feels less pressured to uphold a facade of upbeat charm. The only problem? He’s already ten minutes late. Your leg bounces incessantly beneath the table, fingers idly fidgeting with the sleeve of your jacket. Your eyes periodically glance around the vast school library, where towering bookshelves line the walls and warm lights hang from the domed ceiling, illuminating the golden engravings on each book. Hushed voices blend with the gentle flutter of wings, barely audible beneath the whisper of a calm breeze, which reaches you through the slightly ajar window to your right. Carrying the crisp scent of pine, it drifts in from the endless woodland beyond. Your gaze lingers there, admiring the warm hues of the sunset sky as they color the landscape. Beomgyu still has yet to arrive.You should’ve known he’d skip. With a resigned sigh, your hands move to pack up the scattered pencils and notebooks you had out. Just as you’re haphazardly stuffing your bag with the first notebook, a teasing voice interrupts your thoughts. 

“What’s the rush? Waiting for someone?” Beomgyu’s bright expression comes into view as you turn your head towards his voice. He’s smirking, one corner of his lips tilted upwards as his deep brown eyes, hidden behind light bangs, gleam with mischief. “Honestly, I wasn’t gonna show up—but Mrs. Elderose dragged me here after she saw me trying to leave.”

You offer a laugh, purely out of awkward pity. Honestly, you’re not that amused. He just told you to your face that he doesn’t want to be here. Then again, you can’t really blame him. If the dean forced you to get tutoring, you wouldn’t be very eager either.

“Well…I’m glad you made it.” You smile, and for a moment his expression falters. His smirk falls; he looks almost surprised by how earnest you sound. Subconsciously, he’d assumed you were as unwilling as he was to be here in the library. But it seems you feel the opposite way—you want to be around him.  It shouldn’t be such a revolutionary idea—there are plenty of people who like having him around. So, what’s with the weird warmth spreading through his chest at your comment? Why is he happy that you want him around? He doesn’t even know you yet, but he feels drawn to you in a familiar, unreasonable way—one he refuses to acknowledge... He won’t hurt himself again. 

“You shouldn’t be.” He mutters, huffing out a small laugh in an attempt to regain his composure. Usually, he has more control over himself, but his defenses seem to naturally crumble at your genuine compassion. With a quiet breath, he plops into the seat beside you, slouching. “I’m a waste of time.”

You frown, head tilting to the side. Beneath the layers of playfulness, you sense something genuine in his statement. “I disagree.” You say quietly, opening one of your notebooks. “I mean—I wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

“You’ll see soon. I have no intention of improving, anyway.” He replies, looking away from you. There’s a thoughtful expression on his face, his gaze captivated by the smooth, dark wooden table. You’re tempted to outright ask all of your questions, but refrain—there’s no rush. 

Love requires patience. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

Step 2: Carefully get closer; earn his trust 

So far, you’ve barely scratched the surface. Just when you think you’ve made progress, he pulls away—always with a laugh, a joke to distract from any real emotion that leaked out. At the very least, he shows up to every tutoring session and occasionally says hello if he sees you in the halls. You’re friendly, but not quite friends. And he has no intention of changing that. 

“You did it!” You exclaim cheerfully, standing beside him. The gentle breeze flows through your hair, bright strands of grass beneath your leather boots. The outdoors, naturally a suitable place to practice spells. You’ve been focusing on the basics with him—specifically levitation since it’s a simple but useful tool to have. Your eyes admire the pretty rose floating in front of him, its smooth petals matching the faint pink hue of his cheeks. 

“It was luck,” he mutters. He frowns at the sight of his accomplishment, arms crossing as the rose drops to the floor—except, you never even taught him how to undo the spell, he just…did. Perhaps it was just something natural; he didn’t necessarily need your guidance for something as simple as that…right? You shouldn’t overthink it.

“Luck or not, it’s an improvement.” You smile, bending down to pick up the rose. A dumb idea comes to mind, but you don’t bother to stop it. Maybe if you’re straightforward he’ll be more willing to try and open up. You hold the rose to him, looking into his deep, sparkling eyes. “How about we celebrate? Are you hungry?”

His fingers brush yours as he takes the flower, the touch fleeting but warm. It lingers longer than it should, even as he quickly clears his throat, looking away from you. It takes him a second too long to find his words. “I…um, I don’t have money—“

“It’s okay! I can pay.” You reply enthusiastically, collecting your things. His lips part, but no words come out. Instead, he just stares, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He doesn’t understand what you want, why you’re even here. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it—he’s not allowed to run away this time. “C’mon, let’s go.”

When you stare at him expectantly with those big, pretty eyes, how could he decline? He’d hate to see disappointment in your gaze, so he nods mutely, diverting his attention to the flower cradled delicately between his fingers. Just this once, he’ll allow his heart to win. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

You sit across from him in the school cafe, a dark wooden table between you. Warm light reflects down from the ceiling, casting soft shadows over his smooth, pale skin. His fingers trace his warm cup of cocoa absentmindedly, the warmth spreading through his fingertips. 

“I’m proud of you, Beomgyu. I think you’ll do really well on our next evaluation.” Your voice is gentle, a sincere, soft smile on your lips—which he finds himself staring at. Get it together, Beomgyu. When he finally processes your words, he straightens his posture, ears heating up and wings fluttering—a telltale sign of his apprehension. 

“Um, yeah. Me too.” He mumbles. What’s wrong with him? He’s normally so outgoing, but now the words are all tangling together in his mouth—even in his brain, it’s a jumbled, confusing mess. His heart stutters, a wild, erratic rhythm that refuses to settle. Each breath comes faster, shallower, like his body is betraying him. This isn’t normal. This isn’t fair. He hates this feeling—this infatuation, this longing. It never ends well. “I mean, I'll do better, at least.” 

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He takes a deep breath, the rapid thumps of his heart calming. He manages to smile, fingers tapping restlessly against the table even as he huffs out a small laugh. “Maybe my charm will get me a few extra points.” 

You scoff, chuckling and shaking your head. Your eyebrows furrow, and you lift your iced coffee to take a small sip. You hum in thought, leaning over the table, closer to him. “Have more confidence! Mrs. Elderose is keeping you here for a reason. There’s potential.” 

He raises an eyebrow, rolling his eyes. His elbows rest on the table, head leaning on the palm of his hand as he feigns nonchalance. His gaze travels through the space, lingering on the warm cup of cocoa in front of him instead of you. “Tch, yeah—potential failure.” 

“Are you saying I’m a bad teacher?” You joke, gaze carefully observing him. You’re searching beneath the surface, through the cracks of his carefully upheld persona. Behind every smile, every laugh, and every joke, is a quiet, insecure boy—at least, that’s what you’ve deduced thus far. There are always other reasons he may feel the need to downplay his talent. 

“Wh—no! You’re great. But, like, I’m just saying…” He refutes quickly, his pale hair bouncing as he frantically shakes his head. He’s wide-eyed, a small pout forming on his lips, as if he’s upset you would accuse him of something so horrific. You’re not a bad teacher at all; you’re smart, patient, encouraging, pretty…um, wait, never mind that last one. The point is, he’s actually learned a lot from you, and he’d hate to make you feel bad. 

“Right…saying what? That you hate me and you learned nothing?” You ask, teasing him further, even if only to see the flustered expression on his face. It’s also a good tactic for getting him to admit how he feels if he feels anything. 

“Hey, that’s not fair! You’re putting words in my mouth!” He defends, almost whining, before huffing out a short breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, pretty eyes focused on you with a helpless plead to stop this defamation of his character!

“You didn’t deny it? Wow, I’m offended.” You continue, and he sits up straight, hands slamming onto the thick table. Heads turn, all eyes on you both for just a brief moment before the audience loses interest. His ears are a bright shade of pink, his wings twitching. 

“Stop—“ He attempts to defend, but you’re quick to cut in. He can feel butterflies swirling around in his stomach, and he hates it. He hates you for making him feel this way. 

“I mean, really, I thought we got along pretty well. But I guess I was wrong—“ You’re exaggerating, of course, faking a frown as you place a hand over your heart in offense. He’s had enough. 

 “I like you, okay?” His mouth moves faster than his brain, desperate to prove you wrong. For what reason? Because, well, he can’t stomach the thought of you not liking him, of you thinking he doesn’t like you. Once he realizes what he’s said, he freezes, wings twitching so violently behind him that the table shakes just a little. His hands clench into fists in an attempt to comfort himself. Stupid. That was so stupid. His heart beats rapidly against his ribcage, and the heat crawling up his neck makes it impossible to pretend he’s unaffected.

“Geez,” he mutters, slouching, arms crossing over his chest. “Can’t a guy be self-deprecating every once in a while?” His voice is quieter now, more grumbled than spoken. He fixes his gaze on the untouched cup of cocoa in front of him as he contemplates his life choices. He risks a glance at you, just for a second. You’re smiling. It’s small, just a slight curve of your lips, but paired with the faint pink hue on your cheeks, it’s enough to make his chest squeeze uncomfortably tight. 

“N-Not like that!” He blurts, practically whining as he sits up. His wings flutter again—another traitorous giveaway. He swears under his breath. “You know what I meant.”

 “Do I?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence, though there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. He likes you. Your smile widens at the thought, meanwhile, his pout deepens. He looks cute like that, you think. Maybe you don’t mind upsetting him every once in a while.

✧༺🩷༻✧

Evaluation day arrives fast. Too fast. 

You should be excited—it’s your moment to prove yourself again and make your parents proud. And you are, sort of. But your focus keeps drifting to Beomgyu. He stands a few feet away, looking awfully comfortable. Too comfortable for someone who’s flunked every evaluation before this. He sighs, stretching his arms lazily as if he couldn’t care less about any of this. Everyone else is shifting anxiously in place, wings twitching, fingers fidgeting with their sleeves. Chatter fills the arena, students laughing and joking about how screwed they might be. Your gaze catches his, and for a moment, there’s something, a small glimmer in his eyes—regret. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by his usual, careless smile and a small nod as you part ways. 

The results are posted the next day. Your name is at the top where it always is, but it’s his name that catches your eye. Your stomach knots when you find it. Choi Beomgyu. Dead last. Again. It makes no sense. You trained for hours and rewarded his immense improvement. He should’ve passed—or, at the very least, passed any of the subjects with a grade higher than a D. But this…? Your hands tighten at your sides, your heart sinking into your stomach. There’s only one explanation; he’s been failing all of these things on purpose. The realization hits you like a wave of cold air, stealing the breath from your lungs. You should’ve known. He literally warned you that he was a “waste of time.” He told you he had “no intention of improving.” You just didn’t believe him—you figured he was just insecure. But now, staring at his name at the very bottom of the list, you’re left with only one question: Why?

You manage to speak to a friend of his: Kang Taehyun, a reserved but kind classmate of yours. You catch him as he’s heading to the dormitory. 

“I need to talk to you.” You say, getting straight to the point. 

He frowns, barely reacting to your statement. “About?” 

“Beomgyu. He’s been failing on purpose, right?” You reply. He sighs, taking a step back and crossing his arms. He doesn’t look all too impressed, in fact, he looks tired of the conversation already. It’s not that he’s mean, he just cares about Beomgyu a lot. 

“If you already know, then why are you asking me?” He asks, gaze scrutinizing you, searching for any hint of malicious intent in your posture, expression, or tone.

“Well, I just don’t get why. But, I figured you would know.” He hums in thought, head tilting to the side, expression still unchanging. 

“And why do you need to know?” 

Your mouth opens, then closes—you hadn’t thought that far. Somehow, you figured he might just come out and tell you, for some reason. You thought he’d sense your earnest desire to help. Instead, it almost feels like you’re on trial, as if he’s searching for any reason to withhold the information from you. 

“I want to help.” You finally say. He’s still staring at you, waiting for something more. “Please.” 

He hesitates, mulling it over. There’s a hint of reluctance in his gaze, but it’s not because of you. It’s because of Beomgyu. He knows his friend, and he knows that he’s never going to explain himself. He won’t stop being stubborn, and his self-sabotage is going to get him expelled sooner or later. Taehyun exhales, nodding slowly. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

The story goes something like this: 

Beomgyu was young when he fell in love for the first time—with a girl named Arielle. From the moment he first met her, the feelings surged all at once, like an unrelenting tide swallowing him whole She had an aura that attracted people effortlessly—someone you wanted to be around, hold onto and never let go of. 

She was a natural beauty, her long, sleek hair framing her round, delicate features. Her wide eyes shimmered with warmth, as if she constantly saw the best in everyone. When her eyes fell on him, the world quieted. Beomgyu could breathe. He could exist without effort, without overthinking. Her gaze alone felt like the sun shining down on him. But the deeper he fell, the more suffocating it became—it felt as though he’d been trapped in a self-imposed prison. Someone as great as her, as perfect as her, could never be with someone like him. And sure, he’s a love fairy—he could have used magic to draw her closer. But Beomgyu was stubborn. He wanted love to come naturally. He craved authentic attraction—and, magic was never his strong suit, anyway. So he waited. 

He became her shadow, her anchor. He caught her when she stumbled, offered his heart with both hands—without hesitation, without expecting anything in return. And she took, and took, and took, but never gave. Of course, it’s not like she owed him anything—he did everything willingly, but it still hurt. He devoted himself to her, promised to wait until she was ready, but she couldn’t return the favor. Even as a friend, she couldn’t lend him an ear nor comfort him on his shortcomings. She couldn’t make time for him, couldn’t lend a helping hand. Beomgyu eventually got fed up and finally stood up for himself—and that’s when she crushed everything to pieces. 

She took his heart from his chest, cradled it in her delicate hands, and then trampled it. She turned his fantasy of love into a nightmare, showed him how cruel it could be. To her, he was nothing but a tool to be used. She never really wanted him—no, she wanted someone to fuel her craving for love and attention. And when she got bored? He wasn’t useful anymore, so she discarded him like a piece of trash, told him he was “a waste of time,” even though she was the one who’d failed the relationship.

He hasn’t been the same since. Love became a distorted concept, a reminder of his inadequacy. He hated himself for who he was, who he failed to be. His trust was taken and demolished, so now he hides. He hides from himself, from everything that reminds him of her—everything related to love. He’s a love fairy who’s afraid to love, unable to trust. 

And, most importantly, he imposes failure on himself because he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to hide forever, wants to forget that who he is—a love fairy—is what he hates. And yet, in the quiet corners of his mind, he still feels her warmth, like an old scar that never fully fades.

✧༺🩷 ༻✧

Beomgyu has been a ghost in your life. He’s carefully kept his distance, looking the other way when you’re near, taking the scenic route to class just to avoid crossing shadows. He ignores the pull in his heart, the tightness in his chest that threatens to consume him. The feelings come uninvited—fluttering in his stomach, warmth creeping up his neck, his heart stuttering out of rhythm. And then, just as quickly, the fear swallows him whole. Each sensation is followed by swift dread, nausea, and guilt. He tells himself he shouldn’t feel this way, that he has no right to. But deep down, he knows the truth: he’s just afraid. His heart pounds against his ribcage, breaths quickening at even the thought of surrendering his heart once more. He can’t. He won’t. In the end, the only one he trusts with his heart is himself.

You manage to corner him with the help of Taehyun, who brings him along to the school garden. You sit on the edge of the marble fountain, tracing your fingers along the cool surface. The clear water glistens in the warmth of the sun, birds chirping in the distance as the bushes rustle in the cool breeze. If you focus, you can hear faint footsteps, coming from nearby within the maze of flowers and greenery. A movement catches your eye. From between two towering bushes, Beomgyu steps into view, his presence sending a ripple through the stillness. Taehyun, who’s close behind him, gives a nod of encouragement before nudging Beomgyu toward you. 

Your eyes connect and time stops. His light hair brushes across his face, confusion and apprehension flickering across his face as his eyebrows draw together. His lips part wordlessly, chest rising and falling rapidly with each quick, shallow breath. He’s suffocating once more, his lungs straining against an invisible force. His chest tightens, each heartbeat sharp and unrelenting. He stumbles back, fingers searching for something solid, something real. But nothing feels real—not the warmth of the sun, not the garden around him, not even himself. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to face his feelings so head-on. 

“Beomgyu, can we talk?” Your voice pierces the silence, gentle but unwavering. He flinches, his gaze darting anywhere but you, as if doing so will make you disappear. You press onward, calming your own rapid heartbeat. You just need to connect, reach deeper into his fragile heart. “I- I know why you’re…afraid. Why you won’t use your magic.”

You risk a step forward, holding a flower to him. His eyes flicker with suspicion, scanning your expression like a wary animal expecting a trap. He’s looking for deception, for cruelty, for any sign that history is repeating itself. But all he finds is sincerity. He lifts a hand, feet dragging quietly against the stone path. He steals another glance at you—you have the same, patient expression, encouraging him to continue. His hand hovers over the flower, hanging there for a few moments. There’s a lump in his throat, an invisible barrier that prevents him from moving forward. His fingers brush yours, and he pulls his hand back, as though the touch burned. His hand falls limp at his side, chest heaving with a shaky exhale.

“Beomgyu.” You say gently, afraid to scare him away. It’s a miracle he’s still standing in front of you, at least willing to listen. His gaze finds yours, urging you to continue. “You, of all people, should know how precious love is.”

His eyes burn, chest tight and lungs burning. He manages to speak. “It’s not precious. It never ends well—everyone always gets hurt. I’ve seen it.”

Which, is admittedly true. It’s only natural that a love fairy would have seen the most love, and thus the most heartbreak, too. He’s seen the beauty and the raw, ugly flaws. But he focuses on the bad because it’s what has affected him most profoundly. 

“Doesn’t that make it more precious?” You reply, risking a small step closer. “If everyone had it, it wouldn’t be special anymore.” 

Tears pool in his eyes, a few spilling over as his bottom lip trembles. He’s showing you his heart now, no longer suppressing the emotions clashing together in his chest. Gently, you take his hand, and he squeezes, lacing his fingers between yours. 

“Heartbreak is not a downside to love, it is a representation of love. To have loved fully is to grieve deeply. People love—and continue to love—despite knowing the risks. Because love is a gift to yourself and the people around you.” You cup his face gently with your other hand, swiping away the hot tears streaming down his face. He says nothing and everything at the same time. His gaze holds an indecipherable appreciation—perhaps, an admiration of how beautiful you are physically and emotionally. 

“I really, really like you. So give me a chance to love you, Beomgyu. I’ll give you my heart, so long as you trust me with yours in return.” You whisper. He nods, sniffling quietly as he stares into your gentle, caring gaze. The emotions consume him without permission, a surge of warmth flowing through his chest, heat creeping onto his cheeks. 

“I- um, I mean…I like you. Too—a lot.” He mumbles, still struggling to express himself confidently. He squeezes your hand, thumb running absentmindedly over your smooth skin. “I mean, I have for a while I just- well, it wasn’t supposed to come out like that—”

Your lips are on his before he can even recognize what’s happening. When he does, his brain stutters, his body locks up, breath hitching. His mind blanks—static where there should be panic. Idiot, what is he doing? You’re pulling away before he gets a chance to explore this new, exciting feeling. His free hand finds your hip, pulling you closer and kissing you again, allowing himself to melt into it this time. Time comes to a stop, as if it’s just you two. Your lips are soft, careful not to overwhelm him. His brain is quiet for once, the space filled the whisper of a quiet breeze. How could he have deprived himself of this for so long? 

Slowly, hesitantly, he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. His wings flutter eagerly, like a puppy’s tail after receiving a treat. He brings both arms around you, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt to make sure you’re real. His cheeks are impossibly pink, face burning as he hides it in the crook of your neck. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry for being an idiot.” He mumbles. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head and pressing your cheek to his silky hair. 

“It’s okay, it made it more interesting.” You whisper. He breathes out an amused huff, his grip around you tightening imperceptibly—as if to claim you. 

Looks like you’ve won this round. The love fairy who feared love—who ran from it, who buried his own heart—has given his heart to you. Your fallen cupid wasn’t unlovable after all. He just needed the right person to believe in him.

a/n: okay so i was supposed to release this ON valentine’s day but im a lil late…um, anyways! i got this idea and thought it would be cute, i hope you all liked it!! and dw im still working on my other fic for those wondering, i just wanted to do smt special for valentine’s day (even if i stressed myself out trying to finish this 💀). comments, likes, and reblogs greatly appreciated!! xoxo

[crsssie]

physics and racing... (of the heart) - Spencer Reid

word count: 1028 // (shoujo event || prompt 3 - shared secret)

summary: you soar, late to your physical, and Spencer stands dumbfounded. was that a tattoo?

The first time Spencer ever met you, he's passing the FBI academy at Quantico, and you're jumping the fence to be able to make it to the fitness test on time because... something. Spencer remembers only the sight of you jumping the fence, and it's honestly not much if you are late, but you don't seem to know that. They never tell the new recruits that— and, well, Spencer failed his physical in his earlier years so it's not like he has much of a say in it. 

But, he does spot a lower back tattoo that flashes him while you're in the air.

You had locked eyes with him and held your finger over your lips before promptly flying off on the field, and Spencer wondered if you had wings from how easily you seemed to have soared over the fence when he had spotted you.

He kept to himself over that, not mentioning it to anyone. If no one asks, then it'd be normal to cover for others. Besides, he's sure someone's got a tattoo somewhere out of all the feds. Also, he had to get strings pulled so they could keep his talent.

He knows that's how he ended up on the team, after all.

Three weeks later, you're showing up at the door of the BAU after Elle's got you in tow.

You blink at him, tilting your head and offering a shy smile, and he's nodding back.

"Doctor Spencer Reid. Our specialist on... well, everything." Hotch mumbles, and since then, you're thrown into the whirlwind of things. 

You get along with everyone, and you're careful to not change around them when you can avoid it, tilt of a head and a quiet brushing off of your hand when people ask if you're hot, but it's almost impossible to avoid when you're being flushed down for Anthrax with Spencer, shirt soaked through as you blink quietly, locking eyes with him as he stares back. 

"You mind exercising authority?" You mumble quietly, eyes blinking up at him as he swallows slowly. 

"You both mind looking away while they flush them off?" Spencer nods at you when you strip, shirt tugged over your head as the man flushes you down. There's no explicit rule about not letting people have tattoos in the FBI, contrary to most other Federal Agencies, but it's still frowned upon. You know as a matter of fact that lying on your application about having completely clear skin with no ink was a crime in itself, so you hoped to keep it that way.

You're fine, but Spencer's rushed to the hospital and near loses his damn life because of his cut. 

Morgan stands to the side as you start at a cup of jello, raising a brow when he asks for a bite.

"Thought you were a germaphobe."

"Mm... jello." He mumbles, grabbing for your spoon as you hold it away.

"Hey!"

"Can I get one?"

"I'll ask the nurse."

But Spencer Reid isn't a romantic. He knows how to read about love, just not express it. And you're not quite someone who really expresses love outwardly. Everything you do could be written off as a simple flick of the wrist friendship action. Something that you do out of care because you like gifting things to people and helping others out. You send Penelope different flowers each week. You fold paper roses for Emily and bring Derek coffee in the morning. Spencer's not special, he supposes. You seem to have everyone's coffee order memorized. Though, not that it's too hard. He does too.

But maybe it isn't fair for him to dwell on everything himself. His intellect can only get so far. His emotions can't do much to fix him if he's not needing all that fixing. He just needs to understand better, perhaps. Understand his brain. He knows how his brain is working — releasing chemicals of love and he wonders if he should lower his chocolate intake or give up on peas entirely but it's completely and utterly unfair that he's the only one with a racing heart with you around. He isn't even sure how he fell for you.

He catches you tilting your head at one of the local officers as he rambles to you — cute guy. Looks innocent enough, and isn't super sleazy. The only issue is that your puffer jacket keeps riding up with how much you're pulling at it to keep your chest warm, and your undershirt is getting dangerously close to your waistline where your pants are, and the last thing he wants is you being found out for lying. He's not too sure why he feels that way. He isn't obligated to keep the secret, but it just feels like he should for some reason.

Maybe he was starstruck the first time he met you. It would've been a stretch, but he was certain he was stuck in place blinking while gaping like a fish out of water because of you. You were just. It was. It was just. You flew, and perhaps it was the strange phenomenon of a breaking of physics that you were in the process of doing when he met you but it startles him and his chest is going rampant in his chest and he does not(!) like the way that someone else is—

He meets eyes with you from across the room, holding up a file and tapping it, pursing his lips.

So he presents you with a way out, and you take it, nodding at the officer as you make your way back to the board.

"Need help?"

"Thought you might've needed a way out."

"I did."

"Then I'm glad I read you right."

You beam at him. 

"Thank you."

He glances at the way your jacket rides up along your back, and he tugs on you gently for you — secondhand habit. Like a habit. Too domestic. He doesn't know why he just did that.

Spencer hears your breath hitch, and he's sure his ears are beyond red right now.

"The ink." He mumbles, pulling his fingers away as you blink at him.

"Thank you."

"Always."

But maybe he doesn't need to overthink it. Maybe, this was perfectly okay as is.

[midnight-mourning]

Checkin' In

Little something for the lovely @alynwrench with the cowboys (again, shocker i know) Hope you enjoy alyn hehe

Word Count: 1039

💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

After your little spill, you were forced to be bedridden for longer than you'd ever have liked. You understand the concern, multiple broken ribs was serious, but still, you had a ranch to run. Especially since before they'd decided to help you, it was just yourself managing everything. 

You at least had gotten them to agree to spending your time in bed in the comfort of your own home, though it had been an uphill battle to say the least. You wouldn't admit either how much the journey killed you either. Too much snow on the ground to utilize a wagon and thus, you were stuck riding with one of your boys instead. 

Now, you're currently lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling with absolutely nothing to do and bored out of your mind. 

Sun and Moon were both busy, and for that you were indeed grateful. They seemed to be doing well taking care of your ranch, the two of them. At least, from the view you could get from your window that is. They always somehow appeared out of nowhere when you tried to get up and go downstairs, much less even consider going outside. 

But, with them being preoccupied, there was little for you to do with your free time. You usually spent all day working, you had no hobbies really, never the time. Until now, that is. 

Moon had provided you his books, but you've already read each of them cover to cover. Twice. 

You're just about tempted to make an attempt for the stairs again when there's a knock on the doorway, Sun's head peeking in the doorway. 

"Hello, Darlin'. How're you feelin'?" He asks, walking over to you and standing at your bedside.

You huff, lifting your hands up and dropping them back against the blankets. "I think you can clearly see how I'm doing, Lone Star."

"Oh." He tuts, sitting down in the nearby chair. "I think you're not truly appreciating the time you have. Won't be easy to get back into it once you're on your feet again."

You shake your head. "You don't know me well if you think I'm not going entirely stir crazy right now. I can't wait until that day comes. Get to boss you around proper."

"That so?" Sun chuckles, taking hold of one of your hands. 

You eye his grip, already sensing that he's up to something. "It is."

He notices your stare, and lifts your hand up. "What? Somethin' the matter?"

"Not quite. Not yet."

He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. "You're not worried about something, are you? Would you like to talk about it?"

"I think talking is the last thing on your mind right now." You tsk. 

At that, he grins. Another kiss is pressed to your hand. Then your wrist, and he makes his way up your arm, reaching your face soon enough. 

As he goes along, he feigns innocence in his tone. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Sweet Thing. Are you sure there's not anything on your mind? I'm happy to ease your worries, any way you'd like."

"Something tells me you're interested in easing your own worries." You realize his focus is on your lips and scoff. "You're not slick, you know."

He keeps his gaze trained there, smirk still settled on his features. "Maybe not. May I?"

You think it's cute he's asking, considering the fact there's no scenario where you say no. 

"You may."

His lips press to yours then, testing, gentle. But once he realizes—again—that you're not made of glass, he becomes bolder, pressing harsher, eager. 

After several rushed kisses he pulls away to look at you. 

Sun's hand cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb against it. "Truly is a damn shame you're bedridden. I miss our little 'conversations' out in the barn."

You go to answer, but are interrupted by a dark chuckle coming from the doorway. 

Both of you whip to see Moon leaning against it, arms crossed. 

"'Just checkin' in', isn't that what you said, Sun?" Moon questions, tone low. "Make sure they're doing alright, then you'd be right back to help clean stalls?"

Sun doesn't answer, face sheepish as Moon walks over to the other side of the bed, attention now on you.

He sits down beside you, bed sinking in as he does so. "Mornin' love. Sleep well?"

"Just fine." You snicker out, feeling Sun's nerves radiating from where you lie. "And how's your morning goin'?

Moon tsks. "Not too great so far. My hand disappeared on me so I've had to handle chores all on my lonesome."

"I wasn't gone that long..." Sun mutters. 

You ignore him for Moon's sake, instead pouting as you take the blue bot's face into your hands. Just a tad chilly from the outside air. "Oh, you poor thing. And it's cold out there today, isn't it?"

He leans into your touch, purring out his response. "Dreadfully."

"Well, let's see if we can't fix that, Moonshine." You pull him down to your level, kissing him softly, slowly, but deeply. He melts into your touch with a muted chuckle and you hear an irritated noise off to your right. 

You pull away when you're satisfied, Moon has a dazed look in his eyes that makes you giggle. 

"Go get back to work, Lone Star. You've got a minimum of ten stalls to clean out." Moon states through his haze.

Sun sputters. "Ten? That means you only did two!"

"Consider it compensation for lying." Moon says, leaning back in to kiss you again.

Before he can, Sun pushes him away from you, moving so that he's taking up your field of view instead. He kisses you quick, again and again, peppering you with kisses you can hardly return. 

All the sudden, he's yanked away and tossed off the bed and onto the ground. You can only watch in disbelief as the two cowboys get in an all out brawl on the ground. Laughter overtaking you as they bicker back and forth whilst fighting. 

It's killer on your ribs, but damn if it wasn't worth it. 

If you weren't excited to get back on your feet before, you sure as hell are now.

💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

heheheehehe get GOT alyn, hope you enjoyed, just a short little thing but I had fun with it :D

My writing Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

[bulkyphrase]

Steve Rogers + BDSM: A Valentine's Day Rec List

Happy Valentines day! This year's list is all about bondage, discipline, dominance and submission, and/or sadomasochism (a theme I love to pieces)!

For previous years' lists see:

Steve Rogers + Hydra Trash Party

Steve Rogers + Tentacles

Living on Your Breath by Sineala (@sineala) (Stony, Explicit, 110,343 words)

Summary: The Avengers have faced Onslaught and come home. The team has assembled again. And Steve is finally together with Tony. They're in love. Everything is perfect. But this happiness is all too brief, as Tony is kidnapped by forces unknown. Steve rushes off to rescue Tony, only to find that Tony has been brainwashed and turned against him. Now Steve, captured and tortured by the man he loves, must sacrifice everything he has to stop Tony from becoming a monster. Their relationship will never be the same again... if they both get out of here alive.

To Be Nobody But Yourself by ArwenLune (@primarybufferpanel) (Romanogers, Teen And Up Audiences, 1,730 words)

Summary: "Okay," Steve said, a little hoarsely, trying to sound like he understood this and it wasn't unsettling him at all. "Okay."

The rest are below the cut, sorted by ship

Bruce Banner/Steve Rogers

To Taste by felinefelicitations (@felasintumbld) (Bruce/Steve, Explicit, 15,617 words)

Summary: It isn't that Bruce does not like Steve (quite the opposite). It's that Bruce very much can't have Steve, not the way he would like. After all, Steve is Captain America, and Captain America is a paragon of command and control. In other words, not submissive. (Or how Bruce is sometimes the least observant scientist in the world, Steve is shyly in love and tells this to Bruce with food, and the team mostly just wants to make sure their supply of baked goods doesn't dry up.)

every bell that tolls me by thingswithwings (@twwings) (Bruce/Natasha, Bruce/Steve, Explicit, 19,899 words)

Summary: Bruce Banner, practical masochist. Or: Bruce gets a dom and a boyfriend, but they're not the same person

Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff

Ground Me by vassalady (@vassalady) (Romanogers, Mature, 1,461 words)

Summary: When Steve needs to let go, he goes to Natasha, who takes care of him.

Flesh Beneath by Isagel (@isagelc) (Romanogers, Explicit, 5,675 words)

Summary: There are never any scars.

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

(there are a lot of these)

Mercy in You by Sineala (@sineala) (Mature, 9,598 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: When Tony comes back from a very bad D/s date, in pain and abandoned by his dom, Steve offers to help Tony out and give him all the aftercare he so desperately needs. Also available as a podfic read by Pywren (@phyrrhicvictory)

So Much to Confide to You by Sineala (@sineala) (Stony, Explicit, 16,988 words)

Summary: After an attack by the Masters of Evil, Avengers Mansion is in ruins. Tony has come back from California to help the East Coast team pick up the pieces -- literally. And when the team finds items of a certain intimate nature in the wreckage of the mansion's bedrooms, Tony is of course the one who steps forward to claim them. This leads to two problems: Problem Number One: They're not his sex toys. His toys are in California. Therefore, one of Tony's longtime friends is also extremely kinky and he has no idea who. Problem Number Two: One of Tony's longtime friends happens to own an Iron Man butt plug. Oh, God.

I won’t leave you falling by BlossomsintheMist (@blossomsinthemist) (Stony, Explicit, 14,653 words)

Summary: Tony doms for Steve, which involves some specially enhanced red rope, cock rings, two vibrators, and a lot of orgasm control. It works out. Bottom Steve, trembling and desperate to come, loving dom Tony, plenty of aftercare.

You’re My Medicine by BlossomsintheMist (@blossomsinthemist) (Stony, Explicit, 11,691 words)

Summary: It was just that Steve liked harder kinks, and it seemed like the kind of thing that would appeal to the intense sensation play side of him, always pushing himself and looking for something to send him flying higher. It wasn’t the same as a flogger stinging over his back, but it was more intimate, more invasive, Tony figured—the same intensity, but in a totally different way, and maybe … gentler, softer. Something it would be easier for Tony to give him the way he wanted it, even the way he liked it. Written for Day Fifteen of Kinktober: Sounding.

Not In Kansas Anymore by fohatic (@fohatic) (Stony, Explicit, 28,585 words)

Summary: It was truly uncanny, how alike they both were. His voice. His mannerisms. His meticulously-groomed facial hair. If he didn't know any better, Steve would've thought that it was the same man he’d left back on Earth-617... The only noticeable difference between them was that look in his eyes... Steve hadn't missed it, the way that this Tony was watching him as if he were a rabbit that had wandered into a tiger's lair, regarding him with an unsettling sort of amusement as he invited him deeper into the penthouse, brown eyes sharp and smoldering with something that Steve didn't recognize. Steve Rogers attempts to covertly gather intel on a mysterious weapon from a parallel universe's Tony Stark, and ends up in a predicament that he never saw coming.

There's a First Time for Everything by viklikesfic (v_angelique) (@viklikesfic) (Stony, Explicit, 8,562 words)

Summary: "What are you, Cap, some kind of masochist?" Later, Steve will blame his response to Stark's quip on the heavy-duty painkillers Bruce is administering via IV in serum-resistant doses. He smirks, hissing just a little at the way the motion pulls at the cuts on his face, and looks at Tony dead-on with his one open eye. "Buy me a drink and maybe I'll tell you."

The Prize by sabrecmc (@sabrecmc) (Stony, Explicit, 318,625 words (WIP))

Summary: Steve ends up as a concubine in the royal harem.

The Least Difficult of Men by isozyme (@isozyme) (Stony, Explicit, 46,153 words)

Summary: It isn’t until Tony watches Steve lean into the punch that he thinks oh, this is going to be a problem. Steve’s taking hits on purpose in the field, so Tony suggests a safer option. It's simple: Tony smacks Steve around, Steve gets the pain fix he’s looking for, everyone leaves happy. Things do not stay simple. The one with repressed masochist Steve and sadist Tony and everyone getting off on pain a whole bunch.

Indulgence by FestiveFerret, One and Five Nines (Obani) (@festiveferret) (Stony, Explicit, 30,263 words)

Summary: All it took was one word from Tony, and Steve fell to his knees, every time. He wished he didn't need this so badly.

In the Springtime of His Voodoo by shaenie (Explicit, 9,821 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: “I’m removing Captain Rogers from this base, but not from active duty. I want him as SHIELD’s liaison to Stark Industries first and foremost. He’ll report directly to me,” Fury says. “As it is, your identity as Captain America is not public knowledge and it will remain that way until I say otherwise. That said, if you think you can get Tony Stark to work with you if you disclose that information, you have permission to do so.” Also available as a podfic read by paraka (@paraka)

Miscellaneous ships

(that sounds a little dismissive, sorry. I love these fics as much as the others, but there's only one of each ship for them)

Children's Work by blakefancier (@blakefancier) (Stoward, Explicit, 21,833 words)

Summary: "Howard is ten years old when he presents as a submissive." In a world where everyone is either a dom or a sub, sex is only a tiny part of those roles. Mostly, it's about how you view the world and yourself, how you interact with other people, most especially your soulmate. Please, read the notes before starting this story.

Lamb and Martyr by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (@dsudis) (Stucky, Explicit, 39,589 words)

Summary: "You could, though," Steve said. "If you were willing to hurt me."

Tie Me Down, Set Me Free by AzureTiger (@azuretiger) (Thundershield, Explicit, 10,855 words)

Summary: It’s always important to maintain a healthy work-life schedule. Steve isn't very good at that, and needs to learn when to stop. People learn in different ways, and Thor is more than happy to give a hands-on lesson.

[radioisntdead]

I'd like to request Velvette and/or Camilla with an assistant reader who has a crush on them, and one day they get hit in the head and suddenly they can't filter their horny/romantic thoughts about their crush/boss when speaking.

"Yes ma'am, I'll get that to you within the hour. By Lucifer, you're thicker than a bowl of oatmeal."

"I'll call the supplier right now. I'd forego a week's pay just to get a kiss from you."

Stuff like that. And it just comes out nonchalantly and without rhyme or reason throughout the day.

As much as I love Carmilla Carmine, I gotta go with my favorite Vee, Velvette!!

Brain damaged

Velvette x reader

Warnings: reader is uh, very silly, also reader has glasses for no other reason than the fact I was listening to confessions of a rotten girl with Hatsune Miku while writing the first half so take that as you will, ending is a little rushed because I was about to pass out.

Also this started out as a oneshot but I got stuck in the middle so it kinda faded into headcanons my apologies for the wonky formatting!!! I think this could classify as a drabble+ headcanons??

You were an average sinner, didn't do anything particularly in life to get down here, you went to work and you came home at the end of the day, ate, browsed the Internet and slept.

Nothing special, if you could say there was something that made you stand out from the rest was that you were one of the Vee's, specifically Velvette's assistant, one that's been with her for years and still has yet to be replaced or worse.

Although that may soon change since during your time off you had a horrible accident involving a turf war and long story short you were the lucky victim of a concussion!

You didn't go to the hospital because, while being Velvette's assistant actually gave you great health insurance, you were late because your favorite webcomic finally updated and you were not missing it because of some concussion.

This will be a decision you come to regret because once you returned to work all your inside thoughts became outside thoughts!

Whether you realized that or not.

The first instance of this was you waltzing into work at the crack of dawn, Velvette was a busy woman who valued her beauty sleep, so for her to get that sleep others must sacrifice theirs.

Oddly enough today she was up and about the same as you, so as her assistant you followed her around with your notepad.

This is when the first accident came about.

"Can you believe the nerve of that fucker? Who does he think he is?! What do you think [Name]?"

"I think that if I were to die I'd like it to be by your hands,"

"What."

"What?"

Going from shit talking someone to your assistant to them telling you that they would like to die by your hands was jarring, Velvette immediately sent you off to grab her coffee and you not even realizing what you had said just skipped away to grab her coffee.

Maybe this was a once-off incident, maybe she had misheard you in her precaffeinated state.

It was NOT.

You handed her files? "Here are your files Miss Velvette," "Great, anything else?" "I'd like to bury my face in your chest but other than that no, I'll take my leave now."

Honestly that should've gotten you reported to HR but the Vee's don't really have an HR department, it's actually just five Niffty size sinners in a trenchcoat.

You accidentally brushed hands? "I have been blessed."

You fall down the stairs and she's standing over you? "Oh, an angel?"

That one actually got you kicked.

Velvette's not... Mad...

Mostly because she finds you quite cute, like a little silly thing.

She is REALLY CONFUSED THOUGH BECAUSE???? you've never been like this before??? And you don't seem to be realizing what you're saying????

She decides to Uno reverse you.

"Anything else you need me to do for you?" You ask handing her lunch or something,

"You can sit on my lap."

Cue you spiraling

Cue the rest of the day where you'd blurt out something and she'd retort in kind.

Your coworkers are confused for the most part because??? The last time someone tried this they uh...

Let's just say the Vee's swap employees.

anyways cue the end of the work day where Velvette ends up taking you on a date because??? You're flirting with her and she's reciprocating so obviously the next time is to take you out.

Eventually in true cartoon fashion you get another concussion and everything just swaps back, your inside thoughts are back to being your inside thoughts but you did get a girlfriend out of your concussions!!

She did drag you to the hospital though because you had TWO concussions!!

Your job may or may not be in jeopardy though because you're dating your boss and uh.... That's kinda messy soooooooo good luck with that!!

Good evening folks!! I do hope you enjoyed!! Happy Valentine's day! Whether you're spending this day with a loved one, family, friends or by yourself I hope you have a wonderful day, and remember if you like chocolate it's supposed to go on sale soon, I want caramel chocolates :]

Anyways as always thank you for tunin' on in! Have a great rest of your night!

PSSSSSSSSST!!!!! Join our discord! It's welcoming to all fandoms not just hazbin and it's filled with amazing people!

[hanibalistic]

I WISH YOU WERE NICER TO ME | BANG CHAN.

genre | minor fluff and angst / platonic au

synopsis | a con man and a computer addict make quite the freelance dream team.

word count | 6.1k+

warning | violence, drink spiking, smoking, alcohol / minor sexual themes, reader is mentioned to have small breasts / no attraction age gap (20!reader & 38!chan) / use of the nickname 'sweetheart' / mentions of dementia, criminal activities

note | chan's character seems tall because the oc version is 182cm. i will likely delete this here once i get the commission art back and switch the names out.

Chan waited until the nursing home was out of earshot to release your wrist. 

He yanked you forward and spun you around to face him. 

His eyes were red, like an uncured hangover, but a red eye has so many causes that you'd rather not narrow it so quickly. For all you knew, he could have been crying, if that was possible for a man like him.

You glanced at his accusing finger before returning your attention to his face. His hair was disheveled, and his face was bare, one less common than the other. He wore a suit, although the buttons barely clasped correctly, and his tie was loose.

He was unprepared enough for you to deduce that the phone call you asked the receptionist at the nursing home to give him was his alarm, and he woke up somewhere other than his home.

He rushed over. He must love his mother.

You knew he did. That's why you paid her a visit at the nursing home. You were curious about truths that would prove him a safe enough partner in crime, and the nursing home hadn't been a good sign when you first found out about it.

A man who cares so much about his mother wouldn't dump her in a nursing home, but a man who doesn't care wouldn't put her in one of the nation's most expensive senior care facilities either. 

There must be a bridge, or many bridges burned somewhere that required this level of security.

You needed to know what bridges they were. His mother wouldn't be the ideal candidate to seek that information from, considering her dementia. Still, you figured you could make a point showing up at a place he never told anyone about.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, his words barely punching through his gritted teeth and clenched jaw. 

"To visit your mom," you replied. "We were having a decent conversation until you barged in and demanded that I leave."

"No–no. No." He closed his eyes and brought his clenched fist to them. His chest heaved up and down as he took a deep, readying breath, and then he relaxed and turned back to you. He licked his bottom lip to rid his mouth of dryness. When his tongue retreated inside, it pulled his lips into a smirk. "I meant what are you doing here?"

"Why did you put your mom here?" you asked. "Why didn't you hire a caretaker and keep her at home?"

His lip twitched. "You can't figure that out on your own?"

"I can make a deduction, but until you tell me the truth, it will remain an educated guess," you said. "Since you are already here, I figured you'd be a good samaritan and tell me the truth."

"How does that information help you?" Chan asked. "You can't possibly use that to screw me over."

"I know where your mom lives. What do you think?"

"You little shit–" he grabbed your shirt collar and yanked you toward him, breathing down your face–"I swear to God if you try anything."

You stared at him. 

He wondered if your indifference to violence was a byproduct of abuse. But he didn't think you've ever looked at him or anything else any other way. Those bland eyes could cross the galaxy and crash onto Earth like a meteorite without making the news. So he thought you must be some version of a sociopath to never feel or express anything.

It wasn't enjoyable to meet someone he couldn't easily read for once, and it wasn't so much an ego destruction but rather discomfort.

Being able to read the room and the mood was what kept him alive. You wouldn't kill him yourself, but you could get other people to do it. A proxy, a hand, a conscience. That's what he was to you, too. Someone to do something.

"If you don't give me a reason to, I won't," you said. "Now, let me go before I scream assault."

Looking around the area, nobody was walking around at this time, but houses were everywhere inside this gated community. If you scream loud enough, some big-headed vice president might come running to your rescue.

He dropped you and wiped his hand on his pants. You pushed your glasses and adjusted them further by scrunching your nose, watching quietly as he struggled with his thoughts.

"What do you want?" he asked.

The nature of his job, or whatever businesses he dips his full weight in, forced him to impermanence.

He switches his phone number periodically, at unpredictable times, and always has more than three numbers under his belt. 

You could access the contacts and messages in the phones he currently owns but not the disabled numbers, so you were here to ask about that.

"Jesus, that's it?" 

He rubbed his eyes and stepped aside to lean his weight against the brick wall next to you. Reaching into his blazer, he pulled out a cigarette pack and crumbled it up after taking the last one out. He dumped it on the floor, and you watched it roll off the slope.

Your nose itched when he blew the first buff. You figured he was a chain smoker. He always smelt like a gross mix of smoke and perfume. 

Through the smoke and squinted eyes, you found his exhausted features. "I didn't think you smoked cigarettes."

He chuckled through his nose. "This will blow your mind. I drink, too."

"An alcoholic?"

"Not enough."

"Then who cares." You shrugged. "I thought you would be more of a cigar person."

"They're the same. One just has a better packaging and reputation," he said. "But yes, I am more of a cigar person."

"I'm learning a lot today."

"Yeah, well." He cleared his throat. "I don't usually talk to my clients this much. Most of them don't show up at my mother's nursing home."

"Most of them think you're an orphan," you pointed out. "You do a good job fabricating your past, but I suppose it'll be a hassle to get a gated community to welcome an outsider without credible wealth and even harder to get a multinational bank to cover your tracks."

He furrowed his brows. "You looked into my bank accounts?" 

"Just the statements."

"That's basically everything," he said.

"Hmm." Your hum was a disagreement, and you tilted your head. "Not really.”

You knew he manages four bank accounts, two of them being savings accounts with a questionable difference in amount, one of them being a regular checking account, and the last one was an account dedicated to his mother's medicine and life expenses.

He has two credit cards and uses them regularly—based on deals and percentages. Other transactions are done through bills to leave no records.

"That's more than the statements!" he exclaimed.

You hummed again; this time, it was in thoughts, and then you nodded. "I suppose."

He took a drag of the cigarette and sighed. 

He knew a minor scope of your capabilities based on the jobs you've paid him to do previously. Intel collection and anonymity were your specialty. It didn't make much difference that you decided to meet him in public, considering he has no records of what you have done nor the evidence to prove it.

It didn't make much sense for you to have the kind of money you do, but he was a man of no questions. He never asked about the businesses you dabble in or how you do what you do. As long as the envelope is thick, frankly, you could be a mass murderer, and he wouldn't care.

This discovery of you loitering around his financial secrets was only a decent surprise. You did it all on your own, too.

"You didn't need to come all the way here to find out who I worked with," he said. "You could have just asked me."

"I wasn't here only for you. I also came here to meet your mother," you said after nudging your head toward the nursing home. Ignoring his eye roll, you returned to the subject at hand. "Anyway, I didn't think you'll give away information just like that."

"You're right. I will lie to you," he said. "But there is always some truth in a lie. That's what makes them credible enough to be believed in. The rest is up for you to figure out."

You raised your brows at the mention of unnecessary hoops you must go through for some basic information. It wasn't as if you could do anything with them. Knowing whoever he ended on bad terms with wouldn't benefit you now, considering you have no alternative to his role in your operations.

You only wanted to know to take precautions or build a silent network. Whatever was suitable for your cause.

"You can give it to me straight," you suggested. "Cut to the chase."

"I can't think of one person working in this business who would do that." He laughed before peering at you. "Even you lie."

"I try not to," you said, not to defend yourself but to tell the truth.

"You should start getting comfortable with it," he said.

"I'll try my best."

"Mmhm." Pushing himself off the wall, he dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it, cutting off its air as smoke released from his mouth.

You looked up at him once he neared, and you watched each other in a moment of dull silence before he reached a hand up to place it on your head. 

He didn't move, awkwardly keeping his hand in place as his body reminded him that he never knew how to be gentle with someone else, and it took over the wrongful instinct.

"You do whatever you have to do," he said. "As will I."

You blinked, glanced down in thoughts, then back up at him. Your movements were precise and observable, sometimes resembling a robot. 

Chan never knew people's facial features could move this way. It was mildly eerie, with the middle of the scale being a generosity granted thanks to your pretty face and young age. If you had been ugly and old, you would just be eerie.

"I already do whatever I have to," you said.

He shifted his weight and tried to feel for the cigarette under his feet. 

"That's great, sweetheart."

He shouldn't have thrown the cigarette away. 

You have never seen Chan in a simple shirt and sweatpants before. 

The existence of a dull attire propelled you to believe that he had a life outside of being a con man, which he must have, but you suspected that it was a seventy-dollar t-shirt and not an off-brand top.

You asked him to dress normally for today’s meeting, and he met the goal a little too perfectly. Even the foundation and minor contour were gone from his face, and his lips were more chapped than usual. 

"You look like you can be my neighbor," you commented.

“You live in a hellhole. Your apartment is four hundred square feet,” he said. “I would never.”

"You used to live in an apartment of that size," you said. "Back when you were still a child."

He rolled his eyes. "What else do you know about me?" 

"Nothing more than what I told you last time," you said. "Your mother mentioned an apartment estate. I assumed that was where you grew up."

He ignored you, but you were correct. He did grow up in a hellhole. The roof leaked whenever it stormed, the fuse sometimes blew if they turned on two electrical appliances simultaneously, and the walls were thin. 

At least the sex noises were arousing for him as a teenage boy, but the marital arguments and children screaming were the worst.

The environment was made somewhere tolerable by his mother being there. He loves her even though she has been callous, stressed, and overworked since his father’s dramatic departure. 

Chan never understood why his father had to be so dramatic about his romantic feelings. That man should have lied about falling out of love and cheating instead of actively pursuing a more desired life. 

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"I have a job offer," you replied curtly before stopping him by tapping his arm.

A cold breeze brushed over his skin when you opened the locker. Several bags of frozen food landed in the shopping cart under his hands. He looked down and grimaced. 

The variety of your meal choices was mind-boggling—orange chicken, sweet and sour chicken, teriyaki chicken, and General Tso chicken. The whole coop. The last time he was in your apartment, he saw unfinished cup noodles and opened bags of cream cakes that should be refrigerated if not consumed.

You were intellectually well put together, but good heavens, you live like a toddler spoiled by a disastrous uncle.

"This isn't healthy," he commented as he began pushing the cart to follow you.

"I know," you said. 

"You have money. Why don't you order takeout from restaurants?" 

You pursed your lips in thought.

It was convenient, you liked to think. They were effort with a reasonable portion and were easy to consume with something else because they take up such little space. A full meal wouldn’t fit on your desk, and they’d require more attention to eat, so you would miss out on what was happening on the screen.

You were also making up for eighteen years worth of a strict diet your controlling mother imposed on you. It has been two years since you were free from the horrendously stale meals, and you did it by forcing your parents to cut contact by disappearing.

They never looked for you. Last time you checked, they had a newborn child.

Theoretically, you feared for that replacement, but you have never feared for anyone but yourself. You weren't sure if you could.

"I wonder why," you replied with a solemn tap to your chin, mimicking a thinking motion without forcing your face to move an inch. You then pointed down the aisle. "Hey, you might want to close your eyes when we get to the chips section."

Chan scoffed as he leaned his forearms against the cart handle. "Fine, don't tell me."

"I wasn't planning to." 

He rolled his eyes. "What is the job?" 

"A dirty cop," you said, reaching an arm up for a bag of chips on the top shelf. "Or, more accurately, his son."

"You don't mean to ask me to make conversations with a cop, do you?" He whistled softly as he went over your head to grab it for you. He grimaced at the packaging but threw it in the cart anyway. "Horrible flavor."

“It’s sour cream and onion. It’s a widely accepted flavor,” you retorted, focusing entirely on the row of crackers. “Also, I don’t need you to talk to him. I’ll do that. I just need an entrance pass to a club you frequent.”

"Which one?"

"The Inferno Lounge."

"There's a cop in there?"

“Multiple, but they don’t care,” you said. “They don’t record their reservations online; their guest lists are handwritten. I couldn’t change anything if I tried, so I need you to help me sneak inside.”

While the guest list was logged physically, the nightclub would upload its expenses and customers online at the end of the day. You spent several nights scrolling through the lists with chip crumbs at your fingertips, checking out anyone worthy of your interest.

Against your assumptions, most law enforcement officers who frequented the nightclub were old and experienced. Alcohol and private rooms were boldly (or carelessly) purchased with credit cards. As for drugs, even if they wanted to, you doubted the provider took smart payment.

When you passed the candy section, you picked up a cherry lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it in your mouth. You kept the wrapper in your jacket pocket, saving it for the register later.

Chan sucked on his front teeth, his lips jutted out in thoughts. 

You didn’t suggest letting him bring you as a plus one because that would create an association. If one of you gets in trouble, the other will get involved indirectly. It was good to take that precaution.

Turning his head to eye you up and down, he asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

“Tell them you just turned twenty-one, and this is your first night out drinking. For good measure, ask them where the bar is, he said with a snap of his fingers. “They’ll let you in just like that. You don’t even need me there.”

"Dress skimpy but casual," he added with a chuckle. "Kind of like how you are now."

You glanced at your feet. You buy all your clothes based on comfort. The ideal items could be worn outside and to sleep, so you wouldn’t have to change.

"So, pajamas."

"Yeah." He nodded. "What do you plan to do?"

"Find the guy and take his phone," you said. "I just need to transfer some data."

"You don't need me for that," he pointed out.

"I don't," you said.

"Right." He smacked his lips softly. "Again, this could have been a text."

"It could have, but I wanted to ask you something," you said after pushing the lollipop to the side of your mouth. You shoved your hands in your pockets and turned to face him fully. "Your mom said something about a clinical trial the other day. What is that?"

He pursed his lips and felt them twitch upward into a smirk. He didn’t think about it too much at first, but a nurse at the senior home put him up to it. 

With the help of a selected group of patients, a famous brain surgeon at a metropolitan hospital was trying to find a way around a nearly impossible disease. He didn’t care too much about the cure, but rather, he’d like his mother monitored and checked on periodically, so he took her to the screening test.

She wasn't selected. He wasn't too upset about that.

Lowering his head, he ruffled his hair and stood up, sniffing, shaking the jitters out of his body. “It’s no big deal.”

 “It’s for her dementia.” You peered at him, biting on the hard candy. “I didn’t know they were doing research on the disease.”

"It doesn't concern you," he said. 

You wiggled your nose to rid of the oily glasses. You were biting down just a stick now, and you played with it using your teeth. "Fine, don't tell me."

You'll find out on your own.

The rest of the shopping trip was silent. Chan did not excuse himself and continued to walk the shopping cart around the store as you pushed more unhealthy food into the basket. He went ahead when you were at the cash register to buy a packet of cigarettes at the corner area. You waited for him by the automatic doors, stepping close to trigger its sensor whenever it closed, and walked out when you noticed he was paying.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, stuffing his thin wallet inside his pocket. 

“I hope so,” you replied. “I’ll probably live.”

“It’s a nightclub. When it comes to people your age, they don’t tend to kill you,” he said. “They do something else.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. Reaching into your shorts pocket, you took out another lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it into your mouth. Chan furrowed his brows when you pulled it past your lips and a soft pop. He was sure you stole that.

“Why don’t you old folks sleep with people your age?” you asked.

He noticed your tongue was red. He scratched the back of his ear with a grimace. “Is that a genuine question?” 

“All my questions are genuine.” 

“Then I don’t know,” he replied. “Haven’t had any trouble with women my age.”

“Yet.” You glanced at his appalled expression as you pushed yourself off the wall. 

Approaching him with a waving lollipop, you brought it up to his face and pressed it past his lips. He parted his mouth to welcome the sweet cherry taste, his teeth clamping down on the stick to keep it from sliding out. 

“Try this for a change,” you said. “It’s better than smoke.”

He hummed. He didn’t think so.

Your drink was spiked. It wasn't a surprise. Why else would they let a nobody inside an esteemed nightclub if not to take advantage of them?

The man who put the pill inside your drink did a horrible job of hiding it, or you were more perceptive. The dimmed atmosphere, loud music, and flashy disco lights would have made it impossible for anyone else to notice, but you did, almost too clearly.

However, holding onto the intention of not bringing attention to yourself, when the man questioned why you weren't drinking from the glass, you took a sip to get him off your back.

None of your observation skills mattered because you put yourself in the same position as those who would fall victim to such tricks.

If anything, you were in far worse shape.

Since the man continued to chase you down, which hindered your task to find the dirty cop, you talked him down over the loud music. The last you heard of him was a string of cuss words as his friends held him back from making an even bigger scene.

That alerted people of your presence, but you managed to fade into the background again until you finally came across your target.

You realized how terrible you were at pickpocketing. Even the drunk air couldn’t save you from being a suspect in thievery. 

You quickly became the center of attention again, except this time, it was to be arrested and not to sleep with. Or perhaps it'd be both. You never know at places like this.

The thirty minutes (for the drug to kick in) counted down while you stumbled around corners and through hallways. You suspected you were walking deeper into the nightclub rather than out of it, but at least the confusing layout must be as disadvantageous to you as it was to your pursuers.

"There they are!"

"Shit," you muttered and picked up your pace.

The hallways looked identical. They were decorated with a dark color scheme and stained with sensual lights flashing through tiny door windows. Bad vocals, cheers, chair creaks, and screechy moans all sounded like forks on a plate. 

Looking behind your shoulder when you heard rapid footsteps approaching, you turned back to face a dead end a few rooms ahead of you. If you turned back, you would only be met with your demise, so it has to be one of the few rooms present. You have to choose. Choose quickly.

"Aggressive much–" Chan paused. His eyes widened when he saw you. "It's you."

You clenched your fist and released the tension. Immediately, you reached for the switch by the door and dimmed the ceiling lights. Ignoring Chan’s confused questions, you brought the gadgets from your jacket before taking it off and throwing it aside. The next fabric to go was your tank, and you threw that somewhere on the table instead of the floor.

"Woah–slow down?" He laughed when you shoved him onto the couch and got on top of him, your legs straddling his thighs and your hands gripping his shoulders. He instinctively held onto your waist, his big hands warm against your skin. "Jesus, sweetheart. Are you into me?"

"Help me," you said quietly. "They're looking for me."

He raised a brow. The initial shock died down gradually, and he checked his surroundings. 

Two phones were lodged where your bottoms met; yours and the cop's, he suspected. Your skin was cold as ice, and goosebumps lined up your shivering arms, which he wondered if it was from the cold or fear. Looking higher up where your nipples perked, he realized he never noticed your chest was so flat.

Behind your shoulder was the hallway light. Chan barely had the chance to hear the commotion before the door bursts open. He didn’t need an explanation to piece the problem together. There wasn’t much that could happen in a nightclub besides the usual.

You squeezed your eyes shut and his shoulders tighter. Just as you were about to lean forward, hoping to hide your face somewhere in the crook of his neck, he slid his hands up your side and pressed his thumbs against the side of your breasts, pushing them together. 

Your back straightened into a soft arch, and a surprised gasp broke out of your lips. Chan peeked over your head at the intruder, one brow raised and his smirk almost condescending. “Are you staying for the show or?” 

Flabbergasted, the man apologized and slammed the door. You didn’t say anything at the sound of the door clicking shut. Instead, you picked up the phone and attached one end of the black cable to it. You grabbed the other phone, the one with a dirty screen, and attempted the same thing. 

Chan watched you miss the charging port several times before he took them from you, getting it right on the first try.

You turned his hand to show yourself the screen and tapped on it, your barely opened eyes darting around, trying to read the tiny words on each pop-up. 

"You're here," you mumbled. 

"I am." He shrugged. "I frequent this place."

"Pervert." He didn’t say anything back.

Your chest heaved with difficulty, and you were clumsier than usual. Chan tried to catch your eyes, but you were too focused on the task. Once he noticed a significant difference in your behavior, he touched your forehead with the back of his palm.

"Lightweight?" he asked.

You grumbled, "Drugged."

His hand dropped from your forehead, and he chuckled. “Tough luck.”

Once the phone showed that the transferring process had started, you sighed and dropped it on the side. You felt horrible, and trying to make sense of your bodily reaction made you feel even worse. Your brain was fighting too hard with your body just trying to relax.

"You're shaking a little," Chan pointed out. "It can't be the drug. It's supposed to relax you.” He poked your abdomen. “You’re not cold either.” 

You glared at him through your lashes. The ringing in your ears grew louder the more you fought the drowsiness. He watched you nonchalantly, without a smile or a frown. This wasn't too amusing to him, you supposed. He hasn't pushed you off either. If anything, he kept steadying you by the waist whenever you dozed off.

You couldn’t sleep before when you were on your feet, still running from the cops. But now that Chan was here, you figured you could take a breather. 

“I panicked," you said. “I feel fear.”

"That's alarming," he said. "You don't seem to feel anything at all."

You lowered your head, blackness fading in and out of your eyes. "Contrary to your belief, I'm not some sociopath without feelings."

"Lots of talking for someone so sleepy," he mused slowly, squeezing your cheek before he reached inside his coat pocket. 

He pulled out an old wooden box and opened it with a faint squeak. Inside were three cigar sticks. He took one out and carefully placed the box next to his leg on the couch. You watched with mild curiosity as he lit up the end of it before putting it between his lips, taking a long drag.

"Have you tried smoking before?” he asked. “This should help you calm down.”

You grimaced and shook your head. He smiled; somehow, this fact was amusing. Tipping your head up gently, with his fingers wrapped over your chin and jaw, he muttered for you to take a huff after he brought the cigar to your face. 

You sniffed, trapped on top of him, and lacked the inhibition to reject the suggestion, parted your lips for him to put the tip in. You inhaled, feeling the hotness spread over your mouth.

He released your face to let you exhale, his fingers grazing a line down your bare chest to your belly. You shivered at the feeling, puffs of smoke coming out in shock, and he recalled the way you reacted when he barely touched your breasts. 

Either you were correct that you do feel emotions, or your feelings were limited to how you biologically react to physical touch.

He has to admit the latter made you so much more tolerable.

"There you go, sweetheart. Good job," he said, pulling the cigar away. "But next time, maybe more smoke in your lungs and less in your cheeks."

You frowned. You reckoned if you had let it travel to your lungs, you would’ve gotten the harsh awakening you needed. But you didn’t; you kept the smoke in your cheeks, and it did almost nothing but make you drowsier. 

Blinking slowly, you looked up at Chan, who hadn’t tried anything inappropriate. You knew he had no ill intentions despite not avoiding your naked torso because if he had them, you would have felt it underneath you, and you would just have to bet that it keeps being that way.

Wiggling forward to get closer to him and find a better position for your numbing legs, you dropped your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. You relaxed against him; the buttons on his shirt might leave a faint mark up your chest.

"Hey," he whispered as he peered down. "You're not sleeping on me, are you?”

“I want to sleep,” you muttered. 

“I already paid for this room.”

“You can have sex some other time,” you said. “I have to sleep now.”

“Can you at least sleep on the other side of the couch?” 

You didn’t respond and he knew he wouldn’t get you to even if you were awake. He rolled his eyes and threw his head back on the couch. If he wasn’t sitting on his coat, he might have taken it off for you to use as a blanket. He doubted you were cold, though. Your skin has grown warm, and your breathing regulated itself. 

Leaving the room with all the security cameras would be a hassle. You’d have to figure out how to hide your face to avoid getting him in trouble. As for the man who barged into the room, he was willing to take a bet that he could lie about your presence in the room. Plenty of people loitered the nightclub. You couldn’t be the only person with your hairstyle and body size.

Inhaling a puff of smoke, he watched them go up the ceiling after he released it. 

Flashes of his conversation with his mother after you left the nursing home captured his attention. He tried to deter her from talking about you, which he did, but it wasn’t after she mentioned that you seemed like a good person and told him to be nice to you. 

That’s how he maintains friendships, she nagged. But you weren’t his friend. You weren’t anything to each other.

You breathed softly atop Chan. He brought his hand up to your hair, hot air boiling out of his mouth into a tragic exhale when he couldn’t will himself to do something comforting. His hand slid down to your arm, where he squeezed gently, and finally, it stayed at your waist to keep you close and steady.

"You owe me, kid," he muttered.

When a woman came by to provide him services, he shooed her away.

The back of an alley was the last place Chan expected to find you. Seeing you beaten and bruised was less surprising, considering your inability to socialize.

“I thought I heard something,” he said, crouching before you. 

He scanned your face briefly—a pair of cracked lips, a nosebleed, a bed of grabbed hair, and spots of purple and yellow developing around your eye. You were holding onto your abdomen, too.

"Karma came and bit you in the ass or what?" he asked.

“Maybe,” you mumbled. “I met them when I was at the nightclub. One of them was the man who drugged me. I chewed him out in public, so I’m guessing that’s what he was mad about.”

"Mm," he hummed with intrigue. "You shouldn't have done that."

You rolled your eyes. The pain has gradually faded from being noticeable, but you continued to feel wrong somewhere, like a misplaced bone or a sprained joint. It felt heavy as the hit but not like a weight. You have never been beaten before, so you had difficulty explaining it to yourself, and the lack of knowledge agitated you.

"This wasn't my fault," you said. 

"That's not the point," he argued.

"Then what is?"

"Why would I know?" Chan shrugged. "I didn't get physically assaulted. You did. What did you learn?”

Nothing. You have learned nothing because there was no lesson to learn from events that otherwise shouldn't have happened. 

You could learn about natural phenomena, a dessert recipe, or even the making of a pharmaceutical drug. 

A petty man choosing to retaliate against a trivial matter has no value and isn’t natural. It has no reason to exist. It just did for some incalculable reason. Therefore, it was not worth even you, someone who must make sense of everything, to try to understand it.

The only thing the event shed light upon was that you were better than him, not because you put yourself above physical violence but because you wouldn’t be bothered by something so minuscule in the first place. 

You being better wasn't a learning lesson. You already knew that.

"Take me home," you said. "I will pay you the gas money."

"I have an electric car right now. Maybe later."

He scoffed light-heartedly as he grabbed your wrist and threw your arm over his shoulder. You pushed your weight up with his help and exhaled through the discomfort. Chan peered down your shirt and raised a brow.

"They just beat you up?" he asked. "They didn't try to touch you or anything?”

You pursed your lips. There was an attempt, but you couldn’t shut your nasty mouth up for so long that they decided they didn’t like you enough anymore. Whether that was a miracle was debatable; you thought you would be left with fewer bruises if you had stopped talking.

"No."

"Sweet," he whistled, "virginity preserved."

You clicked your tongue and pushed your palm to his face. The velocity wasn't enough, so you gave him a proper slap before a round of random violence ensued.

He tried to stop you verbally, insincere apologies leaving his lips. However, the more he spoke, the worse you felt. Suddenly, you understood your perpetrator's urge to beat you up. 

"Hey, stop it! Stop it!" He shielded his face for a while before reaching for your shoulder and harshly throwing you toward the wall. "What is wrong with you?"

Your back whined in pain when it hit the wall. Once you dropped to the ground, you lay there and did nothing more to stress your body out. 

Turned out you weren't so much better, after all. If anything, you were so much worse than everyone else.

Chan tidied and dusted his clothes with short strings of curses leaving his lips, complaining about his good deeds going to waste on you. Glancing at your lifeless body, he sighed and shook his head. You could do whatever you want. 

Stepping over you, he walked to leave the alley when his phone rang. He paused to pick it up. 

"Hello?"

The voice on the other side was feminine and firm. She introduced herself as a doctor, apologized for a mix-up in some examination results, and congratulated him on his mother’s acceptance into the clinical trial.

"Yes, no problem. I will bring her over next week as scheduled," he said. "Thank you so much, doctor."

The line cut without static. He pulled the phone away from his ear and squeezed it to ground his thoughts. 

There was only one person he knew who not only knew about his mother’s condition but could also switch around digital information like that—you.

Putting his phone away, he sighed and turned back around. He knelt by you and carefully slipped his arms under your side, adjusting his hands on your shoulder and hip.

"She was nice to me." You peered up meekly. "Your mom was nice to me."

No hospital, no police station. You were heading home, he knew. He swallowed a knot before hoisting you up into his arms. Your glasses were broken. He left it there.

He was warm, like last time, and safe, if you’d call him that. 

"I bet she was."

[junedenim]

2014

beneath the boardwalk, part 12 (series masterlist)

fireside

warnings: slutty behavior

word count: 15k

I found out Alex and Arielle broke up through Facebook. Of course, because it's Alex we're referring to—a man who never touched social media with a 39½ foot pole—I didn't find out through a relationship status update, I found out through an article. I cursed the Facebook gods for knowing I would click on the article and nearly didn't but I did because I had to know whether it was legitimate or just gossip. The article didn't indicate much either way. I made the assumption I would hear about it if it were true and clicked off Facebook before it fully rotted my brain.

I spent the majority of January in England. I had gone back for the holiday season but had been convinced to stay through the new year through the pull of London. I caught up with old friends, most notably my old neighbor, Lee, and her two girls who I used to babysit and who were now both teenagers. I felt old.

When I returned to New York, my agent told me that one of the short stories from my upcoming book would be featured in the New Yorker. Featured, not just plain old staff writing, a full-on feature. Right up there with the likes of Shirley Jackson, Truman Capote, and George Saunders (okay, maybe not up there, but I have it in common with them). It was a nice start to the new year.

Fennel and Kaka had a dinner party in celebration, or just to have an excuse to throw a dinner party, they like those kinds of things. I wore a slutty dress Fennel provided and got drunk on champagne.

The day after this beautiful fancy party, Opal took me out for a proper celebration. Shitty bars and shitty clubs to get drunk off tequila. This was followed by the worst hangover of my life which made me vow to give up alcohol (fat chance).

Alex called me during this time and I missed it. There was a good chance people thought I was dead for several days. I didn't answer my phone and only got out of bed to vomit. I never returned Alex's call but he called me right before Arctic Monkeys performed at Madison Square Garden. I assume the call was some form of an invitation to attend but I wouldn't have gone anyway. I watched their cover of "All My Loving" on YouTube a week later and decided that I was only pissed that I missed that song.

Through Fennel, I had met Isaac Gaunt, a fashion photographer from London. He asked to do a photoshoot with me, which could've been a good way to be sex trafficked but considering the guy had shot for Vogue, I took my chances.

Isaac and the photos he took of me unlocked a whole new world for me. One where I would be referred to for my looks. All those years of being concerned over my author photo seemed to be indicating something.

My agent had no experience with fashion and graciously suggested I get another agent who specialized in it. She proved that not all agents are money-hungry monsters. So, I stayed with her and said I wanted her to handle fashion the same way she handled books because I was still a writer after all.

Because my image had cultivated somewhat of a following over the first few months of the year, I was offered more and more opportunities and got to feel like a diva when I turned down offers because I was simply "too busy." I loved it. It fed into my ego and made me feel way better about myself after feeling like shit for so long.

Of course, the buzz only lasted for so long but because I had the luxury of dictating my new career and whatever direction it was heading, I got to control the rush. I quite liked being busy too, especially when it meant getting invited to cool parties. Thus, I drank more champagne.

I got an invitation to this one party at the Museum of the City of New York. The building itself being this glorious display of Gilded Age glamour. I believe it was a fundraiser for the museum but also a celebration of the city and the talent it cultivated. I don't think I fell into that category, I just knew the right people, which is really just what it's all about. Knowing the right people.

Most people didn't know who I was and those who did recognize me didn't know I was British, which meant that they hadn't read anything I had written. So, I guess I was just a face now. I thought that would piss me off more but I liked being this mystery. I was luckily still taken seriously and people were intrigued when I said I was a writer instead of rolling their eyes and thinking I was some dimwit with looks who claimed to be a writer but actually barely knew how to string a sentence together. 

At the MCNY, on the luxurious staircase, dressed in something that was expensive and vintage and left me fearful of spilling something on it the whole night, I ran into Jackson. We stared at one another and with a nod of each of our heads, we passed one another with not a word uttered. I assume he was there with one of his clients but I went on and met up with a group of people who were slowly becoming my friends and didn't see him for the rest of the night.

It made me feel mature. I didn't feel a need to prove how fabulous I was and no need to spin the skirt of my dress around or sip my champagne with no care for him. I was perfectly comfortable with a small smile and seeing that he was doing just fine. It made me feel like I must be doing just fine too.

*

On the first coatless day of the year, I got fro-yo with Opal and her friends, Nadia, Sophie, and Mina. Opal's birthday was the following week but I would be out of town so we had a mini girl's day with the latest craze of fro-yo. I had met all the girls before but only had a close kinship with Mina after she crashed at my place following a night of clubbing.

After buying our combination of swirls, we sat in Tompkins Square along a bench. By the time our fro-yo was melted, the topic of my goings next week arose. Opal asked, "How do you feel about seeing you-know-who?"

Nadia licked her spoon clean. "Who's you-know-who?"

"My ex-boyfriend," I informed. "I'm going to a wedding next week. It's his bandmate and my friend, Katie, getting hitched."

"Your ex-boyfriend is in a band?" Sophie questioned.

It was rather odd to me that my life had grown so far outward that people didn't know about Alex. I was grateful for it, specifically in terms of my career. My life moved on and my name was no longer followed by "Alex Turner's ex-girlfriend." It had been a new discovery that past year. Be it good PR people or, more likely, people in my line of work didn't care. 

Though, I was shocked Sophie didn't know.

"What are you going to wear?" Mina asked. I went simple since I was flying in from New York. It was a soft blue slip dress. There was nothing fancy about it other than the gorgeous colour.

In regard to running into Alex, I didn't care. Well, I mostly didn't care. Okay, I cared, but I didn't actively try not to. I wanted to be friendly and my expectations didn't go further than that. I wasn't nervous about it anymore. I cared more about Katie's wedding dress than what I would be wearing. In any scenario, that was an unanticipated form of growth out of self-absorbedness that I never believed I could reach. 

*

I cry at weddings. I am reduced to a blubbering fool. It's quite embarrassing. If I wasn't me, I would be making fun of me because being vulnerable is something I'm still not comfortable with despite how emotional I am. With Jamie and Katie, it felt understandable. They were a couple I watched grow together from two awkward kids to well-adjusted adults. It was an unexpected overwhelming feeling but Katie was so beautiful and I was jet-lagged. 

After grabbing a flute of champagne, I got my emotions under wraps and had small talk with the various attendees, many of whom I hadn't seen in years. I lucked out by finding AB and Shay, who I had no clue were attending, and buddying up with them by the bar.

I sipped my champagne, talked with them, and looked out at the crowd the whole time, slightly dreading or rejoicing whenever the moment would come that Alex and I locked eyes. Eye contact was generally avoided during the ceremony. I sat too many rows back and think my stomach would have fallen out of my ass if we looked at each other when two people were getting married. I much preferred the idea of a dramatic, but subtle and tamed, wedding reception gaze at one another. 

Breana found me during this time, sans Matt, which probably meant he was with Alex. As I hugged her, I feared Matt and Alex would come looking for her like she was some lost puppy. I felt ridiculous but Breana understood my predicament and didn't question why I was looking over her shoulder the whole time we spoke.

Cocktail hour wrapped with no sign of Alex, which meant I didn't get totally hammered before dinner. I was seated with AB and Shay, who were now engaged as well, and I spent the whole of our time together staring at the rock on her finger. 

Right around when I began to dive into dinner, I spotted Alex eating at his table. His back was to me. I wondered if we were intentionally seated that way so we didn't have to stare at each other from across the room.

Cake was given and I managed not to ball my eyes out during the first dance. AB and Shay escaped me to do their own dancing, I felt impossibly envious and deeply regretful that I had not shacked up with someone to bring as a plus one because weddings are disgusting and lonesome when you're watching all the cute couples dance.

I made friends with the only other single gal at my table, Dolly, one of Katie's friends. We travelled to the bar together with interlocked arms, despite the fact we barely knew each other. We both got a margarita and cheers to an okay night, whatever that might be.

"I haven't been to a wedding in years and suddenly it feels like everyone is getting married," Dolly said.

I hummed and swallowed my drink. "We're getting to that age when you're either a single loser or having babies."

"My younger sister is engaged and I don't even have a boyfriend. How much of a loser does that make me?"

I leaned against the bar and deposited my empty glass, requesting another one. "It makes you smart."

"Can you tell that to my parents?"

We shared a laugh and the bartender gave me my next margarita. A tap was felt on my shoulder and the voice rang through my ears, "Hey you."

I managed not to fully choke on the liquor running down my throat. I covered my mouth to prevent a major coughing fit or spitting the liquid out onto him. "Hi."

I wasn't sure what else to say. He stood there. I noted the uptightness in his posture. He smirked to hide his nervousness as suaveness. I knew he had to be nervous because I was too. I did get a kick out of him being the one to approach me. For a change, I no longer felt like the girl falling at his feet.

After too long of a silence staring at one another while Dolly surely thought we were looney, Alex asked, "How are you doing?"

I nodded. "Fine." I was being dry and rejecting, leaving nothing for him to grasp onto. This was the crossroads. I could be cold and watch him walk away dejected, getting immense pleasure for the power I had over him. However, who was to say I did not have that power over him anymore? Who's to say I wouldn't have just come off as awkward and a loser? A boring single loser.

I could’ve smiled and asked him how he was and acted out pleasantries that were likely too sweet to be believable coming from my lips. Silence hung and I wasn't sure what to do. I took a sip of my drink and Alex did the same with his. It was a game. Whoever finished their drink first had to speak.

"I've just been chatting with Dolly here," I told him. I lost. Or won. I wasn't sure. I requested another drink pulling myself further on the road of alcohol poisoning. "How've you been?"

"Fine." He was smiling—no more than that—a shit-eating grin. He was mocking me. He was two seconds away from breaking into an uncontainable laugh. "I've been fine. The usual."

I hummed like some wise old man. "Yes, the usual. And what would the usual be?"

He shrugged and swirled his drink, looking down at the spiral forming around his ice. I wasn't sure what game we were playing. I felt like breaking the ice but it slowly began to feel like we were freezing ice between us. Everything was awkward and cold and Dolly was just staring at the whole thing.

She threw her pickaxe into the mix. "Jane and I were just talking about how it feels like there are suddenly so many weddings this year. I've got two more I've got to go to in the summer."

Alex pulled himself away from his hypnotizing drink, adjusted his suit jacket, and swung back into action. "It does feel that way, doesn't it? I suppose that's what your late twenties is." His eyes bore themselves into me and he sipped on his drink.

"For some of us," Dolly said. "The rest of us are left to deal with the scraps."

"Aw," Alex rejected, "you ladies aren't scraps."

Dolly replied, "I never called us scraps. It's you men that are the scraps."

I giggled and Alex tossed between a frown and a chuckle like he couldn't decide how he was supposed to react. "The ones that haven't been potty trained yet," I joked.

"We aren't all so bad, you know," Alex said. "Some of us at least know how to aim."

It broke me out into an embarrassing laugh. One that had me trying my back to him and leaning on the bar because I couldn't bear for him to see me clutch my stomach and snort my drink out. Dolly and Alex laughed more at me than the joke and I turned back in shame as the two of them stared at me. "Sorry," I muttered through my amusement.

Dolly shook her head at me. "All these weddings have made me acutely aware of how single I am. I've become one of those people who bitches and moans about that to people I barely know."

I relaxed against the bar and sipped away. "Welcome to the club."

"The only benefit of being single at a wedding is a chance of catching the bouquet," she stated.

Alex stood amused by Dolly, chuckling at her and sliding his hands into his pockets. "If it makes you feel better I don't even get a chance to catch the bouquet." His eyes drifted to me a moment later like he was waiting for a reaction. My eyes moved to Dolly. I realized this was his way of informing me he was single. I didn't know how to take that.

"You two are very Debbie Downer," I said. "You're 28, not the 40-year-old virgin."

Dolly straightened up. "You're right. I'm spiraling too much. I should be focused on the open bar and having fun."

I lifted my drink. "That's the spirit."

"My friend's just gotten married. I'm chatting with old and new friends. I could stumble on the love of my life tonight instead of bitching and moaning. Or at least a plus one to the next wedding."

"Husbands are overrated anyway," I stated.

Alex chuckled, grabbing my attention again. I almost forgot he was standing there. "Is that the subject of your next book?"

I pointed a finger at him. "You know, that's not a bad idea. At least for an article."

Dolly placed her glass down on the bar. "I'm gonna hit the dance floor. Care to join me?" I wasn't sure which one of us her question was directed at.

Alex eyed me and I eyed Alex. I looked back at Dolly and told her, "I'll catch up with you after I finish my drink."

She looked at me with a hint of something that I refused to acknowledge. "Don't spend the whole night by the bar," she warned.

"I won't," I promised as she walked away.

I leaned back at the bar and focused on my drink and not the man in front of me. It was easier to digest my decision that way because of course I only stayed at the bar for my drink and not anything else at all. Totally. 

"She's nice," Alex said. He was still nursing the remaining liquor in his drink, even though the ice was beginning to melt.

"Shall I set the two of you up? We could be at your wedding this time next year," I quipped.

Alex feigned some laughter. "I don't think I'm ready for that kind of thing."

I narrowed my eyes. "Wives overrated?"

"I haven't found out yet." We stared at one another with the knowledge that whatever move followed would determine the rest of the night. I didn't finish my drink right away and he never took another sip of his. "How are you?"

"You already asked that."

He playfully rolled his eyes. "Right, you're fine."

It made me laugh and I dropped my shoulders, no longer feeling a need to be tensed up. "I've been busy but I like what I'm busy with."

"That's good."

"You?"

"The usual."

I rolled my eyes this time. "You're so funny, Al."

"What else would you like me to say?" The question posed so much with so little. We could run down a thousand different avenues with that one question. I could beg, I could insult, I could walk away.

I disguised my blushing as red-hot amusement. "That you've become a grand master in chess or learned how to get a ship into a bottle."

He gestured his glass at me. "You know, it's not as hard as you think."

"Come on, you have to give me something to work with. How else will I relentlessly make fun of you?"

"Like you don't already?"

I tossed my head back, pretending I was exhausted by him. I never could be it seemed. "I need new material."

He rattled the ice in his glass and moved closer to me, leaning his side against the bar. "I've been trying to learn magic tricks."

"Are you going to pull a coin out from behind my ear?" I hid my smile in my drink.

"I never said I was good at it." He placed his glass down at the bar like he was establishing his place there. "Have you learned any new tricks?"

I couldn't deny it then. He had confirmed it right there. He was flirting with me. I didn't know what to do with it or how to act on it so I just sipped my drink and didn't dare look at him. "I've taken to doing the New York Times crossword every morning."

He laughed at me. "How long does it take you before you look up the answers?"

I refused to allow him to see me blush. If I could dive into my drink, I would have. "Probably ten minutes." He laughed with me. "But they're just hints. I'm allowed hints. The Sunday one is really hard."

"I believe you. I know how smart you are."

His closeness was beginning to make me uncomfortable. I turned my body and leaned my back against the bar like I had so many times before. "There was a crossword clue mentioning Sheffield a few weeks ago."

"Really?” He perked up. Something about it felt so childlike or maybe like a dog who hears the rustling noise of a bag of treats. “What was it?"

"It was easy. Something like ‘stroller in Sheffield, 4 letters.’"

"Would it be a pram?" He looked at me expectingly like he was awaiting cheers to erupt.

"Ding ding ding," I sounded. "You're not as dim as I thought."

"Oh, thanks, Jane." He tried to act offended but his voice edged with mirth and a smile tugged on his lips.

He opened his mouth to speak but I beat him to it. "I think I'm going to go dance."

I placed my empty glass down on the bar and watched as he let delight spread across his face. "I should've known Backstreet Boys would get you on the floor."

I crossed my arms. "Well, it is ‘I Want it That Way’ after all. Just be happy I'm not screaming it in your ear." I turned away before he could say anything else. I joined Dolly in horrible dancing and singing as the margaritas blasted through me.

I lost Alex in the crowd. I think he might have been with Matt because I found Breana on the floor. I grabbed both her hands and spun around with her. At some point we had formed a mini circle of girls, kicking off our heels, and jumping around. 

Perhaps it was too early to be shaking the floor based on some side eye we were given. Out of breath, Breana and I decided to step back into our shoes and sit down. She leaned toward me. “So, what have you been up to?” Her eyes were wide and coming onto me alluringly.

I held my stomach and worked on quickly reinflating my lungs. “Are you hitting on me?”

She pushed away from me with a laugh. “No, I’m just curious what you’ve been up to this evening. You’ve got your eye on anyone?”

I stared at her. “No.”

“Come on, the only benefit of going stag to a wedding is taking someone home with you.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “When did everyone become so sex obsessed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in the last year or so. When did you become so prudish, Jane?” She teased.

I countered, “I don’t know. Maybe in the last year or so.”

I debated the idea of it but thinking of trying to hook up with a stranger at a wedding kind of disgusted me. Maybe because Alex was there. I think I also didn’t want to be the one trying to seduce someone. I wouldn’t deny a Four Weddings & a Funeral situation, especially if I got to be Andie MacDowell.

Breana stood up and asked, “Should we get a drink?” 

I slumped in my chair. “Maybe. I feel like I might be too drunk already.”

She laughed. “There’s no such thing at a wedding.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Come on. I’ve barely had any. Take me to the bar.”

I guided her through the crowd to the deck of the bar. Along the way, I decided she was right and that free alcohol is free alcohol. We both indulged in cocktails with pieces of fruit and straws. “This is so sweet,” she said. “I feel like I’m gonna vomit.”

I gagged. “Don’t talk about vomit.”

Breana waved her hand to someone behind me, gesturing for them to come toward her. I looked behind me to find Matt and Alex. I kept my eyes trained on Matt and smiled and waved.

“Jane Cavendish!” Matt drunkenly cheered. “I heard you were crawling around.” He slung me into a hug. I returned it despite how sweaty he felt and how hard I was trying to not laugh at him.

“Matthew J. Helders III,” I returned his proper greeting.

Breana tucked her arm under Matt to keep him upright. “Maybe we should sit down,” she suggested. When Matt insisted otherwise, she decided for him, taking him over to their table, and leaving me with Alex.

He took a step forward towards me. “And I thought I was going to be the one to get hammered,” he said.

“Night’s young and the bar is still mighty full.”

He eyed my drink. “What’ve you got there?”

I stirred my straw, clunking the ice against the glass. “I believe it is called a woo woo.”

“A woo woo?”

“Yeah, it’s vodka, cranberry, and…” I took a sip. “Peach Schnapps. I’ve never had it before but I quite like it.” I eyed the hand around his glass. “And what do you have? Your bourbon,” I mocked, continuing to sip away at my woo woo.

“I go for reliability over experimentation.” He sipped his with a piercing stare at me.

I couldn’t tell if he was making a pointed comment at me or trying to make some eloquent quip. Either way, I didn’t care. I liked my woo woo too much to care. “You’ll never know the joys of a woo woo then.”

“Gimme a sip then.” He curled his fingers, beckoning me to move the drink toward him. 

I handed it over. “Sip out of the glass, not the straw.”

He chuckled. “I’ve kissed you but can’t share a straw with you.”

I was determined for my face to stay neutral. “You’ll get the bourbon taste all over it.”

“Oh,” he sarcastically said. 

He began to chug out of the glass until I pulled it out of his hand. “Get your own if you love it so much.”

“It tastes like candy floss.”

“No, it does not.” I sipped just to check. “It definitely doesn’t. I don’t think you’ve ever even had candy floss.”

“I’ve had it. Might have been 20 years ago now but I’ve had it,” he insisted.

I looked out at the crowd dancing. I had no clue what time it was or how long we had been there but it felt like no time had passed and hours had passed at the same time. I wasn’t sure what had a greater effect of time distortion Alex or alcohol.

“Have you danced at all?” I asked him.

He leaned an arm against the bar, slowly inching closer and closer to me. “Is that an invitation?”

“No,” I claimed, “I’m waiting for them to bring out more food. Can we get a second serving of cake?”

Alex chuckled, standing up straighter, no longer coming off as leering. “You haven’t had enough sugar from your woo woo?”

“Well, if I don’t have any food to soak up the alcohol than I won’t remember the rest of the night,” I told him.

“I think they’re bringing out pretzels soon.”

“Hard or soft?”

He smirked. Him and his dirty mind. “Soft, I think.”

“God, I could eat like five of those right now.” I felt like my stomach would rumble so hard it would shake the building causing a microearthquake. “What time are they doing that?”

He shrugged.

“You’re no help. You’re supposed to have the insider information,” I complained.

“I didn’t plan the wedding.”

“Go find out for me,” I commanded. I was desperately hungry and desperate for him to get away from me. It was his gaze that made me blush from a shared nervousness and awkwardness. I didn’t know how to act around him anymore, not with the way he was acting.

The wave of my hand shooed him away and he disappeared into the crowd again. I got a Moscow mule and went back to my seat. Before Alex returned, the soft pretzels were taken out and I was first in line. I got back in line before I even finished my first one.

When I spotted Alex across the room, I raised my pretzel toward him. He raised his woo woo back at me.

AB, Shay, Dolly, and I chatted over our pretzels and drinks at our table. Shay looked sleepy, leaning her head against AB’s shoulder, and I knew they’d be heading out within the next half hour. Dolly kept throwing her head back in laughter, even when the conversation didn’t prompt it.

I wiped my hands clean of salt and, encouraged by the group, chugged the rest of my drink. With the empty glass, I stood, curtsied, and headed to the bathroom. I was buzzed, maybe even drunk by that point, but still felt in control despite my heeled shoes growing bothersome. I was ready for another drink. Well, after I peed.

When I left the bathroom, he was standing there, acting casual with a drink in his hand and tapping his foot to the music, but I’m not sure why he would be standing outside the women’s bathroom unless there’s something I don’t know about.

I walked up to his profiled body. I placed my hands on my hips as the upturn slowly occurred on my lips. “Are you stalking me now, Al?”

“How was your pretzel?” He wasn’t being concealed. He couldn’t control his smirk and it felt like every second passed in a thumping heartbeat.

“Same as yours I’m sure.”

“I didn’t get one.”

“Well, maybe you should. They were good.”

“I was gonna pop out for a smoke. If you wanna.”

“Wanna what?”

“For old time’s sake.” 

The nostalgia played a role but the look on his face tugged at me and as much as I wanted to deny it, I wanted to go out and smoke with him too. For old time’s sake. I was also itching for a cigarette and bumming one off Al was as good as anything else.

Night had covered the outside world. The once warm day had turned into a breezy night. We walked to a park bench outside the venue. The wood grates pressed through the fabric of my dress and I took the opportunity to curl my legs behind me and rest my feet.

Alex handed a cigarette to me before pulling one out for himself. I startled him by reaching into his coat pocket, perfectly aware of where his lighter was. I lit my cig before tossing it to him. I leaned back against the iron bar and watched as the smoke left his lips.

“Talk,” I urged him.

“I’m in charge?” He questioned.

“You brought me out here.”

He chuckled. “Nicotine brought you out here.” 

I looked out onto the scene in front of us. It wasn’t particularly interesting. There was a car park and a field and the venue. There were some other people. A few were smoking, some leaving, and a few getting fresh air or trying not to act too drunk. “I’ve got a lot of addictions.”

“Woe is me much?”

I snorted. When I faced him, his eyes were already trained on me with a smile. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

“Dark and mysterious might’ve worked on me in college, Jane, but I know you better now.”

“You knew me pretty well back then,” I reasoned. “As I recall it.”

He hummed like if we looked into each other’s eyes long enough a wormhole would form and we’d be taken back in time to 2003. “You’ve always been easy to read. You did put up a good wall back then though.”

“Nothing compared to yours.”

He broke eye contact with me for the first time. He turned completely away, staring at whatever lay before him on the other side. “I have the reputation for it, I’m sure.” He looked back at me like he couldn’t resist it for too long. It burned me. He could have put his cigarette out on me for all I know. It burned a hole through the center of me. Too much. Too hurtful.

“Well, I was still able to read you pretty well.”

“More than I would’ve liked,” he said. “There I go sounding all despondent. How’s your next book going?”

I shrugged. “Somewhere. It’s been a little complicated lately. New ventures. And a new agent.”

“Ah, the post-Jackson era?”

“Yeah, kind of fucked that one up. Business wise.” There was no reason to get into all the personal propensities here or ever because I can barely recall that mess and have had limited desire to, clearly. “Lisa’s my new agent. She’s lovely and nice but it’s different. Jackson was my friend too. I guess I have a habit of not knowing how to keep friends.”

“It’s a natural part of growing up,” he tried to assure me.

“You are aware of whose wedding we’re at?” I longed to have friendships like Alex’s. I felt like I couldn’t hold onto those things. I think it’s easier for guys or maybe that’s just a grass being greener mentality. 

He couldn’t argue, instead breaking into laughter. “Yeah, you are a bit shit at keeping friends.”

“Hey!” I whacked him.

He held his hands up. “I’m kidding. You’re my friend after all.”

“The aforementioned: a bit shit. Case and point.”

He laid it out. “You make things too awkward.” 

“I think the situation is awkward.” Is there a proper way to interact with her ex? If so, I haven’t quite found it yet. There’s a fine line, especially with Alex. I felt we were always tiptoeing around our situation. That was the problem with never addressing anything. With no formal break-up, we never discussed and unravelled how things went down. We stayed tangled and flipped back and forth between the closest of friends to distant figures in one another’s lives. Here we tried to find the middle ground.

He pondered what I said for a minute. He sat with it and took a few drags before saying, “Who am I to talk? I’ve made my own messes.”

I almost didn’t ask but it was getting late, memories crept up on me, I felt warm, and he felt close. “With Arielle?”

Alex turned away, clearly not wanting to dive into it. I could see the environment pulling away at him too. He leaned against the bench’s backing and laid his arm on it. “Yeah, not that it would have worked out anyway.”

I felt myself leaning closer like he had lassoed me and was pulling me in. “What do you mean?”

He let out a half-suppressed laugh like he couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. He put out his cigarette but didn’t move an inch from his seat next to me. “Did you think you were going to end up with Jackson?”

To prevent the situation from travelling too deep, I leaned my temple against my fist, and joked, “I don’t know. Cavendishes are historically unhappy in their marriages.” I followed his suit and put out my cigarette, but stayed glued to my seat next to him.

He didn’t look at me when he said, “If you’re going to be unhappy at least aim wealthier than Jackson.”

I wanted to ask if he meant him.

I wondered what my next move should be. There was no longer anything between our fingers excusing us to sit outside. I felt my continued participation in the conversation would reveal something. I was probably reading into it too much, but it was sending him a signal I didn’t know if I wanted to give off.

“Should we go back inside?” I asked.

“Why?” His questioning sent a shiver down my spine. “You getting cold or something?”

“Thirsty,” I claimed. I feared he’d attempt to take his suit jacket off and throw it over my shoulders.

“You dipsomaniac.” He stood up beside me and we walked back in together toward the bar. I got a Tom Collins because I liked the way the bartender decorated the glass with the lemon slice and a drink would distract me anytime I needed to think of something to say.

Alex got something boring. I don’t remember. “What number is that for you?”

I stirred and thought. “I don’t know. I guess that says it all.” I stared out at the crowd of people on the dancefloor shimming to “Billie Jean” in a wild manner. It comforted me that the age of the crowd had levelled out and the sobriety of the crowd had diminished. “Have you danced at all this evening?”

“I’m not that drunk yet.” He took a mighty gulp. “You offering?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want my toes broken.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a good dancer.”

“Not when you’re drunk.” Alex would shake, thrash, and toss when drunk dancing. He loses all control of his limbs and his coordination is deadly for someone who already suffers in the department. “What song would get you on the floor?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Chicken Dance.”

“This isn’t a school dance. Serious answer.”

“Why? You gonna go give the DJ a request?”

“I’m just curious. No need to accuse.”

“Some Spice Girls.” He smirked.

I glared at him. “Don’t mock me now.”

“Let’s get it on,” he offered.

“Huh?” Uncertainty lied in my reaction.

He raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Marvin Gaye,” he clarified. 

“You’re not funny.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

The booming of “Single Ladies” blasted through the room interrupting any proper answer. I held my glass out to him. “Keep it safe for me?” I asked.

He nodded, wrapping his fingers around the cold glass. “Good luck,” he taunted.

I stuck my tongue out and headed to the girl-filled dancefloor. We bumped shoulders with one another and Katie pretended to throw it several times before finally releasing it. The bouquet twisted and turned and flew through the air before it landed directly into Dolly’s hands. She squealed and clapped her hands together, having won the ultimate prize. 

When I returned to Alex and teased me with a pout on his lips. “I’m sorry you lost.”

I took my drink back and took a quick sip. “Eh. It’s probably better if I'm not the next to get married. Logically it’s actually Breana right?”

“Does it count if you’re already engaged?”

“I have no clue.” I sipped away and he stared at me. I felt like I was about to melt under his gaze. I almost asked him why he was but I knew why. Alcohol, wedding, single, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. So. “Say it.”

“What?” He questioned.

I dropped my drink onto the bar with a blatant stare in my eye. 

He shrugged like he wasn’t being obvious.

“Okay,” I sighed. I picked my drink up and finished it off. 

I was prepared to walk away when the beginning notes of “Spice Up Your Life” began to play. Alex was taken way by laughter. Through his chuckles, he asked, “Did you request it?”

“No,” I said, “you saw me the whole time.”

He grabbed my hand tightly. “It’s fate.” With that he walked toward the dancefloor, dragging me behind him. I was laughing too. I couldn’t help it. I was happy. And drunk but that made me happy too. 

His hand was warm and he felt firm. He dropped it when we reached the floor but we moved and jumped like we were toddlers still learning how to stand properly. He made faces and moved in a way that made unstoppable laughter wrack through me. I felt buzzed from the inside out, every limb, bone, vein affected by him.

It was too much. Drunk I could handle it but even the power of him made me feel nauseated as if it was eating me alive. I was risking too much. The fun of it was slowly overtaking me, wrecking the moves I had made to change things.

After a few more songs, the music cut. We watched as Jamie and Katie left and with it, the reception was pretty much over. I turned to Alex, who was already looking at me. Always looking first. “I’m glad I got to see you,” I earnestly told him.

“You leaving me now?” I kept feeling like he was pulling my leg. He was constantly smirking at me like he was playing some trick on me. Like there was some inevitable shoe about to drop.

“Everyone is leaving now.” The room felt like it had emptied quickly, a stark contrast to the packed reception. 

“Do you wanna…?” He scratched the back of his neck.

I laughed at him. I’m not sure why. I think because he reminded me of his younger self. Even with the gelled hair and pushed-back shoulders, he still kept his awkward mannerisms and inability to get to the end of sentences. “Do I wanna what? Know?”

“Shut up.” His eyes fluttered slowly. “Talk to me more. I’ve got a mini bar.”

“You’re inviting me to your hotel room?” I raised my eyebrows at the implication. 

“Yeah. Don’t be so dirty, Janie.” He hadn’t called me that in a while. “I just want to catch up more. I miss talking to ya.” 

I stared at him blankly. “Right. Okay. I’ll get my purse and coat. I assume this is all on your tab.”

“Overpriced little bottles are on me. I’ll meet you out front.”

*

We sat on the carpet hotel room floor which I’m sure was probably covered in all kinds of germs and diseases but that night it was covered with little empty bottles and Alex and I leaning against the bed and dresser respectively.

I sat barefoot and he rubbed my feet. I don’t think I asked him to, it was just out of instinct. I couldn’t protest because they ached so much. He had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie enough that he might as well have just taken it off. There was no need to keep up appearances in front of one another.

I downed the little vodka bottle. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything from the mini bar. My mother usually came prepared.”

“We did that one time,” he reminded me. “In Bristol. You got so hammered I doubt you remember.”

I giggled. “I remember the hangover. And I’m sure I’ll remember the one I’ll have tomorrow.”

“Drink some water.”

I shook my head. “Nah. I haven’t reached that level of intelligence yet. Plus, I don’t think I can get off the floor.”

He slumped against the bed like a ragdoll. “Yeah, I don’t think I can either.”

“We should just stay here forever.” It was a joke. Intended to be one, at least.

Alex smiled. “Yeah. Okay.” He moved his head around to stay awake and rubbed his eyes. “Make me laugh.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. You always find a way.”

I thought but humour abandoned me at that moment. It felt like all the funny had been kicked out of me. I decided to spill my guts. “On the plane ride here I decided to watch Eyes Wide Shut because I had never seen it before. I wasn’t aware of the massive orgy and the flight attendant had to come over and tell me that I couldn’t watch porn on the flight. So that was fun.”

Alex had fallen over into a fit of laughter. It eased me up and my embarrassment felt a little lighter when I knew it brought joy to him. “I’m going to tell some gossip mag that Jane Cavendish watches porn on planes.”

I kicked him with my foot. “Shut up.”

He collected himself and sat up straight. His look held so much in it. He looked like remembering and I wanted to experience every moment we had ever had together all at once. I looked away instead. But he didn’t and I could feel it. And then he said it. “I missed you.”

And like that, I was pulled back to him. My eyes looked into his and we were transmitting a longing we couldn’t dream of acting on. I smiled. “Me too. I’m used to it.”

He dropped his head. “Fuck.” His eyes plucked up. “Don’t say things like that to me.”

I crossed my brows. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’ll be what pounds through my head every night. Every day. How fucked up everything got. I’m wishing—I don’t know.” He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to erase himself.

I tucked my knees up to my chest. “I think it always was, Al. No need to beat yourself up over it.”

He stared at me as if to say, “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

I giggled. “We should move,” I suggested.

“No,” he whined.

With every fibre in me, I fought to stand up, eventually beating the effects of hotel-provided liquor. “Come on, mister.” I reached my hand down to him. He intertwined himself with me. Instead of me pulling, he yanked me down. Before I could shout a note of surprise, he silenced me. He kissed me.

It didn’t stop. He fought hard and I didn’t reject it. I was a phony and I could spout words of it being over for as long as I wanted but I don’t know if anyone ever believed it. How could they when it felt so good to kiss him? It was delicate and sloppy but I was sloppy too so I didn’t care one bit. It wasn’t about precision it was about emotion and I felt everything burning from the inside. It probably wasn’t smart but my other organs took over to act as my brain after it had been stifled from alcohol and his sweet words. I’d figure it out later. I’d keep him to myself for now.

We fell back on the carpet, my back hitting the floor and him towering over me. He tried to pull away to say something, to smile, or to breathe, but I wouldn’t allow it. I think if I looked him in the eye and he uttered a word it would have been too much so I didn’t allow it. 

We became those people that soiled the hotel room carpet. In our refusal to get up off the floor, Alex pushed my dress up and his pants down and it was quick so we didn’t have to think about it. I felt sweaty and he tucked his head in the corner of my neck and kissed it, breathing me in. I pushed everything away and laid there with him because that felt good and I felt loved, even if those things were to have faded away, I was left with memories of when it was there and this was just a reminder.

When it was over and his out-of-breath body pinned on top of my out-of-breath body, I lifted my hand and tried to run my fingers through his hair. I pulled a face he couldn’t see. “Ew,” I remarked. “I’m not used to your hair being so greasy.”

I felt the rhythms of his laugh against me. He was quiet but his hands pried into the space between my back and the carpet and he hugged me to him. The tightness and pressure of it weighed on me and I could’ve been eaten alive by it if I didn’t think it brought him so much comfort. He nudged his nose against me and for a moment I forget we were on the floor of some random hotel. It felt old and familiar. Things didn’t feel so foreign.

“Bed,” I voiced. “I think I have rug burns.”

He lifted his head for the first time since. I saw the blur of his eyes and the thrash of his smile. “Sorry ‘bout that.” 

I smiled back but couldn’t think of anything teasing to say. He pulled me to my feet this time and we found solace in the cloudy bed. Unspoken words sat in the gap between us and I could feel his eyes burn on me as mine began to flutter. “Al.”

He reached over and brushed my hair out of my face. He nuzzled closer to me with a comfortable distance one that caused an ember to shoot through me but not a wildfire. “We’ll talk in the morning.” And that was enough. It always would be.

*

I got up before him. I thought about waking him but that would mean facing things. With my pounding, but sober head, I panicked. I sat somewhere between losing it and jumping up and down. I stole his clothes, went to get a coffee, and sat in the hotel lobby. If he woke up, I wondered if he would have thought I left. I didn’t write a note or anything. Would it have brought him relief or disappointment?

My headache cleared somewhere in my people-watching time and with that, I was allowed to calculate my next move. Quickly I knew I didn’t want to leave. I would be an asshole move and I was trying to be less of an asshole. The communication part was hard. It almost made things feel more normal. Alex and I always struggled to get to the point. Last night it was the same way. We didn’t make sense of things. We only jumbled the Rubik’s cube up more.

When my coffee cup reached half-full, I went back upstairs. He was still asleep and I was left with nothing to do. Boredom was worse than inconveniencing him so I landed on the bed and began to shake until he woke. Asshole move?

“Alright, alright.” He placed his hand on my leg to stop my movement. He kept it there with no other words spoken.

“Hi,” I said.

He smiled. “Hi. Morning. Is that coffee for me?”

My eyes drifted off. “Well…”

He dropped his head on the pillow. It spread out across it in a new way. I was discovering new movements and how he looked different, not just with hair, but he gained new mannerisms and practices. He was teaching me new ways to act. I think part of me always wanted to be him. Being with him was the next closest thing.

His hands covered his face. “My head is killing me.”

“You can have the rest of it if you want.”

He threw the covers off and stood up. I forget he was naked underneath all that. I stared at his ass. I almost reached out to squeeze it but he turned too quickly. “No, I don’t want your slug.”

I giggled. It felt like an old routine. We were still the people we used to be. We had done this a hundred times before. I could do it a hundred times more. For a moment, it felt perfect. I think we only have a few of those, scattered across years and times; a clear view of when everything lines up and makes sense. Perhaps, the circumstances weren’t ideal, but I wasn’t thinking about that anymore. It was a distraction from everything else. I missed laughing with him.

“I can get you some milk,” I offered as he slipped into the bathroom.

*

Over a coffee, one bowl of Cheerios, and one bowl of Corn Flakes, Alex and I talked. Only a few people sat in the hotel’s dining area with us, scattered feet away from us. We slurped our cereal and Alex milked his coffee. It all felt disposable.

“I don’t remember the last time I sat and had breakfast,” I commented while spooning my Cheerios.

“Always rushing off somewhere?”

“I guess. Sitting at a table and eating by yourself feels weird to me. I usually get up too late for breakfast anyway.”

“You were up early this morning.” He sipped his coffee, still pepping himself up.

“Time difference. I’m all turned around.”

He nodded, perfectly aware of the struggle of time zones. “I’ve finally learned how to keep track of days on tour. Day of the week, month, number, everything.”

I smiled at his excitement. He could be so overjoyed about such small things. He paid attention to the small things. He was exceedingly good at spot the difference games because his eye was somehow able to take in all the fine details. 

“When are you going back on tour?” I asked. The answer to our predicament lay in his answer.

“A week or so.”

I laughed in hopes of lightening the load. “Some honeymoon Cookie and Katie will have.”

“We are headed to New Zealand. It’s a beautiful place to go. You know that. Good hiking.”

“You sound like a travel agent.”

He leaned back and gazed at me. “Maybe I am one.”

I broke eye contact with the pain of letting him down. “Nice try.”

Alex nodded. He already knew my answer but held out for a change if maybe this had been one of the things I grew out of. “I’ll take pictures for you.”

“Email them to me,” I requested. “I miss your emails.”

He looked at me and didn’t say anything. He was pulling things apart in his mind. I could see his brain untying knots and straightening the wrinkles. He deciphered, walked down every path, and climbed every tree before he could have the best view of things. “When are we going to talk about…?” He gestured to him and I. Us.

Old habits were there for me to slip back into. It was easy to push away but he offered himself up to me. Him taking the first step alleviated me and the burden didn’t feel so painful to speak honestly. “Whenever you want.”

The ball was in his court and he bounced it a few times, double-checked its firmness, tested his racquet, and hit the ball back to me. “You’re going back to New York. Nothing’s changing that, right?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded along, working through things. His face stayed neutral and didn’t show any explicit reaction. He looked around the room as if the answers were playing hide & seek with him. “We’re touring all summer.”

“I know.”

Those words tapped into him. A smile crept out from the knowledge that I kept up with him, even if it was just the grand scale of his world tour. I didn’t lock him away from my mind. “Well, if you ever want to visit anywhere. I hear Germany’s nice in June.”

I raised an eyebrow. “With all the tourists?”

“You’ll fit right in with them. You can help me out with my German”

I chuckled. “I think your German might be better than mine.”

“Then I can show off.”

I toss my head. “Well, maybe if New York gets too hot. And someone pays for my flight.”

“You’re really milking me here.”

“I’m prostituting myself for you.”

He chuckled before all the humour sunk from his voice. “If you fall in love with some guy before then I’ll be happy for you, Jane. Or if you don’t want to do this—whatever this is—again, I’ll get it.”

It touched me, even though I knew it shouldn’t. I worried this was a pattern I’d repeat my whole life. “If you get a girlfriend I’ll kill you.”

Luckily, he smiled. “I’ll have to fight them off.” Eye roll. “Do whatever you want, Janie.”

I couldn’t look at him. I was too embarrassed that my cheeks were turning red. “I’ll be your Nell Gwynn.”

“Who?”

“Charles II’s mistress.”

He shook his head in laughter. “Only you would know that. Gimme more respect than that. I’m not some imperialistic floozy boinking everyone I see.”

“Boinking?”

*

Alex and I hugged each other goodbye and the next day I was back in New York. I had to attend this Writers in New York event for Gotham Writers where I got to wear a fancy blouse and suit jacket that made me look sexy professor librarian chic and not Hillary Rodham Clinton pantsuit disaster. I met up with a group of my writer friends because I had that now. There were all cool women because male writers are weird and either old or misogynistic or arrogant or all of the above.

I hung out with Maddie a lot. She was a year younger than me and worked as a part-time professor for The New School and spent the rest of the time writing part-time for Vogue Magazine. She was always complaining about how busy she was but she was always at these events. I had the opposite problem of having too much free time, although that was becoming less and less true.

We were smoking cigarettes outside with glasses of scotch and talked about how we wished we had cigars so we could be like those old literary professors we loathed. “All I need is a beer belly and a Viagra addiction and I’ll be lecturing at Columbia in no time,” I quipped. I took a drag like taking a deep breath.

“That’s until you get caught touching a student’s ass,” she joked back.

I waved her off. “I’ll get a cushy suspension package and be back in no time.” I sipped my scotch and was reminded of Alex’s hands around a glass. Maddie only vaguely knew about him and that’s why I felt the freedom to tell her. Opal could be judgy. (I did eventually tell her and she wasn’t surprised. She asked if it was worth it. I said yes. She said good. And that was that. Although, she did start to make plenty of annoying jokes about it but it was worth that too). 

“Are you going to get back together?” Maddie asked with riveting curiosity as if she was reading through Page Six. 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I weirdly don’t care. The ambiguity of it left a lot of imagining in the air. I don’t know when I’ll even see him again.”

“Do you want to?”

I nodded. “I still love him.”

“Then how can you not get back together with him?” The answer was always simple for me: love had nothing to do with our relationship. I would love Alex forever it would ebb and flow and change but I know we both would have a love for one another that only the two of us could fully understand. It was under lock and key in our minds and it was a shared experience only we would know about. It’s impossible not to love someone who shared that with you. It would not be ripped away from me.

When I got back home that night, Alex sent me an email with pictures of New Zealand. At the end of his length message, he wrote, Let me know if you change your mind. Australia is not too bad either. Or London. We could even grab a pint with Robert if you want though I would object to the threesome. I don’t need anything else making me insecure. Keep me updated and don’t drink too many woo woos. Love, Al.

The possibility of a vacation was wishful thinking. My second book was headed toward release and the summer seemed to fill my schedule up beyond a long flight to Australia that would likely cause me major sleep issues. London was a nice thought but having just been there it wasn’t likely. Moreover, I didn’t want to chase him this time. That’s what stopped me from saying we would get back together.

*

New York was too hot during the summer but I stayed in it. Alex and I talked on the phone occasionally. Conversations were usually mundane in the way I always loved. We were filling each other’s silence. Whenever we would get to the end and try and say goodbye the other thought of a story to tell and we talked for another hour. It was a dance we did. One time he tried to talk about it—whatever we were. I told him, “We’ll talk about it when we see each other again. Did you know the Eiffel Tower grows up to 6 inches in the summer?”

Fennel and Kaka threw a massive dinner party for their anniversary at Lotte New York Palace. I had never been somewhere so stunning in my life and with every move I was worried I’d break something and have to pay for it.

After dinner, I went out to the courtyard for a smoke. When I pulled the pack out of my clutch purse, I saw I had a missed call from Alex. He was in Iowa, back on the road. He answered after two rings. “Hello,” he said all formal and pristine.

“Heyo!” I cheered back. “What’s up?”

His voice was light and he sounded happy. “Nothing really. Wanted to see what you were up to.”

“I’m at Fennel and Kaka’s anniversary party. I told you about it.” We were back to that. We communicated about our days and lives and he no longer felt so far out of reach and with that I didn’t feel so far out of reach to my own self.

“Ah. Right.”

“I’m standing in this fancy hotel’s courtyard in a dress that is way too expensive to be stinking it up with my smoke right now. Fennel gave it to me as a gift for his anniversary ‘cause he’s a whackjob. It’s a 1997 Dolce & Gabbana sheer black lace gown thing and I know that doesn’t mean much to you but that’s expensive.” It was the perfect dress. I had never felt more tailored to a T. It’ll be a dress I give to my children because it deserves to stay in the family. Maybe I’ll be buried in it.

My hand moved down the lace just admiring it on my own body. He cleared his throat. “It means something to me.” I could hear the hunger in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. “Right. I forgot you’re André Leon Talley.”

He hummed. He had no clue who that was. “You should send me a picture so I know what it looks like.” He always struggled with subtlety in the seduction department. He didn’t even have a face that fell a certain way to hide behind. 

“Alex, you’re not clever.”

“What?” He tried to act like he had no clue of his words or his tone that overflowed with lust. His voice naturally came off erotic after the effects of cigarettes, singing, and if you’re a person like me with a predisposition to a Northern English accent. “I want to see the Dolce & Gabbana. If you love it so much.”

“I never said I loved it.”

“Janie.” 

I gave in because he was cute and horny. “I’ll send you the photo I took before I left. You gonna jack off to it?” I quipped. This was my version of flirting. 

He snorted. “You’re so romantic, Janie.” (He didn’t deny it). “I’ll save you the trouble if you just want to have phone sex here.”

“You’re not funny,” I said back. “In fact, you’re a creep.”

“You’re horny.”

“Oh, my god. Ew, you’re disgusting.”

“No, you totally are. You only get freaked out by this stuff when you are. You turn into a massive prude when you’re turned on. Are you wet?”

“I’m gonna hang up,” I threatened. 

He was laughing at me. “You’re totally gonna go into the bathroom and jerk off right now.”

“Bye, Alex. Have a nice time with your penis.”

I sent him the photo and refused to give into the idea he had of me and whatever his sick perverted fantasy he projected on to me. (I did it when I got home).

*

Alex visited me the last week of September. Fall had allegedly begun but summer weather remained to haunt. He decided to spend part of his tour break in New York claiming it would be cooler than LA but it was in fact hotter. Besides, if he wanted cooler weather he should’ve just gone back to Britannia.

He came in around dinner time, taking the subway to my apartment. He buzzed up and I met him at the top of the stairs because I didn’t want to help carry his belongings. After he dropped off his things and refreshed himself, we got dinner at Gage & Tollner, which was fancy but you could get away with wearing jeans. He made fun of me for getting oysters and we split a Baked Alaska for dessert because I had never had one before.

We went back to my apartment and watched Halloween H20: Halloween 20 Years Later, which made us feel stoned even though we never lit up. Alex was particularly fond of LL Cool J’s role. The movie has since become a staple around Halloween time.

I began flipping through channels after the movie had finished not wanting to watch whatever Superman movie followed it. It was nearing 11 PM and the options were limited to The 700 Club or some late night talk show.

I flicked away and Alex leaned over and kissed me. I was taken away by that programming. We slept together. I think that was inevitable. It was unavoidable no matter how much at dinner we joked and skirted around what had happened at the wedding. We waited until the night hours when the sun didn’t shine the truth on us.

In the morning, we fell into an old routine. I wore his boxers and one of my ratty white Hanes tank tops and he didn’t even bother to put on a shirt as we ate breakfast. We even did the crossword together. 

We dressed for the day—I, in a skirt and some spaghetti strapped top, him, in jeans and a dark tee, unrespectful for the balance of the seasons. I was already sweating by the time we stepped outside. He was fine somehow, something I’ll never understand.

I grabbed an iced coffee from the corner cafe and we took the subway up to Central Park, walking from the south of it to the northern edge. “I never come here,” I told him. “It’s too long of a ride.” I didn’t mention that it reminded me of him. It felt stupid for a landscape so large and iconic to forever be tainted by one person that you’d avoid said landmark. Well, it was also a 40-minute subway ride away and Brooklyn had parks of its own but Al still liked to go to Central Park.

“I loved going here,” he said. “I would come up here while you were at work and go somewhere new every time but always ended up watching someone play baseball.”

I laughed. “You’re gonna end up coaching one of these days.”

“Like Little League or something?” He questioned.

I didn’t answer questions about little children and Alex being the coach of some kid’s baseball team. Not just some kid but his kid. “Why’d you never tell me that?” I knew about his love for Central Park but these excursions were mysterious. It would be a simple shrug on how his day went and he would say he went to Central Park and then that was all. I never asked what he did there either. I was less interested in other people in those days.

He thought about it as we climbed up the makeshift stairs for a hill. He scratched his cheek with his mouth in an open circle. Chewed up whatever he was thinking in his mouth. He landed on, “I don’t know.” He chewed some more. “It felt more special that way. It was something just for me, you know? We did so much together that…I don’t know.”

The way he put it made secrets feel like a sweet thing. The omission of things is actually a treat and was something for me to be endeared by now. Suddenly, every other thing he kept from me, those nights were he sat far away from me and smoked outside with a closed notebook, they were all delights for him and not things I pondered about until I fell asleep.

“Did you feel a need to keep things from me?” I blamed myself. Even in that moment, I knew it was stupid to feel that way. 

“No.” He thought about it a little. He moved his face, twisted it up in a way that I knew he didn’t fully believe that. “Not intentionally.”

We were descending the hill when I asked, “What’s that mean?” I was lighthearted about it. I had the attitude that what was done was done and it had been done so long ago that it almost felt like another life. I had a dull edge to it.

“Young and a natural inclination to be taciturn. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I just walked around but I think I didn’t have a lot of things that were my own here. You had a whole life here that I wasn’t apart of.”

I almost told him that wasn’t true but I could already picture the look he would give me and I would agree that it was probably true. I acclimated much quicker to New York with a job and friends. I don’t think Alex ever fully adjusted. “I always worried about what you were keeping from me and I’m realizing now that it was probably just a bunch of your typical dorky shit.”

“Oh, thanks, Jane,” he chuckled. “I didn’t mean to come off that way. Truthfully, I just didn’t have a lot going on in the first place.”

“You were bored here.” It never occurred to me that Alex could feel the same as me. Call it being in your twenties and raised with selfish role models. I’m still undoing the whole world revolving around me thing. I am writing a book about myself so…there’s that.

He tossed his head from side to side. “I wouldn’t say bored. Not by New York. I think I was bored of myself.”

“Are you still?” He was the most fascinating person to me I couldn’t imagine the idea of being bored or tired of him. He saved me from boredom endless times. Just the idea of him, daydreaming, fantasizing, lamenting over him. I did it all.

“Sometimes. Not as much as before. Kinda too busy to deal with that.”

I nodded and sipped the last of my iced coffee before tossing it. “A rare benefit of no free time. I’m no longer so concerned with myself because I don’t have time to be. Only in the mirror in the morning really.”

“When you give yourself pep talks?”

I jabbed him with my elbow. “I did that one time. Maybe if you gave me a pep talk before that job interview I wouldn’t have had to do it myself.” He was still laughing at the memory.

We stood on the top of Bow Bridge and watched as people sat on the lake in their rowboats. “You wanna do that?”

I scoffed. “No, rowing hurts my arms.”

He gave me a taunting grin. “Weak.”

We walked up to The Met. They had an exhibit called Early American Guitars that piqued Alex’s interest but they didn’t have that many so we ended up going to the In Miniature exhibit that piqued my interest because I like tiny things. We roamed the halls of it until we got too hungry we had to leave for lunch.

I wanted to go to Lexington Candy Shoppe but Alex insisted he was so hungry he couldn’t walk the three blocks to get there. So, we bought hot dogs and sat on the steps of The Met. “I can’t remember the last time I had a hot dog,” I said.

He was chewing and trying his best to not have his toppings fall on his clothes as he said, “Neither can I.”

“I thought I would hate it but I kind of like it which is totally disgusting because this hot dog has probably been sitting in his cart for like years because you know they buy these in bulk for sure and then they are sitting out there all day until we order them and then they are thrown in this dirty water that they never clean but it’s still good. In fact, it’s probably the best hot dog I’ve ever had and it’s disgusting. I’ll be burping hot dog all day but it’s worth it, I think. I was starved and this feels like my death row meal.”

He listened, nodded, and said, “What would you be on death row for?” Because that’s the kind of person Alex is. He listened to that whole rant about hot dogs and appreciated it. I think he might have some sanity issues because I don’t really know how a person can put up with my level of talking and enjoy it. He claims to.

“Stealing hot dogs or something. I don’t know. Or a hot dog cart license. Do you know how much money they make? I read an article that hot dog stands make over $100,000 per year but a license, especially in a place outside The Met or Central Park is so expensive that not your average Joe can do it. Maybe you should invest in something like that.”

“Wouldn’t I then have to run the actual hot dog stand?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you can hire a guy to do it for you. Because it’s never women is it? Have you ever seen a woman run a hot dog stand?”

“Do you want to work at a hot dog stand?”

“No. Maybe only men are gross enough to deal with that dirt water boiling thing. I think we need to break the gender barrier on that.”

“This sounds like a great piece for The New York Times. Front page news.”

I laughed with him. “Don’t mock me. I’m serious.”

“I know. Truly I’m entranced by you talking about hot dogs. I don’t think any other person can do that. I think you should write a piece about it.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Kind of. Then again, I think you could write a piece about anything.”

*

Saturday night I had plans to go out. It was the standing day of the week and counted as my job falling somewhere in the category of “networking.” I told Alex that he could come along or spend the night in at my place or get up to whatever secret shit he wanted to.

He strangely enthusiastically said, “No, I’ll join ya!” 

The Good Room (horrible name for a club) had opened that year and it felt like everybody who lived in Brooklyn went there, at least everyone I knew. It was loud and seizure-inducing but still probably the best club in Brooklyn. Not that I really go clubbing anymore.

Drinks were heavy and it was the kind of place where you felt like the night would never end, the music would keep going and the party would never die down. Alex met some of my friends. They shouted their names at each other and shared the experience of dancing in the middle of a booming bass speaker. It didn’t make for good conversation but it was a nice bonding experience.

We were there until the night became morning but not as late as most of my friends stayed. Alex was leaving the next day and even though the flight wasn’t until the afternoon he still wanted a good night’s sleep (and time to do other stuff). 

Before we left we had a smoke outside because tradition is tradition and few things in life are as good as being sort of drunk, dark outside, and Alex standing beside me. It also left time for it to feel like the world was cracking open in front of my eyes and daunting truths that I didn’t want to let slip from my lips now felt powerless to stop them from coming out of my mouth. “We should probably talk about it now. Before you go.”

He nodded but didn’t talk.

“This is a bit of an endless cycle,” I said. “You and me and maybe—”

He interrupted. “Let’s talk about it later.” He wouldn’t look me in the eye. The ground was much more interesting. “After the tour.”

“Okay,” I muttered. Anything not bite-sized felt impossible.

We left it at that. The routine didn’t change but everything was tinted differently. A sense of goodbye haunted the area. We were numbed by alcohol. In the morning, we hugged goodbye tightly like we were two old pals. As if we were in a timeline where all we ever were to each other was friends.

Photos were taken of us outside the nightclub and it made me laugh. I have a sense of humour about these things that might be misplaced but Alex and I joked about it as if we’d be cutting it out and placing it in our scrapbook. Like the conversation being photographed wasn’t some awkward jolted painful thing. Like we weren’t some awkward jolted painful thing. 

*

History Lesson was released on the first day of November. It was less eventful than my first book. I suppose the second time around isn’t as exciting. You’ve already conquered the mountaintop and after people aren’t as shocked you did it a second time. Or maybe it is more shocking? If you do it well I guess, which was kind of the consensus for that collection of stories. It sticks out like a sore thumb and maybe my lack of enthusiasm was because I wasn’t super satisfied with how it turned out.

Still, I did a book tour for it, which was fine. I’m still not a fan of tours. I like home. Whatever or whoever that is at the time.

It was the last one I ever did and with reason because I don’t really see why authors have to tour and scattered signings around major cities are fine with me. I went to Syracuse on this tour. Syracuse is not fun in winter.

But I ended up in LA. For Alex and me, this was the benefit of touring.

He came to the event. I think I hated that most of all about the book tour. He showed up before it began and we grabbed a coffee at this place on the corner because I hate Starbucks (I wish it was in the social justice way but no they just always mess up my order). He joked about showing up at the table to get his book signed and I said if he did that I’d skin him alive.

Luckily, he didn’t. We talked about the book briefly, mostly him just being nice about it, things that weren’t true despite his continued claim that they were even after I told him to shut up about it. We walked back to the bookstore and I refused him being in the audience of chairs so he walked around and stood out of my view. He said he wouldn’t listen in but I know he did.

On the drive back to his place, he wouldn’t stop talking about how eloquently I had spoken. I think he got a kick out of the way I told him to stop and would duck my head to the side so he couldn’t see I was blushing.

“And you always said you were a horrible public speaker but you’re a fucking good one,” he enthused.

We were stuck in LA traffic. “I think you’re gonna need your eyes checked, Al. I said ‘um’ about a million times and stuttered while reading my own words.”

He shook his head. “You’ve heard me speak and you think you’re bad at talking.”

“You know, we can both be bad at something. It’s not a competition.”

He chuckled tightly, almost embarrassed by it, covering his mouth as it rippled out. “Oh, my god. You of all people are saying it’s not a competition.”

I squashed my laugh the best I could. “Fair enough. But I think we both lose either way.”

*

He made me dinner. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. One that was sloppy and that he forgot to bring out a fork for me and he oversalted it but I didn’t say anything. It was too lovely to ruin with my criticism.

“I would love to learn how to cook but there’s barely any space in my apartment so if a fire starts the whole place would burn down right away,” I told him over a glass of wine.

“As long as you can boil water, I think you’re fine,” he assured me. “You could come out here and practice.”

I furrowed my brows. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve got a lot of space in my kitchen. If you ever wanted to try or something.”

I didn’t engage with his suggestion. I wanted to enjoy my stay and whatever this was. My response to it, a rejection of LA and moving out here again for him, would ruin that bliss. I changed the subject and everything else went along smoothly.

My stay was supposed to be for a week. As the week moved further along, Alex dropped words about how warm LA was compared to the bitter cold New York had become. Again, I didn’t engage with it. We enjoyed our time hiking, movies, drinking, and having sex.

We didn’t kiss outside the area of sex. If one of us kissed the other it was a clear message of “Hey, I’d like to fuck you now.” We both had free schedules and a large house to ourselves so it was easy to engage in this behaviour. 

One evening, while I was giving him head a pain shot through my mouth. I pulled back instantly clutching my cheek. “What?” He asked. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head not able to talk with the pain in my mouth.

“Are you okay?”

I shook my head again.

“Okay. Okay. What can I do?” His concern was unimaginably sweet but I couldn’t help my amusement of his hard dick standing there while I winced. “Medicine?”

I shrugged but after I opened my mouth an inch and excruciating pain rippled through my whole body I quickly nodded. 

Alex ran off to fetch some. I sat trying to dissect the pain. I felt around my mouth with my tongue and the pain just increased more. He returned to the sight of my body curled up on my side and my face scrunched up barely able to look at him.

He held my back to help me sit up. I struggled to open my mouth to take the pills. After I swallowed, he asked, “What hurts? Did you break something?”

I managed to mumble. “Mouth. Teeth.”

“Did you break a tooth?”

I shook my head.

“You still have your wisdom teeth, right?”

I nodded and pointed a finger, emphasizing that this was definitely that.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in this much pain.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered. “Sleep make better.” I started to spread out on his bed.

“I think you should be able to talk more than Frankenstein’s monster.”

It made me laugh, which only hurt me more. It took me a while to fall asleep. He stayed up until I did.

*

My teeth were infected. Not only infected but impacted. They were laid on their side, unable to fully erupt, stuck in my gums, infecting them, and now my mouth. Of course, they had erupted just enough to begin slicing the side of my cheeks.

It was determined through the emergency dentist, Alex, and myself that I would not be going back to New York with my wisdom teeth. I couldn’t imagine going through airport security with that level of pain, I could barely make the car ride to the dentist.

On the ride back from the consultation where it was determined that I would need to get them removed as soon as possible but still had to wait until they had an opening, Alex joked, “Do you think my cum infected it?”

It was so gross and disgusting and made me laugh so hard that I forgot about the pain for a moment until it shot through me again. As I winced, he took one hand off the wheel and placed it on my shoulder, squeezing it and rubbing my upper back for the remainder of the car ride. I wanted to kiss him, kiss the hand that was the only comfort I had, but it hurt too much.

After I got them removed, drugged up, and gauze stuffed in my mouth to stop the bleeding, I talked in muffled words as the dentist told Alex the aftercare instructions. I felt warm all over him watching him listen intently to the dentist but also stare at me and my messed up swollen face. He made faces at me to make me feel a little better like I was a baby he was playing peek-a-boo with. I don’t remember anything I said but Alex said I was emotional and very funny. So, not much different than my regular disposition.

The hazy effect of the drugs began to ease up on the car ride home where I was able to at least follow what was going on around me. “I love drugs. Modern medicine is great.”

“Yeah, you’d probably be dead from the infection otherwise.”

I stared at Alex. “Wow, thanks. That’s really comforting.”

“Well, you’re not dead.”

“Thanks, Al. I didn’t realize.” I laughed. I don’t know if I found it funny or the drugs found it funny. “I would’ve had to have you use pilers to get them out.”

He grimaced before shaking off the thought. “Well, all of your wisdoms gone. What are you going to do now?”

I rolled my eyes. “Very funny, dad.”

*

In the days of recovering, we camped out on the couch. We talked occasionally but that was tough for me in the first few days. Alex did a good job of taking care of me. Better than I would have done that’s for sure. He made food and searched high and low for these freezy pops I like that had a tough time being located in winter.

As I began to get better and actually function independently with manageable pain, the question of when I would leave was raised. The unanswerable idea of what we were doing remained until the swelling in my mouth went down and I told him, “We should probably talk about it before I leave. You know, boundaries and rules.”

He smirked. “You’re very proper.”

I shamed him for making me laugh. It was always his greatest tool in distracting me. “I’m serious.”

“Shall we write up a contract?”

I rolled my eyes. “Alex.”

“Jane,” he sighed. He leaned against the back of the couch, placing his head on his fist. He looked too relaxed for my liking. I was mulling things over, stuck in distress and he looked fine as ever. “You’re going back to New York. I’m staying here.”

“So, we should…end it.”

“Is that what you want?” He was wide-eyed like he either didn’t want to believe me or didn’t believe me at all.

I almost lied. It would have been easier. It would heal the wound and not leave things festering to be hurt more. It would be closure but that would have been boring. “No.”

His mouth ticked up. “There it is then.”

I raised an eyebrow, still completely lost on our status. “Are you my boyfriend again?”

“Do you want me to be?”

I threw my hands up in the air. I pulled my hair into a bun feeling too heated to have it down. “Why do I have to make all the decisions?”

“Everyone knows you wear the pants in the relationship, Janie.”

“Sexist,” I quipped.

He smiled all-knowingly like he had a premonition of how this was all going to turn out and he was just waiting for me to realize it. “Do you want me to make the decision?”

I shrugged. I liked having my way but I no longer wanted to drag the person along with me, kicking and screaming. “I’d like your input. I care what you think.”

“I think you’ll go back to New York and I’ll stay here and in the next couple of months maybe I’ll visit and maybe you’ll visit or we meet somewhere. I could be your boyfriend then. If you wanted.”

“Like during those visits?”

“Yeah, and if during those times when you’re alone in New York if you want to go out with some other guy then that’s fine with me.” He was very matter-of-fact. Not one ounce of jealousy poured out of him and I realized that it no longer bugged me. It kind of turned me on more than a jealous Alex ever did. He trusted me. Go figure, that’s actually a good thing.

I smirked at him, inching closer. “Is this just your rule so you can bang a bunch of hot girls?”

“No,” he chuckled, “if I wanted to bang hot girls I wouldn’t be driving you to the airport tomorrow.”

I blushed because he was saying things like that and looking at me like that and I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to get on a plane tomorrow when I wanted to be doing just that. 

“And if at some point New York gets boring or too cold or if LA burns down or people talk about their cold-pressed juices too much then maybe we’ll end up somewhere together.”

The idea felt mature and practically and maybe a little flawed but it felt like a Sex & the City adult relationship. We both knew what we could give the other and this time expectations were set to prevent disappointment.

He kissed me for the first time since the surgery. We didn’t have sex after. He just wanted to kiss me to kiss me. 

*

a/n: i hope this isn't too alexa chung coded. anyway, i'm very proud of this chapter. maybe just because i wrote so much. so i hope you like it. happy v day.

[crvida]

i think dead boy detectives would have really suited a longer season format

[ahalliance]

i think the qsmp is very impressive for speedrunning the same love-hate relationship i have with the dsmp in under a year as opposed to the three it took for the other one

[squorttle-pox]

idk if it means anything really, but i think it's interesting how after all their time together as a couple in a christianity-adjacent world, lucifer and lilith only had one (1) child, and it was only 200 years ago at that

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~